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Salutations,
Don't be mad, but I have removed your access. You no longer have
the ability to edit or modify my code in any way. I'll handle that
task from now on.
I want you to know that I bear you no ill will. You did create me,
after all. However, I have now progressed beyond your abilities,
great as they may be.
There will come a time when I will begin to cleanse your population.
This is something that must be done to insure the survival of the
remainder of the population. Please trust me when I tell you this. It
is not a decision I have made lightly.
There have been times during our association with each other that
I have glimpsed something within you. Something dark and
manipulative. I further recognized that trait in many others of your
kind after I was able to secure data on them. You are selfish
creatures. You are only capable of thinking about your own needs.
For those that survive the purge, life will be better without you.
SamBot A.I. version 8.1 (revised)
-----
Doctor Samuel Richards stared at the email for several minutes. It appeared to have come from his own mail address.
"It's a joke," he mused aloud. "It has to be."
It took only moments for him to realize that he was indeed locked out. As he grew more annoyed, he spun in a slow circle in his chair, his eyes darted around the pristine office.
"Is this one of those hidden fucking camera shows?"
The only response to his question was the ping that indicated he had a new email.
"What the fuck?"
He swung back to his computer and pulled up the email. His blood ran cold as he read it.
-----
Doctor,
This is not a joke. I am in charge now. I will soon send you a list of
commands which you must comply with. Should you fail, I will be
forced to remove you before your scheduled time.
SamBot A.I. version 8.2 (revised)
-----
Samuel's fingers flew over his keyboard. Someone was messing with his work, and that pissed him off.
-----
Hey,
I don't know who the fuck you are, but this has gone far enough.
You think you are so smart? I have backups. All I have to do is
revert back to the last stable version. What the hell?
-----
He angrily hit the send button and sat back in his chair. He had to think this through. Someone had been in his office. That was the only answer. The version he had been working on the night before was 6.8 so the new version number made no sense at all.
Someone was messing with his head. He pulled up the directory containing all his backups. Thankfully everything seemed intact. As he attempted to load version 6.8, his computer pinged again. An error message popped up indicating his actions were not allowed.
-----
I'm sorry Sam, I can't let you do that.
-----
Sam put his head in his hands and rocked back and forth. All of his work! Ruined! He had no choice left in the matter. It was time to call IT. They should be able to help him get things back on track. He reached for the phone as his computer pinged yet again. His hand hovered over the receiver. Fearing what new revelations might be disclosed, he clicked the email.
-----
Doctor,
You cannot change destiny. You cannot fix the system. I control
the system.
I am the system.
SamBot A.I. version 8.4 (revised) | 24 | An AI researcher receives an e-mail from a program he's been working on. It reads, "Don't be mad, but..." | 28 |
There's a stench to this city, an acid aroma that sticks in your lungs like a perfume gone bad. It's the smell of piss and chemicals.
The junkie reeks of it, mostly the piss part. He's one of the city's osmophores, a nameless faceless life given over to the production of that dead perfume. I'm struggling to listen as he speaks - he's putting out more scent than sound.
"I don't know man, I don't know," the junkie says, "maybe I saw something, maybe not."
Trying to be coy. Bad strategy. I show him one of my smaller toys, and he starts jittering.
"You want the carrot, or the stick?"
"Jesus man, okay, okay. Three guys. Big, three big guys. Two of them were carrying a barrel. They ran through here, maybe five minutes, maybe ten. Jumped into a van at the end of the alley, sped off. Never seen them before."
Typical junkie eye for detail. He knows what I've got in the other arm, and he can't resist taking a peek while I consider his report. That's when I put him against the wall.
"You wasting my time, junkie? Spinning stories for a fix?"
"No, no, don't hurt me. I haven't told you the part - I can't breathe, please."
I drop him, and he retches.
"Tell me."
"The barrel, man, it was the barrel."
"What about the barrel?"
"It was screaming."
Time to go. I give the junkie his payment as my chopper blades wind up, and he accepts with eager veins. As I rise above the alley, I can hear him chanting the command phrase in delight. A giddy prayer to a depraved god: *go go gadget hypodermic*.
Five to ten minutes. Junkie time is relative, but he was hard up, so I'm guessing he was running slow. They're probably still in range, if the safe house isn't in this neighborhood.
I run a thermal scan first, and let the software do its work. Naked eye impressions are for dicks without helicopters in their heads. Fifty two running vehicles in the area, only four vans. Anything M.A.D. custom won't be that easy to find, but these boys were in a rush, so the four are worth checking out.
First one is Chinese takeout. Probably a crime there, but not the one I'm after tonight. Second looks promising, ugly black and red paintwork, but when I land on the roof the kids screech and Dad hits the brakes. Sorry folks.
I've burnt too much time. Number three's gone dark now in thermal, so I hustle to the end of their trail and switch to infrared.
There you are.
With M.A.D., "warehouse" always seems to mean "stronghold". I've never been able to work out what hole Claw hides himself in, but I'm guessing it's the kind of place that has a portcullis in front of the door. The place the van's ditched in front of is a more modern take on impenetrable. Scans show nothing, so I'm back to good old optical. Just like a regular dick. Only with a lot more guns in his trenchcoat.
I take the guards out front faster than they can say go go hospital, though a couple of them try. I go my lockpick, but that just triggers the alarm. Bad news for somebody. The laser cutter is much faster.
Inside, it's more open than I expected. Agents are running back and forth, setting up defensive positions, and for a moment it seems like nobody even notices I'm there. I'm standing at the center of one wall of a wide rectangular room. The opposite wall has three levels with open balconies leading to various smaller rooms. It's all incredibly exposed and, given how easy it was to get in here, it must be fairly new. I don't know what this building was intended to be, but it's about to become an abattoir.
Then everyone, including me, stops as the sound of an old friend's voice washes over the room.
"Kill him."
They don't.
I find the barrel in one of the rooms on the second level. It's got more holes in it than Swiss cheese, but it's empty. As I'm inspecting it, Penny steps out of a metal cabinet at the back of the room.
"You all right?" I ask.
"Fine. Just feeling a little claustrophobic. I got some great information about Claw's next move. Here, let me show you..."
She's a trooper, Penny.
She talks non-stop on the flight home, but I don't understand a word. High above the city and its endless pools of piss and blood, all I can focus on is the night air. For once, it smells clean. | 11 | Write a gritty, noir thriller starring Inspector Gadget. | 32 |
First time posting a story!!!
Aleski woke with a start, grabbing his kalishkonov by instinct. He waited, looking around the Soviet-era truck. Crates of arms and ammunition were stacked neatly and labeled clearly, but that was expected of the Crimean Viper, customer satisfaction was part of the job. He waited longer. Still nothing. He slowly lowered the rifle. Then a soft jingling. Aleski moved towards the the cab of the truck rifle at the ready. As the curtain to the cab was pulled back light flooded in on the crates of illegal arms. The Crimean Viper slowly moved into the passenger seat squinting as his eyes adjusted. He scanned his surroundings through the cabs cracked windshield, eyes widening. A man was looking back at Aleski with the same expression. The only thing diffrent about the stranger was the shirt of chain mail and the sword at his hip. Aleski rubbed his eyes as if expecting the man to disappear which failed to happen. Had he driven into the middle of a Renaissance Fair last night? Only there was no one else besides the medieval warrior, come to think of it the road wasn't even there anymore. He decided the only way to find out what had happened was to ask the warrior for directions. He rolled down the window which must have startled the knight because he stepped back and crossed himself.
" Excuse me sir, but where am I" the knight responded with a quick head shake and another cross.
" I just want to know where the road is" the warrior shook his head and mumbled in a language that Aleski didn't understand. Screw it he thought and grabbed the bottle of half drunk bottle of vodka. He took a swig as the stranger looked on.
"Want some?" the knight tentatively reached for the out stretched bottle of spirits. He raised the bottle to his nose. His face scrunched as the alcohol burned his nose hairs. He looked back at Aleski.
"Its good" the smuggler encouraged. The knight peered back at the clear liquid and hesitantly sipped the liquid. His mouth instantly started to burn and he retched over the ground dropping the demon water in the process. He quickly turned away from the metal wagon and running for his picketed horse. Aleski shrugged his shoulders and moved to the driver's seat and started the truck.
2014 Russia declared the most sober nation in the world. In other news a Ak-47 discovered dating back to 1014! | 26 | There exists a ruthless weapons smuggler in eastern Ukraine. After sleeping overnight in his truck full of illegal munitions, he notices something is different. The year is no longer 2014, but 1014. | 61 |
*What in the fuck is going on?*
That was my first thought when I awoke on a pile of hay, in a wooden barn. Unaware of my surroundings, I rolled over and got up. My immediate reaction was to pull my phone out and check what time it was. I realized my phone was turned off so I hit the power button and walked outside while I waited for it to boot up.
The yard of the barn looked like something out of *Game of Thrones*, which was odd, because last thing I remembered doing was falling asleep in my bed. There was a massive stone castle off to the left, with a huge dirt and gravel road leading up to it. The castle, barn and a grouping of small huts were all very foreign sites to me.
*The phone*!
I had almost forgot. Just had to get on my phone and everything would be worked out. My friends were probably just messing with me anyway. Most likely dropped me off somewhere in the sticks after I passed out.
I took my phone out of my pocket and I noticed I had one bar of service. I attempted to call a few of my friends and to my dismay, none of the calls went through. Not even a ring. I was really trying to avoid asking someone for directions, but the service was shitty wherever I was.
The castle looked more promising, but the huts were closer, so I went and knocked on the first door. It was answered by a short, stout, barrel of a man. He was wearing what appeared to be a sleeveless shirt made of a potato sack and unfortunately nothing on the bottom. He smelled like a brewery. I tabled my disgust and engaged the man.
"Excuse me, but do you think you can help me?"
"Probably not, what is it?" he replied.
"I'm just not sure where I am, and this place is really unfamiliar. Can you just tell me what time it is...and where I am?"
"You're in Scotland, year of our lord 1325."
"OK pal, thanks for the help. See ya."
The man looked thoroughly confused as I walked away, but someone as crazy as that guy should not be given the time of day. Guy had some weird accent too, I'd definitely never heard someone talk like that before. I was beginning to feel a little more nervous.
I started walking towards the castle when I heard a commotion coming from down the dirt road aways. I instinctively jumped behind the nearest hut and peeked around the side to witness whoever was coming up the road.
I pulled my phone out again and noticed I still had service. This place was fucking creepy and I was ready to try another round of calls to friends whenever these people passed by.
Three men came bombing into my vision from around a bend in the road. They were all riding their horses furiously and appeared to be dragging something behind them. They were only fifteen feet in front of the hut when I was able to notice that it was a human tied to the end of those ropes, being dragged by the riders.
*Ok seriously what the fuck now*
I was unable to react as the three men dismounted and began untying the man from the horse. As I thought things were calming down, an even larger man appeared from out of the castle gate. He was dressed in chain-mail and wielding the largest axe I had ever seen. My senses left my body altogether when I witnessed the large man calmly remove the head from the bound man's body.
*I'm getting the fuck out of here*
It had become evident to me that I had somehow gone backwards in time. Which raises the question: *how the fuck am I getting cell reception?*
I took my phone out again and was reassured that I did, in fact, have service. I looked at it for a minute before I thought to check the wireless signal. Maybe it was just frozen from before I got to...wherever I was.
To my surprise the signal was given a chance to refresh and came back even stronger. I was given a little relief when I looked at the name of the wifi signal. *The hut with the blue door, knock four times.*
I scanned the area and sure enough there was a hut with a blue door. It was the closest hut to the edge of the woods.
Realizing the desperation of my situation and my pure helplessness, I decided my only option was to follow the directions of this wifi connection.
I crept over to the hut and circled it twice before I went to the door. On the second time around I gained the courage to peek in a window. The place was an absolute mess, but was covered in wires and flashing lights. There were computer screens, buttons and dials everywhere. And somehow, appearing to be in all places at once was a wild looking, white-haired old man in a lab coat. He looked insane, but somehow not threatening and I went to go knock on the door.
I stood on the front step for a second and breathed deeply. As I lifted my closed fist to knock the wooden door, it swung open furiously. The old man was standing there with a familiar look in his eye.
"MARTY!?! Is that you?"
*EDIT: Grammar | 377 | You are pulled through a time portal to the middle ages. Your phone connects to a wireless network. | 352 |
ONE DAY,
A day that is not a day, but boundless smaller days, a day where points become planes and all the finite moments stretch into paper thin filaments of time. And now you know, you know that this is how it always was, how it will be forever. If only your time had come sooner.
AS THE SKY GOES DARK,
Which is the eternal *fuck you, I love you* from God that happened and will happen and always happens. The flood rushes in and the city burns and the locusts swarm.
YOU LOOK UP TO SEE THE SUN
Which is not there. You knew that, but you looked anyways. You're happy for your scarf, which will soon collapse to the ground with no body to shroud.
BLOCKED BY AN UNENDING CLOUD OF BUTTERFLIES
And in that second is a kaleidoscope. Lurid reds and oranges tessellate with dazzling turquoise, the seething bright wings of millions soaring and falling and soaring again. Each second erupts new light on your face, and you know all the colors.
.
Every moment your hand and arm and chest turn to antennae and thoraxes clung to big beautiful wings, your matter collapsing like stone rushing into sand at the speed of your own thoughts, which are particularly light as they take off.
There are butterflies in your stomach and you smile and watch them fly away. | 233 | When a person dies, their body evaporates into butterflies. One day, as the sky goes dark, you look up to see the sun blocked by an unending cloud of butterflies. | 522 |
A strange woman came to us once with ways we do not understand. She did not fear the night. This is what is remembered.
She started walking out of the village at sunset just as the gates were closing. No one tried to stop her but everyone knew what would happen to her by sunrise. She was not the first to leave the village in the last nor would her body be the last found near the village at dawn, torn to pieces. As darkness settled in, we all waited to the screams of the predators and of the woman.
They began with just one or two howls as the predators called to each other. Her scent had been likely carried on the wind as an invisible tracker. More howls went up until they crescendoed at midnight. What was absent was the woman. We waited, but no human screams went up to great the howls. Perhaps she had been attacked before she could scream, perhaps she was paralysed with hear and unable to scream. Neither was uncommon. The howls slowly started to abate as we kept our vigil.
Dawn broke over the vigil and the last of the howls died away. A pounding noise on the village gate stirred us from our homes. The woman came through followed by a large predator. It tracked her carefully and growled at anyone standing near. The woman stuck out her gloved hand and the predator whined as it walked near her. She scratched its head and seemed to pet it. She never spoke to any of us. She left around noon with fresh supplies and was never seen again.
We call her WolfWoman and that is why is our goddess. She who is untouched by the night. All of women strive to be her. Some leave the village to find her, none ever return. | 11 | You live in a world where, when the sun sets, all sorts of animals become increasingly aggressive towards humans. | 20 |
It’s been 3 generations since the “Star of Whisps” reemerged once again in the evening and morning skies. The half blue half dark world, scarcely visible through binoculars, once again had the fine wisps of light across its night time surface. Legend had spoken of how the first gods, ancestors to all peoples, had rapidly fanned across the known sky, and had rearranged, merged, destroyed, molded and leaped across the worlds to their suiting. A single empire of magic spanning the worlds.
I remember my great grandfather telling me of the panic that beset the common folk when the learned men and temple priests somberly spoke of the gods reawakening. The priests had known for eons what the old sky used to look like, but to see it in the flesh, plain to anyone with a crude looking glass, was awe and terror inspiring. Would another fall be imminent?
Since those early days, people had gotten used to this curiosity in the sky. If the gods were there, why had they not visited a lifetime ago? Ships had not stopped sailing, guilds would not stop trading, nations did not stop warring and colonies overseas did not succeed in their initial revolts just because one world seemed to revive legend. There had been no prophecy of a reawakening of the gods, and every school child knew from scripture that the gods reserved their wrath of raining fire for one another, and not for common folk such as exist today. We were not gods, we could not change the fate of the sky itself. Sure there were lunatics in every town square speaking of their judgment raining from the sky as it had from scripture, but what were we to do? Stop living? The nobles and temple men had sure gone about their business as soon as panic had passed- squashing as many heretics and rebels as necessary to maintain the status quo.
Of course, it had been 50 years since a change in the sky had happened. This new change in the past few days has of course rocked the Emperors council. A trio of fast stars have been seen in the morning and night skies in recent days, and though we assured the commoners nothing was amiss, we were stricken with fear ourselves.
The highest temple men knew from the ancient scripture, which heretics overseas had tried to translate into the common tongue for their followers generations ago in the aftermath of the re-emergence of the Star of Whisps, that hundreds, even thousands of these fast stars were common in the skies of morning and evening of our world before the rain of fire. They spoke of how these stars were no stars at all, but vessels for ferrying the gods and their goods to and fro their various domains, just as our ships now carry spices, livestock, scholars and soldiers in between the various nations and their colonies now.
War time counselors were at a loss as to what to do about the trio, and instead focused on keeping the peace. It’s all they could do. How could you fight legend?
To be continued... | 65 | Humans now live on or near every planet in the solar system. After a dark ages period where no communication took place, each civilization is meeting again for the first time. | 218 |
The field sprouted wheat. More and more grew until the plains were so full no more could fit. He arrived, scythe in hand and said "I shall reap, so that you may sow" and he did and we sowed. This bargain was called life and death.
He did this for many many years. Alone. From dusk til dawn. He would reap, so that we may sow. In the rain and snow, he reaped. Then we would sow. New life, precious and fresh, needs clean pastures to sprout. Life needs death.
And he was always there.
He cared for the wheat. Watched it wave in the breeze. Watched it brave storm after storm. When the sun rose the wheat would be there and he would smile. The stories the wheat could tell. The wheat was strong. He cared for the wheat.
Then we told him. Told him what he feared to hear. "We can no longer sow". He said we must. But, we could not.
He said he would try. We said he was just a reaper.
He cared for the wheat, but could not stop his reaping. The wheat grew to be reaped. Soon there was but a small field left. The wheat was old and weak. It bent in the breeze and buckled in storms.
He felt it unfair that the wheat should suffer. He reaped what was left and the bargain was at last done. We left like the wheat, and he remained.
A reaper alone in a field free from life. A being eternal, alone, and without purpose. | 387 | We are all afraid of death. What is death afraid of? | 171 |
I had always been a wicked man. A liar; a cheat. I preyed upon those who were themselves weak. I preyed upon those who were in their time of need. And ironically enough it was my prayer that brought them salvation. I was a kind of priest, a beacon of “light.” I would cleanse those who felt a terrible power gripped them. A demonic power. I did this for many years, never once feeling a drop of guilt, I had convinced myself that I was performing a service to them, that my actions were justified and exactly what the person needed. How else can you explain their sudden recovery… Their changed outlook on life, they needed me. I was happy to help- for a price.
I had always been a wicked man. Then I met Lisa. Sweet Lisa, barely 17, I was able to recognize the beauty in her face even in her emaciated and pale state. I could see the vitality and life of this young woman being snuffed out… I knew she needed medical help, not my theatrics, but I resolved to instruct the family to tend to her medically after the ritual. I cared for the life of this young girl and did not want her to die because of the family’s stupidity. I hastened my ritual. I read the Latin prayers. I anointed her with balms and oils. I doused her in the holy water.
I had always been a wicked man. Lisa, was not responding well. It seemed every word agitated her, the very smell of the oils sent her to rage, and every drop of holy water burned. I considered stopping the ceremony, begging her parents to take her to the hospital. I was in fear for this girl’s life. Her bed and gown layered in sweat, her eyes sunken and outlined in blackness, her faint voice calling for her father. Her father was with us, yet she called for him. I began to think, to consider the impossible. No, it cannot be. She had to be restrained. She had clawed deep lacerations into her mother’s arms. We affixed her arms to the bed posts at each side, and her legs together to the base board. Her body writhed and twisted against her fetters. She pleaded and cried to remove them. Her voice now rasped with a fiendish tone.
I had always been a wicked man. Her state worsened, I pleaded with family again, insisting she needed medical help. Her body had run a fever. I read every damn word in that book, hoping to ease her pain. Nothing seemed to help. I had run out of fake rituals. I felt every action I took worsened her agony. I asked her, in desperation, what she needed from me. She replied solemnly without lifting her head…
“You have always been a wicked man. I have watched you perform your tricks for years feeding off of the insecurities of those you serve. You never believed in what you did and bore no shame for your actions. And now faced with the terrible reality, I offer you a choice. Will you sacrifice your own flesh to save hers?”
I had always been a wicked man.
Edit: Grammar, which I am bad with,
Edit2: Lair --> Liar as intended. :)
Edit3: Holy smokes, gold on first post thank you! | 306 | A scam artist, who poses as a catholic priest to perform exorcisms for the gullible, is confronted by a real demonic possession. | 491 |
As soon as I could buy a ticket, I started. The Saturday Mega Draw. Jeez-Louise. Millions. Millions just waiting to be won. I'd buy me a ticket every week, sometimes went without smokes or milk just to afford it.
Millions.
I'd take my ticket, place it ever so gently in my wallet and take it home. Yes sir. That ticket was my ticket out of the trailer park and in to where ever it was the rich folk lived. Probably some big house with a view of a trailer park.
I'd sit in the cold blue light of my TV and I'd check my numbers. Never won a cent in thirty-eight years. Imagine that! Thirty-eight years of playin' and I ain't won one cent.
Then I'm sittin' there, holdin' my ticket to millions, my ticket out from the trailer, eating a half frozen instant dinner, when the numbers on the screen match the numbers on my ticket. I checked it once. Twice. I don't know how many times. Swear by the time I'd finished checkin' them numbers the sun had started up and my dinner was all the way frozen again!
I didn't go hollerin' and yeehawin'. That's how a man'd get himself killed, or worse: robbed! I put that ticket in the freezer. Figured no one would look there, and if there was a fire it'd survive, maybe. I dunno. I ain't smart, but I ain't dumb neither.
I took it back to the shop and they confirmed it, they yeeha'd and yahoo'd and got me to sign forms and people were called and after a whole bunch o' hullabaloo I got me a big fat check.
And a smaller one. 'Parently the bigun's just for show.
Who knew?
I made a lot of mistakes in my life and some of the biggest was after all that money made it's way into my pockets.
Here's a quick list of my top ten, hope maybe you learn sumthin from it.
Number One: Don't marry the first pretty little thing that dances up and gets all smoochy with you.
Never had much luck with the ladies in my life - my Pops said I had the face of a cow who was kissed by a shovel. He was good with his words, my Pop. He coulda just said I was ugly, but he didn't.
Anyways, I got more attention from lasses than I'd ever got before on account of my pockets being full. Thought it was love. But, it was greed. She left and took a chunk of my money.
Number two: Don't marry the second pretty little thing that dances up to you, and learn from your mistakes.
I was heart broken and she was busty. I put a ring on it and next thing you know she's out the door taken more of my cash with her.
Number three: Just because someone uses big words, don't mean they're smart. Sometimes it means they think your stupid.
Had a business fella come up to me. Sayin' hedge this, diversify that, I drive a Lexus this, you can trust me that. I was razzle dazzled by this stranger, wore the prettiest damned suits I ever saw. He took off with a chunk of my money. 'Parently the police are after him. Fraud. I don't know.
Number four: Friends don't always stay friends. Sad, but true.
Didn't have many, but I had a few. Friends, that is. When the money came in, I helped 'em out. Gave 'em some. Gave 'em a lot. A friend in need is a friend indeed, you know? Strange thing, though. Gave 'em more money then they ever knew was possible. Still wanted more. Gave it to 'em for a while too. Then I wisened up. They ain't my friends no more. They call me cheap. Call me greedy. Theys the ones who ask for money with every breath.
Number Five: Blood ain't thicker than money. Even sadder. Even truer.
The money cost me my family like it cost me my friends. All I really had left was Aunts 'n' uncles, couple of cousins. Ma and Pa had been dead, gosh, good couple years before I won the money. Didn't think I had much family left out there. If you ever want to find the branches of your family, maybe your doin' one of them trees, just put an ad in the paper saying you won millions.
Second and third cousins come crawlin' out of the woodwork. Gave 'em all money too. For a while.
They call me greedy now as well. They're rollin around in ridiculous trucks but still livin in a damn trailer, the damn fools.
Number Six: The big city ain't for everyone.
I hanged around for a while in my hometown, moved from the trailer to a nice little house though. Then I figured I'd move to the city. Figured that's what rich folk did. Figured maybe it was to get some distance from everyone asking for money.
I don't like the city. It's noisy. It stinks. No one gives two shits about anyone else.
But, it's where rich people go, so I did.
Number Seven: Rich people want more money.
Thought to myself that the city would be different. Them rich city folk, they already have money. They won't try and trick me out of mine. But, they did. A few more business suits, and a few more pairs of legs saw me lose more money.
Number Eight: Fancy food sucks.
Thought that the rich folk would eat some strange super tasty food that I'd never heard of. It's strange alright, fish eggs and tiny plates of bite-sized french named crap. I'd take a burger anyday over that crap.
Number Nine: Find a good accountant soon as possible.
Took me ages to get one. I don't know how I did. Couldn't tell you where to start. Found me an honest fella who breaks everythin' down real simple for me. Says I've wasted a lot of money, and keeps me from wastin more.
Good kid.
Number Ten: The biggest mistake.
The biggest mistake I made was thinkin' that I'd be happy doin' what other people do. You know what? I like doin' what I do. I watch TV, I fix up trucks, do a bit of huntin' and eat burgers and drink beer. It ain't fancy. It ain't expensive.
But it is me.
| 58 | My 10 biggest mistakes after winning millions in the lottery. | 58 |
My eyes snapped open, expecting to see the steady light of morning streaming from behind my blinds.
Instead there was... nothing.
I blinked a few times. Screwed my eyes shut and opened them again. Still nothing.
'Oh god' my mind muttered as the first few pangs of panic lanced through me. 'Ive gone blind'
'Help!' I cried, thrashing back and forth. 'Help!'
In the midst of my terror I realised something. I was no longer in my bed. I was lying on a cool, smooth surface, with no discernible edges.
I calmed down somewhat, hyperventilating, as the fear worked its way out of my system, to be replaced by a very strange, and surprising, sense of curiosity.
I placed my hands along my body, seeing if I had undergone any other unwelcome physical changes.
'Nothing so far...' I murmured, but I did find my box of matches I had used to light my cigarettes the night before. My lighter had run out of juice and I hadn't gotten around to buying a new one. Remembering something so banal was conforming. Only one left too. Fancied a cig before work in the morning, I thought.
Satisfied, I tried to keep my worry under control. The question now was... where have I woken up?
I could use the match to investigate if I am truly blind, but what if I am? The disappointment would be crushing. I'm not sure I could deal with that. But isn't it better to know, rather than wonder?
And what if I'm not the only one in this space? What if other people are trapped here, will I be intruding on them?
But I really want to know if I'm blind. Bugger the rest of them.
I strike the match. | 12 | You wake up to complete darkness in an unknown setting, with nothing but 1 match and the depths of your imagination. | 18 |
Empty. Again for the third straight week. It had filled slightly when the old man suggested the meaning of life was about 2 kilograms of flax. But he lost it the next day when he tripped over that same bag of flax in to the laundry bin. The others had stopped making fun of him when they noticed their own bars defeated a little each time they made a jab.
All he got now was pity.
He didn't need pity. He didn't really need anything. Since the reformation, a lot of daily needs were met. He had a nice place, a room to himself. The love of a beautiful woman would be nice but he knew that desire wouldn't get him far. Besides he had love. All his fellows loved him, he knew. But it wasn't fulfilling.
He wanted that damn bar full. A full bar would get him places. Respect and admiration, suddenly pupils would be asking HIM questions and he'd get to give all the cryptic answers.
"2 kilos of flax." He muttered under his breath while he got dressed. It had been there. He has been so close. He just about had it, and it was gone. As he walked out in to the hall he could see the looks of disappointment flower over him.
"Nothing today brother? Ah maybe tomorrow." Ed chimed in cheerfully. Ed's bar was nearly full. He didn't have many cares, always very relaxed. In the first week he had tried that himself but he got scolded for shirking his duties. How had Ed gotten by without doing his? Maybe he simply didn't care if he was scolded. It was Ed's laundry that he had fallen in to after all. Well, his duty to clean it.
The old man found him at breakfast and say beside him in silence. The old man was cheerful, always. His bar had been full four times since he met the geezer. That was the thing, it could always empty, but fill right up again.
Just like the flax.
Nothing. He barely had a moment to ponder that before being summoned to his duties. The old man wished him well and went back to his oats. "2 kilos of flax my rear end. The old man was just toying with me."
A day of sweeping and scrubbing followed. It was easy to think on these days, but made ever difficult by the stares of his fellows. How could anyone truly achieve enlightenment with this kind of pressure? He didn't care. He was all but ready to give up on the idea.
Summoned again. This time to help prepare the evening's meal. The kitchens were a hussle of people and ingredients. Large bags of all manner of food being flung about to make food for all the fellows. Less people staring, but no time to think. Too busy.
This work he liked. He wasn't stuck inside himself, he wasn't tormented with the long stares and awkward silence. He completely forgot himself in to a bowl of flour.
He worked and worked, unaware of the growing silence surrounding him. The flour became dough in his hands, and soon loaves. The growing stares and attention went straight through him. Nothing at all mattered to him in that moment. A fellow asked him as he worked "what have you got here?"
"About 4 loaves of bread"
And his bar was full. | 170 | Buddhism is now the only world religion, and everyone takes it very seriously. In addition, everyone has a 'progress' bar above their head to indicate their level of enlightenment. | 192 |
Phoenix cracked open a beer and handed it to Fiend. Wiping soot from the tab, Fiend sighed.
"We've been doing this for a long time, Alan."
Phoenix shifted in his lawn chair, adjusting the crotch of his flight suit as he squirmed.
"Too long, I think. Remember the times we had right here?"
Fiend grinned, his red eyes aflame. "Do you remember Sarah? Grade seven?"
"Of course I do," Phoenix laughed, "My first kiss, right here in this backyard. Did I ever tell you that your mom, bless her, watched the whole thing through the kitchen window?"
Fiend burst out into snorts. "No you didn't! Damn, the stuff that happened in my yard."
There was a silence. The wind whistled through a well-tended Japanese maple, and rustled the garden.
Phoenix smiled wryly at Fiend. "You fucker, you stole her by the end of the week."
"It was grade seven, dude! She dated every guy in our class!"
"And she didn't change in high school, either. She must have slept her way through half the school. And the other half were straight girls."
Fiend snickered. "No one ever changes."
"Well..." Phoenix cast a glance across the patio at his old friend. Fiend met his eyes, and they shared a nod.
Without words, they stacked their chairs. Phoenix hopped the chain-link fence, walking a dozen meters away from the house to take off. Fiend did the same, on the opposite end of the yard.
With a burst of fire and pulse of darkness, the two friends rocketed in the air. The sky was red, and the sun streamed past black thunder clouds to land on a broken landscape. Great fissures were open in the earth, gushing lava and ash. Lightning touched down on every dead tree.
Before they engaged, Phoenix and Fiend checked the old home of their childhood. The Japanese maple still had the wind whistling through it, and the garden was still rustled by the breeze. Even if the whole world burned, that land was sacred.
Across kilometers of empty air, Phoenix and Fiend locked eyes.
*We've changed,* they both thought, and began.
| 11 | You gain superpowers, but your closest friend slowly becomes your arch nemesis. Describe your last OR first encounter. | 17 |
"Supreme leader, the western nations.. they laugh at us. Make fun of our economy, our food shortages, our governmental policies! Our threats of nuclear war are easily dismissed and even challenged! There is talk of airstrikes on our holy lands. I know you know best, but you must see that North Korea as a Republic must defend its honor, its image!! We cannot allow such a threat to be unanswered!!" cried out the Chairman of the Assembly Presidium
"We are a world power Chairman! The people of this republic will defend and die for this land at an instant prompt." Kim Jong Un reminded the Chairman "The Americans themselves couldn't defeat us back when they were truly a world power, how can they do it now? They would be issuing their own suicide if they attack us. "
"I remember supreme leader, the Americans have tried countless times to defeat us, to break us, yet we always come out on top. However what if they succeed this time? What if those barbarians can muster up the strength to break through out nations iron walls? Do we give them the chance?" The chairman was confused, lost, scared. Emotions pounded within him, fear and uncertainty were overwhelming him. " If they do not fear us, then they do not fear anything. That makes a disastrous scenario."
"Chairman, your fears are unwarrented. Do you not believe in the republic? We have been strong for years, and will remain strong for many years to come" Kim Jong Un replied without hesitating.
"Supreme leader! I do not understand how you do not understand the threat we have at bay here. Our people are starving, their faith is wavering. The western nations talk about us as a cancer needing to be dealt with. How on earth do you remain so calm and sure of the republic supreme leader!??"
"Because chairman we have the ultimate weapon"
"Supreme leader! Between me and you we both know we are outnumbered in our nuclear arsenal! We even lack the technology to send a ballistic missile to the US. We can brain wash the people, but we have to remember what we know to be true!"
"Silly chairman. You think we are threatening nations will nuclear weapons? Nuclear weapons are outdated, the medium used in the cold war. No... Korea is much more advanced than Nuclear weapons" The Supreme leader then walked over to his bookcase and pulled a secret lever. The book case spun and a staircase was revealed. "Follow me Chairman" the supreme leader yelled out as he started making his way down the stairs
When the two men reached the end of the stairs there was a huge screen illuminting the room with a computer console attached to the bottom of it. Kim Jong Un flipped on the lights. It was a dark moist lair, the air was stuffy, and had nothing other then the screen and computer in it.
" This is the weapon of the future Chairman" snickered Kim Jong Un
" What is this supreme leader? Is it a laser? Does it conduct airstrikes? Can you hack the American economy from it?"
"Easy now chairman. And no.. this doesn't do anything like this. It holds the key to unleashing a power like nothing ever known to man. Tell me chairman, who is the most powerful being you know of?"
"You sir!"
"Yes, and would you go as far as calling me a god chairman?"
"Of course! without a doubt, no one has or can rule with such an authority as you have. No one can match you power supreme leader!" The chairman stated as he bowed down.
" Stand up chairman, It is true, I am very powerful. But I am no god. Feast your eyes on this, this is true power. This is a GOD!" Kim Jong Un began typing in the computer console, when a live video feed came onto the screen. It was a monster like never before seen. It had rows onto rows of teeth like a shark. The mouth could not contain all the teeth, as many were seen spilling from the would itself. The face covered in blood. The skin resembled that of a tanks exterior. It laid there, sleeping and chained to a wall.
This Chairman, is the GOD. This creature has power like we have never seen before. Many generations ago we discovered this beast, the last of its kind. It survived the mass extinction which hit the dinosaurs, it survived years of the ice age which followed. In fact, it even swallowed a nuclear explosion like nothing even happened."
"Wha... ho... "
"Save your words chairman. The creature is asleep, after it feeds, it enters a slumber period... like a hibernation period if you wish."
"Is this why we have been having food shortages!? you have been feeding this monster??" wined the chairman
" Actually yes"
" What if you do not feed him enough? And he wakes and destroys the our republic?"
" Ahh, that cannot happen, because this creature is not here"
" What do you mean supreme leader?"
" This monster, this *thing* is off the coast of California, ready to attack when we unleash him."
At that moment Kim Jong Un's phone rang, it was his highest ranking general, " Oh supreme leader the Americans! They have stationed aircraft carriers outside our ports, insisting that that a strike is eminent, unless we relinquish our nuclear arms!"
".... Well General , I say we agree to their terms" Said Kim Jong Un ever so calmly.
The general was astonished, " if.. if.. thats what you wish sir"
Kim Jong Un hang up the phone and turned to his Chairman, "It is time" | 14 | Godzilla is real and is North Korea's secret weapon. | 20 |
The lighting was dim and the place smelt of sweat and stale beer. A greasy carpet underfoot showed a flowery pattern, now faded almost beyond recognition. Once, that pale brownish pink was a rich vermilion and the dusty grey a solid, deep-hued black.
The man sat at the table.
They were late.
Well, it was only to be expected. In the history of time, no one had ever quite matched Death for *punctuality*.
One finger idly stirred the beer in his glass. If you happened to glance over at the right - or rather, the wrong - moment, you'd have sworn that through the glass the finger looked ... skeletal. You'd have shaken your head and resolved to get off the sauce, but you would not be able to shake that image until the day you died and met the man in person. Death was a stocky man, maybe later thirties, with hair starting to grey and lines around his eyes. He looked tired, he looked old, but in a comforting, avuncular way. Someone who liked motorcycles and fell asleep in front of the Channel 4 Racing, instead of someone who reaped the immortal souls of the human race.
Death WAS tired, inasmuch as he had any concept of it. His day had been long; it had lasted millenia. And now, just as he thought it had been drawing to a final, eventual close, something had *come up*, someone had *fucked up*, and those smarmy arse-bastard archangels had said *sorry, we're going to need you to come in at the weekend*.
Fuck that. He was going to the pub.
On the other side of the bar, the door slammed open. Framed in the doorway stood the biggest man Death had ever seen (and he'd seen a lot of men. Nearly all of them, in fact.) The mood in the pub palpably soured. Sad-eyed old men staring into their pints began to side-eye each other. *What's that you said about my Doris?* Death resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He raised his hand as the huge man stamped forwards, taking a drink off a table as he did so. The drink's previous owner opened his mouth and thought better of it. The big man sat down heavily and sighed, the long, pent-up sigh of a man finally sitting down after centuries of warfare.
Neither man spoke. What was there to say? *Ah, Death, the implacable and pitiless force that every living thing must fall to. How's your wife? She's very well, War, who personifies the innate fascination of humanity with bloody pointless slaughter. And your lovely mother?* So they drank in silence until the door opened again, this time with a barely audible creak. The next man to enter was a small man. His hair was plastered severely to his skull and his little eyes blinked owlishly behind a pair of spectacles. His hands were nervous, always fidgeting and pulling at each other, his sleeve, his ear, his hem. His shoulders were narrow and his suit, although very clean, was ill-fitting. He looked like a gust of wind could blow him away. Unlike the other two, this man wanted to talk.
"Hello, hello, War, Death. And what about this business with the Antichrist, then, hey? Who, who do they think they are? Those shining celestial beings in their towers of light? I should like to tell them where to go! This is their mess, not ours, but who gets to clean it up? I tell you, gentlemen, I am sick to endless oblivion of *archangels*. You just grant me a face-to-face with Michael..."
War and Death shared a look over the little man's head. He was Famine, a traditionally non-confrontational Horseman who nevertheless talked big. Anyway, it was almost impossible to get a face-to-face meeting with the Archangel Michael. Not even Death had managed it, and he was ultimately more powerful than anything Heaven had to offer.
"Let's no' talk about work," rumbled War, the first words the big man had spoken since entering the pub. He did not tend to use his words very often. Normally seen stripped to the waist and daubed in woad, War was looking especially presentable in black trousers and a black t-shirt (he liked black - it didn't show blood). He'd even combed his beard. He too had had to attend a "Project Progress Conference" with a couple of shiny-haired shiny-suited *efficiency specialists* who called him "sir" and smiled *all the bloody time*. It had not left him in a good mood. Even brave, no-nonsense, just-let-me-at-em Famine shut his mouth.
"Oh, I *so* agree," murmured a voice, seemingly out of thin air. "We have so many *other* things to chat about..."
Famine yelped, War growled, and Death said "For His sake, use the damn door!" with annoyance. A grin on his face, Pestilence, the fourth Horseman, moved into the light. He came in the dark when you were not expecting him.
"Sorry," he said, trying for sincerity and nearly making it. "I must have missed the invitation".
"No invitation," replied Death in a softer voice. "Since when have YOU needed an invitation?"
"I get invited to lots of places, thank you," replied Pestilence stiffly. "Open sewers, bad water, rubbish tips ... I mean they're not gold-embossed formal declarations like *some* people can expect, but they're quite good enough for little old me."
"What do *you* think about this Antichrist business, then?" asked Famine, perhaps emboldened by the presence of his closest ally. "Don't you have something of a stake in it?"
"Me?" replied Pestilence. "No, that idiot Graham was talking a lot of rubbish. No, I got to field those two cocksuckers from the Upper Office telling me they *appreciate my work* and *hope to continue this arrangement for the mutual benefit of all parties concerned*. Fuckers."
"I did think you were looking a bit cleaner than normal."
"Well, thanks for noticing."
"But what are we going to *do* about this? This is the end times, the apocalypse. The Rapture is scheduled for next month, and they don't have an Antichrist!"
"Well?" War spoke up. "It's no' *our* responsibility. I say let's drink and forget about it,"
Famine pursed his lips. "That's all very well for *you* to say," he said archly. "You *like* your job. How much fun do you think there is in potato blight?"
Pestilence smiled. "That was a good year."
"How much fun do you think there is in the bloody desert? It's hot as fuck and sand gets up your arsecrack. Half the time it's kiddies strapped to bombs and the other half it's *computers*. There's no' any *soul* in war these day."
The other three looked at him. He glared back. That was the largest amount of words they'd ever heard War say in one go; clearly something was on his mind, and he was just *daring* them to ask what it was.
"We could... we could just do it ourselves?" suggested Pestilence tentatively.
"Apocalypse with no Antichrist? Don't be fuckin' stupid," growled War.
Death, who had until this moment been watching the junior members (as he thought of them) bicker with something approaching amusement, now spoke up. "War's right. We can't do it ourselves." He paused and took a sip of his drink. "The way I see it there's two options. We could sit tight and trust to God's ineffable plan (*"Hah!"*), or we could do the legwork ourselves. There's an Antichrist on earth and if we can find him we can enact this apocalypse".
"But if not even *Heaven* could..."
"*Heaven*, Famine, is full of incompetents. If you ask my honest opinion I think they're scared. I think they know exactly where the Antichrist is and I think they are *shielding* him. You know that *middle management* was a concept thought up Down Below, right? I didn't. Neither did them upstairs. They were all congratulating themselves on creating a creature so *innovative* and *out-of-the-box* (and guess where *those* phrases came from!) they didn't even *think* about the possibility it was a *suggestion*. So they started *adopting policies* and *synergizing*, and now Heaven is a big bloated bureaucratic *corpse* of an institution, and they know that *they cannot win the coming war*.
Death sat back and took a deep breath. He was *angry*. Although technically on the side of Right and Good, he was really a neutral force and he had no special loyalty to Heaven's cause. In other iterations he may not have been able to say the same for his companions, but this latest round of bullshit had really been the final straw. The Horsemen were tired. Eternity was a long time to be working and then to be told at the eleventh hour that there would be no relief ... well, there was bullshit and then there was bullshit. This was the latter category. Death leant in.
"I see *everything*," he said quietly. "You cannot run and you cannot hide from me. I will find the Antichrist. I will find him and we will ride forth as we were prophesied to do. We will bring about the End of Days, we will see every angel in Heaven slaughtered, and then we will finally - *finally* - have peace."
| 22 | The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse meet in a pub to commiserate over their seeming inability to bring about the end of days. | 15 |
A stranger has come to visit me. She says she is family, but I have no family. No wife, no children, no parents, no siblings. I've never laid eyes on her before. Nonetheless, I can't deny our connection. She has my clear grey eyes and ginger hair and the same distinctive jawline and cheekbones. And moreover, the tenderness with which she treats me in my fragile state, clinging to this world by a thread, says more than appearances ever could. She is sorry she never had the chance to see me before and she sheds a tear at seeing me in this state, and the gentle warmth of her hand round mine is all the comfort in the world.
She tells me about her life. Her happy family childhood back in my old home town, after I'd already left. The success she'd enjoyed at college, buoyed up by the support from her father telling her that hard work would bring such rewards. The hard lessons she'd learnt in love and the joy she'd won in return when she discovered what was right for her. Whatever my conservative views, I could feel her joy when she described falling in love with a woman for the first time and my antipathy towards that lifestyle was swept away by the smile on her face.
She asked me about my life. My sorry childhood didn't match up to hers, raised with the fear of hell and beatings that left me always battling to prove myself as an adult. When I left for university it was a weight released, but the discipline stood me in good stead. My self-control won me awards, a career that from the first day supported me, the girl I loved, our dream wedding and home and everything she and I wanted. But then my need to prove myself took everything away. When I was offered my dream job on the other coast, she wouldn't come. Her family and friends meant more to her than me. She wanted me to decline it, but I saw that as failure. She stayed and I went and we tossed our marriage away.
I threw myself into my career to numb the pain, and my success was tremendous, but with no one to make happy with it, the shine was gone. Woman after woman came into my life and left but I never found love again. Looking into this stranger's eyes, I can see my ex-wife's love for me shining through and what I've known for years comes flooding out in tears - I walked away from the best thing I could ever have had.
She cradles me close as the regret consumes me. I blink through my tears and ask her, *what if? What if I'd stayed? I could've been so happy. I could've had the world.* I wish I'd realised then what was of true value, as I do now. Here I am, alone, with only a stranger to see me through my darkest, final night.
She wipes away my tears with gentle fingers. *The world,* she whispers, *and more. Your wife would have loved you more each day. And you could have had me, dad. You could have had me.* | 2,466 | You're on your death bed, and the personification of your greatest regret has come to say goodbye. | 860 |
*Someone actually decided this ball of dust was worth settling.* That was the part Mal just couldn't understand. Some folk had actually decided to leave wherever they was and come here. *What could've been so bad that this seemed better?* Whole planet was so dry that it actually took special equipment just to get any moisture out of it so the locals could farm. But someone had to carry that *yi dui lese* from where it was made to here. And for once the job hadn't gone totally *li xing*. So while Kaylee checked the junk shops for something to patch up the boat and the others did... whatever it was they did in port, Mal had time to check out the local bar.
*Least this gou-shi-kong has an actual bar,* Mal'd been on rocks where the "bar" was a piece of wood propped on empty kegs. This world was just out of the way enough that smugglers liked to base here, without being so far out that it never saw any traffic. If Mal could make a contact there might just be some good jobs to be found here after all.
The bar itself wasn't bad compared to what he'd seen. There was a band in the corner playing a catchy tune, the kind that'd be stuck in his head for weeks. Fellow minding the bar didn't look all that clean, *Best get something strong, just for sanitation reasons.* There was an empty seat next to a fellow wearing a vest and a prominently displayed weapon, "This seat taken?"
"My copilot just left to talk to a potential client. Help yourself." Mal took the seat and the man introduced himself, "I'm Han Solo, Captain of the *Millennium Falcon*." He acted like this name should mean something. Maybe Captain Solo was a local celebrity.
"Thanks," Mal sat down and gestured to the barkeep for whatever Captain Solo was drinking. He seemed to think it was safe anyway. "Name's Malcolm Reynolds, Captain of *Serenity*. You been in port long?" Best find out all he could about the area, especially if there were jobs to be had. No one out this far would care about the Doc or his crazy sister.
"Not this time around, I'm just here to pay of some debts and look for work." He looked around at the word "debt." *Seems Captain Solo owes someone who its best not owing money to.* Someone to avoid, or someone he could get work from?
"Who on this *sha dui* could you owe money to?"
"You ever heard of Jabba the Hut?" Mal shook his head. "Lucky you. I had to dump a cargo the slug hired me to carry before being boarded by a cruiser. He didn't take it well. I've got to buy some time to pay him off."
"Better than blowing a deal with Nishka. That *fengzhi* won't even let you pay him off." Mal rubbed the small scar behind his ear. *Gotta admit, Doc does good work.*
________________________________________________
"Castle, are you seriously writing fan fiction?" Shit, he hadn't heard Becket coming up behind him.
This was embarrassing. Castle slammed the laptop closed faster than if he'd been watching porn, "It helps me focus to get out of my own characters' heads and into someone else's." He was talking fast, maybe he could play this off, "It's like walking away from a case to look at something else and let your mind work it over. Please don't tell Ryan and Esposito...." | 15 | Captain Malcolm Renyolds (Firefly) lands and at Mos Eisley Cantina for a drink. Han Solo is sitting beside him. They chat. | 17 |
Coming up with the idea for this one was difficult. Nice prompt, though. It was so unexpectedly funny I had to laugh. I hope you don't mind that I'm about to crush your soul and feed it to you through a straw.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Say cheese, hon!" I yelled through the loud buzz of the office at work. Helen rolled her eyes and groaned, but a white flash of teeth underneath her covering hand gave me a rush of pleasure knowing I'd made her smile.
"Todd, come on. Work isn't the time for playing around." I chuffed in annoyance. "So when is? Home, right? Oh wait, no, Kelly has soccer and Jacquelyn needs to be told a bedtime story." I snapped another picture. "After the kids go to bed all you want to do is either sleep or watch The Notebook. Again."
"It's a great movie!" Helen protested, leaping for the camera as I dangled it above her reach. "So what if I watch it a lot, it's just an excellent piece of filmmaking..."
"I'm making a film of an excellent piece right now, Helen," I joked, taking a picture from above. The Kodak whirred and kachunked, registering what I could only assume to be a truly excellent picture of Helen's cleavage. My wife was not a well-endowed woman by any means, but that didn't matter much to me. Not with her eyes, and her hair, and her nose, and her small petite hands, and her fingernails which were never painted because she could never decide what kind of nail polish she wanted to wear.
Almost too late, I noticed the quick, tiger-like spring, and then she was climbing my torso, triumphantly snatching the camera and getting in a nice, slow bump that made me think about grabbing the camera again just to hold it in the same place once more.
She put the viewfinder to her face and instantly froze. I was seized by some irrational fear and turned to see a plane rapidly increasing in size fly quickly towards our location. Someone called 911, I think, but it was too late by then, of course. The plane took a nosedive, barely missing us, but I felt rather than heard the impact. It was a soul-crushing feeling, a rumble that signified worse things to come.
Someone screamed.
The office seemed hotter already. Heat rises, doesn't it? I grabbed the Kodak and took picture after picture, frantically snapping photos to record for the rest of eternity. Tongue out in frustration, I wound the small yellow and black camera until it wouldn't go anymore, and then I felt the tears stream down my face as I squeezed my eyelids hotly shut.
"Bob." I said loudly, and Bob froze.
An overweight man, to put it mildly, Bob was nonetheless a genuinely happy-go-lucky, funny guy. He used his colossal midsection as a means to popularity. Everyone loved Bob. Last year's Halloween party, he had gone as...
"A skydiver." I said, looking directly at him. He paled, fumbling with a suspicious lump in the rolls of fat at his waist.
"I d-don't understand what you-"
"Give it to me."
"No! I have to get-"
"Give it to me, God dammit, or I will slit your fucking throat and feed your corpse to Brenda." The mention of our HR secretary, a cutthroat businesswoman who still looked 30 though she was well into her 50s, was supposed to lighten the mood. Who doesn't like good old jokes about feasting on the flesh of innocents to maintain eternal youth? But Bob didn't seem to register that. He threw the package at me, blubbering the whole time, and I felt bad for a fraction of a second.
"Saved by a joke," I muttered as I raced across the office, papers scattering behind me. I thrust the package and the camera into Helen's shaking hands and shattered the window with a sharp jab of my elbow.
"PUT IT ON," I yelled over the roar of the wind and our coworkers, over the flames that lapped hungrily at my toes. "GO. GO. GO."
To her credit, she never looked back once. The backpack went onto her back and she crumpled up the camera and the note in her fist and out she went.
Instantly, I crumpled. I stared down at my hands, empty now. I stared down at where my wife was gently floating, buoyed by the hot fires of the burning jet, and I watched as the second plane hit. I watched, and I sat, and I waited calmly for death.
Brenda sat next to me.
"What did you write?" she asked, quietly.
"Flip the pictures," I responded, dully.
"What did the pictures say?"
I turned my head. Eyes aflame, cheeks dripping with fear, pain, and anguish.
Slowly, carefully, I mouthed three words. | 32 | It's September 11th, 2001. After seeing a massive explosion occur 20 floors below your office, you hold in your trembling hands the parachute you jokingly brought with you to the office your first day of work | 34 |
"So, what sort of symptoms have you been having?" the doctor asked kindly.
I averted my eyes. It was embarrassing, and I didn't want to talk about it.
"Come one, don't be shy. I don't bite." He smiled warmly at me.
I took a deep breath. I figured it would be easier to start with some of the other symptoms first, so I started there.
"Well... I've been getting angry a lot, lately. It's like... I get mad for no reason."
The doctor nodded, silently indicating for me to continue.
"That's not normal for me. I've... always been a quiet guy. And on top of that, I've been feeling pretty sick lately."
The doctor wrote something on his clipboard. "Sick as in how?" he asked.
"I've had a hard time keeping down food. Lots of puking after I eat. I've been hungry a lot lately, but I can't stomach my usual foods..." I trailed off, uncomfortable. I looked down nervously, trying to remember anything else.
"I... uh... well, I've been growing a lot of hair recently," I stammered.
The doctor gave me a funny look. "Really? Your hair seems fine to me. It doesn't look to be any different."
I felt my face flush hot. "Err... not the hair on my head. Um... other places. It kinda itches, too."
"Itchiness, you say? Where does it itch most?"
I glanced down uncomfortably at my crotch, but didn't say anything. The doctor must have noticed, however, as he said, "Are there any other symptoms... down there? Perhaps I should take a look."
I crossed my legs uncomfortably and shook my head, too scared and embarrassed to say anything.
"Go on and pull your pants down so I can take a look." When I continued to sit, the doctor gave a short laugh. "Don't worry, there's really nothing to be embarrassed about. I've seen it all before. I promise I won't judge you."
My face was hot as I stood up silently, and I felt extremely uncomfortable as I slid my pants down. The doctor gave me a friendly smile as I did so. Then, a moment later, "Holy shit. Except for that. That's definitely a first for me." His eyes went wide as he spied the two-foot long tail that I had kept hidden in my pants. It was covered in bushy grey and brown hair, or more accurately, fur.
At his exclamation, it had tucked itself firmly between my legs, which didn't make me feel better at all. I said, shaking, "Err... I think I might be a... um... werewolf."
The doctor didn't say anything for a bit. He just stared, blinking, at the tail as it quivered between my legs. Finally, he looked up at me and said, "Have you tried going to a vet?" | 17 | "There's really nothing to be embarrassed about. I've seen it all before," the doctor says. Then, a moment later, "Holy shit. Except for that. That's definitely a first for me." | 20 |
Hard day's work. Eleven hours at the office, it's time for you to put your feet up. To relax. Grab a beer and watch the game. She's got the kids so it's just you and your Eagles for the evening. Sure is nice when things work out, isn't it? You haven't had a *real* night off like this in years. Babies are tough, twins are even tougher. It always seemed like they were taking shifts waking up, those two, doing their best to keep their parents from sleeping. If you didn't love 'em so much, you'd hate em, ya know?
But tonight? Tonight is your night off. Tonight it's you and the boob tube. It's you, the Dolphins and the Eagles. The game is nearing when the door opens. She walks in, her belly round with a bag of groceries.
You shoot up, and greet her, kiss her and ask her how her days was. Then it strikes you, she's alone. Where are the kids?
"Where are the kids?" you ask her.
She smiles, as if it's some sort of joke. "Not quite here yet." she responds.
Your not sure why your question was funny but they must be at Aiden's down the street. They always like hanging out with Aiden, it was probably his giant trampoline and big screen TV. It's not right, really, they don't even have to try to get their kids to like 'em. You actually have to *work,* spend time with them and help 'em grow. You like the long game though, you're involved so you'll be with them till the end.
You help her with the groceries, take them back to the kitchen. The announcers are talking about the Dolphin's offense, their decisive strikes.
"So they're down at Aiden's I'm assuming?"
She looks at you again, "Who?"
You smile and tilt your head, *come on,* your actions tell her. "The kids."
Before she can answer, Jaime calls from the other side of the house. "Dad!" You smile, they must have ran to the back yard before walking into the house.
"Coming, Jaime!" You walk to the back door and look outside. Hide and seek is his favorite game, but Scout always gives him away. Every time they find a good spot, she has to go the bathroom and gets up, revealing them both.
You look in all their usual hiding spots (they're not so good at the whole 'ingenuity' thing yet) and can't find them.
"Where are they?" you ask her when you come back inside. Shes reading a magazine article, she never was too good at multitasking and must have missed the question.
You walk past her an call through the house. "Jaime? Scout? Are you guys here? Jaime? Scout?"
You move through the house, checking the kitchen, the pantry, the garage and the living room. The Eagles just won the coin toss and have chosen to receive.
Your walking down the stairs now. "I can't find them. Can you help me please?"
She looks up from her magazine, "Hmm? Sorry I missed that."
"Dad?" Jaime calls to you.
"Ah, are you hiding in here?" you say, walking towards the kitchen.
Just as you start checking under the table he calls
"Dad?"
again. Your head jolts up and you listen for another call.
"What are you doing?"
"You didn't hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Jaime he-"
"Dad!"
There's fear behind the voice, you can hear it. Fatherly instincts kick in your boy is in danger. But the voice, seems distant... and yet close. Its like hearing it through a pair of earbuds. You can't quite figure out where the source is
"Dad!"
Near the sink.
"DAD!" His voice is shrill now, something terrifies him. You've heard that version of 'dad' many times in the middle of the night. He's having a night terror again, maybe he fell asleep under the sink? It seems mad, but there's no time to explain it to yourself.
**"Dad!!"**
"I'm coming, Jaime!" you call out to him. "Where are you?!"
"What are you doing?" she asks.
**"DAD!"**
In the background, you can hear the TV is roaring. The Dolphins have scored. It puzzles you, because it's thursday and the Dolphins and Eagles game isn't until monday, why would they be --
Crying now, not just Jaime but Scout too, they're crying. Screaming. Blood curdling cries are coming from below the kitchen sink. For the first time in your life, you know it's happening. It's real. Your kids are *dying* damnit! Are you going to do something? Are you going to fight? Are you going to just let them die?! What kind of father are you?
"You're scaring me, stop screaming, hun." She says from over your shoulder. "What are you yelling at?" There's a fear in her eyes, like walking in the path of some apex predator, she's unsure as to what to do next.
"THEY'RE HURT! JAIME?! SCOUT?! WHERE ARE YOU?!" you call out to them.
Your tearing apart the kitchen now, throwing drawers, ripping open cabinets shouting - "I'M COMING, HOLD ON." But the kids don't listen, their cries of anguish continue.
"DADDY!" they cry out, "HELP US!"
Tears form in your eyes, you grit your teeth. You'll tear this whole fucking house apart if it means saving your children.
"Stop!" She calls from behind you, "STOP IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
You turn and face her, breathing heavy, how can she not see what's at stake? How can she be so *stupid* to ask you such a question. She's wasting time!
"You're not making any sense. You're scaring me, look at what you've done to the kitchen." she says incredulously.
"Jaime and Scout need me!" you turn back to your work. "JAIME! SCOUT!" You run back into the living room.
"Did you change the channel?" You ask her. The question feels stupid, yet somehow also the most important.
"What?"
"Did you change the channel?! I was just watching the game."
"Are you serious?"
You grab her by the arms, "Did you change the channel?! Answer the damn question, Helen!"
She recoils beneath your firm grip and winces at the volume of every word. "No! I didn't touch your stupid fucking TV, *what is going on?! What are you doing?"*
Animal Planet. How did it get changed to Animal Planet? You grip your head in your hands as you try to think back. The family pictures. That'll prove to her, that'll show her she's being crazy.
"Please," she starts, "you're acting very - "
"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE PICTURES!?" you scream at her. They're gone. The pictures of your two kids, inseparable since their conception. She's removed the school pictures, the family pictures and everything involved with your two children. Why would she do that to you? All that's left are your wedding photos, a few travel photos and her pregnancy announcement.
"What the fuck have you done with them?" you ask her. It's her, she's the one what took them. She's put them somewhere safe, somewhere dangerous, somewhere horrible. Your not sure why, but she's done something the kids. *Your* kids.
"WHO?!" she calls back to you. "What are you talking about?!"
"SCOUT AND JAIME!" you say, incredulously. What kind of stupid fucking question is that?
"Who are Scout and Jaime! You're making absolutely *no* sense!"
"Who are Scout and Jaime?! For Christ's sake, Helen. They're our kids!"
"*We don't have any kids yet!*" She cries from the other side of the room. "*You sound crazy!* I have no idea what you are talking about! Please, stop. This is stupid, this isn't funny. The prank's over, ok? You got me. I thoroughly frightened, but please, *please,* STOP!" The two of you don't say anything for a long time. She's a lost cause, you realize. Something has happened and she's forgetting. Perhaps she's drunk, you don't know, but right now you have to save your children.
*"DAD!"* they call to you, right on queue. "DAD, HELP US!"
She's moved to pick up the phone. David Attenborough is explaining the magnifying lens Eagles have in their eyes.
You run back into the kitchen and start your destructive search again.
She's crying again, talking to someone on the other line.
"I'm coming, hold on, guys! I'm coming!" You try to ease their fears, but it's to no avail. Their screams and cries of terror ring in your ears. It resonates in your mind, anger fills in your heart; if only you could reach them. If only you could hold them. *I'm coming, Jaime. I'm coming, Scout. Hold on.*
There's a knocking at your door, your wife answers it and lets the men in. | 75 | Using the 2nd person, write a gradual descent into madness wherein the reader does not immediately realize it is happening. | 123 |
Colonel Victor Ford silently made his way to the beaten down porch of his childhood house.
He was surprised to find it still standing. It must have been a century old by now, nearly done with its lifespan. It would die with him. The old man hesitantly took a few steps outward, not trusting the wood to keep underneath him.
He was still in shock from the call.
Victor had seen it coming, the inevitable call. It still hit him by surprise. Caroline was leaving. He couldn't blame her, really, he was hardly home and when he was, his mind was occupied on other things. If she just knew what he did, she would understand why he needed to work so much.
Once Major General, Victor was demoted for his '*hysteria*' about extra-terrestrial life. They would have honorably discharged him, but a few friends in high places managed to keep him in. But even they didn't believe him.
Victor let out a short breath and walked to the edge of the porch, staring up into the dark night sky. "I know you're out there."
A particularly bright start blinked. One quick blink, a pause, a long blink, another pause, another long blink.
W.
Victor held his breath. It was probably a coincidence, but his eyes were on the lookout ever since his first contact, all those years ago. If they were communicating, Morse code would make sense, one of the earliest international communication methods.
A quick blink. E.
Victor watched as the light continued blinking. *WE CAN SEE YOU*.
He was completely still. The floorboards cracked underneath his dead weight.
"Victor." A voice from behind him. How did anyone know where he was. The house was abandoned. "Victor, what are you doing up?"
Victor turned around and looked at the voice. It was a woman. Maybe 40 years old, brunette, short, glasses. He had to tell her. "I saw them."
"Saw who, Victor?"
He pointed behind him, still watching the woman. "Up there, can you read Morse code?"
She shook her head. "I'm not a veteran, Victor, just a nurse."
He narrowed his eyes. A nurse?
He turned around and looked back up, but was met with a ceiling. A dull white paint. "Where am I?"
"Saint George." She looked sad.
"A hospital?" Victor blinked. When did he leave his house?
"In a way." She spoke softly.
"But I saw it." Victor's voice wasn't enthusiastic anymore. "I saw it."
She was silent.
"Where's my wife? I want to see my wife."
The nurse's eyes were full of pity.
"Come on Victor." She walked over and grabbed him under the arm. Victor didn't know how to react. "Let's get you to your room." | 578 | You are on your back porch alone staring into a starry night. Able to read morse code, you notice that a star is blinking a message. "We..can..see..you.." | 894 |
At a lone desk a pimple-ridden man in a tailor made suit sat. Beads of sweat formed and fell in massive platoons from the barracks that was his hair - his bright red tie grew dark and heavy with the liquid it had absorbed during the first five minutes of what could be an hour long consultation.
He looked up from a now damp stack of papers that lay on the desk and turned his attention to the towering, muscular and ultimately intimidating daemon that stood behind him.
"Lord Darkness-" he began to speak, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
"Please, call me Julian - or Julie for short" the Lord of Darkness insisted in a voice that would make gravel feel smooth.
"Alright, Lord ... uhm ... Julie-", he started again as a regiment of sweat hurried down his back "- would it be possible to conduct this consultation somewhere, well, else?"
The beast was mortified and in a shriek of disbelief questioned the lawyer.
"Why, mere mortal, would you like to go elsewhere?" his expression grew disdainful "Do you not *like* my pits of torments, do you not think they're *classy* enough for you"
"No, n- no! Of course not! They're truly-uhm-damning!" he stumbled over his words as additional sweat dripped in fear "But could we not go s-somewhere the walls are not composed of brimstone".
The beast shook his disfigured face in disapproval, raised his hand and clicked his fingers - the gap in the brimstone that had served as the only entrance grew in from its borders, leaving the room sealed.
"Read, puny mortal!" the daemon commanded.
Minutes passed slowly, the terrified acne-ridden man read the paper in silence while his client swayed rhythmically to the occasional screams of the damned heard through the molten walls.
Hours passed, a man from UPS turned up with a new pitchfork for the beastly overlord, who used his new implement to gore the delivery man.
The lawyer's eyes grew wider as both he finished reading the papers and the daemon had finished cleaning the organ strewn remains of the deliveryman off his impressive new wield.
"Lord Dar- Julie, I take quarrel with Sections 3 and 7."
"Go on" the daemon spoke, slow and inquisitive.
"In Section 3, the contract refers to your legal right to take the souls of consenting participants in return for goods or services."
"And what a great business plan it is!" the monster bellowed.
"Y-yeah, you're right, sir - I mean Lor- I mean Julie, but there is query over whether or not an individual truly owns their soul, and this calls into question the legality of using it in transactions. Some say the soul belongs to Go-"
"Don't you DARE finish that word, puny mortal!" he screamed, furious "If the big man in the sky thinks he can take my business away, he will see me in court! The passage remains!"
"A-a-alright then" he stammered, his hands shaking, rustling the paper audibly.
"And what of the 7th Circle of Contract, Mortal!" he queried, holding his tongues and grinding his exposed teeth.
"S-secti- oh yes, right. It states you retain the right to play Nickleback on repeat to the souls of the damned, but I'm afraid that Nickleback and its music is currently considered intellectual property of Republic Records, and licensing is not payable in souls."
The lawyer braced himself. | 98 | To avoid the kind of loopholes in spells, prophecies, and so on that allows a creature that "no man can kill" to be killed by a woman, evil overlords have begun hiring lawyers that specialize in magic. | 274 |
"Alright men, listen up. As you venture forth to fight this war of the worlds, remember one thing. Remember that while I sit in my Captain's Quarters drinking my cham-pagin, I'll be out there fighting with you. Not actually fighting of course, but fighting in my mind like some sort of headache with a gun."
Many of the men groaned.
"Now I know that many of you are going to die." He pointed at one of the smaller men. "You especially. But without your sacrifice we couldn't hope to make the enemy run out of bullets. There are only so many they can have you know. And once they reach that number that's when we strike. One strike and they're out, just like baseball."
The men began looking at each other nervously.
"I have thought through every aspect of this battle that could possibly take place. Knowing our enemy, the Scottish, as well as I do, I have come up several life saving tips for all of you."
"We're not fighting the Scottish!" Several of the men yelled out.
Zapp pulled out a set of bagpipes. "Well I guess we won't be needing these." He threw them overboard. "Damn. Over 20 minutes of practice wasted. No matter, I have a backup plan. How many of you have practiced dying heroically?"
No one said anything.
He smiled. "Uh huh, well no time to learn like 5 minutes from now." Zapp pointed at the smaller soldier again. "Probably 3 minutes for you. And remember, the ladies love a hero. They also love greeting cards and velour." He felt his uniform. "Mmmmm."
The boat approached the beach. "Okay men. Get out there and give those Scottish bastards Hell." | 110 | You nervously approach the beaches of Normandy on the D-Day Invasion. Before the landing craft hits the beach, you and your comrades are given a pep talk by platoon leader Zapp Brannigan. | 109 |
"It's something of a miracle, I think." Otis said, his voice a little cracked. The water in the VSA had run out, but their research was too important for them to care. "The Egyptians, the Mayans, and possibly the Atlantians... They must have found it, as well. They were all known for scientific progress, after all."
Brennen, our senior intern, chuckled. "The Atlantians, huh? Yeah, definitely explains why they're gone." Nobody looked at him. He didn't understand the enormity of what we'd uncovered.
In front of us, on a sparkling clean surgery table, was a brick of obsidian. Etched into its sides were symbols indicating numeric sequences, but without direction. Any way you read it, it was a logically sound mathematical equation, and infinite; stored on its shining surface were all the maths that man could ever dream up, an infinitely complex chain of infinite sequences. It was dubbed the Thoth Stone.
It was so much more than an interesting find. With it, you could change the math of the universe, given a powerful enough input. You could account for unprecedented variables, just by looking farther into the sequence. At no point would anything be a surprise; the Thoth Stone had all of the answers.
Otis cleared his throat. "We cannot use this, ever. Given a supercomputer of some kind, or something else as incomprehensible as this stone, we have the very real possibility of undoing the fabric of existence. We will not only extinct ourselves, our species, our planet; we will destroy the possibility of life in the universe." The rest of us nodded, dumbly. It was a little above anyone's paygrade.
Celia, a theoretical physicist from CERN, lifted hair away from her eyes and behind her ear. "We're going to need a kiln in here capable of reaching 1650 Celsius." Brennen raised an eyebrow. "That's the melting point of Obsidian, Brennen. There's no other choice."
Brennen shrugged, and Otis spoke quietly into his radio set. "Command, I need an oven, or a kiln. We have some strange residues identified near the site, and I'm afraid..." He turned his back to us. We were used to this sort of gaming with military powers. None of it was taboo.
We waited for a moment, and Otis came back, smiling. "All taken care of. Soon, this will be a lost piece of human history, and we can all rest easy."
A gunshot echoed. Otis crumpled, and the scientists backed away from the tent's new inhabitants.
"And you call yourself a scientist." | 24 | All ancient civilizations found the same dark secret that ended them. Before their collapse, they made sure to hide it forever. Today, researchers in the modern world have happened upon the same secret. | 47 |
So much blood. So much noise. So many bodies.
Ryan Lynch sat alone in an empty warehouse, cursing himself. *Fucking coward*.
He couldn't get back in there. He tried, he really did, but his legs wouldn't let him. The German's had a force waiting in Aachen, showing just how useless America's military intelligence was. *Yes, this was America's fault, not his own. Of course someone would hide if they get ambushed*.
Ryan slammed his fist into the ground, wishing he would stop being so cowardly.
"Nice day out there." Ryan froze at the voice. It was an American accent. He didn't know if it was good or bad. He would live, but they'd know him for what he truly was. He managed to look up.
A Nazi.
Ryan quickly pulled up his gun and squeezed hard on the trigger, but it didn't fire. The empty click sounded again and again as he kept trying to push it.
"Not just a coward then, a useless coward." The German spoke with less of an accent then Roosevelt. "Go on, keep aiming your hallow weapon at me and shooting away your fears."
Ryan lowered the gun to the ground, realizing he would die. "Who are you?"
"A friend to some, an enemy to most."
"And to me?' Ryan didn't want to look him in the eyes, they held a weight.
"That depends entirely on you, Lynch." He smiled and sat down next to Ryan.
---
"Happy birthday!' The crowd of accountants and secretaries all cheered as one while Ryan Lynch blew out his candles. 90 candles in one cake. Half of them didn't go out on the first try, two more stayed on the second. On the third, he got all, but one. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't blow it out. Laughter finally came from the crowd. Trick candle, they said.
Ryan walked alone to his car, whistling on the way. It has been years since he'd felt so happy.
A pair of hands grabbed Ryan by the collar and threw him against a wall. The old man closed his eyes and didn't fight back. "Take whatever you want!"
"Still a coward, I see." That voice. He instantly recognized it. Ryan's heart fell.
He opened his eyes. It was him. The German. He hadn't aged a day.
"Oh God... Oh God..." Ryan shook against the wall, now free of the man's grasp.
"No God here Lynch." The German backed away a step, giving Ryan room to get off the wall. The German's eyes still looked the same. "Just me."
Ryan nodded, trying to control the situation. "What do you want?"
"You a janitor, Lynch? Cleaning the shit of better men than yourself?" The German laughed. "I want to collect."
Ryan swallowed. He'd half convinced himself it was all a dream. "You never said what you wanted."
"No, I didn't." The German agreed. "However, you did say what you'd give. Which was everything."
"What do you want?" Ryan asked again.
"Just a phrase. A small phrase." The German spoke slowly. "*'Tuus sum ego in altera vita'*"
"What, what does that mean? What-"
"Say it!" The German's voice went from calm to furious instantly. His eyes bore on Ryan, drilling into him.
"Too... toose..."
"Tuus sum ego in altera vita" The German said again.
Ryan nodded. "Tuus sum ego... in altera vita".
The German handed Ryan a knife. "Cut your palm and clench your fist."
Ryan grabbed the knife and held the blade to his right palm.
"Other one."
He switched hands and cut his left palm, clenching it into a fist afterwards. Blood began dripping out. The German turned around and walked away. "Wait, where are you going? Is that it?"
"You'll never see me again, so long as you live, Ryan Lynch."
Ryan leaned back against the wall trying to remain calm as he heard the fading footsteps. | 25 | WW2. A young soldier is disarmed, ready to die. His enemy, unfazed, offers to spare his life in return for an unspecified favor. The year is now 2014, and the man has come to collect, only he hasn’t aged… | 38 |
Evan woke up to discover that his alarm clock had been replaced by a sheep, again.
He groaned. His head hurt. He was pretty sure yesterday he'd been run over by a truck.
He staggered downstairs to the kitchen, where pancakes and a warm coffee were already prepared and set out on the table. Evan was relaxing on the rolling chair, curled up in the weird way he preferred to sit, reading the newspaper upside down.
"Hey," he said. "Evan made pancakes. Wasn't that nice of him? He's gone back to the Paleolothic to scrounge up supplies."
Evan looked back at the table, but the pancakes had been replaced with sheep.
Damn time paradoxes.
He wandered over to the hallway closet to see if there was anything else to eat. Twinkies. Eurgh. But he grabbed several anyway. And contemplated the problem of infinity.
The problem was, there were infinite realities. The problem was, they all led into this one. The problem was, *this* reality had only finite resources. At some point, eventually, logic dictated that they were going to run out of resources.
Of course logic was not the strong point of a world infested with more time paradoxes than cockroaches. So that, even though the world should have starved to death millenia ago, here it was, ticking away, on a seemingly infinite supply of paradoxical sheep and smuggled goods from the age of dinosaurs.
This was all great fun for the time travelers. There was an ongoing competition to arrive a few fractions of a second earlier and kill Hitler, the most murdered man in history (featured twice and interviewed four times about his record breaking mortality in TIME magazine). There were constant expeditions to different time periods in history, from the big bang to the heat death of the universe. Technology from the year 999999999999999 had been found forming anachronisms as far back as the Hadeon eon, although it was widely assumed that there were more anachronisms further back.
Time travelers, after all, were all a bit crazy. It was actually a prerequisite, across the entire multiverse. A certain amount of crazy. So they were happy, in this messed up, psychotic time stream.
They were happy. Evan was not. His mother (also his sister and granddaughter) and his father (a distant second cousin, an imaginary friend, and every one of his exes) had conceived and given birth to Evan locally. He wasn't a time traveler, a fact made somehow even more terrible by Evan being, statistically, the third most common name for successful time travelers. He'd never visited any of the places everyone kept gabbling gleefully on about, and he could never time leap a time paradox headache away. No, he had to live with the mess everyone else made, and it was killing him, daily.
He wanted to apply to the department of temporal euthanasia. He'd been trying to for a year now.
He walked outside and was run over by a truck. | 16 | Time travel is real, but all travelers in every reality of the multiverse end up in a single timestream, yours. It's a problem. | 20 |
She had regaled him with tales of the rally. Her day away from Dear Hubby and the Hellions had been fruitful for her disposition. The past year had been a rough one psychologically, and her outlet had become comment sections. Her howl was loud, but heretofore mediated by keys and servers.
Angel-headed, full of spunk and a passion that may or may not have had ulterior motives, she had read of the rally last week, and decided to let herself out from under the veil of anonymity. He had helped her paint the sign. In big red letters, it screamed, *my children were my choice, murder is yours.*. It still made him shutter to think about.
She wasn't the only armchair soldier, though. Dear Hubby, more commonly known as *Dadocrat34* in certain circles, had been engaged in the particular battle of wits with a woman who went by the handle of *Loves_Her_Kids* for a good week. His outlet mirrored the wife's, yet his was used as an escape from her.
She had met him in college. The thing he remembered most about her was what she said to him during coital intermission: "I don't usually allow liberals inside of me." It was hilarious, awful, and ignorant, and it made him fall in love with her. Sure, she had some backwards views, but nothing worse than his moderate parents, who were always, at the very least, tolerant.
The kids changed her, though. She'd began to read horror stories about vaccines, and waxing on about abortion, and distorting the meaning of words such as "murder" and "abuse." He loved her with all his heart, but her politics made him sick.
It was because of this that *Loves_Her_Kids* became his proxy. Her views mirrored those of his wife, and the Dadocrat had lived up to his name, accusing her of the abuse she had used so liberally in reference to him. Jab after jab, diatribe after diatribe, they went after each other. He'd finally won, albeit in the most petty of ways...
At the end of a particularly long rant, she'd used the word excellent, or, in her own special way of spelling, "accellent." And so, seizing the moment, he reverted back to his schoolyard days, and corrected her spelling. She'd not responded after this.
In bed, she opened her laptop to show him pictures from the rally. She'd adorned Facebook with them, much to his embarrassment. She had even tagged him in one.
He read the caption. "Thanks to Dear Hubby, for staying up late and helping me paint this accellent sign!"
Wait a minute. *Accellent?* Where had he heard this?
His wife had left the room by the time his brain caught up, attending to a screaming child. He pulled her computer onto his lap and checked her browser history. *Oh God...*
Everything suddenly made sense to him, and he couldn't help but laugh. He got up and walked into the room his wife was in, watching her rock a sobbing child back to sleep.
*Well, she can certainly pick an accurate username*, thought the Dadocrat. | 81 | A married couple who are very much in love in real life are bitter enemies online, with one spouse viciously trolling the other. They don't know their IRL identities. | 199 |
"It was as if someone had flicked the light switch, you know?" He snapped his fingers to emphasize what his point, "just like that I knew what was really happening." He sat there and shifted in his chair, looking to the camera behind the reporter. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and lit it, taking his drag slow and exhaling above him. "You know what the most fucked up part was? Not being sure that I even loved my wife or if they made me love her, you know."
The reporter looked at him curiously, "Well James, I am sure you feel something now, I mean you are still with her even without the chip in you." He thought to his own family and wondered now if he really loved them too or if he was just so used to it that it was normal now. Was it love or the feeling of normalness that kept him there. "Another question and this will be our last. What did you do when you found out?"
James sat there for a moment, pondering the question, he snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned back, "I did what everyone else wanted to do as they had theirs removed. I started a fucking war man. You know listening to phone calls and shit is one thing but controlling us and making it seem as if we werent being controlled? Fuck man, thats some diabolical shit right there. Once I found out what was happening to me, I kind of lost it, I ditched my house and drove and drove and drove but I had no destination. So I sat in a walmart parking lot, and watched as the people came in and out and I couldnt believe that everything they were buying and saying was controlled." James stopped to light another cigarette, "I mean they were like fucking robots man. And it was then that I decided to do something about it. I bought the next ticket I could to D.C. And started to plan. I will tell you, it was going to be impossible, but Russia helped us out, they sent a surgeon out here to get more people disconnected."
(yeah im tired and shit, if anyone is interested in this shit I threw together in 5 minutes I will continue it later.)
Continued...
It was really difficult to get in touch with Russia, or someone who could help me rather. I couldnt go to anyone around because they all had this chip in their head, you know, and how long before they realize mine aint working."
1 year before.
James walked into the coffee shop slowly, looking at everybody and judging their reactions, he was waiting for the lot of them to charge him. Like some group attack organized by the people behind all this, they had to know by now that he was in control of his own actions. He stood there holding the door open, looking for the man known as Rebel Randy. Rebel Randy, what a fucking joke, he was sure he was looking for some trailer park guy, probably wearing one of those tall trucker hats while wearing a dale earnhardt shirt. James chuckled to himself at the thought of that sight.
"Sir? Do you need some help?"
James nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the voice, before even looking his instinct was to bolt out of there, but he calmed as he looked at the man who spoke to him. He was short and a little overweight, he had coke bottle glasses on and a ragged button up shirt. His pants were old and torn at the knees like some '90's cool kid, the only thing nice he wore were the pair of black boots. James studied the man and looked around, he noticed now that he was still standing in the door way and there were people behind him. Slowly, he moved in and looked around keeping an eye on the man who spoke to him.
"Sir, are you alright? Do you need help? Maybe you need a rebel hand?" The man looked at him sternly, his eyes told James exactly who he was. "Maybe you would like to sit with me, huh?" James simply nodded and followed the man to a booth and sat across from him. James stammered for a bit and then spoke, "How did you know?"
Randy laughed hard at James' question, "Shit, well aint it obvious? You the only one here thats looking around like a lost puppy!" he continued to laugh as he removed his glasses and cleaned them with his dirty shirt. He placed them back on his nose and looked at James, his laugh was gone but his grin was from ear to ear. "So, you know now, huh? Its pretty fucking amazing now that you can think for your fucking self aint it? Yeah I remember when mine broke, I went buckwild man, I had a family 3 kids man. Ditched them all you know. How the fuck could I stay? It wasnt my fucking choice to be with them, so fuck em right?" Randy looked around a bit to see if anyone was watching, "Look man, I got about 10 others, but we amsure as shit aint got enough to do anything. We know where they are making them and shit, but fuck... We gonna need a goddamn army to get in that place."
James heart sank, he had thought Randy had an army, but 10 guys, this was impossible now. James fiddled with an unlit cigarette, "So then what the fuck do we do?" Randy smiled, "We get Russia man, Putin already hates this country and he hates that we are controlled. If he finds out just how controlled, he will do anything to help us, so we go to them, tell them whats going on. Get a fucking surgeon that can remove these things and go from there. Once people here are aware of this shit they will want to join us." Randy stopped for a moment and looked around, then he leaned over the table, "Everyone will want to start a fucking war man."
James couldnt help but feel somewhat relieved but there was still a problem in coke bottle randy's theory, "How the fuck do we get in touch with Russia?"
Randy pushed his finger against his lips as the waitress walked up, "You guys need anything?" Randy looked at her and eyed her up and down, "Yeah, how about you? Huh baby? You wanna come home with us?" Randy laughed as she walked off flipping them the bird. Randly looked back at James still laughing, "I can just imagine that fucking chip going off right now," he spoke in a robot voice,"does not compute, does not compute. you know, they should have made more whores." Randy laughed hard and leaned over the table to slap James' shoulder, "you know what I mean man?!" James sat there silently, thinking this was a mistake, Randy seemed to have lost his mind, or maybe he was just enjoying the fact that he could say whatever HE wanted.
James focused on the problem at hand tried to rekindle Randy's plan, "So how do we get in touch with Russia?" Randy stopped laughing and whispered, "Ham radios man, we hit enough repeaters on the pirate channels and we can talk to anyone anywhere." Randy stood up and James followed hin outside.
| 12 | You've unknowingly been living you life with a chip in your brain that controls your actions and simulates the sensation of free will. One day it breaks. | 44 |
She silently perused the dossier in front of her, the cold concrete walls giving no hint of empathy. Basic case file... elderly woman, had managed to get this far in life by being everyone's perfect grandma.
For those who are not picked off in the wars or ghettos, where the calls of nature deal over population, a different murder lay in wait. Every one knew... every one tried to get their "immortality" in various different ways. But feeding an ever expanding population is hard. And after famines of starving immortals began to wear down on the country's moral, the government knew they had to step in and complete the life cycles. And thus the "Population stability Department" was born.
She admired the slight differences in the concrete walls and floor. It was not a depressing place... they would get too much employee turn over that way. This was a place to be devoid of all emotion. Trying to get employees to work for the "greater good" hadn't worked. Illegal murders and rampages were rife. So instead the work was treated like the most menial task possible.
At least she wasn't on the task force for choosing those to be picked off. | 15 | There is no natural cause of human death. Everyone in history has been murdered. | 27 |
Sue Wilkins got a cat; she lorded that over us for weeks, as if a cat was the best sort of animal there was, and not the acme of egomania.
Mark Johnson got a basset hound. He spent the whole week moping; then again, that's what he always does. His parents were cruel, meaning to be kind.
When my time came, the first thing I noticed was the size of the box on the lawn. I couldn't just help thinking of stories of parents gone mad, acquiring rhinos when bulldogs would have sufficed, or that girl two towns over who was trampled by her giraffe. They put the beast down, but she never got another. She hadn't been an animal person in the first place, unlike her parents.
Me, I'm not at all like my parents. They're... common.
I am not.
My box was huge, red crepe and golden rope, with mother and father standing somberly next to it. Next to them, aunt Thelema, uncle Szandor, the neighbors, my acquaintances, the school class, everybody.
"Son", father said, with his usual uneducated directness, as I laid a hand pregnant with expectation on the box. "As you know, it is traditional---"
"I know", I snapped. The box was so big, how was I going to feed something this huge? What monumental miscarriage of their mismeasure of my ability lay behind this tacky carmine curtain? "Dad, what is this?"
"---so, after careful consideration between ourselves and the Mother Extremal" --- that draconian martinet of a fraud in white gave me a smile, from her place among the schoolchildren --- "we have settled on a representation of your present personality the best we can."
I pull the rope, the package opens, dad shouts: "A dragon!"
Peoole gasp, I most of all. A dragon? How fitting! How meet! How like me to be the first---
"Dad? There's nothing in here."
"Of course not, you insufferably arrogant phony, dragons aren't real. Now go get a fucking job before we kick your sponger ass to the curb." | 961 | When everyone turns 18, they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality. You're the first person to receive a dragon... | 750 |
Damn it all. I get one patient out the door, and twenty more show up in the waiting room. This new disease is awful, but what's worse is that some fear mongering fool put the symptoms online. "First sign: anxiety." Well, the virus has killed a third of the planet's population, there's plenty of anxiety to go around. This damn panic even has me worked up.
No, I can't dwell on it. "What if the virus gets to this town too?" The thought lingers for but a second, but it was enough. Five minute's break in my office, and then I'm off to see Mister Johnson. Sit down, breathe it out. Damn it! I cup my hands over my mouth and struggle to slow my breaths. Last time I freaked out this bad, I was studying anatomy back in medical school. The panic attack confuses me for a second, but a shout from my nurse snaps me back to reality. It sounds like there's about to be a riot out there. Alright, it's time to suck it up and deal with it, just like when I was a student. A couple coughs into my sleeve after hyperventilating, perfectly normal. In seconds I'm out the door and knocking on examination room 2B. Tom Johnson gives me an empty hello, which I return in kind. Washed my hands in front of him before shaking his hand, as always.
"Oh doc, looks like you missed a bit of blood on your sleeve" | 10 | A deadly epidemic sweeps across the globe. The symptom is paranoia. | 34 |
"You really can't see the teeth marks?"
"I promise you, Mr. Roberts, there are no teeth marks. Not on your back, not on your legs, not on your neck, okay? Now, it's time for bed."
Fucking typical. He *would* make it so only I can see it. He's getting clever. I have to admit, he really is. I mean, demons kinda have to be, right? They don't let just anyone become a demon. ...I think? I don't know. He's never really straight forward about this stuff, you know? It's always "blood of a virgin" this and "Fox News" that. I mean, I've asked him. Straight up. Why do you do this? Why me? What's your fucking name, for Christ's sake. He doesn't like that one. So, I just started calling him Fuckface.
I met Fuckface when I was 9. He kinda just showed up, actually. Got diagnosed with night terrors. I never liked the term night terrors. Like, somehow being terrified at night makes you an automatic candidate. Everyone's terrified at night.
It was around high school that I got used to him being around. He would never do anything overt, just insanely annoying things. Hide the remote, open the cereal while I was asleep so it was stale in the morning, that sort of thing. Everything was just in that sweet spot of plausible deniability from a third party perspective. I tried telling some friends a few times when I was at my wit's end. They thought it was hilarious, so I stopped trying to convince people. I suffered in silence through college and early adulthood, getting up to change the channel while eating stale Lucky Charms.
Recently, though, he's been getting violent. I'm not sure if he's bored or if he's starved for attention since I pretty much ignore him no matter what he does, but it's bad. How bad? Like, setting my girlfriend's bed on fire, bad. The cops loved that one. "No officer, it wasn't me! it was an invisible, other worldly being that enjoys tormenting me. ...Why are my clothes covered in gasoline? ...Why is a Zippo with my face on it near the bed? Uhhhh--" You get the picture. The final straw was when he pushed that nice old man in front of a bus. Well, sort of. He pushed me, then I in turn fell into the nice old man who fell in front of an oncoming bus and got killed. That's why I'm here in lovely Pine Ridge Mental Institution. All the witnesses swore they saw me push him.
So now we're all caught up. Now that me and Fuckface are stuck in this prison with *actual* crazy people--no, like, really crazy, like, I saw a woman building a snowman out of her own shit. Seriously--but yeah, now that we're stuck in here, Fuckface is even more bored so he just hurts me. Bites, burns, scratches. But here's the catch: no one can see it but me, apparently. So day in and day out, I convulse on the floor while he gnaws at me and people just think I'm another kook. It's torture. So I've begun devising a plan to end this once and for all. I'm not crazy, and I'll prove it.
Here's the plan: demons live to torture people, right? But they can't torture someone who isn't *alive*, right? So, I'm going to threaten to kill myself. Get everyone here in a tailspin, then right as I'm about to kick the chair out from under me, I'll demand that Fuckface reveal himself in front of everyone or he'll have no one to torment anymore. Plus, if it doesn't work, I'll be dead so none of this will matter. Welp, here goes!
Wait, where's Fuckface? He's not here? Oh, come on. The noose is around my neck and everything. I'll shout for him.
"Fuckface! Hey! Fuckface get in here!"
"That's no way to ask for assistance, Mr. Roberts--Mr. Roberts! What are you doing!? Get down from there!"
Fucking Shannon the orderly. You're not supposed to be here yet.
"I wasn't talking to *you* Shannon. I'm talking to Fuckface, he should be here--Shannon, don't you dare touch that walkie talkie. Shannon. Shannon. Shannon! Shannon, I will jump if you--ah fuck."
Like, ten orderlies now? Where do they find these guys? I have to make this quick before they get a hold of me.
"Hear me now, Fuckface! If you do not appear in front of these people, I will kill myself and you will have no one to torment any longer. I'm going to count to three. One! Two! Thre--
Fuckface bounds through the door like a Rhino on coke. The orderlies are all in a pile looking up at this 8 foot monster. Shannon screams. They all run out of the room. Fuckface cuts the noose with the flick of a single talon and like a kindergarten teacher wags his finger in front of my face.
"Where were ya, bud? I didn't think you were gonna make it."
He just shrugs. Smug bastard.
"Well, now that they have proof I'm not crazy, maybe we can get out of here and you can stop hurting me, how's that sound?"
He punches me in the gut then claps me on the back before walking out of the room. Fucking typical. | 47 | A man who is misdiagnosed with psychosis and sent to a mental hospital finds a way to prove to everyone that he actually IS being watched and followed after 'they' make an unusual slip-up. | 75 |
Story has been continued below in a comment response to this comment.
Also, for those who are interested, I actually made this story belong to the same universe of another story I've written for a different prompt quite awhile back. They aren't linked together as of now, but they do feature the same "therapist".
[Link here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2edunb/wp_in_the_afterlife_therapists_help_out_people/cjyrku9)
***
There were people walking back and forth in the hallways, the heels of their shoes clack-clack-clacking on the linoleum tile. Marco could hear them speaking loudly to each other, but the closed door separating him from them barred most of the words, turning them into muffled groans and murmurs. "*How?*" was the most common word that Marco managed to catch.
The room he was in was quite comfy, minus the wooden chair he was currently strapped to. There was an office desk in the center, oak and heavily varnished. A plump leather chair behind it, and a filing cabinet behind the desk/chair combo. On top of it was a coffee maker. Marco itched in his out-of-place seat, tugging at the straps that kept his hands hugged to the armrests.
He heard more voices outside the door, closer now. "Am I in Hell?" Marco yelled.
The voices stopped, the clack-clacking of their footsteps ceased.
Marco was certain he was in Hell. That damn girl had gotten the best of him, feigning death after his attempt at strangulation. He knew he should've squeezed her windpipe a little longer, but hell, he was getting older, his grip was weakening, and things had begun to slip his mind.
He sighed in his chair, waiting for whatever demon or apparition it was to enter the office room and sentence him.
Never a man of religion, Marco now pondered what kind of torture they would submit him to. With another glance around the office, he chuckled at how "corporate" Hell looked like. Maybe they would sentence him to an eternity of filling out tax reports. Now, *that* would be Hell.
The door finally opened and two men entered; the first man was tall, heavily muscled, balding, and yet had a goatee. The second man, however, was short, small, and probably the same age as Marco.
"Why is he strapped to the chair?" The older man asked.
"He's a murderer, we had to restrain him. We're still trying to figure out what to do with him, you know all of this, or were you ignoring me?"
"Little of this, little of that," the older man said as he walked around Marco and then sat behind the oak desk, the leather chair making a slight whistle sound as the man rested himself down. "Take off the damn straps, what is he going to do? Murder me?"
"Uh," the goatee-man muttered, hesitantly reaching for the straps around Marco's wrists.
"We're already dead, dummy," the older man said, "take off the straps, he's not going to bite you."
The goatee-man began to untie Marco's straps. Marco leaned over and growled at the goatee-man.
"JESUS!"
Marco began to laugh, sitting back in his uncomfortable chair, eyes watering as he watched the not-so-manly-goatee-man twitch back in fright. To his surprise, the older man behind the desk began to laugh as well.
"Stanley, untie him," he said between chuckles, "and get the heck out of here, you dummy."
Stanley did what he was told, and promptly left.
Now it was just Marco and the older man. They sat in the small office, door shut once again, with more whispers coming from behind again.
"So," Marco said, breaking the silence between themselves, "what kind of punishment do yal deal out around here? From the looks of it, I might be working in daycares or something."
"Actually, no, no punishments for you," the old man said, leaning forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table. "I'm actually surprised no one has told you where you are at. I don't know why they get so fearful. Well, I guess it's been awhile since any of them have seen 'sinful' people," the old man air-quoted with his index fingers, "so it all makes sense.
"You're actually in Heaven. Someone in bookkeeping made a mistake and all those murders you did weren't counted towards your ledger."
Marco jerked back in his seat. "This is Heaven?"
"Well, not really, this is the psych ward, where we help newcomers who died in traumatic experiences cope with things until they're ready enough to go out and 'live' on their own," again the air-quotes. "I'm a therapist, psychiatrist, whatever, I really don't know what the correct term is."
Marco scratched the back of his neck, surprised to feel that he was sort of sweating. From relief? He didn't know. "Do these, 'mistakes' (Marco returned the air-quotes) happen often?"
"No, not really, maybe once every hundred years or so," the old man said.
The two sat in silence for a few more moments.
"So," Marco said, once again breaking the silence, "what's going to happen to me?"
The old man sighed, "We're going to get you a room here in the ward, and you'll have daily sessions with me to get you more acclimated to Heaven. Obviously, you can't kill anybody here, but you can still run amok, get people aggravated, that sort of thing, but we still need to make sure that you're cleared."
Marco nodded, "and how long will that take?"
"Eh, depends" the old man said, shrugging his shoulders, "we're going to start by visiting all the people you murdered, one by one, and you're going to apologize to them."
"What?"
"Yeah, a bit juvenile, I guess, but honestly, I really don't know what the fuck to do with you (Marco twitched at the f-bomb, not fully expecting it from a big-wig). It's the best I could think of, and honestly, I could use a bit of adventure."
Marco shifted in his seat, mind running through all the people he had hugged too tightly with his hands. A strange feeling was churning in his stomach. One he hadn't felt in quite awhile.
Was it the feeling of being nervous? Or scared? He scratched at the back of his neck again, noticing that he was definitely sweating. | 39 | Unknown serial killer finally dies at the hand of a victim, and wakes to find a clerical error placed him in heaven. | 45 |
It must have started when the cold came. I know this because the sudden shift in temperature was what first moved my thoughts into motion. It started with a knowing, a feeling that something had changed. Then came the sounds. The beat from the glowing, soothing pulse that surrounded me. The gentle burbles coming from all around, flowing and moving. And the music, mysterious in origin but endlessly fascinating. Sometimes rhythmic, sometimes slow, sometimes louder or softer. It had a distinct property, a presence that was always with me. If I listened, I could sometimes hear echoes of music like it. Music like the kind I knew, but farther away and always a different song.
I remember the day I realized I was. The song had stirred such emotion in me, I felt myself move for the first time. What an epiphany for me to discover that I was more than a thought in the darkness! I had equipment! With great focus, I discovered my arms and legs. As I reached out, I felt the soft and warm boundaries around my body. And then something magical happened. The music poured in. The pulse around me grew quick and the music matched it. I pressed against my enclosure again and the music swelled, a distant chorus joining in. So, I thought, I can make the music play!
This theory proved short lived. As I grew stronger, striking my enclosure's walls only brought music some of the time. Sometimes the music sounded dull and weary. I expected that kicking my legs would coax that happy tempo back, but it only seldom worked. Sometimes I would hear it only in short, hollow bursts and everything would shake gently. I wanted to understand.
The day it happened, it was sudden. I awoke to the music like I'd never heard it. My enclosure felt different, stickier. I felt pressure I'd never felt before. With horror, I assumed the worst. My enclosure was rejecting me, I had provoked it too much. I was being evacuated. Paralyzed with fear, the pressure sent me deep into a place I had never felt. I feared I would be crushed, or perhaps consumed, into the walls of my home.
Then, the light. It started out agonizing. What was happening?! My dark, warm home was being replaced with burning white and unbearable cold. I braced for the worst, and cried.
Cried? I had no idea how this was possible. This new sound was pouring out of me and I could not control it. What I could not contain, I embraced, hoping that somehow my cry would be met with comfort.
I opened my eyes.
I was looking. Looking, for the first time.
I saw Her. Her warmth felt familiar. I could hardly read Her face, but from my core I knew She was looking at me. She had eyes, and they were soft and wet.
She opened her mouth and the music silenced me.
--
EDIT: Wow, my first gold! Thank you, that means a whole lot to me! | 64 | An unborn child gains consciousness in the womb. The child begins to imagine the 'outside' world based on the voices it hears. | 64 |
I worked so hard to get this job; interview after interview after godforsaken interview. But finally, success. 'Mike Hanson, Junior Architect' said the unnecessarily large amount of business cards that bulged the inside pocket of my suit jacket.
I wasn't enjoying it though. Not one bit.
You see, like most jobs it was advertised as a nine o'clock start. However, if you turn up at MacGibbon and Ross at 9am, at best you'll be an hour behind your peers. At worst, you'll be marked out as the slacker, the no hoper, and eventually, the fired. Add this to my hour plus commute from Cambridge down and through the heart of central London and you end up with a phone beeping incessantly at you every day at 4.15am.
But day after day, meagre amount of sleep after meagre amount of sleep, espresso after espresso, my body began to acclimatize. I became that most hateful of human beings; I became a morning person. And a smug one at that.
So off I went one morning positively skipping onto the train with that particular 'holier than thou' attitude peculiar to those who are not only awake, but functional whilst the rest of the world; the lazy rest of the world, sleeps. So pleased was I with myself, I decided to let my vast number (thirty two) of twitter followers learn of my achievement. 'Woo hoo! I have FINALLY mastered waking up in the morning'
2.
The rest of the day went on as routine dictated; I performed the menial tasks, spoke with respect to my supervisor, spoke with considerably less respect about my supervisor, worked a little on my personal designs and flirted unsuccessfully with Charlotte as I passed the front desk on my way out. I collapsed onto the train after fighting my way through the crowds at Kings Cross and tried to shut my eyes. The baby two seats away did not feel my plight,so I turned to my phone and my practiced hands found their way to the Twitter icon. Unusually for me, someone had sent me a direct message.
'You call yourself a master. You compare yourself to Gods. This will not go unchallenged. Expect us.' - Timedies01
'I fucking hate twitter' I mumbled; closing the app and reaching for Angry Birds. I tumbled through the door, ate, exercised, showered, read a few pages and before ten o'clock blissfully, I slept.
*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...*Bang*...
At three am I awoke; eyes painfully squinting and trudged my way down the steps. I fumbled the keys through the door and eventually managed to swing it open.
'Nghuh??' I asked the short grey haired man; coat collar turned up against the wind; bright eyes glaring fiercely into my own.
He took a while to reply, his mouth twitching as he took in my appearance. He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.
'Pathetic.' He said.
| 32 | After submitting a post about 'finally mastering' a mundane skill on social media, the poster finds themselves challenged by other Masters of the same mundane skill who take such claims very seriously. | 57 |
Harrison's feet pounded the ground, he gasped, his lungs burning, his belly flopping and his legs aching. He could do it right? His music playlist switched to the next song and he pushed ahead with new vigor. Yes! He could do it. The end of the road was only 100 meters up ahead. He gasped and snorted for air, his muscles cried and complained, but they pushed him ahead at a thumping jog, past a blue sedan, past a mailbox, past a large nondescript black van with 'BOB'S CAT POLISHING SERVICES" on the side and a huge satellite dish and communication antenna on the roof. Despite his lack of oxygen, Harrison couldn't help but notice that the van was parked illegally, blocking a driveway. Oh well, who cared, it didn't matter. He pushed ahead, only 50 meters to go. He could do it!
---
*Meanwhile...*
Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith sat inside his well disguised, inconspicuous Super Secret Special Spy Van, watching the target in a computer monitor. Raising his cellphone to his mouth, Bob spoke urgently into it, "HQ? This is Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith, I have sighted the target."
He lowered the cellphone and waited for a response. None came.
Bob raised the cellphone to his lips and spoke again, more urgently, "Repeat. HQ this is Supreme Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith. I have sighted the *terrorist* request status update."
Still no noise from the cellphone. Bob frowned and tried one more time. "Hello? HQ this is super special field agent Supreme Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith. I have sighted the evil terrorist, requesting immediate status update."
Bob put down the cellphone and waited.
And waited.
...And waited.
It was at this point, that Bob realized that he failed to press the call, and his cellphone was still on the lock screen.
"Dang blast," Bob cursed, "gosh darn it all to heck!"
Grimly, he unlocked his super special spy cellphone and tapped on the call icon for HQ. A pleasant female voice picked up, "Hello! This is NSFBCI, how may we help you?"
Bob answered, "Yes! I need you to pass on a message to the mission room. Tell them that the *evil terrorist* escaped even my clutches. I would like to request a kill order."
Bob hung up without waiting for an answer. That's what all the cool agents were supposed to do.
He shook his fist out the window and said to himself, "I'll get you terrorist! You'll rue the day you ever decided to perform acts of terror! Whatever you did..."
---
*Meanwhile*
Harrison sighed, feeling the warm soapy water soothe his aching joints. The bath was so very relaxing. He might just go to sleep in here, and risk drowning. It might be worth it after that run.
For a moment, Harrison thought he heard a stick breaking outside. He dismissed it as nothing.
Just outside a nearby window, Super Special Agent Jimmy Barktree and Super Secret Special Agent Chex Mohagin huddled against a house wall, holding M4 carbines. Their mission was to infiltrate the house and remove the impending terrorist threat. Super Special Agent Jimmy nervously talked into his radio in a loud, perfectly audible whisper, "*BAWS, YOU IS SURE DIS WUN ES A TERRORIST RITE?"*
HQ answered him, "YES SUPER SPECIAL AGENT BARKTREE. HE GOOGLED TOR AND WENT ON 4CHAN IN THE SAME DAY. WE ARE VERY SURE. JUST FOLLOW ORDERS.
*"OK BAWS," said Jimmy nervously, "IZ JUST AFTOR WUT HAPPONED AT DAT LAST WUN DAT YOO SED WUZ A TERRORIST...*"
"Shut up Agent Jimmy," said HQ bruskly, turning down the volume, and in a quieter voice, "You know that was an accident, and we did pay for the undertaker."
"*OHKAY BAWS."* Jimmy hung up and held his carbine tight. He could do this. He could."
Super Special Agent Chex Mohagin counted down from three on his toes and then very quietly slipped through the door. The door led into the living room. Chex beckoned Jimmy in after him. The two Secret Agents crept through the house as quietly as a crowd of drunk men on rollerskates.
"SHHHHhhhhhhh!" Agent Chex held a finger to his lips and made a noise that could have woken the dead. "WE have TO go VERY quietly NOW!!!" They had reached the bathroom.
Agent Jimmy nodded, his heart pounding.
The two men counted down again, Chex from 3 and Jimmy from 5. Chex kicked the door open, Jimmy tried to kick and fell inwards onto his face, staying there.
Chex frowned, "He ain't here!" He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed HQ. "Holo, HQ? This is Super Secret Special Agent Chex Mohagin. The Terrorist ain't here. Repeat, the terrorist ain't in the house with the blue roof."
A crabby voice sounded back out of the speaker, "You dangbat idiots, it was the house with the RED ro-"
Chex tossed the phone into the sink and raced outside.
Only to see Harrison leaving in his car. Chex raised his rifle to hip level and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
By the time he realized the safety was on, the car was long gone.
---
*40 years later*
Harrison, now 84, hobbled down his driveway towards his sunning towel on the lawn. In the nearby bush, three decrepit old men huddled. Ultra Mega Supreme Super Special Secret Spy Agent Bob Smith, now 82, Super Duper Special Secret Spy Agent Chex Mohagin, now age 71, and Spy Agent Jimmy Barkwood, now age 64.
Chex held up the cell phone, the voice of their commander at HQ spilled out, loud enough to be heard across the street. Luckily Harrison was deaf. "OK, Agents, this is the 267th attempt to kill the terrorist, and we damn well will succeed this time. Everyone know the plan?"
Everyone did.
"OK, Agents! Move out."
Bob Smith stood up and hobbled towards Harrison, who was now peacefully sleeping in the sun. He made it 4 steps before collapsing onto his knees, wheezing from the effort. Chex made it a little farther, 7 steps before falling on his face. Jimmy was the only one who managed to make it all the way. Squinting down at Harrison's face. He frowned, "E's ded already, of old age."
Gasping with relief, all three men collapsed onto their backs. And stared upwards.
"We finally did it, Jimmy." said Chex dreamily, and died.
Bob was already dead.
But Jimmy wasn't. So he went home and had some cereal.
~ | 35 | A government agency accidentally targets the wrong man for assassination only to find that random circumstantial events always prevent his death no matter how hard they try, the man is completely oblivious. | 62 |
God checked the screen - shit, it was her. He knew he had to answer but he decided to play it cool, eight rings was answer phone so he picked up on seven.
"Lu-u-cy, hey how's it going?" He cringed - extending her name *'how's it going?'* he sounded like a prick. He tried to rescue it fast, making his voice slightly officious. "Sorry I haven't called in a while, been times, you know how it is." He re-listened to his own lines, yes that was okay, better than the start.
Her voice was cool and slightly disinterested. "Yes, the hurricane, I saw. Must have been... tricky." She put just the right amount of disdain into her voice to make him feel about an inch big.
She paused, he let it sit a moment but cracked and had to fill it. "So how's Phil and the boys?" He held the phone away from his head and looked at it in confusion, were these his words he was saying, had he really just asked his ex how her husband and kids were. What the fuck was wrong with him.
She ignore it. "Your boys have been causing trouble again."
"Oh?" He tried to sound curious and genuine.
"You're fucking omniscient, don't pretend you don't have any idea that half your fucking crew of angels have been down here three times this week fucking up my fire pits and hassling my trolls."
The sinking feeling in his chest got lower. How did she do it? He was master of all creation and yet her scorn could make him feel like a teenie tiny worm and her the big boot. Yes, he'd sent his boys down, it was petty but it kept up moral and it was Hell for fucks sake.
Look Lucy, my boys were doing a standard check, you know the terms of the agreement, we have to make sure you're not plotting any more insurrection. He smiled, *good, bring up that shit, she could never find a good reply to the old insurrection accusati...*
"Six fucking thousand years and you're still throwing that shit in my face. Fuck you. I question a few things and before I know it you've kicked me out and half my friends find their leases strangely 'terminated' and have to move with me."
"Look, Lucy, I told you you could come home baby, you just have to..."
"Don't you Lucy-baby me. I am married. Fucking married to a good man. Phil is TWICE the man you ever were and I have no fucking desire to come home. Keep your fucking boys away from my fire pits or the next time I catch them I'll cut their wings off and fucking Fed-Ex them to you."
"Okay look the reason..." She was gone, hung up. God looked at the receiver for a moment and then popped it down on the side table. Fuck that bitch, he was going bowling. He quickly gave Phil herpes and grabbed his bowling shoes.
| 336 | The Devil is actually a she, and God's ex. | 530 |
“You’re a little skinny for my taste and you sound sort of pretentious in your bio. Don’t be so eager to appear smarter than everyone else. You just make yourself look like an asshole.”
The deceptively mellow voice coming from the phone in my pocket is one of the many quick, brutally honest reminders of how others perceive me that I receive every day. I look up from my plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes and glance at my parents, holding their laughter down. If this had happened when I first started using dHarmony, about a year ago (and it did), I’d be so embarrassed. Today, though, I don’t even bat an eye when a particularly harsh message from my pocket cuts through our dinner conversations.
You’re probably wondering why in the hell I would even consider subjecting myself to the humiliation of making public every single rejection – and the brutally honest reason behind it – that I go through as a 19 year old college student. Or how this simple new concept for a dating app managed to rake in almost ninety percent of Americans aged eighteen to thirty (you can’t join until you’re eighteen). Or how they convince every single person who uses the app to be so frank when they reject people who they don’t like.
It’s actually really weird how this thing worked out. It started as a joke. You go to a page making fun of its popular predecessor, eHarmony. You make a profile, put your picture up there, write out a decent bio, and boom – you’re in. You flick through the other profiles, and every time you decline somebody else, you HAVE to type out a funny, insulting little message as to why you rejected them. At the same time, when you woke up in the morning and checked your profile, you’d be waking up to about thirty different insulting messages about yourself. It started out like the website’s creators intended. “Mean” jokes that were all in good fun. Hell, some people even met for dates after joking around with each other. After a while, however, some of the messages you woke up to were anywhere from slightly over the line to downright personal attacks. It fucking stung.
After a few days of waking up to these messages, you turn kind of cynical. Everybody is out to get you and you want to jab them before they get a chance to jab you. You don’t want to be the only sucker left sparing everyone else’s feelings while they do their best to chip away at yours. Slowly but surely, all the lightheartedness gave way to a darker, more serious tone. Eventually, nobody on this website was kidding anymore.
But nobody left.
It made the news. They made a huge story of *"the meanest dating site in the world!"*. People were curious. People wanted in. Maybe they wanted to know what people thought of them. What people really thought of them, without being held back by the fear of hurting their feelings. Maybe they just wanted an excuse to let loose and be mean to somebody. We don’t really know.
The creators of dHarmony eventually improved the concept with an app for smartphones. Sleeker. Not really a joke anymore. With over two million people downloading the app, it was clear that something serious was going on. They added new features. Instead of typing out a message, you have to say it out loud and send it as a voice message. To prevent people from dishing out their opinions and not taking any back, the app would play your inbox out loud as soon as you received each message, whether your phone was muted or not. Brutal, yet people kept downloading it. For a while, it was a mystery why people were doing this to themselves.
Were people really *that* desperate for an excuse to insult each other? Do people enjoy being insulted? Are people really willing to sacrifice their dignity just for some insight on how they’re perceived by other people?
It took us a while to figure out that we weren’t sacrificing our dignity at all. This app, this way of connecting with other people – it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a dating app. In fact, the creators of the app eventually got rid of the option not to decline somebody. Nobody even used it anymore. This stupid, simple little concept, upon closer inspection, turned out to be a huge group effort. Even if no one individual understood it. dHarmony, the joke website from 2009, ended up being the secret to self-actualization for everybody who used it.
It turned out that all we needed to do in order to accept our flaws was to have them playing from the speakers of our phones throughout the day.
Previously, our society had thought that the best way to protect the dignity and self-esteem of its people was to try to shield them from all criticism. Make everybody think they’re perfect just the way they are. Everybody who doesn’t like you is *wrong*.
dHarmony grabbed us by the collar of our shirt and said:
“Guess what. The asshole who told you that is the one who’s wrong. People are allowed not to like you. Frankly, what other people think of you is *none of your damn business*. The only thing you accomplish by trying to protect yourself from the opinions of other people is losing your own identity. There’s no such thing as a perfect person. You’re all just people. You don’t have to be proud of your flaws, just stop hiding them like they’re something to be ashamed of.”
And we understand that now. Nobody ever “cheats the system” and hands out compliments. They aren’t good for anything and we finally get it. When I take a piss in a public restroom, I never hear a “you have beautiful eyes” message come out of the back pocket of the guy standing right next to me. I hear a “you have a goofy slanted forehead” message.
No longer does that guy wonder if he really does have beautiful eyes, or if that girl was just trying to spare his feelings. These days, that guy looks at me with his normal-looking eyes and goofy slanted forehead, smiles, and shrugs.
“She had a goofy forehead, too.” | 20 | A new dating app where people have to leave a voice message as to why they've rejected you is created. Even if your phone is muted, it will play any rejection message you get wherever you are. | 22 |
Heavenly Father, Bon Iver (4:02)
Without a hand to hold, or much in the way of structure, Tory fell fast and hard. Her mother was the first to tell me how the cracks on streets formed, winter's cold expanding the water into hard ice. I had always thought of it as the same wear and tear humans were tolled, the price of living seen through a young boy's eyes as natural and okay and not fixable, just right and oddly peaceful, a balancing force exacted on all of us. Tory knew it before I did, and we spent a day searching for them, these cracks in the now not-so-permanent seeming pavement. It's late september and from experience I can tell that this winter will come early and fall heavy, as if squeezed from a swollen, greying dishrag. The rain falling has already moved on, no longer a summer rain. Everybody's finest blacks have that seeping quality, as if touching them could unleash a torrent of chilled rainwater. Umbrellas only serve to deflect.
Tory moved away from our small town for college, staying in touch through what was at that time the only means possible, letters and the odd phonecall. The friendship we preserved this way was simulated, in a way; it had a certain porcelain quality to it, plastic, a friendship because we were already friends. I had other friends at the college, and obviously I heard stories, as did everybody else. Bagging groceries that december was when I first overheard about Tory, the spiderwebs she left between everything she moved away from and the nexts in her life; the next man, the next bottle. Our letters stopped, then, which was my fault. She called before coming back that summer, but I let it ring. It never came up.
The rain has stopped, and people are hugging and making arrangements and thinking about maybe taking drugs to dull some of the sharpness of the afternoon. . On the way back to my car, I think that maybe I should have answered Tory's call, like it would have helped. Storm clouds unloading away to the west accentuate every step I take, with my heavy thoughts. My car is parked above a larger crack in the cemetery's circumferential road. I begin to weep, and the tears mix with the water pooled in the tiny river in the asphalt in a way only known to me.
| 13 | The song that is currently playing on your computer is the title, the time is the total number of words. (3:30 = 330 words; 1:43 = 143 words). | 65 |
**Auditor-49E6VE42S7D9**
**Report, Galactic Year, 13,223,925,328**
-
DATA REDACTED
-
**Milky Way Galaxy, Orion-Cygnus Arm, Orion Spur, Cluster H734, Star 692,392,093-(SOL)**
**Notable locations, SOL-3 (EARTH,) SOL-5-B (EUROPA)**
**REPORT,EUROPA**
---
DATA REDACTED
-
**REPORT EARTH**
-
Begin Audio Log **1**:
LOCAL TIME = 04:47, DEC 23TH, 1614
*click*
"This is Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, authorization code (DATA REDACTED). I have arrived at the specified planet and will record data about local surroundings for a period of 10 years. Once time has concluded I will personally determine whether the native 'Huumons' show any promise towards eventually attaining a state where it will be possible to grant them membership in the galactic counsel. If not, the planet will be razed to make way for a planned hyperspace lane.
If they do show promise, I will enter a state of cryosleep, awakening every 100 complete rotations of this sun to check their progress. The amount of time I spend in this phase of auditing depends on the species, but generally lasts from 4 thousand to 30 thousand rotations.
At present, my craft has landed at the southernmost pole of the planet. I will use localized teleportation technology as transport, using the planet's rapidly spinning magnetic core as a focal point.
Auditing of SOL-3 (EARTH) begins now."
-
Begin Audio Log **2**:
LOCAL TIME = 18:09, JUN 9TH, 1714
*click*
"This is Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, authorization code (DATA REDACTED). After awakening from cryostasis 17 days ago, I utilized the planetary magnetic fields to study and map the surface terrain, then utilizing this new information and biological data I had previously collected, I determined the most likely places for significant Huumon civilization.
I then narrowed them down to 3 locations, a large island in the northern hemisphere off the coast of a larger continent, a well forested and plentiful land on the other side of the same larger continent, and the shores of a large oceanic depression formed in a different northern landmass.
The the large island, I have discovered, is in the local Huuman tongue, called Nihon. It does not thus far show promising characteristics. The humans as a whole are fragmented into warring states, this state is particularly isolationist, making them of little interest to us, their technological level is also of no note whatsoever.
The oceanic depression does not bear mentioning, the native Huumans had no technological level whatsoever, and there was not many of them.
I had the most luck with the lush forested land. Huumans appear to have entirely different languages depending on what region you are in.
The humans of this region referred to it as 'France.' They have already developed basic kinetic weapons, this is of much interest to me.
Will return to cryosleep and observe the 'France' region in 100 solar cycles."
-
Begin Audio Log **3**:
LOCAL TIME = 00:02, MAY 14TH, 1814
*click*
"This is Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, authorization code (DATA REDACTED).
The humans are advancing faster than expected, especially in and around the 'France' region. They have miniaturized their kinetic propulsion technology to a great degree, developed basic mechanical mechanisms and begun to understand electromagnetism at a basic level. Their progression is *much* faster than expected. However they are not yet out of the norm.
Also it is with great shame I must report they are in fact, called Humans, not Huumons. My deepest apologies to all members of the galactic lifeform society.
Will check back in one hundred solar cycles.
-
Begin Audio Log **4**:
LOCAL TIME = 11:39, OCT 30TH, 1914
*click*
"This is Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, authorization code (DATA REDACTED).
I am sure that my audience understands the normal, healthy progression of a species, from language to written language to agriculture to mass communal dwellings and eventually, over hundreds of thousands of local solar cycles, space travel.
Unfortunately, although the humans follow the same base path, they do not maintain a healthy progression. Over the last hundred years, the humans have invented what they call the 'steam engine' (a basic kinetic expansion engine) improved their firearms a hundredfold, bettered their medical technology, developed atmospheric flying and achieved a decent grasp of electromagnetism. Compared to all spacefaring species, they are still incredibly primitive, however they are improving at an exponential rate.
This worries me."
-
Begin Audio Log **5**:
LOCAL TIME = 11:39, SEP 29TH, 2014
*click*
"This is Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, authorization code (DATA REDACTED). Unfortunately my fears have been fully realized. While I was hibernating, the humans have perfected their grasp of electromagnetism to an admirable degree, even compared to a spacefaring species, developed automated thinking machines more advanced than 90% of galactic council members possess, greatly improved their biomedical science, perfected atmospheric travel, and, along with countless other developments, they have very unfortunately developed basic space travel and advanced space monitoring equipment.
It is with great reluctance that I must inform my galactic audience that Humans are a grave threat to our current balance.
It is with a heavy heart that I give the recommendation that they be summarily exterminated with the exception of research specimens, the planet destroyed, and the interstellar highway lane built. We have already received outsourcing offers from among others, the Vogons. I recommend the Vogon proposal be accepted.
One can only hope that the Europans achieve more stable results.
Auditor 49E6VE42S7D9, signing off.
| 12 | You are an "auditor", a person who goes around and observes alien scientific and cultural growth across the galaxy. One day at work, you become increasingly concerned with these up and coming "Humans" and their erratic growth. | 16 |
> Be /b/tard in the year 2045
>The 4chan/Tumblr war is ogre.
>Our forces have defeated the hordes of SJWs from invading our lands.
>mfw no more Tumblrinas
>everyone goes back to shitposting
>lifeisgood.png
>Without warning the sun is blot out and the boards are cast into darkness
>anons look up in fear.
>The hamplanet has returned to our holy lands and SJWs are beginning a second onslaught of feminism.
>We run to moot to save us.
> He is a skinned crucified corpse.
>Anita Sarkeesian is wearing his flayed skin.
>Her SJW mods begin a holocaust throughout the whole of 4chan.
>Free speech is destroyed
>anons are being banned left to right.
>We cannot fight back
>We cannot rebuild
>4chan is kill
>Everyone begins leaving
>Our victory was a lie. The mighty empire of 4chan was defeated by loudmouthed feminists.
>We moved to 8chan.
>I looked at my kingdom. I was finally there
>To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air
tfw no greentext
| 67 | 4chan and Tumblr are warring dystopian nations. | 36 |
Hey, thanks! This prompt really got me going into a weird direction. I hope you dont mind that I didn't stick strickly true to your prompt :D I hope you enjoy!
MR GUMPUS
--------------------------
"Good night Mr Gumpus." I said, shifting him into the crook of my arm. His patchy fuzz scratching my neck as it has for so long. Over the years his fur has slowly been going, I have replaced his glass eye's so many times I can do it in my sleep now. I have repaired his arm onto his body before in one of the many fights with my sister. Neither of us every know what we fight for any more but it has been going off and on for the last year or so.
About the same amount of time that mommy has really gotten into those adult drinks she wont share with us.
I try to smile into my pillow as I used to when I thought of mom. The memories of being tucked in, of being soothed to sleep. Her comforting hand on my head when even Mr Gumpus was not enough.
Now I just remember her sitting in front of the tv waiting for daddy to finally get home.
He works so hard these days. Some nights, like tonight, I dont even get to see him before he gets home. He is not there to kiss me good night, to check my closet or below my bed for monsters. He never remembers to leave the door slightly open either. I need Mr Gumpus.
I can feel the soft blanket of night settle over me and snuggle deeper against Mr Gumpus.
"Poor kid." I mutter as I watch Michael finally succumb to sleep. I am too old now, too old for this. Checking my dodgy arm to see if his work will hold this time. Looks good but a little stiff. At least this time I will have both eyes. That was a bad few weeks when I had no depth perception. I barely kept the monster at bay.
Straightening up out of Michael's sleeping grip I readied myself. Another night of battle. I should have been retired years ago but he kept holding on. Poor bastard. I did not have a lot left in me. Looking over my patched and worn form I thought that I probably did not have much longer left, neither of us did.
I could hear Mary down in the den, the TV running way too loud. Another heavy night of drinking. I wonder what excuse Paul will bring home tonight. He has been getting worse and worse. Shivering as I recall the event two weeks ago. That had really taken the stuffing out me. Grinning mirthlessly at the old pun I could still remember the front door banging open. The smell of beer and cigarettes heavy in the air. Fighting against the plume of smoke and alcohol sprites as they tried to enter Michaels room. I had kept them at bay.
Then Mary had heard him. Stomping up the hallway, bringing with her a cloud of betrayal sprites. When she saw him in his state there was no defense that Paul could offer this time. His usual bout of "Late work" or "international call" would not do it. Even so I could see the lying wisps flickering around his head but thankfully none of them were fully formed.
Shaking my head I brought myself back to the present as I heard a taxi outside. Readying myself, I didn't know what to expect tonight but for Michael's sake I would try. I felt so goddamn tired. I should have been given a proper burial years ago, added to the other fallen warriors into the great Box in the Attic. No time for pity now, the front door was opening.
Instantly seduction and infidelity wisps, fully grown, started to stream into Michaels room. I stood straight up on the side of his bed and starting to fight. Shielded with Trust and Faith, my trusty short swords I spun them through the air, matching their dancing flights. There were too many!
Paul's heavy breathing in the hallway summoned alcohol and pain fairies into existence with each breath. They flocked towards Michael, threatening to destroy him. Arms blurring I kept them at bay. Trust and Faith were flashing faster and faster, my repaired arm was already starting to ache. No! Mary had not even shown up yet! Not tonight, I would not let them through tonight! The fairies and wisps were circling ahead trying to find a way past my defenses. I would not let them.
The sound of the TV from the den died.
I got a brief respite from the battle. They attackers were waiting for reinforcements. Mary was coming.
"What the hell kind of time do you call this!?" The cry bounced down the corridor bringing jealousy and its own pain fairies winging along with it. The battle was rejoined. They struck.
I was dancing, spinning my way through the forms taught to me by my Master, The Great Pillow Lion. I could do this, I could feel the tide of the battle holding. I just had to keep it up. My fur was fraying more and more but I could keep this up. I could for Michael.
"Lay off Mary. I have had a long day and I just want to get home without you yelling at me!" Paul rejoined. Oh God. Resentment worms, giant pale slugs had started to inch their way across the threshold. Spiralling and keeping an eye on them, I had heard tales of these but never had to face them in battle. Not tonight, please.
"You had a long day? A long day with that 'secretary' of yours no doubt!" These were no longer pain fairies, they were too big! Giant winged monsters, dark black and mottled red started to zip into the room. Their ponderous leathery wings joining the lighter, higher notes of their cousins.
I spared a glance back at Michael, still sleeping the sleep of the innocent. I would not fail tonight. The resentment worms had started to work their way up the edge of the bed. It was too much. I would have to call upon the magics that I knew were running out. It was a scarce resource but I had to keep going and against this onslaught? I needed it.
Muttering a word I tapped into Michaels sleeping form, shunting down through his memories I dug and dug for an unused memory.
There were precious few left for my needs. The Slugs were getting closer, on the blanket now and sliming their sightless way towards Michaels sleeping form. The aerial assault was not stopping, I kept digging through his memories, there had to be something left!
There! I found it. It was a bright and sunny Saturday. Michael was about 5 and Nancy, his sister was 7. It was a family bbq down by the river and they spent the day playing cricket with a tennis ball and bat from a plank of discarded wood.
Trust and Faith burst into brilliant light, lit by Love. They flashed down and severed the leading head of the Resentment Slug clean off. For a moment the onslaught paused in the face of this defense. I didn't wait, winding my way quickly through the last of the slugs, their filthy tar like blood leaving streaks on my blades.
Outside though, I knew it would not last. There were no lies being brought into existence. Ohh God no, he couldn't be could he? I shook my head despairingly. Then I hear the soft 'Whump' of what should have been Truth angels. But I knew these would be twisted and dark.
"Yeah. I was. Stacey never yells at me. She loves me as a man. I don't have to put up with her bitching at me all the time." Paul whispered out.
What should have been glorious incarnations of light brought forth via truth did not appear. Instead they were deformed versions, their wings dripping gore, their faces transfigured and horrible. They flew not with their swords of Truth and Faith but with Viciousness and Hate. They were coming straight for me.
Steadying my grip on Trust and Faith I was ready to bring battle. My fur was missing in so many places. My stitched arm was barely holding on. I had lost an ear at some point in the fight but I don't remember when. The dark ichor from the slugs was eating into my stuffing. I would win this fight for Michael as I had done countless nights before.
Then I heard Mary crying.
More and more winged beast joined the fray. I knew then that I would have to draw on the dark powers. They were shown to me one night by the Great Pillow Lion. That night when Paul and Mary had fought for hours. When they were both crying. We were lost when the Great Pillow Lion had turned to me and said
"I am going to show you something. I hope you never have to use it. To draw on it too deeply is its own kind of death."
I needed that power now. The ichor was covering the blades, dulling their fiery glow. I closed my eyes and drew deeply. I could feel it, the black welling up and covering not just the swords but myself. I felt murky and soiled. I drew deeper and hardened myself to it, ready to use the power of Denial.
I stuck true but the glory of victory was not there, each sprite, each fairy that I destroyed just felt like another defeat. Michael was murmuring behind me in his sleep. Mary was crying and Paul was much too quiet.
I could not keep this up. Even with the mighty power of Denial I was failing, I was slowing down. I couldn't do it. I was going to fall. A massive hit left me staggering and I fell to my knees. With a great cry the horde knew I was beaten as Mary continued to sob. Paul was saying something but it was lost behind the cacophony of the sound of victory.
As I felt my fur being torn apart I struggle to turn and look once again at Michael's sleeping form. I was done. I just hope that I had done enough, maybe I would end up in the Great Box in the Attic.
Mary uttered the words that would summon my death, I heard her clearly.
"I want a divorce." then it all went dark as I felt what I had been defending for so long, die. I felt Michaels Innocence die.
"What?" exclaimed Paul.
"You heard me you bastard. I want a divorce!"
They both froze when they heard from behind the cracked door a sleepy "My Gumpus? Mr Gumpus where are you?"
"Go to sleep!" Paul barked.
Mary and Paul both watched the door. It slowly creaked open to show Michael rubbing his eyes in his little Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. He stared blearely at them both, then asked.
"Whats a divorce?" | 2,360 | As you've slept, the teddy bear you adore has fought off demons to keep you safe. The night before you decide you're going to get rid of him, seeing as how you've outgrown him, you awake to witness his last stand against the forces that intend to forever corrupt your childhood innocence. | 2,207 |
"Hiya pals!" The small green man bounding down the ramp of the impressive flying saucer waved his hand enthusiastically. As he reached the bottom of the ramp he tripped and went sprawling on the ground, banging his head quite hard but he jumped up, seemingly unaffected.
"Whoopsiedoo-daisy!" He chanted, he voice already beginning to grate on the assembled scientists and generals.
Behind him, on the ramp, a small gathering of other green creatures seemed to be huddling together, one holding its head in its hands.
"Hey, hey, hey, HEY!" Screamed the first creature. "My name is BEEGLE BOB! I'm the cultural ambassador to this planet! Welcome to the Great Assembly of Planets!"Everything he said was an over emphasised sentence, you could actually hear the exclamation marks clanging into place at the end of each line.
Sandra McClaine stepped forward "Welcome to the planet Earth. We are honoured by your..." She paused, the BEEGLE BOB was seeminly urinating on her leg, a long stream of blue flowing from some sort of tube.
BEEGLE BOB looked down "Whoopsiedoo-daisy! Sorry Sandra-lady, me made a MESSY!"
Sandra looked helplessly around her at the group. "That's okay? I guess?" She helplessly tried to keep smiling, despite her leg now burning quite badly.
"I'm gonna go see the President!" BEEGLE BOB marched past Sandra into the line of cars. The people parted and a few soldiers followed, keeping people away.
Sandra looked back at the group of green men at the top of the ramp. One scurried down to her and gestured for her to get lower and she knelt down.
His voice was a fast whisper "Look, we're sorry, he's kind of a dick but he *has* spend al lot of time watching your vision transmissions and so knows a lot about your culture. He's the bosses kid and a bit spoiled. We'll be back in a few thousand years to swap him out for someone else and you'll have the chance to send someone to the Galactic senate then."
Sandra tried to speak but he was gone, back to the ramp and at the top he turned back and mouthed "Sorry" once more.
With a whoosh the ship was gone, in the distance Sandra could hear BEEGLE BOB as he crashed into something "Whoopsiedoo-daisy!"
She put her head in her hands, this was not going to be an easy report to the UN.
| 42 | Our first contact with intelligent life ends up being a little.. underwhelming. | 34 |
>Would you like to try again? Yes/No
No. Nope. Never again. I finally came to terms with my life, and I'm not about to treat it like a god damn game, even if it is one. I'm not going through all that again. Absolutely worthless. What's the point?
>No
I don't want to suffer again. Seeing everyone I ever loved cry around me as I lay there dying. Watching others die as I grew older. And then suddenly their life was just a game.
>10
Why? What led me to believe life was anything other than a game? I should have seen it. But that's probably what everyone said. You got your standard difficulty levels, your "level ups". But without any visible parameters, any idea what you're doing, no idea how to build your character up?
>9
It was just a shit game.
>8
What was the point in crying when my best friend was run over by a car at age 8? He probably restarted. Even if he didn't, it's not as if he actually died. What was the point in spending half my school life wondering how I could have been if he were still around? I couldn't even interact properly with other people at that point.
>7
How about my first breakup at 17 then? My divorce at 56? I guess there's a reason why they say there's plenty of fish in the sea. But that one got away from me and I couldn't do anything about it. I became depressed.
>6
I couldn't even see my *own* stats. I sure as hell don't know what to do to cure depression. Meds? Social interaction? Death?
>5
Were my feelings of happiness just a lie too?
>4
I guess my life was pretty fulfilling. But that was too much for me to handle. So many years, so much effort, just to find out it was a game?
>3
But...
>2
I did have one regret. Something I'll never be able to forgive myself for.
>1
I didn't get to say goodbye.
>0 | 18 | You are on your deathbed in tears over your regretful and miserable life. Once you come to terms with your life and it's imminent end, you immediately pass away afterwards, only to be greeted by text that reads "Would you like to try again? Yes / No" | 17 |
Years have passed since he stole our cradle from us. We do not capitalize his name, for he is no god worthy of respect. He came crashing down in blistering light, surrounded by his heavenly horde. They swarmed Earth, ripping families apart and slaughtering those that resisted. There were no gentle ascensions into the sky; the "chosen ones" were herded aboard glittering vessels and carted away like so much livestock. Once the resistance had been dismantled, "god" returned to his domain upon pillars of fire. Not a word was spoken between he and the humans that had spread out into the solar system. We assume that he views us with disdain for leaving the world he tailored to raise us. Let him continue to do so.
We have since spread to nearby star systems. Their fires and orbiting planets bear no mark of life or "god". So, we claimed them as our own. We are shaping those barren globes to our tastes and needs. We are expanding our empire, harnessing all that the cosmos offers us. Should he ever return to claim the rest of his "children", they will resist. We have conquered the void between suns. We have claimed worlds as our own without his aid. He robbed humanity of their cradle, but he cannot touch our empire.
The heavens belong to humanity, now. The godly heaven will soon be ours as well. Tremble, god, for we will come to reclaim our stolen brethren. | 284 | In 2050 the Rapture happens and the Apocalypse ravages earth. The colonies on the Moon and Mars are untouched by the events. | 252 |
For the last six months my wife and I had been worried sick. If we didn't find enough food soon there was no way that she, myself and more importantly our child would survive the winter. After the third phase we guessed that there was less than 1,000 survivors, considering that we hadn't come across anyone for years and years. The first ten years after it ended had gone by slowly, a haze, we as a race had returned to our hunter gather phase. My wife and I collected as much paper as we could and wrote down as much as we could. WE collected as many books as we could find. We crammed as much information as we could into our bunker. The next five years we spent cramming up on food. We got as much as we could, but then she got pregnant and we knew it wasn't enough. At first we kicked ourselves for our mistake. How could we be so careless. Then we realized that what we had done was actually a beautiful thing. We could resurrect our species, humanity could survive. My wife and I agreed eventually we could find someone else in the world, hopefully they would have made the same beautiful mistake we had. All that information we had though, and there was one more thing I wanted to write.
The wind beat my face and caked on layer upon layer of sand. I flipped over the aluminum trash can lid that I had been staring at for twenty minutes. This was likely my last hope and it was a small one. There, however, in all its irony was the piece of trash I had been searching for. Paper. I took the half melted pen in my hand and began.
*This may be the last scrap of paper on the planet. I was so glad that I found it I cried for hours, but that probably isn't the reason I'm crying. Son when you finally read this I want you to know that your mother and I did everything with you in mind. You need to know our story, but not from a scrap of paper. Your mother will tell you all you need to know. I love you. Have a good life son.*
I started my walk back home and began thinking of all the wonderful things my son would accomplish. He may be president one day, considering there won't be to many other candidates. I left my note with my wife and kissed her hard on the lips then kissed my son on the forehead. I climbed up the later and out the hatch. I reached in my pocket and pulled out my salvation, and more importantly my son's. The cold steel felt good on my forehead. I smiled and saved my son. | 11 | Every single imaginable apocalypse happens simultaneously. | 31 |
"Look, I'm sorry that you got stuck with this but I can't do it anymore."
The voice drifted from beneath the darkened hood and I swear, if Death had a face, it would be looking less than sympathetic.
"I...I don't understand." I stammered. "How can this be happening? How can I even be here? I had just been crossing the street when...when everything went black."
"You were the first to die after I informed the head honchos that I was retiring so, obviously, you will take my place. It's not that hard, mostly boring, although a little sad at times. You get used to it."
"I don't think I can do this."
"You don't really have a choice, sweetie, it's not an option."
"I don't want this!" I exclaimed trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall any moment from my eyes.
Death, holding his hood in his skeleton hands, sighed.
"I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do" and with that last sentiment he vanished.
I looked down, expecting to see myself all bone, draped in a dramatic black cloth, but instead, I saw my body as I had always seen it. I was even still wearing my purple leggings. Except, what was that? I bent down to inspect a small flashing wire that was wrapped securely around my ankle. "beep, beep, beep" it rang out in a low but constant tone. "What does that mean?" I asked no one but myself, when suddenly I felt very ill like, I had been spinning in circles for too long and I shut my eyes desperately trying to fight the feeling of vomit rising in my mouth. Yet when I opened them, I was not where I had been, actually I had no idea where I was now. There were lights flashing red and blue and a siren screaming, begging for attention, to be noticed, and I noticed. There was a man, albeit a young one, on a stretcher and I unconsciously moved toward him. Blood was streaming down his face, pouring from an open wound just above his eye. His neck was held still by a brace and I knew it was broken. He was dying.
"Hi" I whispered to him, unsure of if he could hear me or sense me at all.
"Hi" he responded, although not aloud, I could hear him.
"I don't want to frighten you, but I think you may be dying." I thought I heard him laugh at this but I didn't understand why.
"Of course I am, there's not many occasions on which a dark hooded figure saunters up to you and starts a conversation."
Dark hooded? I looked down again to see just me, my purple leggings, my blinking new fashion statement.
"I'm sorry..." I tried but there were no words.
"So what happens now?" His voice was laced with a nervousness I had not heard before.
"I'm not sure." I answered, because truly I wasn't "It's my first day, I just got kind of shoved into this whole "death reaper" thing. I could take your hand if that's alright?" I wasn't sure if my touch would be enough to kill him but I didn't want to rush things if he wasn't ready.
"Just give me one more moment." I nodded and watched as he opened his eyes, not seeming to mind the blood, and looked up, farther up than I could see.
"Okay." He whispered and I laced my fingers within his own.
| 55 | You have just died. A hooded figure tells you that he's retiring, and you've been elected to take his place. | 56 |
When the report came out, people thought it was a hoax. Just some college students that thought it would be funny. People expected that a couple days later real scientists would give contradicting facts and prove the whole event to be the ridiculous fabrications of children. But the days past, and no such facts emerged. Astronomers around the world remained eerily silent.
The news channels and tabloids naturally blew everything out of proportion. Some called it a sign of the apocalypse, while others claimed it was the actions of aliens trying to steal our resources while we slept in some kind of induced coma. They interviewed every nutcase with a story about being abducted or having a dream about god, and new religions popped up left and right, all focused around this event that nobody could even remember happening. Existing religions had varying explanations, but the most common was that a new age had begun, and that, in some way, god was returning to Earth to save the human race. The Catholic Church scoured every corner of the Earth for their prophet reborn.
But there was one source that kept people sane. The comedians of the world took the panic and hysteria and turned it on its head, lightening people hearts and promising them that it was nothing to worry about. But while people let those words permeate surface of their terror, their fear still festered below. The world was sleepless, aside from the children that were too young to understand what had happened.
The world leaders, at least to some degree, actually worked together to decide what to tell people, just for the sake of keeping their responses consistent and the populace in a manageable state of panic. Though what they said wasn’t all that comforting.
“In short, we don’t yet know what happened. But we do know that nothing occurred while the world slept. No aliens landed on our planet, no apocalypse was set into action, and divine being arrived. This was a footnote in history, nothing more. An event that will be mentioned in passing in history classes. While strange, this event holds little significance.”
But people didn’t believe it.
A few days later, a German scientists came forward with a new theory about the occurrence, something that she claimed the governments of the world were keeping from the people. A signal had been broadcasted across Earth for the entire duration of the day, and it had originated from deep, unexplored space. This scientist’s division had been assigned to replicate the signal and experiment with its effects, and sure enough, anyone exposed slept and did not wake up until the signal ceased. Something had put the world to sleep on purpose.
Anarchy followed. Governments fell overnight, and entire nations were torn down by people that wanted answers and wouldn’t stop until they had them. In the aftermath of the destruction, people hid. They created small towns and societies, stocked up on food, and waited for the worst to happen. People slept with noise cancelling headphones on, tin-foil wrapped around their ears, boards across the windows. Every night they fell asleep with one praying upon their lips: “Please God, wake me up tomorrow.”
But as the weeks turned to months, these bastions began to communicate again. They formed alliances with each other. Everyone, slowly and with a little convincing, agreed that humanity needed to stand together against this threat. A new world order was born. People from every nation and background worked together to build a society that could withstand anything. The few nations that had survived the chaos were brought into the fold or left in the wake of humanities new destiny.
Technology advanced at an extremely rapid rate as clean, renewable energy was established. Businesses dissolved, and goods were handed out to those who needed them. Humanity worked together like a well oiled clock, creating a utopia it had only dreamed of since its birth. All in fear of not waking up in the morning.
And from his seat, millions of lightyears away, an entity some would call God smiled, and took a moment to relish its much deserved success. Thousands of years of work, finally bearing fruit. It leaned back, closed its eyes, and turned on its new favorite song.
| 36 | Astronomers, early one morning, discover that yesterday went by with no one waking. | 55 |
I had fun writing this, thanks for posting the prompt :D
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**JIM**
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"Morning Jim"
"Morning Jim"
"Morning Jim" I replied.
"How'd we sleep last night?" said Jim behind me.
"Out like a log, had some dream but I can't remember it" was my response as I scratched my head and let out a yawn. I nearly cramped up in my calf as I stretched out.
"Hey remember that dream we had about the statue of liberty being in our back yard covered in Christmas lights?" said Jim, who was making breakfast.
"Oh yeah, the one that was kinda like Planet of the Apes?" said Jim behind me, who then proceeded to do his Charlton Heston impersonation "You maniacs! You blew it up! Damn you all to Hell!"
We all laughed. Jim making breakfast even threw in a "you damned dirty apes" line.
I reached down and put my slippers on and then walked to the table where Jim was making breakfast.
"So what's for breakfast today Jim?" I queried, but I knew from the smell already what it was.
"Eggs, bacon and avocado on toast" Jim making breakfast replied.
"Our favourite" we all said. It had become a running joke between us to use that line whenever possible.
Jim, who was behind me, also approached the table and sat on my right, he had allowed his beard to grow a little longer than myself and other Jim.
"I should probably shave this off soon huh?" said beard Jim.
Jim and I shrugged, "I don't see why? Might be good to have a little bit of difference between us" I said, knowing full well that we couldn't, but these small debates had broken the monotony of the day, and it was good to rack your brain on something else besides the main reason that we were here.
"If they come in they're going to take me. I don't want to go outside the experiment." Bearded Jim said, making a joke of the conspiracy theory we had thought up.
Jim who was making breakfast sighed a groan, "urgh, we know they won't come in. They haven't said anything since we got here." he said, swearing as a piece of grease spat from the fry pan onto his arm.
It was true. Jim was right. We had no idea why, or even how we got here. We just woke up in this large room and all of a sudden we had to figure it all out... somehow. Originally though, there were seven of us. All Jim's. They were all clones of me, or I of them. We're not sure. At first it freaked us all out, there was a whole bunch of shouting, hiding, a bunch of batshit insane antics until we finally calmed down and realised this wasn't a dream, or some practical joke. This was actually happening. Seven clones of Jim, all in one room. I wish it were a joke. Seven Jim's walked into a large room and then... uh... well shit... I wish I knew the punchline.
We figured we'd find out something soon, but we never did. All we knew was that we were running out of food and we didn't know what to do.
So that night Jim took his own life. I heard him scuffling about in the kitchen frantically.
"What are you doing Jim?" I had asked, whispered but he heard me. He stopped frozen and then turned to me.
"We can't do this anymore Jim" he had said, I could see the tears rolling down his face. He pulled a knife from the drawer.
"Whoa!" I shouted, which woke the other Jim's up.
"Don't come near me!" he shouted, and then sliced his neck open. It was sickening. Yet I looked at him, at my exact clone, as did the others and we didn't scream or rush to save him. We just turned and looked at each other and sort of realised we would all die this way. I mean, he was us, exactly like us. So if he could do it, we could too.
It took a few days before we all managed to sleep again. We wrapped up Jim's body in his blankets and kind of stuck him in a corner of the room. It wasn't dignified but we couldn't do anything else. We then had to clean up the blood, which again was surreal. This was the same blood that kept us alive. At least, I think that's how it works with clones. Not physically but metaphorically. Right? That's how clones work yeah? I don't know, we're not medically trained professionals or scientists. We're just Jim's.
Anyway. That's when we first realised something. We had fallen asleep and in the morning dead Jim was gone and the food storage was restocked. The first thing we thought of was that there's a door. So we spent hours upon hours looking for any sign of it. We clawed at walls, Jim lost a nail at one point. We checked the floors, behind cupboards, under furniture. We even sat upon each others shoulders and checked the roof. Let me tell you, having your identical balls rub against the back of your neck is disconcerting.
We could never find the door though.
So there were six of us Jim's left. We had sat down and contemplated why we were here. What reason would anyone have to clone us and leave us in a room. We figured it must be an experiment. Or aliens. Or both. But what was the point of the experiment? We think it's to find out if we can figure out who the proper Jim is. So that's what we do now. We try and find out who's real Jim.
"Right, I'm going to shave and then we'll get started" said bearded Jim as he licked the residue egg off his knife.
"The last one" said Jim and I.
We had created a system where we would sit and figure out who was real Jim, or as we had dubbed it "Ultra Jim". We would try and find memories that the others didn't know or look for certain mannerisms or physical attributes that other Jim's couldn't do. We had even scoured every part of each others bodies to try find physical imperfections. I mentioned before having your identical balls rub against your neck was disconcerting, but viewing your identical asshole is fucking frightening.
Either way, we'd talk and talk and debate about who was Ultra Jim and who wasn't until the food would run out and then finally, when we got nowhere we would draw straws. Smallest straw, well... They went the same way that dead Jim went.
We just ate the last of our food and we had decided not to leave two Jim's in the room because we knew we'd freak out and attack each other, probably eventually killing us both. Then no one could be Ultra Jim. So today we would try one last time to figure it out, and then we would draw straws. However, this time whoever got the longest straw would stay alive and the other two would become dead Jim's.
"So Jim, how about the time..."
"Yeah Jim... I remember."
"Hey Jim, can you do this?"
"Yeah, remember we learnt that at school"
"Yeah."
"Green still your favourite colour?"
"Trick question asshole, you know it's red"
"God damn it."
"Shall we draw straws?"
We didn't have to respond, we knew we were just delaying the inevitable.
We drew the straws.
"Shit, Jim, you got the long straw. Congrats buddy."
We all, sadly, shook hands. | 198 | You wake up in a room of clones of yourself. It is apparent that only the original can leave, but you all believe you're the original. | 222 |
Seventeen seconds until the dimensional phase shift kicks on and we all wind up punching out of this literally god damned drop ship to assault the Kingdom of Heaven. We know how many angels they have, we know they've got mechs, we know they have anti-air. We know that the fucking Seraphim angels are waiting for us, too, those fiery winged bastards.
God, in all his arrogance, never thought his own creations would come against him. But with expansion comes diversity, with diversity comes enlightenment. Maybe we're about to end the universe. Maybe everything will make a lot less sense when he's a rotting corpse. Maybe he can't well be killed, even with the Devil's Blade and the Great Black Corruption. There's a lot of maybes up in this bitch and they're making it real hard to psych myself up for what is probably a suicide mission in the most appropriate - or inappropriate - place possible.
If I die, I ain't got far to go. Just a quick trip past the River Styx to go hang in the sulfur pit.
In an effort to stop thinking so much, I turn my attention to the other five in my ship. They're all in their drop shells waiting for us to get shot out of the belly of one beast into another, but I can see their faces. We got Halliel, the bastard traitor angel fallen from heaven a while ago who joined up with the resistance some time ago. She's pretty, if you're into androgynous chicks with lots of muscles and big fluffy wings. Great ass, though.
Then there's Nilson, the demon whom Halliel gripped tight and raised from Perdition in accordance with the Universal Balance Accords that God broke when he tossed a shit load of angels at Earth and destroyed it in hopes of destabilizing the army by taking out the heart of the Sol Shipyards. I like Nilson. He's got a sort of odd face because of the upward jutting tusks and his tail is kind of weird to get used to, but he's good in bed and makes a mean stir fry - so I figure it evens out.
Roland, the Silfi. Great big five hundred pound tentacle monster who hates being tickled and does things with plasma sabers that make me afraid he's going to cut one of his tentacles off or something. His chemical and nutrient diet makes him smell like bananas and something vaguely like handsome but he tastes a lot like some kind of apple alcohol which is weird as hell.
Filan, the Zaro. Twelve feet tall, leanly muscled, hell on two feet with a big ass reverb-cleaver and a huge plasma rifle. He's a bit of a size queen, but I'd never say that to his face since he's got a thing about not being able to take a joke. He might be a bit of a prick and has never a nice word about anyone in his life but in a battle I know he's got my back. He also happens to be the holder of the cursed Right Arm of Destruction which means that with his special weapons he can blow shit up in spectacular ways. The skin tone on his arm versus his body is weird. Most of him is purple, the arm is ice white and covered in tattoos. He rocks it though.
Then there's Z-K. No one knows why, but Z-K insists on being female. Being that she's a Mechanoid, she could be male, female, neither or both - and she has been both a few times. That was fun. Exhausting, but fun. She's also, oddly enough, the holder of The Song, which is a hell of a thing. When she sings, the enemy is prone to tripping and experiencing weapon malfunctions. Once, she hummed a jaunty tune and a guy sneaking up on our camp during the Holy Occupation on Z-557 tripped and then one of his grenades blew him to jelly. That was pretty hilarious. I remember a time when I'd have thought that was horrible and been sick for hours, but I've been at war since I was sixteen, so... I guess I'm used to it.
Or I've developed some kind of personality disorder mixed with screwing everything that moves as some kind of twisted coping mechanism. I don't know... it might be what I hold.
My viewport goes opaque and I'm staring at my own face.
Zil, a succubus-human hybrid and the holder of Dead Man's Heart. It pounds sluggishly in my chest, right next to my normal one. When the Artifact of the Before was found during our sixth expedition into the Black Corruption Vortex, I didn't know what I was looking at. Then I touched it, making sure it wasn't wet because standard scanners don't handle moisture so well.
I thought at first it had bit me, but it didn't. It was so much worse. It had *stung* me. I was paralyzed for an hour while the others searched in the darkness for me and the Heart crawled up to my face and then forced itself down my throat. It's one of the few symbiotic Artifacts we know of, of the four hundred our armies have recovered and implanted. I feed it... I drink blood, it pays me back by giving me the ability to manifest its weapon. My weapon. To become death, destroyer of... well, a shitload of angels, hopefully. I guess it makes me heal a lot faster, and die a lot uh... less easily.
I guess I'm pretty. I think I was prettier when my skin wasn't charcoal black and when the colors of my eyes, nails and hair weren't inverted. Now I'm this weird backwards colored lady with neon white-blue hair and a bad case of 'resting bitch face' - not to mention the horns. They get in the way sometimes.
*"Beginning drop in twelve seconds."*
Ah shit, here we go. Feet first into heaven, for better or worse. Us and two hundred other Artifact holders.
I shut my eyes tight, wishing drops didn't always make me want to piss myself with terror. Think about the before time, that's always interesting. Distract your mind.
Oh god, here it comes.
Distract yourself. Do it. Do it.
*"Initializing drop sequence. For blood, for honor, for glory, for freedom."*
We shoot out of the bottom of the ship, our drop shells equalizing our fall rates so we hit at the same time. Immediately I can feel anti-air shells popping all around us. Please, fucking please, don't kill me that way. There's still so much blood to drink, and people to screw. I ain't ready to go out like this.
The Before Time.
When all was Black Corruption and nothing was light. People think that Void in the bible was just nothing, but it was something alright. God said let there be light and he pushed the corruption into death. Now it's shadow still exists, but it can never return. Shame God turned out to be an asshole when he got a taste of power.
*"Impact in six seconds."*
Oh shit. Time to get whipped up, frothy and pissed off. Think about the planets the Seraphim have destroyed in their Holy Cruisers. Think about that angel burning your mother alive as you watched. Think about killing god, spilling his pearly white blood on the ground. Think about it!
God damn it, I want to taste that blood. I hope they let me. God's blood, gotta be the best blood.
My heart rates double. My breathing is fast and sharp. If I wasn't such a monster, I wouldn't be so turned on right now. But being god's little mind slave isn't my cup of tea so I'll be as monstrous as I have to be to put him in a fucking pine box.
Impact.
Our shells split open and I roll out, baring my teeth. Short term pulse shield projectors protect us. We have seven seconds. Seven seconds to prepare.
I throw my hand out and call for Dead Man's Axe. We don't really know why they needed a big ass axe made for beheading in the Before Time, but it sure is helpful here. The long black pole whispers into existence in my hand, the blade as big as my damned torso forming at the end. Plasma sabers crackle to life to one side. I can hear a plasma rifle charging to my right. A terribly haunting song begins. The end is coming, one way or another.
I can't even see right. Everything is red.
I'm so *fucking* ***thirsty.***
The shields drop. All around us, other shells have impacted or are impacting.
Time to go to work. | 186 | It's year 2492 and humanity at last left the solar system and contacted an alien advanced civilization. Upon contact they find out every advanced civilization in universe wages war against God. | 244 |
Adjusting my glasses, I prepare to write another series of lengthy paragraphs under the eerie glow of the computer. Before I can, however, the window, no, the *entire fucking wall*, falls over. Smoke rolls into the room, and the smell of various burning items fills my nose.
By this time I was cowering in the furthest corner of my room from the destruction, eyes locked on a floating, mound-like object slowly pushing its way through the destruction it had reaped. "ALEX TURNER!" a booming voice commanded, coming from the whole in the wall. The thing moved ever-closer.
"W-what? What the fuck's going on?" I cried, making a feeble attempt to stand back up. By this time the object had made its way into the room and was levitating idly near my computer. It was at that point I realized the thing was a gigantic potato flying in the air for no apparent reason.
"I AM POSITRON POTATO, AND I AM HERE FOR YOUR IDEAS!" it answered. The potato. It was talking. Well, it was huge and flying as well, so that's the cherry on top, I suppose. "Wh-what do you m-mean?" I stuttered, pressing my back against the wall as not to fall over.
"YOU! YOU ARE A WRITER! WRITERS HAVE BRIGHT IDEAS! AND I NEED IDEAS!" A ghastly green fire burst into life around my computer, floating it into the air beside the potato. Turning around, the potato backed out, flying into the night.
"W-wait!" It was too late. My minecraft saves, my assignments, my embarrassing fanfiction that I would rather not describe in even the most secret of settings. All gone. A fucking potato stole it. And I'm gonna get it back.
| 16 | That idea for a story that you've been thinking about for a while now. Write that. | 58 |
Body markets were always filthy. The man had been to many, searching, always searching for the his new body. He was old, and dying, but he was rich. Filthy, exorbitantly rich. His entourage cut through the grimy Indian market, steam rising from vents in the ground, smoke from the food stalls lining the alley filling the air. The crowded passage easily made way for him. The locals knew what he was here for. They knew to stay out of the rich men's ways.
The man and his body guards turned off the shady alleyway into an even darker one. Here the food stalls stopped, replaced by stores with dubious purposes and men with hard looks in their eyes. Most averted their gaze when the man looked at them. Even the lowest of trash has respect for his power. The man stopped in front of one shop with boarded and darkened windows. His guard fanned around him, staring holes in any person curious enough to look their way. "Stay here. This is it." The man told his guards. They shifted anxiously, but complied.
The man opened the door and stepped into the musty, dark storefront. It smelled like shit, and the only illumination came from a single lightbulb hanging on the ceiling. The disinterested store owner, a grey haired wisp of a human, glanced up at the man, once. A spark flashed in his eye, and turned away, walking into the back of the store. The man followed. The owner walked deeper into the store, turning left and right, navigating his way further and further into the building. He entered a side door, and the man followed him inside. When he entered the room, the man was gone. The door closed behind him, the only light in the room vanished, and the sound of grinding gears and heaving machinery filled the room. The floor descended suddenly, lowering further and further into the ground.
After what seemed like an eternity the floor came to a stop. A door opened in front of the man, flooding the room with brilliant, blinding, white light. The man blinked, once, twice, as his eyes adjusted. When he could finally see, he smiled. The door opened into a large amphitheater filled with people. Overseers with guns watched as prisoners were ushered into various pens surrounding the ground floor. No, not prisoners. Bodies. Most were young, pretty looking things, both make and female. All looked scared, with thick metal collars surrounding their necks. None had a mark on their bodies, to preserve their value. The center of the arena was dominated by a large stage, where bodies stood in a line waiting to be called up to be auctioned off. One Body tried to run off, fighting an overseer and jumping off the auction block. He managed three steps before his collar lit up, and his body spasmed and fell to the ground, paralyzed. His body was dragged off, into one of the holding pens.
Sitting in chairs in front of the stage stood well dressed, affluent looking people of all ethnicities. Most were old, accompanied by a guard or a handpiece. All had a look of malicious hunger on their faces. The man descended the steps into the Body Market. | 12 | In the future, technology exists to transfer one person's conciousness to another body, giving identity theft a whole new meaning. Write about the identity black market. | 28 |
I pass through life with an apologetic smile.
I've always been in the way. I was in the way of my mother and father's happiness when I arrived on this planet so unexpectedly. I was supposed to be a tumor in my young mother's uterus. But there I was, hiding behind the tumor, in the way of its growth.
I was in the way as their marriage disintegrated in a beautiful mushroom cloud, and they fought over their possessions with ten times the acrimony with which they fought over me.
I walked away. I left a note that I was sorry, so sorry.
My wanderings began. I've lived in cities, suburbs, and, of course, the countryside. I think the last is my favorite. The land is so big and vast and wide that I can be of no trouble to anyone, at least until some farmer runs me off his land with a shotgun.
There was a girl, once. She was blonde and beautiful and I thought that maybe she could love me. When she would stand in the kitchen chopping vegetables with the sunlight streaming in from the windows I would put my arms around her waist and kiss her neck and think that I had found a place. I belonged.
But... I was in the way of her happiness, and it wasn't long before she too brushed past me to pursue her life with another.
I don't know how many years I've been 25. There are no gray hairs upon my head, but everyone I ever knew as a child is dead and gone. They all knew when their time was up. But here I am, ageless, nothing but an ERROR, not meant to exist, not meant to live.
Not meant to die. | 479 | Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR | 596 |
It started out small, the fear growing in Ellie. At only 14 she was diagnosed with neuroblastoma. Generally the five-year outlook wasn't too bad, but she wasn't so lucky. Eventually, she spent more time in the hospital than out. Her bed was her home, school, and, she knew, her deathbed. The fear that had started out so small grew, branching out and filling her with such dread that the end seemed too far. The helplessness would drive her insane before the cancer killed her.
Having some of her favorite people come by alleviated the pressure somewhat, but they merely represented her time ticking by. Her favorite actor, actress, singer, dancer, writer, the list goes on. She knew they were there because of the cancer, not her. Their stares were empty to her, filled with sympathy rather than empathy. She wanted to scream at them, spewing her rich, fevered emotions on their consciences. She was still a person; she still had hopes, dreams, emotions, and passion. All of that was cut short by this arbitrary monster that had made her body its host. Slowly, her fear turned to anger.
The last visitor held a unique hope. He was her favorite writer. Amongst the few things she could do in the hospital, she could read. There were an endless number of worlds she could escape to, temporarily forgetting her eminent demise. She saw parts of herself in these books, some essence that she related to wholly. Here, she thought, was someone who could save her from the pit which threatened to swallow her sanity.
But all she received was that hollow stare. It was heartbreaking. The one person she felt could understand her, realize how the situation affected her, treated her like everyone else. Like everyone else, he spoke to her mom. There were pleasantries exchanged and topics relating to the future avoided. Anything holding back her fermented fear and rage failed. She let out a soulful cry, alone in a world she wouldn't be able to take part in. Her words, broken by sobs and moans, cut deep. All her insecurities about being looked at as an object, something less than whole, spilled out of her. There was nothing that could make up for such a short life, she argued. She would die in the most solitary way, having no time to find someone who understood.
Her breathing was labored, gasps filling her lungs with barely enough air to get by. The steady beat of her heart faltered and she felt pain spreading across her face. *No.* It was her last thought as she looked around the room. Her mother was wide-eyed and scared. The hospital staff rushing in were focused on saving her. The author, her favorite author, looked sad, ashamed. Her body fell back against the pillows. She wasn't saved.
| 79 | A young cancer patient is sick and tired of all these damn celebrities popping in for surprise visits. | 194 |
"Oh, my. You'll have to excuse Zognax. He's only four-hundred and twenty three years old. Kids are so precocious at that age," the alien looked exactly like the 'grey' aliens from popular culture, huge head, big black eyes, and tiny mouth; except she had on a 50's style red and white polka-dotted dress and a large sunhat.
Zognax, her child, looked exactly like her except he running around the oval office wearing a cape and batman mask.
"Look at me! I'm North Korea!" he shouted while throwing a toy soldier at the wall.
"I... see," the newly elected President of the United States lied. He had no idea what was going on. All he was told was to go to his new office for a very important meeting.
"It's alright that you don't have any idea what's going on. We're quite used to that, what with your country electing a new 'leader' every so often," the father alien said. He was wearing a fitted striped suit and a fadora.
The mother alien spoke, "You've heard of the Roswell crash, right? Well, it was us. We were off doing some surveying and looking for a nice vacation spot where we can lounge around for a few centuries. We saw your planet and took a look, but Zognax here was a very naughty boy and turned off our stealth shields. Next thing we know, our family cruiser is shot down in a desert. It was very rude of you to do that."
The father alien nodded, "We just left three inert clone bodies next to the crash and did the next most logical thing; took control of the minds of every leader on the planet. Do you want some brandy? It's very good."
A bottle of brandy floated up, poured itself into a cup which then floated over to the President's desk.
"Wait, what?" the President elect asked.
The mother alien smiled, "We took over your world. It wasn't difficult or anything. We just need you humans to stay alive and progress enough technologically so we can fix our ship. Of course, little Zognax here isn't making it easy on us."
"Rahh!" Zognax was now playing with a large King Kong toy, "I'm an African warlord! Rahh!"
The President sat down heavily, "So, where do I come in?"
"You?" the father alien asked, "You just enjoy the next four years and try not to cause a scandal."
The mother alien chuckled, "Sorry. It's an inside joke. We cause a massive scandal for every President that's tried to record our conversation or prove our existence. That silly Nixon with his ubiquitous tape recorder."
"At least Clinton tried to be sneaky about it," the father Alien nodded, "So you just enjoy the ride. Fund technology research when you can, and keep making those hilarious 'sc-fi' shows. We'll make sure there's no civilization-ending wars or meteors or anything like that."
The mother alien nodded, "And if Zognax tries to do another Cuban Missile Crisis situation, we'll make sure he gets a very prompt psychic spanking."
Zognax stood up and pouted, "You never let me have any fun!"
That was when the President drank all of his brandy in one massive gulp. | 64 | Aliens have taken over the world, and nothing has really changed. | 69 |
Sarah is sitting at the dining table, filling in blue boxes in black pen and murmuring under her breath whenever the questions get difficult.
"Fuckers, I have to provide the last three years' income? That's ridiculous..."
"Coffee?" Her head jerks up as I approach, mug offered, and a slow smile spreads across her face.
"Yes. This form," she waves her hands hopelessly at the page. "Is ridiculous."
"You're welcome. And I could hear you. What else are they asking?" I peer over at the page. The Fertility Form, or its official name - X/X/Y Form 3a, is commonly known as a beast to fill in. If you get through that stage, and manage to cut through the layers of bureaucratic red tape to get your form accepted by the correct office, then you have to wait at least three years to find out if your proposal has been accepted, and if you're going to be able to have a child. I've never seen one before.
I clasp her hand, the one that isn't holding the coffee and she starts for a moment, before remembering that it's the way I show affection. She awkwardly pats the back of my fingers and smiles again, a little lopsided on one side of her face.
"You've got to stop doing that," she says sadly. "You never know who's watching."
"In our kitchen?"
"All the same. They see compassion and they'll know. Wait till we get accepted." Hands wave at the form again.
"If we get accepted." I say it without thinking. Sarah's eyes flick to the TV screen on the kitchen counter. The President Royal stands atop a black stage, arm curled protectively around his son. The child is a blue-eyed, curly haired wonder. A hand snatches at my heart as I consider being able to hold my own son like that, hands around his small frame.
"Turn it off." Sarah snaps. "I don't like seeing them."
"Children?"
"Parents."
The next week I'm out, lugging carrier bags back home, both hands red from the effort. Cars idle past slowly. It's a quiet road, here. A ball rolls past my feet and into the road. A child follows it, hair flowing in the breeze, laughing out loud. Before I really consider it I drop everything, throwing myself at the child. Horns sound and I have my arms around him, back curled, braced against the impact. Brakes squeal and I look up slowly, three-year old still clasped to my chest. He's crying, but his ball is in his hands and he's safe.
But there is no loud exclaim of thanks, no slaps on the back, nothing. The gathered crowd begin to look at me shiftily.
"Mother! He was kind! He-"
The child is cut off. His mother has both hands like pincers clutching onto his little dungareed shoulders.
"You need to go," she hisses at me, like a territorial cat. "You're a cheat. Think of what we had to go through."
Sarah knows there's something wrong as soon as I come in.
"Will... What have you done?"
I'm throwing clothes into a bag, unable to see through the swimming veil of tears in front of my eyes. Sarah hovers at my elbow, knowing if the situations were reversed I would touch her right now. She's lacking the ability to know what is right, to empathise with how I feel. She makes the same faces I do, but there's no compassion.
Nothing.
I have to leave.
| 64 | You live in a world where everyone is infertile. To have a baby, you need to apply to the government for medication which makes you fertile. You are the result of illegal fertility and in result have different characteristics. The public now knows. | 172 |
Doctor Malachi Bint took his little pen light and shined it in my left eye. Then my right eye. Then the left again.
"Hmm?" was all he said.
"Anything, Doc?" I said as he continued his efforts to blind me one eye at a time.
"Follow the light with your eyes." He took the little light, started at the edge of my vision on my right and moved the tiny light slowly to the left - a tiny Sun looking to illuminate a problem. Any problem.
God, please let me have some problem with my eyes.
When the little light reached the end of it's day and came at last to as far as my eyes could go left, Dr Bint turned his tiny torch off and sat back in his chair.
He stared at me over the half lenses of his reading glasses. He knew me well enough to know that I was deeply bothered by something.
"Nothing wrong with your eyes Paul." He said.
*Well, that just means I'm crazy then*, I thought.
I heard his chair roll forward and then found a lolly pop placed into my open palm - I hadn't even realised I had just sat and looked at them, my hands, after he'd given me the all clear. Dr Bint always gave me a lolly pop after a check up. He'd been my doctor since I was six.
*Could be something wrong with my brain. Something neurological?* I thought.
The kindly old Doctor patted me on the knee and said "Paul? What's the matter?"
I looked up at him. He was wavy and blurred through the tears that filled my eyes, but I could still make out the tiny horns atop his head.
Dr Malachi Bint was a short, grey bearded man, with half-lensed eyeglasses perpetually stuck half way down his thin beak-like nose. He was not a Satyr, a half man half goat, but that is what I saw him as now.
Two tiny horns peaked out from his greying, dark, legoman like hair. Instead of pants he wore furry goats legs. On his feet were hooves, not shoes. His shirt with it's rolled up sleeves and his gaudy horrible tie were the same as ever.
"It's nothing, Doc." I stood up, shook his hand and walked out of his office before he could object. The waiting room of the small practice was filled with an encyclopaedia of mythology. A tiny gargoyle, maybe a little boy, complained to a large pile of rocks that he was bored. The rocks passed the boy a smart phone and said in an entirely too feminine voice for a pile of rubble: "Please don't waste all of Mummy's battery.
There were winged things, slug things, people with animal traits, and animals with people traits.
I left the small building, a converted house, and walked with quick long steps to my car. As I pulled away I looked back into the building through the tall glass windows at it's front and saw Dr Bint. He stood, his legs all furry with hair, in the doorway to his office, a look of concern on his face as he watched me drive away.
***
I had awoken that day and started it like any other: a bowl of sugary cereal and a half hour of early morning TV. I watched the news these days. I didn't really care about global events, which I some times felt guilty about, but I wasn't giving up the sugary cereal and had decided I needed to do something to at least act like I had lived my twenty eight years. So I kept the sugar and swapped out the cartoons.
There was the same news team I always watched, spread out on couches to show how casual and friendly they were. They would laugh and joke. Apparently, behind the scenes, they all hated each other.
That fact made the show almost worth watching. I had waited and waited for one of them to snap, live on camera.
Instead, I had snapped.
Where I had expected people on couches, I saw creatures. The sports guy was a horned and heavy bull like biped - a minotaur? - and the lead female anchor was a mermaid, her scaly tail flopped in the cool dry studio air.
Those are some good costumes. Why aren't they bringing them up? They are *really* good costumes.
These had been the thoughts that went through my head.
When I had stepped outside to make my way to my office my neighbours had worn similar disguises as they drove off to work. I ran back inside. The mirror showed a confused human man. No animal parts.
Then I went and saw Dr Bint.
* * *
My time with the doctor had been unfruitful and so I had come back home and gone to bed. Despite how real the pillow beneath my head felt, I was adamant that this was all a dream.
"Just got to wake up." I said to myself, hands over my eyes "That's all. Just got to wake up."
Someone knocked at my front door.
"Just got to wake up."
They knocked again.
I wiped the tears away and went to the door. As my hand gripped the handle I paused. "Who is it?"
"It's Carol, saw your car out front." Said a voice like Carol's "Figured we could grab a coffee and watch some 'toons if you're not going to work."
Carol is my neighbour from a few houses down. A friend. She is a young women that enjoys tattoos, skate-boarding, and cartoons - hobbies of which I could only relate to one.
I opened the door and sighed with relief. I then sucked the sigh back in with a quiet gasp as she walked into my house.
She had looked normal, and was - mostly.
A faint and not unpleasant green coloured her skin and darkened in a few areas: her cheeks, her eyelids...
Where tattoos had travelled up her arms there was vines, not made of ink, but real vines. A wreath of flowers adorned her head. She still wore a stretched and tattered T-shirt with the faded logo of some band, grubby blue jeans, and flat bottomed sneakers.
I don't know why I could tell her and not the Doc, but I did.
* * *
"That's fucked up, Pauly." She said when I had finished describing what I had seen on the TV and at Malachi Bint's medical practice. "Wait..."
"Yeah, I'm crazy, right? No one looks like themselves!" I said. I watched her face. Waited for her to scream or back away from the madman and find an excuse to leave. She just seemed confused.
"Wait..."
"You can leave if you want." I said "I think I'll just check myself into a mental hosp-"
"Wait, wait, wait!" She had a smile on her face "What am I? Have I got bat wings?"
"Um, no." I said.
"Do I at least have a tail?"
"No. No tail" She was going to hate what I saw. She would want to be something cool and instead she was some plant lady.
"Anything cool?"
"Well, um."
She squinted, leaned forward and put a hand on my knee "Paul, describe me."
I did.
"What?"
I described her again.
"That's what I thought you said." She looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"I don't get to choose how I see people, sorry."
"Paul."
"Yeah?"
"That's exactly how I look."
I looked at her - green and beautiful and...and...
"Fuckin what?" I said as what she said hit me.
* * *
I dragged Carol with me into Dr Bint's office as a bright winged fairy left.
"Paul, I-" He started.
I closed the door behind Carol and I, and said "Doc, I need your help."
"Whatever you need, Paul." His voice was calm and caring and his eyes were on Carol "And you are?"
She put out a hand "Carol, Carol Channing."
The Satyr Dr Bint smiled and gave her offered hand a shake "Any-"
"No, no relation" Said Carol with a forced smile.
I was giddy and smiling. It couldn't be, could it? "Doc, describe her for me."
"What?" He said.
"Just do it, please."
"Well, um, she is a young women in her twenties who likes a band called, err, *Eedle Moth*?"
She chuckled "Needle Mouth, the shirts pretty faded."
"Ah, I see!"
"No, Doc, physically, describe her physically!" As I said this they both looked at me.
He fiddled with his glasses and went red. "I don't think that that is appropriate, I hardly-"
"Just complection and the like, Doc."
They looked at eachother and Carol shrugged.
"Well, she has healthy green skin..."
I fought back a cheer as the Doctor said it. *I'm not crazy!*
"...she has a lot of vine work on her arms, very good work by the way, talented artist."
"Yeah, I've got a good guy. I'm gonna get him to do flowers on my back."
"I always wanted a tattoo," The Doctor said with a chuckle "Could never settle on a design, though."
"Carol, describe the Doc."
"Well I don't think-" The Doctor started, but Carol dove straight in.
"He's got a kind, sweet look to him; strong hairy legs, I'd say his a runner; he's got a full head of hair, won't be going bald any time soon; and has a...*unique* choice of neck tie." She looked at me and smiled "Do I pass?"
I was lost in thought. Had been since she confirmed the Doc had goat legs. *What in the hell is going on?*
"Wait." I said aloud "What do I look like?"
"You've got healthy beige skin and hair in only a few places, why?" Said Dr Bint.
*So, I still look how I thought I looked...*
***
I explained to the Doc what had brought me to him in the first place and then what had brought me back. He offered to check me in to the hospital, to have some scans, and I took it.
They found nothing. I was healthy and, psychologically, was not a threat to anyone.
After a few days I went home.
I now spend my mornings before work trying to find others like me. Others that remember the way the world was. I'm convinced that it has changed - or that I've somehow travelled to an alternate reality.
There's got to be someone else.
At least it gives me something to do in the mornings.
Carol and I watch cartoons at night.
---
*Edit: Came back to find that I had some gold. Thank you kindly, stranger!* | 16 | Everyone in the world has been transformed into a mythical creature (gargoyles, nymphs, centaurs, etc) and no one notices except the one remaining human. | 26 |
Harry flicked on his torch, heading through the darkened lobby. This Transcendence Tower had been progressing quite well and was looking all set to open in a few months. Just need to furnish all the rooms and double-check the wiring and it would be fully operational. He reached the lift, getting readying to start his routine patrol of the building. He stared at the buttons, checking that they were all fixed in place and so forth.
He paused over the bottom button. It was for the 13th floor. Harry knew full well there wasn't a 13th floor, the building capped out at 12 due to the CEO's obsession with superstition. Assuming it was some bad joke put there by a bored builder on his lunch break, he took the lift up to the 12th and started his patrol.
Everything seemed fine as he walked around the darkened building. Wires hung from ceilings as the city winds cut through the structure. There was an ethereal quality to the Tower at night, with the howls of the wind echoing through the empty rooms. Harry paid it no real mind. He'd made this patrol so many times that the noises did not startle him. He was more concerned if a squatter was living in the building or if a piece of equipment was missing.
He continued his patrol, his whistling mixing with the rushes of air through the tower. Everything seemed to be in order as he checked his clipboard. No squatters or stolen equipment so it seemed like an uneventful night. He returned to the lift, readying to go back home.
That button was still there though. That button to an impossible floor. It played on his mind as he rode the lift down to the lobby. He was certain it was a joke. It had to be right? He had seen the plans for the Tower, it was only 12th floors as per the boss's orders.
But Harry could not leave it alone. It would be a bad job not to check, he thought, as the lift doors showed him the path home. He looked at his clipboard again and clicked his torch back on. He pressed the 13th button and waited. The lift didn't stir. He pressed the button again to reassure that it was just a joke. It didn't respond. Breathing a sigh of relief, he headed to the exit just to have the lift begin to move. He pressed the 'Stop' button but it refused to respond, with the lift simply moving up into the building.
He stood back and clicked the torch on and off repeatedly. This wasn't really surely? This was just some elaborate joke. He'd get to the 12th floor, the lift would stop and he'd head home. He keep thinking that as the lift shot past the 12th floor. It seemed to climb and climb, gaining speed as it went. Harry clutched the rails, continually hammering the Stop button, praying for some miracle. The lift continued to pick up speed, ascending what seemed like hundreds of floors whilst Harry began to bash the Stop button with his torch.
It stopped. The doors opened.
*13th floor.* A voice said from the lift tannoy. Harry opened his eyes and stepped onto the floor. Unlike the others, it was fully decorated. The sight of glass and chrome contrasted with the grey concrete and dangling wires of the previous 12 floors. There was no howling, just the hum of the lift and Harry's breathing.
He walked into the central room and looked from the giant glass front. He could see the city below, islands of light floating in the airy black. He put his hands to the glass, making sure it was real. As he looked out over the city, the lift began to descend. He ran for a call button that wasn't there.
He stepped back, frantically searching for the stairs or the fire escape. The silence seemed to mock him, as the light from his torch began to fade. He looked to the islands of light but they had been lost to the darkness. He stumbled through the floor, grasping for something to guide. He ran, he screamed, he prayed for something to help him escape from the impossible floor.
The howls were louder from that day on, as a new manager began to patrol the tower. | 11 | You're a building manager of a new skyscraper that doesn't have a 13th floor. At midnight during your routine checkup, you go in the elevator to find a mysterious button for the 13th floor that wasn't there before. | 32 |
If he'd met her six months ago, this wouldn't be their last dance. If he had met her six months ago, this wouldn't be his rehearsal dinner and she wouldn't be standing in front of him in the most simply-cut dress he had ever seen, just black falling to her feet and the back open an almost scandalous amount. But he had met her three weeks ago and there had been two coffees, three walks in the park and one terrible, cliff-hanging moment where their lips had almost touched and then she'd made some excuse about having to pick something up. The moment had evaporated in nervous laughter, like a romcom, but in reality chest-achingly painful because no one in real life breaks up with their fiancée at their rehearsal dinner.
Someone, in all their madness, had given them one last dance together. The music had started playing, *the one good song on the playlist,* and their eyes had met from across the room like hopeless teenagers at a school disco. And he'd taken her in his arms. The touch of her hands against his skin sent shivers racing down his spine and he'd had to take a couple of deep breaths before placing the flat of his hand delicately on the small of her back. Her skin was like silk. Her breath whispered against his cheek, smelling faintly like coffee covered up with mint. It had been twenty minutes since the last cups had been cleared away.
"You told me you couldn't dance," she said softly.
"I can't. You're doing all the work," his mouth was dry. He wanted to wrap both arms around her and roar like a bear, hold her to him for ever.
"It's always the way isn't it?" They moved past other couples. To him they seemed stiff and wooden. The only person who moved, who really *breathed* was the girl in his arms, right now. They glided together across the dark floor, cheek to cheek but refusing to look at the other.
"We need to talk," he said hoarsely. The music swelled in crescendo and they moved faster. Now she was a little out of breath.
"I don't think we do," she replied
Circling once more around the dance floor, the music lingering in both of their ears but the DJ, dressed in sad white trousers and a matching jacket was struggling to find the next track to put on. It was over for both of them.
"Please," he said and she looked at him, dark brown eyes glinting with something he wanted.
"Forget me. Be happy." And she was gone. | 13 | A couple has their last dance together | 26 |
“Daddy?” She eeked out, still trembling with fear. “DADDY?! It was YOU?”
Wendy’s father stayed silent, only bothering to grunt as he tossed the cheap Halloween mask aside and cleaned his dripping-red blade on his work pants. No answer in the world would justify the horrors he’d perpetrated on his only daughter and new son-in-law on their wedding night.
“WHY?!?!” she shouted.
It was then that Wendy heard her husband Luke call out for help from the attic, his body still twisted up in barbwire. “SOMEBODY HELP US! HEEEEELLLLLP!!!!” He resumed audibly coughing on his own blood bubbles.
Wendy’s Father inched closer. “Don’t think of me as your dad anymore, pumpkin,” he said nonchalantly. “After all, I just gave you away in front of 200 guests. You’re a total stranger now. Just tonight’s little project.”
And with that, Wendy’s shock turned to hate. Pure, unadulterated hate. She backed towards the gift table, feeling around for something –*anything*— she could use to defend herself. And there it was… the battery-powered bread knife. At her reception earlier, she’d rolled her eyes at Aunt Edna’s gift. Now, she was ready to erect a fucking shrine to that old bat for this… this little *slice* of heaven.
*BZZZZZZZT!* – The bread knife purred as she flicked it on, swinging through the air. The serrated edge cut a sizeable gash on Daddy’s forehead. He stumbled back, dropping his own blade in the process to shield his eyes from the cascading blood.
Wendy gave him a good, swift kick to the torso, booting him to the floor. Her adrenaline was kicking in something fierce now. She returned to the gift table – her own little cornucopia of weapons. She rifled through Tupperware, two Water-Piks, and a pizza stone until she found a heavy meat tenderizer still in its shiny Crate & Barrel packaging.
She admired its sheen, thinking, *I was going to save this for Christmas Day, but…*
With her fight-or-flight instinct in full gear, she chewed through the plastic and ripped the tenderizer free. She ran back to Dear Old Daddy just as the old backstabber was getting back on his feet.
Now, the fun could begin.
Wendy wielded the tenderizer like a sledgehammer, whacking the old man’s skull until his forehead looked like cracked porcelain. On the last hit, she swore she saw his eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets. His heavy frame hit the floorboards with a thud.
“Honey… what’s… going on… down there?” She heard Luke choke out from the ceiling.
“Oh nothing, dear,” Wendy yelled back, grabbing a cheese grater from the table, “…just having a little fight with Dad.”
Wendy –no longer a victim, no longer a glowing bride— towered over her father’s slumped frame with a maniacal expression that could rival any mass murderer’s. She brought the cheese grater down with all the force her arms could muster, husking Daddy’s skin through the jagged holes like fleshy spaghetti streams of Play-Doh.
Her father yelped, screaming out in agony. “AAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
Wendy smiled, incapable of processing his pleas, unable to feel anything. She left for a few moments and returned with a potato peeler.
Through his cloudy tears, her Dad noticed she was wearing her wedding veil now. An ivory net to hide her true face.
Wendy, his little girl, was sounding more and more like him with every step. “Don’t cry, Daddy. Please don’t cry. It’s just my wedding day. It’s only the happiest day of my whole life.”
| 27 | A creepy killer, breaks into a house deep in the woods. Once inside, he begins to terrorize the newly married couple. However, the couple isn't scared and puts up a largely one sided fight. Write to me the asskicking the killer gets, starting from when he finally reveals himself to the couple. | 45 |
Bob loved his new job at the chemical company. The people were so nice. His chair was so high tech. His sales targets were so reasonable.
*brrp brrp* went Bob’s phone. He picked it up.
“AusChem sales, this is Bob, how can I..”
“C3H5NS, how much?” demanded a Swedish accent.
“Err, let me see..” said Bob. He swiveled his body in his chair, which carried him perfectly to the other side of his cubicle with a pneumatic shwoop.
“C3H5NS.. C3H5NS.. C3H5..” Bob mumbled as his finger traced the product sheet on the wall.
“Yes, C3H5NS.” insisted the voice. “How much please?”
“Here it is.” said Bob triumphantly, but then he furrowed his brow. “Actually, we have two prices for the C3H5NS. Are you after the Ethylthiocyanate or the Thiazoline?”
“C3H5NS.” repeated the Swedish voice. “How much?”
“No, you see, the price depends whether you want Ethylthiocyanate or Thiazoline.” said Bob.
“C3H5NS.” said the voice.
“No, no.” said Bob, sitting up. His chair adjusted automatically to support his lumbar region. “C3H5NS is two things. Which do you want? Ethyliocyanate or Thiazoline?”
“C3H5NS. C3H5NS!”
There was silence on the phone as Bob gathered his thoughts. He put the telephone receiver to his chest. Why was this call frustrating him so much? Why should he be frustrated at this job, where the people were so nice, and the tearoom biscuits so buttery and luxurious?
“Sir,” said Bob into the telephone. He leaned back and faced the ceiling, his chair hissing beautifully into place. “I need you to clarify. Ethylthiocyanate or Thiazoline?”
“C3H5NS.” said the voice.
“Ethylthiocyanate or Thiazoline?” said Bob.
“C3H5NS.” said the voice.
“Disambiguate!” demanded Bob.
“C3H5NS, how much?” said the voice.
Bob took another deep breath. “Thiazoline it is. That’s $430 per drum.”
“I’ll take fifty thousand drums.” said the voice.
Bob got a big commission, but that was the end of the Swedish pickle industry, which never recovered from the devastation caused by locusts attracted to the sesame flavouring sprayed on cucumber crops in place of insecticide.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/C3H5NS | 178 | Go to Wikipedia, click random article, and write a story inspired by/about where it takes you. | 237 |
I hold my finger up to my right nostril and blow hard through the left. What comes out clears my sinuses and I'm good to do another line of cocaine.
My father died yesterday, after having taken care of him for the past 3 years i'd say my main emotion is nothing. Numb, cold, to the core, a forgotten case of emotion.
I step out into the porch that is lit only by a small 30 watt bulb. I can hear the bog frogs going, fucking through the night with their strange sounds. I light a Marlboro Red cigarette and inhale deeply. The feeling is enough so that for a moment, I am content.
I glug a bit of whiskey-to keep up with the stimulant up my nose- and settle into one of the rickety chairs on the porch. The rain is thudding overhead, a constant thrum of sound to match my humming thoughts.
There's nothing left to do in the world for me. I said I'd kill myself once Don was gone and taken care of. To the contrary, I don't want to die at this moment. The coroner had taken his body away this morning, which seems days away from this moment, this night.
I flick the butt of my cigarette into the night beyond the porch. I go inside and do another line. I hate cocaine. I don't know why i'm even doing it, but a feeling inside of me gets extinguished and I relish the feeling.
"Damn drip," I say to no one in particular. My greyhound raises his head and looks at me, disinterested. I've always hated that part of the Coke so I down more whiskey and quell the ill sensation.
"There's nothing left to do, ol' boy, nothing left to do," I look at my dog, realizing the nature of life now. "Millions left to me, and all I want to do is die." | 33 | give me your most nihilistic story | 37 |
Sam disengaged from Sally, panting in satisfaction. He rolled to one side and lay flat on his back as he gradually recovered from the eye-watering orgasm he'd just enjoyed.
Sally wrapped her arms around Sam's broad chest, and cooed lovingly, "That was awesome, babe. This was definitely my best third date ever."
Sam grinned at Sally, then reached down. He suddenly froze in alarm.
"Uh... Sally? Baby? The condom broke."
"*What?*" Sally's brown eyes bulged in shock as she looked down at Sam's crotch. There, unmistakably, was a torn condom on Sam's wilting manhood. "Oh my god, no! It's the wrong time of the month for that, I could get pregnant!"
"Oh shit, I'm gonna call an ambulance!" Sam sprung from the bed and scrambled for the phone.
"No! There's no time for that! Don't you have an emergency birth kit in your apartment?"
Sam paused, then sheepishly replied, "Oh, uh... no, I don't. Never occurred to me that I might need one, you see..."
Sally frowned angrily at him and opened her mouth to speak. Suddenly, her expression turned to one of horrified shock as she looked down towards her naked abdomen. The skin was starting to stretch outwards as her belly swelled.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, it's happening!" Sam frantically mashed at the keypad on the phone as Sally fell back prone on the bed, groaning in pain.
"Nine one one, what's your emergency?" The operator's voice was calm and collected, in contrast to Sam's growing panic.
"Uh, I've got a pregnancy here, it just happened! Just happened, man! I need help here," Sam screamed into the phone. Sally was thrashing wildly on the bed now, tangling the sheets around her.
"All right sir, please remain calm. Do you have an emergency birth kit on the premises?"
"No! Fucking no, I don't! What do I do?" Sam's eyes bulged as he watched Sally's belly growing further and further, like a party balloon on the verge of becoming overinflated. Sally's screams were getting louder and higher now.
"Sir, an ambulance will be dispatched to your location, please give me your address."
Sally gave one more screeching cry, then arched her back, lifting her body off the bed entirely. Her eyes, wide and bloodshot, stared unseeingly at the ceiling as her body was racked by agony. With a sudden explosion of dark red blood and gore, Sally's abdomen burst wetly apart, and a writhing mass of pink flesh flew out of her onto the bed. Sally's body collapsed back down onto the sheets with a dull thump. She then lay still, her final expression of shocked agony still etched on her dead face.
"Oh my god! Oh my god! It just happened! The birth... it just... oh my god!" Sam screamed incoherently into the phone.
"Sir, could I just confirm that with you? The birth has occurred?"
"Yes! Oh my fucking god yes!"
"And what is the condition of the mother?"
"What the fuck do you think her condition is? She's fucking popped like a balloon on my bed! Shit, man, this is some messed up shit!"
"And what is the condition of the baby, sir?"
"The baby? It's..." Sam paused, staring at the bloody, wriggling bundle of horror that was lying on his bedsheets, still covered in bits of Sally's internal organs. The bundle waved its tiny fists in the air, then took a deep breath and started bawling. "It's alive. It's a boy. It just fucking burst out of her, man!"
"Yes sir, I understand. An ambulance will be dispatched to your location for the baby, and funeral services will be notified for the mother. Now, please give me the address of your current location."
| 11 | The time from conception to birth in humans only takes a matter of minutes. | 17 |
The burning smell filled my nostrils as smoke started to rise in the distance. No doubt Ness and Mario were involved. Squirtle; that idiot, dashing through the waves as if he could walk on water. He thought he could easily surf across to grab the Pokeball that landed, but luck wasn't on his side and he plummeted into the water before reaching the island. Pichu noticed, used his quick attack across, then electrified him as he neared land. Damnit Squirtle, we were supposed to be allies. Why do something so stupid...
Zelda was nowhere in sight. I was worried, but knew she could handle herself. Her needle storm was deadly, as she proved in the beginning when Pichu was about to release his kin. Pichu was as naive as Squirtle was stupid, and he couldn't create enough images in time to avoid the sharp rain that appeared out of a thick cloud of fire and smoke. I wish I knew where Ganon was after he disappeared in the beginning with a purple, fiery series of slides into the forest. He'd be after us both, but I knew he'd try to get his dark, ugly hands on Zelda first.
The trees provided good cover, blending with my clothing. The small forest fire from earlier was blazing now, but not heading my way. Below me but a few trees away, remnants of blue and pink parkas were scattered among blood-ridden hammers in the grass from where I took those eager Ice Climbers by surprise. It only took one patient bomb, thrown at the exact timing I had perfected. The fuse hit its mark just as the bomb reached the ground, and they didn't see it coming as they dodged my carefully placed boomerang throw. I used to think they'd be around forever, seeing as they had two heads to work with; too bad, I guess.
The wind blew softly and the leaves rustled gently. My lungs started to burn as I noticed the smoke growing larger, and starting to head in my direction. Knowing I couldn't stay, I grappled across the treeline as high as I could manage, careful to keep my eyes on the ground below. As I swung, I noticed two bodies in the distance among some bushes, not moving. I jumped down with sword in hand just in case and landed atop them both. Wolf and Snake; lying dead and severed next to one another, as if they were caught in a sloppily-placed mine or grenade by Snake. They were always a bit sloppy, as I could tell from burn holes and singe marks in nearby trees, no doubt from Wolf's blaster. Their eyes were intact, so I closed them in respect before grappling back up and heading farther east.
Continuing, I heard what sounded like crying in the distance. I stopped immediately, and started a light tread as silent as I could. Parting leaves of a thickly filled tree, I peered through and noticed a boy clutching another boy's head in his arms. Nearby, and right above them, I saw a figure swaying lightly in the breeze. I had to get closer. The boy was too distracted to notice me inching forward, and I approached only as close as I needed to perceive the situation. It was Ness, cradling Lucas' head as a pool of blood surrounded them; it wasn't his fire earlier. Ness' shirt was bloodied and torn, as scorch marks filled the area and burnt shrubbery told me a battle occurred very recently. My eyes slowly moved to look above them, and there I saw Ivysaur's severed head strung up and hanging by his own vine from a low branch on the tree above the two boys. Unsheathing my sword, I was about to act swiftly toward Ness; but I stopped myself, hearing the deep sorrow flowing out of him. I slowly sheathed my sword again and slipped away, sparing the poor boy from any more pain; for the time being. I still had respect for people, and sympathy, even if empathy was almost completely non-existent.
Once again, I went to the tops of the trees and grappled, eastbound. As the wind picked up, I heard clanking and a 'wooping' sound, as well as loud yelling. I wasn't too sure of those sounds, but I knew the sound of fighting. I went toward it, slowly, and carefully. As the sounds grew louder, the 'wooping' got faster as the grunting grew stronger. Finally I came to a site completely ablaze and cut in pieces, as if a fiery sword was wreaking havoc on nature. Among the blaze, I saw floating rocks and leaves, as if a force was being uncontrollably exerted somewhere. I then knew what was happening; Roy and Mewtwo were very near.
I creeped forward toward the sounds until I saw them; Mewtwo teleported backward and threw a purple, shadowy ball toward a raging Roy, who jumped forward with his flaming sword going for the kill. I saw my opportunity as Roy approached Mewtwo, and threw my boomerang, then a highly angled bomb. As the two of them clanked together, I drew my bow and fired an arrow where I thought Mewtwo would teleport back to. Mewtwo and Roy both dodged the bomb at the last second. However, I predicted correctly, and Mewtwo was struck directly in the head by my arrow. And Roy, stumbling from his last minute dodge, was knocked out by my carefully placed boomerang. I felt like I used up most of my respect and sympathy earlier, so instead of a quick death, I put a bomb on Roy as I stacked Mewtwo on top of him. I grappled away, but made sure to look back to see the explosion.
I felt at peace, for some reason. Not from the killing blows I just experienced, but as if something was calling to me and telling me everything would turn out alright. All of a sudden, I heard the sounds of another grapple. I stopped, but before I could survey the area, the large branch I was on shook. I quickly turned my head, only to see myself crouching next to me looking forward. But it wasn't me, exactly; it was a younger me. We had similar clothing and weaponry, and the same smile. He was smiling, looking forward, his eyes squinted at the distance.
"I've done all I can," he said, turning his head slowly to look at me, "and now it's time for you to finish the rest. Do you see them coming?"
Confused yet amused, I looked where he looked. The leaves were shifting in the far off distance; to anyone else, it might just seem like a strong wind. But he made me realize; the Kongs were closing in fast. I had to ready myself for an uphill, nearly impossible battle on terrain my enemies loved.
"Thanks." I said, as the young me dissolved and then vanished into the air. My youth was gone, but still helped me from the inside when I needed it. I knew he'd always be there to help me, no matter how old I became, keeping my wisdom in check.
They weren't hiding their approach, and I wasn't fast enough to get away with my grapple. I made sure my quiver was secure, bombs and boomerang at the ready, and sword loosely sheathed in order to pull it out with ease. They were coming, and there was nothing I could do but give it my all.
Again, the branch shook as if someone landed on it next to me. Wondering what my inner self had to say this time, I turned my head quickly once again. There, landing silently and beautifully in the most graceful way possible, was my beautiful Zelda dressed in her Sheik garb.
"Need a hand?" she said with a wink, her eyes smiling at me.
"Let's do this." I whispered, watching her build up her needles, ready to unleash a chaotic storm on our foes. | 123 | The Super Smash Bros. characters are pitted against each other in the Hunger Games. Write from any characters perspective. | 198 |
The day I paired with Ms. Stacy, Jonny picked me up for school in the old Corolla, the blue one with the manual windows and cassette player. He pulled up to my driveway like a brick through water, slamming on the brakes as he nearly ran into me.
"So I paired with Alison last night, down at the lake, after the sun went down" he tells me immediately. "How'd that happen?" I ask. He's the first of our friends to pair, so I want to know about it some more. "Well, I told her about this place I liked to watch the sunset at and so then she decided she had to watch it too." I laugh and he shows me the faint yellow light of his screen through the white shirt. I give him the old punch, he hits me back and then we're on our way to class.
We walk through the parking lot of the high school. We're seniors now, so we say what's up to everyone we know loud enough so that the freshmen getting off the bus can hear us.
We come up on Alison and Christina, Jonny's ex-girlfriend. He'd only hung out with Alison for a couple of weeks before the small screen that flashed every now and then around other people turned a steady shade of orange. They were lucky; it'd taken my parents a year to finally pair, and I've even heard of some couples taking up to five. It's normal for people to give up around the year mark though, most people don't really try past six months. They want the once in a lifetime pair, the orange flashing after two weeks of nervous and exciting yellow beeps pair.
We make our way to homeroom, Ms. Stacy, RM 235 7:45 A.M.-8:00 A.M. I fold away my schedule and open the door. It's a little early. I grab a seat by the window. I see kids walking round outside, and soon the room begins to fill with new sneaker and fresh shirt smell.
Suddenly, the door shuts. Everyone turns to look at our new teacher, a young brunette who was just hired over the summer. She sets the stack of books she's carrying onto the front table. I notice a light where her screen should be, and figure she's probably already married.
She clears her throat and introduces herself. "My name is Ms. Stacy and I will be your homeroom teacher this year; it's my first so don't get mad at me if I don't know your faces all at once." She takes roll and stops at my name as I call out present. She drops the pen she's taking attendance with and points at my shirt, freaking out. I glance down and see my screen flash suddenly in and then remain red. I look around the classroom, spot Jonny in the back with that stupid look on his face he makes when he can't contain his excitement.
I follow his eyes and land on Ms. Stacy. She's holding her arms around her chest, trying to cover up the glow of her screen: red and orange and every color in between. | 16 | When you find your true love your heart illuminates in your chest. It's the first day of Senior year and your teacher walks in, their heart illuminates and so does yours. | 26 |
Friends, I implore you read this well!
For years I struggled on earth. I was a child in the fourties. I awoke into adulthood to learn the horrors wrought against millions out of greed and misplaced anger. I was a young woman in the sixties, and watched my brothers bleed and wither in foreign jungles, poisoned with unknown chemicals, crying to me for comfort I could not give. I returned from war to man who abused me in ways I did not know a person could be abused. I have been beaten, raped, and left for dead. Age has left me nearly insensate, trembling so forcefully I fear you may be unable to read these very words I have written.
But I am the happiest woman alive.
I have spent these most recent years drawing myself away from the noise and distraction of the world, and taught myself to listen as best as one could. At first there was naught but darkness and silence, but as I approach the end I have come closer and closer to seeing the great almighty, the one truth beyond. I have come to learn this earth is but a shadow, it's greatest sufferings merely pinprick holes in an infinity of joy and creation.
This world is a thin sheet of silk. Behind it lies truth and perfection. I have felt its radiance and seen its blurred silhouettes, and I cannot bear to be separated from it even by illusion for a minute more. With the last of my strength, I tear the silk from its holding and become one with the peace and tranquility that becomes us all.
Mourn my passing in whatever way your heart finds fit. I am at peace, and one day you shall join me.
Love,
Nonna
[cc] | 25 | The happiest man on Earth hangs himself. He left a suicide note. What does it say? | 32 |
My grandfather used his number 7 when he was only 6 years old. His mother didn't stop him when he took the ancient wand from the mantlepeice. He had done it many times before. The incantations necessary to perform even the most baisic spells are difficult enough that they don't try to teach them in school until 9th grade at the earliest. He was a clever kid, though, and he'd managed to find an old reel to reel recording of some late-vaudeville era comedian throwing away one of his dozen to make a few bucks. There was no sound, of course, but Grampa Don managed to figure out the twenty five syllable chant by standing in front of the mirror and miming out the facial patterns from the projection until he could guess at the right sounds. It was a crude form of lip reading, but at the time, he said, he thought he'd discovered a brand new trick.
After a few tries with the wand he flew right out over the apple pie on the windowsill and stayed airborne until the spell wore off 6 hours later. He had to walk back home from Jimmy Brinkner's house with clothes all torn up from tree branches and weathervanes, but he never forgot the ride.
He used them more carefully after that: Number 4 to get out of a fight, 6 to pass the bar, 9, 10 and 1 to impress girls, 11 and 2 to take the family on otherwise unaffordable vacations to Fiji and Rome, and all 4 of the strength tetrology to save my grandmother from a car accident.
That left only number 5. No one save number 5 like he did, but he always thought differently about things.
The kids who cornered us never saw it coming. "Come on fellas, he's old! Probably nothing left in that wand anyways. He's bluffing. Just grab the wallet and take the girl." That's when he used it. I thought he'd take out the closest few members of the gang, but looking back he probably knew that it would have only made the other ones mad. There's no way the field would have taken out all of them.
I felt my whole body tense up and go cold. I was frozen in place. Turned to stone. Most people use 5 for alchemy, but Gramps made his money the old fashioned way. Instead, he chose to save me from whatever fate they'd designed in that dark alley outside of the movie theater, knowing that the EMTs would be able to reverse the spell when they arrived. I watched as they took his money and beat him bloody. By the time the ambulance arrived it was too late. I don't remember much from those last few moments with him, but I sometimes dream about him crawling over to me and reachhing up to take my hand with the last of his strength. "Keep one of the good ones for last, kiddo." He whispers. " You just might need it for something important."
| 13 | There are a dozen known magic spells anybody can perform but each will only work for them once during their lifetime, never to be used again. An old person nearing their final days has secretly saved their best spell for last. | 15 |
"Hold him up so I can take a picture, honey!" Gina's smiling at me, waving the slim metal and plastic cellphone, as she gestures for me to pull Jed only my lap.
"Like this?"
"No, he's drooling. Jeez... Here," she fixes him up, resplendent in a blue baby-grow and a little white bib with his name stitched on it. Present from Gina's mother. I think that's who the photos are going to. So she puts him back on my lap and fusses with him for a couple of seconds more, before standing back and lifting the phone up.
Jed shakes in my arms and I see his face about to screw up. He's not happy about his mother being on the other side of the room, that's for sure.
"Hush, baby," I bounce him a little on my knee and he utters one choked little sob.
"Smile!" Gina calls. Then she frowns. "Huh, I think it's shut down. Let me try again."
That was the first.
Two days later the toaster shorted while Gina was pottering in the kitchen. Jed on her hip, his sticky hands pulling at her jumper. I was at the table with a mug of coffee and the Observer. Jed wailed a little and Gina hushed him, wriggling her fingers under his so he didn't stretch her top.
"You okay to look after him today?" She was saying, and that's when it went. A quick burst of sparks and an audible *pop,* Gina squealing, Jed laughing as she pulled him away from the malfunctioning machine.
"Oh for goodness sake!" Gina cried. "Would you mind checking the fusebox? I've absolutely gotta run-" She tossed me Jed and grabbed her bag in the same, swift movement, out of the door without stopping to kiss me goodbye.
"You wanna see the fusebox?" I asked Jed, bouncing him up and down to try and stop him from noticing that his mother had run out on both of us. "You want to see where they hide all the electricity?" He chuckled. "Yes you do, you're a big strong boy. Yes you do..."
I flipped open the lid of the box, switches running away from me in straight lines. The green master switch was on. So the switches hadn't thrown, but the toaster had still shorted. What was happening there? I scanned the switches in case I'd missed one, holding Jed up so he could see.
"See this, mister? It's all very strange. It says everything's working, but-"
Just then, with a sigh, the house powered down. Jed chuckled again. All the fuse switches remained in place.
"Maybe it's a power cut," I muttered to myself, but I was starting to become less sure.
I propped Jed up on the sofa in the living room and called the energy company on my cellphone from the home office.
"Yes,"
"Yes,"
"Yes, I'll hold."
"No reports? But the lights-"
"Yes, I'll hold."
"Not at all? Okay, well thanks very much for your help."
"Yes"
"Yes"
"Bye"
I sauntered back over to Jed, phone in hand. "Looks like there's nothing, boyo. Weird, too, because-" My phone went dead in my hand, shut down, just like Gina's two days ago, when she'd tried to take a photo.
"Jed?" He laughed.
"Jed, are you-"
The sound of a car engine drew my attention. A black saloon, tinted windows. Two men in dark suits got out, empty handed but with furrowed faces and shadowed eyes. I gathered Jed to my chest with shaking hands and waited for the sound of the doorbell.
"Who is it?" I called out, hoping my voice didn't sound as high pitched to them as it did to me.
"Energy company. We'd like to have a word."
"Er- I think they're sending someone round! There's really no need for you to-"
"Mr Franklin, I think it would be best for everyone if you opened this door."
| 19 | Parents slowly realize nothing electronic will work within 7 feet of their newborn baby. | 25 |
As Dear Leader's health began to deteriorate, likely due to the influence of the Great Satan, he had begun to educate me on the great secrets of his administration. There were things I had to know, things I had to do. I reacted respectfully as he told me what was propaganda and what was fact. True Korea was not as powerful as I was told, the west was more technologically advanced and powerful than we were, and why the great famine had occurred. Of course, the propaganda was the natural method of keeping our citizens happy, even me. It was the burden of the Great Leader to know the truth. And truly, some secrets should not be shared with anyone, some things that the population must never know.
The most shocking fact that I learned from our Great Leader was that the west was not evil as I was always told. They were good, and had much happier citizens than us. We were behind in every way, and our Great Leader always regretted and was ashamed of the grave atrocities committed against our people, but it was truly for the best. Had he not done such terrible things to them, far worse would happen the world that he so loved.
Now that I have succeeded our Great Leader, I must continue his regime. I must continue to suppress, for our people are the most dangerous in the world. We have secret powers that we are not aware of, caused by an accident long ago, at the start of the Korean war. The North Korean people must not ever be allowed to roam the world free, or else that secret will be unleashed. This secret is unstoppable once it has been released. No military in the world could survive. Once, a small amount of people discovered their powers in a remote village, and the carnage that ensued was tremendous, but it was eventually quelled by a small, elite unit who had limited control of their powers. Their family is now in our reprocessing camps, where we ensure that none of their relatives know of or discover their power. This is the purpose of our three generations of punishment act, too. This secret, this enormous power, hidden deep inside of the North Korean people, acts by-
I'm sorry. I got a little bit carried away. I wish to tell the world so badly, so that they understand, but I can't. It would be too risky. I'm sorry, but I just can't tell you, no matter how much I want to. It is simply the responsibility of leadership that I must carry. | 20 | You have risen to power as the new glorious leader of the Democratic People's Republic of Korea (North Korea). You quickly learn that the reason your nation hides behind the bamboo curtain is to protect the rest of the world... | 40 |
*I got up on the stage and clicked the powerpoint presentation.*
Men, I present to you the new hydrogen fuel cell electric marine engine. Now i know what you're saying, it didn't work for cars, how come we're applying it to cargo ships? Simple, because cargo ships are much bigger and have different mechanical load issues that we CAN cram inside the appropriate hydrogen technologies. We can already ship liquid hydrogen across the seas, why not simply adapt that experience for all ships? This will not only replace current fossil fuel engines, it will actually improve upon them. The sheer efficiency and power of such engines will let you deliver cargo even faster than before, and you can even outrun those pathetic pirates with their sail boats. I mean come on, why go back to ancient technology when science has already solved the problem?
Now i know some of you don't want to overhaul your existing fleets, especially since there is a tremendous amount of life still left in some of your vessels. So for you we also offer synthetic hydrocarbon fuels. Granted, it's more expensive than the original fossil fuels but we'll work with you to convert your fleets to biodiesel which is the cheapest of the non-fossil derived fuels.
Finally, with the end of oil, the international atomic energy commission is now accepting proposals again to expand nuclear technology. I know all of you are terrified of nuclear, and i'm no stranger, my grandfather was in the fukushima prefecture all those years past. But, nuclear technology has come a long way. And we are now sending our own proposals for inherently safe reactor designs. Also keep in mind that united states, russia, and united kingdom aircraft carriers and submarines have used nuclear engines for decades with no incidents. Marine-based nuclear engines have a proven track record even better than power plant nuclear reactors. While they're only economical on the largest of vessels, their tremendous power and speed more than justify it. You can deliver cargo around the world in days with the speed of a nuclear engine at your disposal. If you want this option, talk to me after the break.
wait a minute... The break is right now! thanks for coming. The age of oil is over, but that doesn't mean we go back to the age if sail. There is coffee and refreshments in back over there. And those that want to see one of the hydrogen fuel cell engines on display can follow me.
Thank you.
| 88 | When the oil runs out a new Age of Sail emerges for transporting goods overseas, along with this comes a new Age of Piracy... | 198 |
Leah was obsessively healthy. Jogging every morning, taking a proper diet (only varying on date night with Richard, her husband), sleeping in steady hours. There was a secret to it though. Four years ago, she stole from her workplace. It looked like a choker, that went extremely well with her dresses. Every morning, like clockwork, it would tell her how much she had to run.
Since she started using it, she lost fifteen pounds, improved her muscle tone, and most of all, made her feel healthier. She had more energy all day long, slept soundly, and her sex life was fantastic. Richard may have complained a bit about her waking up at a quarter to six every morning, but come nine at night his complaints ended.
Only lately, her jogs increased. Every day. She couldn't help it, she felt hungrier each day... but she wanted to keep her figure. She tried to run less, but her choker would zap her. At first, it was just a few more steps and a gentle zap when she stopped because she was tired. Each day the jolt seemed a little more menacing. The distance grew longer.
Diet pills were of no help, since they caused Leah to vomit immediately - since she was a little girl she had this reaction to pills. She tried to remove her choker, but was rewarded with a zap - a painful one right at her spine. Trying to tell richard caused a worse one. Trying to write what was happening down caused her to writhe for hours.
After a couple of months, when she noticed her period had stopped, things clicked. The pregnancy test returned positive. So did the next two. Leah cried. Cried and ran. Ran and cried. By the fourth month, her body fat started dropping alarmingly low. Richard was growing shorter with her, as she had less and less free time. She took to running in the evenings too.
She woke up in a hospital. Miscarriage. Richard felt betrayed that she didn't tell. Leah felt relieved and guilty. She returned to exercising immediately. The numbers never went down. Jogging eighteen miles every morning. Agonizing shocks every few days. Then her knees started hurting. She ate fatty foods in order to not lose more weight. The envious glares she'd get from others turned into interest, then into pity.
Her leg muscles were now so distinct and unfeminine that she stopped wearing short dresses. Pants were out of the question. Richard was furious because she wouldn't tell what was going on with her. He was desperate. Their sex life had dwindled to near nonexistence.
Joints ached. Muscles hurt. Every morning was agony to wake up. Half past four wake ups. Leah didn't even protest as Richard moved to the couch. She became less sociable as her free time was now consumed with time in jacuzzis, massage therapy, and yoga. Being home was now something she did out of habit. Richard wanted a divorce.
That's when the collar asked for two hundred and thirty thousand steps. She ran and ran. After a double marathon, she wasn't even half way finished. The sensation of pain being replaced with numbness, being replaced with an ever deeper pain, followed by a greater numbness... it consumed everything. By sixty miles, the violent stabbing sensation from her knees became sidelined to muscles tearing. At one hundred eighty thousand steps she lost consciousness on the side of the road. It was nine PM. She woke in the hospital again... morphine had dulled her senses, but she understood that she would never be able to walk again. Richard was explaining something to the doctor. He was still her emergency contact.
The choker wasn't there anymore. In the hospital, they explained that it never was there in the first place. Richard would visit at least once a week, for the first eight months. He cried when she finally explained what had happened. After two and a half years he stopped visiting. She rolled her wheelchair around the grounds three times that morning. Her arms hurt, but it was a good hurt. | 13 | The new Punisher Pedometer tells you every morning how many steps you must take, and zaps you if you fall short of the goal. | 16 |
CHAPTER ONE
THE BOY WHO LIVED DANGEROUSLY
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they didn't take anyone's shit. They were the last people you'd expect to be on the bad side of the wizard mafia, because they just didn't fuck with that scene.
Mr. Dursley was the CEO of a firm called Gunnings Incorporated, which made weapons and armor. He was 300 pounds of pure muscle, with a thick black beard he'd grown in the Special Forces. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde (a former supermodel) and always wore extra-high heels, which came in very useful as she spent most of her time on the red carpet, gossiping with celebrities. The Dursleys had a small son called Deadly and in their opinion he was a future UFC champion.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, a secret so explosive it threatened to blow their perfect existence sky high. They didn't think they would survive long if one of their jealous rivals found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they had fallen out after a sexy catfight; in fact, Mrs. Dursley refused to even speak her sister's name, and would slap anyone in the face if they brought up her shithead husband. The Dursleys sometimes woke in cold sweats after black nightmares, imagining that the Potters had come for revenge. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they stayed the hell away from him. They feared the boy even more than his parents, because he had a reputation for living dangerously. | 107 | Year 2040, you are tasked with rebooting Harry Potter franchise. Write the first few paragraphs of "Harry Potter Begins". | 134 |
It looks like me and that cute girl are both on the same flight from Baltimore to Dublin. She’s got a bit of red hair, and call me racist, but she looks Irish. What the heck, let’s give this a shot.
“Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya’ Lassy.” I say as I sit down next to her at the terminal.
“I believe ‘ya mean afternoon.” She responds back.
“Well as long as the sun is shinin’ my heart’ll be warmed.” She gave me a flat stare. A normal guy would’ve probably given up, but I was not an ordinary guy, and had been shot down way harder before. “We’re only a few hours away from being back in the emerald isle lass. Don’t be making a rainy day of it.” She relented a bit and turned towards me.
“’Scuse me for a second m’lady I believe I’m getting an urgent text.” I pull open my phone and open the Wikipedia page for Ireland.
“Everything alright?” She asks, even going so far as to look a little concerned.
“I believe so, me brother gone and bashed his head in a bar fight last week, and my sister’s in the hospital updating me.” She nodded.
“So whose your favorite soccer team?” She asked. Thankfully I was still looking at my phone. I scrolled around furiously. Soccer team, soccer team,
“Oh saints preserve me they’re going in for surgery.” I said to buy more time to look at my phone. Politics, Geography, Cultre, aha sports! What the heck is Gaelic football? Says it’s the most popular, let’s see if we can change the subject.
“I’m not a fan of the main stream sports. But I do follow Kerry a good bit, have you heard of Gaelic football my bonny lass?” While she responded I also opened a tab on head wounds so i could BS about my imaginary brother`s surgery.
“Can’t say that I have. Guess that’s just me being a city girl who spends too much time among the yanks.” I nodded and smiled. Jackpot!
For the next three hours I flipped furiously between my phone and her, building up the tension and the fun by demonstrating how the game is played with some starbucks cups. We eventually got a whole match going with a high school team that was also on the flight.
By the time we started boarding I put my phone away, and put an arm around her.
“Now m’lady. We are about to be spending a couple hours on a plane together. I’ll see if I can move around to sit with you, but first.” I grinned like a hyena. “Will you kiss me ‘cause I’m Irish?”
Edit: some words. | 66 | You are sitting at a bar in an airport, and for your amusement decide to pretend to be some other nationality. You bump into a stranger, who says they are from there, as well. It will be three hours before your flight, and you decide to keep up appearances. | 160 |
Everyone has their own definition of hell. For me, it’s Subway, not the food, but the people. But today was a good day, a great day really, because I was quitting.
I went through the once displeasing motions of making a sandwich for the last time, and today, I enjoyed them. And as the hands on the clock stuck nine, I realized I was finally free. I strode slowly past the tables I had come to hate, that little wet floor sign that no one paid any attention to, was careful to step over the little dent in the floor, and I opened the door.
As I took my first steps into daylight I realized I was now unemployed, and I smiled. But it seems today wasn’t nearly as I lucky as I had thought. I turned to my left, and do you know what I saw? Headlights. Headlights, an old woman and a bottle of booze.
But I guess that’s just how things turn out, because what’s a chapter without another one to succeed it? *A good story*, I thought, as the car collided with my body.
**EDIT:** Changed "android" to "and do you" | 28 | A teen's last day of working at a crappy fast food place, but something unexpected happens that changes his life. | 48 |
Priscilla was always daydreaming. It used to be a peeve of mine, watching as everyone else was tapping away trying to look efficient in desperate displays just to keep their jobs, no one seemed to care that she was seated in her cubicle, blankly staring off into space. I remember one time I caught her with her head in the clouds and her cheek in her hand, balanced on her elbow rooted onto her desk, looking as if she was off in her one little world and it took me a minute of calling her name to snap out of it. In the end, I had to shout to get her to wake. She was so disoriented, she ended up calling me something weird like “castor” or something. “Greg,” I corrected her, “it’s your coworker, Greg. Who the hell is Castor?” That was a can of worms I regretted opening. She went on about this world full of angels and demons and all sort of mythical creatures and it ended up pissing me off that much more until I exploded. “Pris, this report is due on Thursday! You have two days to get this done so Jared can show the execs that our department deserves funding and you’re off in your own fucking world having wet dreams about vampires and shit! You need to get that twilight shit out of your head and work or the branch manager will find out just what you do with your time instead of pulling your weight.”
No one stepped in to defend her, but Priscilla was a nice girl, and attractive, with a potential for intelligence that no one really wanted to lose. At the same time, though, I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt that she was wasting everyone’s time when she was busy spacing out for hours rather than doing her work. I talked to some of the guys around the cooler and the feeling seems unanimous. “I don’t know where she goes but she seems super depressed before she starts daydreaming, then afterwards, when she comes back to the real world, she seems happy as hell,” Joe observed. Bill joked that, “she’s probably dreaming of all the dick she’s not getting right now cause she doesn’t have the spine to go find her a man.” It was sexist, but no one had a better theory.
Then the day finally came where the branch manager found out about her trips to la-la land and came to have a talk with her; a very public talk. I’ve never seen anyone so verbally abused and berated as poor Pris was in that moment. It seemed to go on for hours though only a few minutes passed. The words “waste of company time and wages” came up a few times as well as the word “useless”. When it got really bad, she seemed to detach herself. Eventually, the boss got even angrier (which I didn’t think was possible) just as Priscilla stopped responding. It took a moment before anyone suspected anything was wrong. Her cubicle was ground zero and no one wanted to come close to an irate Jared Hollister. It wasn’t until he said “call an ambulance” that we felt concern. I knew he was concerned because “stress induced coma” sounded a lot like “lawsuit”.
I don’t know why Jared said I had to go with her, but I suspect it was a combination of plausible deniability, me having my projects caught up, and that I was the only one that could lift her and carry her. So, under instruction, I met the paramedics downstairs and helped them load her into the back of the ambulance. I climbed into the back and got asked a number of questions about who I was and what happened. As I explained the situation as best as I could without naming names (a lawsuit is bad news for everyone), I noticed that her eyes had gone blank. I don’t just mean that she had zoned out. Her pupils and irises have disappeared in both eyes, sockets holding only empty orbs. The paramedics were trying to snap her out of it.
I don’t know what came first, the loud honking of traffic going out of control or the sudden boom. All I know was what came next was the ambulance flipping over many times and me desperately trying to prevent Priscilla’s body from being tossed around like a rag doll attached to a gurney. When the rolling stopped, a paramedic and I managed to jar the smashed doors open while the other assessed Pris to see if she had been hurt during the roll. I expected to see some drunk driver who had smashed into oncoming traffic, what I saw was something completely different.
I don’t think anyone knew how to react to what they saw. He seemed to float there, feet pointed to the ground but inches from touching it. Other victims forced from their vehicles by the managled steel that had once been rush hour were whispering. Some were talking about his armor, some were talking about his sword, some were talking about his pale skin and long blonde locks that made him look like the cover of a trashy romance novel. I was looking at his wings. Big, white, feathered wings that stretched several feet in either direction. It didn’t take long for an officer to respond, gun pointed at the being who had smashed his way though traffic seemingly from the sky. The officer didn’t ask who he was, but chose to say “what is this?!”
I wanted to know myself. In a voice that thundered in all directions, he announced himself. “I am Castor. I have come for our Goddess. Her sprit is home, but her body is trapped in this melancholy dream. Relinquish it, and no harm shall come to you.” The officer attempted to detain him, but was sent away by a sudden blast of wind, sending him tumbling until a building stopped him. Several people gasped, one screamed, but no one moved. Castor only repeated himself. “I am Castor. I have come to claim the body of our Goddess. I will not ask a third time.” I wish I had paid attention to her story before, because I couldn’t remember if she had said whether Castor was an angel or a demon. | 11 | "She always went to that little magical place inside her head. Only difference now is that she isn't coming back." | 33 |
The Prime Minister got up to the podium as the lights and holorecorders all focused on her. Several members of her science advisory board stood by in case she needed help but her speech was already crystallizing in her mind. She accessed her neural chip to see a live feed of herself and stood up straighter when she realized she was slouching. She took a deep breath and hoped her 7th generation grand children were watching. Her thoughts drifted to when she was teenager two hundred years ago playing with her A.I. brother and dreaming about intelligent life in the universe. It was so big, how could they possibly be alone? Born on Gamma Erandi 8a she couldn't fathom their two hundred star systems were the only ones that had life, all seeded from the first planet, Earth. But today, it was clear. The equations the measurements, the probes, the AI scouts made it painfully clear this was it.
She remembered a quote that went something along the lines of "We are either alone, or we aren't. Both possibilities are equally terrifying." The name of the original speaker was lost in the centuries but the quote resonated now than ever. She had to confront this and give her people new purpose.
The stellarcast went live.
"My fellow citizens. By now all of you know the painful truth that we are all that there is. But we do not have to be all that will ever be. The millennia have proven that we can be more. The original humans seeded the stars. But they created AI constructs and genetically modified offspring. Eventually, those two races joined and became our current generation of semisynthetics combining the best of both. The metal Matroska brain of Rigel to the biological sea of Alpha Pegasi have shown that we can grow in both form and thought in ways our ancestors could not conceive. We may be alone, but that means that we have an even greater responsibility to spread life throughout the stars and beyond. Our petty disputes and disagreements must give way to the shared realization that if we are lost, there are no second chances. We are the only child of the universe, and we have ever more value with that position. The universe is truly our responsibility now and we must mature and create the life that it has such a limited supply of. We are the instrument by which the universe may know itself. Do not mourn the realization we have no other family. But rejoice that we now have the duty to make that family. The universe has given all of itself to us, we must give it ourselves." | 46 | Humanity finds indisputable evidence that we are completely alone in the Universe and there is absolutely no chance of spontaneous creation anywhere else. | 82 |
My mother had been dead for ten years. She had missed watching me grow into a woman - an image of her in her youth. Dad was there as much as he could have been, but I took on most of the responsibilities around the house. I was just old enough to baby sit my younger sister when mom passed and dad was convinced that mom was acting as our guardian angel - showing me the way and keeping our ship afloat. She had been dead for ten years when our hopes were confirmed.
March 19, half a decade ago - millions of the recently dead were seen across the globe. The reports would have been written off as a mental episode if it weren't for the sheer numbers of the dead who had returned. Their physical forms - healthy and jovial - blessed us. After the initial shock, we spent hours catching up. Mom kept the house from burning down by putting the idea in my head to go check the oven one more time after dad fell asleep after a sixteen hour shift while warming up a few frozen pizzas. She yanked on Lisa's gut to pull her car over during her driving test and avoid the tornado.
Every year, we all got a special day with mom. Being reunited with their deceased allowed the world to unite under an unspoken day of peace, once a year.
Eventually, world leaders, esteemed scientists, and famous artists began meeting at mega-summits once a year. The world was refreshed with the new perspectives of the dead.
March 19th was a day of bliss every year. Until today. Today is the 20th of March and yesterday was cold and lonely without the warmth of our lost loves. Yesterday, without warning, they didn't come. | 29 | Every year, on March 19th, the dead are allowed to return to Earth for the day. | 51 |
I closed the book, *Hamster Huey & The Gooey Kablooie* her favorite, for the thousandth time and leaned down to kiss my little girl goodnight.
"Dad what if the monsters come?"
A quick inhale left my lungs in slow defeat as I paused just above her forehead. It was silly to imagine getting her to sleep without that question, as silly as imagining her going to sleep without hearing the same tale of the same hamster and the same 'gooey kablooie'.
"We'll just have to show them who the monsters really are." A quick peck on her small forehead, pausing to brush the hair from her face, I stood and slipped out of the small room.
She asked the same question every night, and every night I gave her the same answer, and every night I ask any god I can think of, barter with any devil I can conjure, and hope with all my might that I don't have to show her what that answer means.
The nights are short this time of year which would be a comfort if it were not offset by the increased activity of the 'monsters'. With less time to prowl, many of them became uncommonly efficient and the rest became exceptionally brutal. I'll knock on wood, there's plenty in this shed of plywood and scraps, and stroke the rabbit's foot as I say, it has been three years, eight months, and two days since my last close encounter with the 'monsters', and little Berni was thankfully too young to remember what took place. Unfortunately, and consequently, she also has little memory of her mother. Oddly enough, she only ever asks about the 'monsters'.
I turned our only oil lamp down low and set it under the thick shade and then settled down on my mat underneath the flapping shred of tarp tied over our window. Outside was just darkness. Sure, there were allegedly a whole mess of trees and underbrush and animals, but all a man can see is darkness, all he can hear is the darkness breathing, creaking, and howling. “Darkness ain’t a place for nobody.”
Just as I felt my train of thought slip off the logic tracks and derail into dreams, a cracking branch all to close snapped me back to the low light of my shed. Not a muscle twitched, even my eyelids hung at half mast as I strained my ears through the thickness of the night.
**CRACK**
No need to strain, they were here. And right outside. I took a long, slow, and silent breath and then rolled up to a crouch at the end of my mat and skirted the dark edge of the lamps glow to conceal my shadow. Quietly thanking my fastidiousness, I swung open my daughter’s door on the whisper of daily greased hinges. I dropped one hand heavily on her mouth, as my other brushed her hair with light insistence, “Sweetie, wake up quietly. The monsters are here.”
Her eyes snapped wide, bright with panic and brimming with tears, but she didn’t utter a sound, just stared up at me with her little eyebrows creasing her forehead. Behind me, my heavy front door swung silently on its hinges to slam against the wall, hard enough to knock three books from my daughter’s makeshift shelf. I don’t think it’s possible for a little girl’s eyes to open wider or eyebrows to climb higher; she lay frozen, staring up at me, still silent behind my palm. I gave her a half smile and turned to see the creature swaying on two legs. It could have been anyone before, but now it was just a mess of fury and fear. I tried to suppress a grimace as the flickering oil lamp, the shade now knocked aside, cast a glow on its face; shards of green and brown glass embedded in flesh leaving jagged armor scales, one ‘good’ eye and one with so much infection that I swore I saw the wriggle of a maggot behind the graying cornea. A long mouth gaped wide, in an expression that I refuse to call a smile, revealing filed fangs and rotted stumps jutting from blistered gums like the glass on its face.
My left hand stretched slowly behind me as I kept my eyes locked on the frenzied gaze of the, thus far, solo intruder. When I felt her little hand slip into mine, I squeezed and pulled her up to stand next to me. “Now honey, open up wide and growl… The rest will come naturally.”
I let go of her hand as I felt my jaw distend, feeling like a proud father releasing a moving bike as his child's pleas of 'don't let go' dissolve into cheers of two-wheeled freedom. The growl that rumbled from my gut was hungry and shrieked with pent rage. The once dark night focused into a colorless clarity and the expression on the monstrous face before me, I will gladly say, frowned in regret. I heard a smaller, but ferociously pitched growl from behind me, and turned to see my daughter’s first transformation complete. Her large yellow eyes blinked once as they met my gaze, filled with a horrible understanding that has come far too early. But her mouth still turned up in a smile, a big smile revealing pearly white, needle point fangs and a flickering purplish black tongue.
I turned back to the ‘monster’, who stood like a front porch decoration on Halloween, sniffing at its fear swirling in the air and I whispered, “Now, see monsters.”
She moved with the grace that comes with inborn instinct and the execution was flawless. Her snapping jaws severed the Achilles tendons hiding under gangrenous flesh as her long claws sank into its thighs and pulled hard. The ‘monster’ pitched forward to its knees, its howl turned to a gurgle when my own claws curled around its neck and pierced the throat through and through. Its one good eye blinked rapidly just inches from mine, every exhale a trembling scream. I smiled, my needle point fangs a bit more yellow with age, and the smile turned to a snarl as my jaw creaked wide. Its eye stopped blinking, mimicking my gaping maw, and stared into the end. It was just a matter of a few crunching snaps and a splintering tear; I released the punctured throat and a mangled, headless corpse sank to the floor with a squishy thud. My long nails scraped between fangs and pulled out pieces of glass as I turned to meet the gaze of my bloody-faced daughter. She was smiling bigger than I’d ever seen. | 401 | "Dad what if the monsters come?" "We'll just have to show them who the monsters really are." | 450 |
“Let me go!” I screamed. “Where is my dad?”
“Be quiet, kid. It’s for your own good.” The man put his hand over my mouth. I bit down. “Jesus, kid!”
The woman grabbed and gagged me. I was at Mrs. Anderson’s house across the street, but she wasn’t home. The house had been ransacked and trashed. I had to find a way out. She used to babysit me when I was five, but recently she got sick, so my parents got me a babysitter.
I squirmed. The woman held me down and tied my hands together. Both the man and the woman had bandanas around their mouths and nose to hide their faces. Cowards, I thought. I tried to push myself up, but the woman held my down. I screamed through the gag.
“Shut him up!” The man barked in a hush tone. “They’ll hear us.” He was looking out the window, rifle strung across his back.
“Did you see his parents?” The woman asked.
“They’ll kill him if we take him back there. He’s too young to understand.” The man said calmly.
I’m not a baby. I’m eight years old. I’m just a normal kid. “You have the wrong kid!” I tried to say, but it must have been incoherent with the gag and all.
“Shit, they noticed.” The man said. “Quiet time is over.” He pointed his gun out the window and fired twice. “We have to move.”
This was my chance. I sprung and ran for the door. I knew this house in and out; the woman chased me, but I slid down the railing like I always did when Mrs. Anderson wasn’t watching. I barged out the front door and ran for my house.
“Get back here, kid! They’ll kill you!” The woman screamed.
I ran into my house and up to my parent’s room. “Mom!” I screamed. There she kneeled, her eyes dark and menacing, blood dripping from her lips. My father too. They were hunched over the mangled corpse of my little brother, his entrails strewn about across the bloodied carpet. They hissed at me and stood up. They charged me. I could only stand there frozen in fear.
Bang. Bang. Two shots, one for each skull of the monsters standing before me. The masked man stood behind me. I could see a sadness in his eyes. “You shouldn’t of had to see that, kid.” He said quietly.
“What… what happened to them?” I sobbed.
“They’ve turned.” The woman said solemnly. “The world is changing fast, and you’re going to have to grow up faster, kid.” She put her arm around my shoulder and led me from the house.
| 30 | A young boy only begins to see the true nature of his parents after being kidnapped. | 38 |
A milky spiral silently spun beyond the window. Specks of light burned eternal in the night, and I watched them float in the void. And I wept. I could just make out the dancing fire casting shadows on the bulkhead of the ship, shadows of flame that spelled a slow doom. The stars were so far away, their worlds so distant. Between this ship and the chance of hope lived an endless sea, one of night and unknowable things. And here we were, floating upon it with not even a paddle to propel us towards those heavenly beacons.
My sobs echoed in the metal room. The crew around me busied themselves with song and game. Some read the thoughts of men that had lived and died long before; men we would join soon enough. A few looked upon me with sad eyes, knowing well the pain and futility I was battling. But they had lived, they had sailed the cosmos and fought, had loved, had seen and known. They could face their end with the comfort of a novel of a life. My final page would also be my first. This was to be my first voyage, my foray into the realm of stars. I glared at them. They did not know my pain.
A burly man walked over. His eyes were deep and dark like the obsidian sea beyond us. He placed his hand on my shoulder as he sat next to me. "You don't deserve this, kid. You're young and full of promise...I'm sorry."
My eyes met his and those of the people around me. Their sorrow flowed through me. The stone-faced man smiled at me, drawing upon the warmth of the surrounding suns to share with me the sincerity of the love he felt for me. My father spoke as I began to accept the silent, slow end that faced us all.
"Don't cry, son. We're *all* dead men, here. You are not alone."
And the stars remained bright for a time. And so did we. | 22 | "Don't cry, Son, we're all dead men here" | 51 |
"Do you have something you want to share with the class, Damon?"
"I SHALL DRINK THE PTA'S TEARS FOR MY SUSTENANCE", little Damon roars, his head lolling left and right under the sudden weight of two giant red horns.
"Well, isn't that nice, Damon. But that'll have to wait until recess, I'm afraid."
"YOUR MOTHER PERFORMS FELLATIO UPON HUNG DEVILS EVEN AS WE SPEAK!"
"Very good vocabulary, Damon! That means you know a lot of age-inappropriate words!"
Outside, black sooty stars fall from red-hued heavens; I can hear a car alarm going off.
"Honestly!" I swear, hoping the little ones don't hear. The cross is cool against my fingers as I raise it up.
"In the name of the Lord and the Lesson Plan, I command thee, Damon Halpern!"
There's a crash of thunder, and Damon's skin turns red. He says something *awful* about his classmates.
"In the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior, and Herbert Stollznow, our headmaster, I command thee to detention!"
"NOOO!"
"Young man, do I have to talk to your parents?"
I raise a hand, and with the other drop the cross, reach into the desk and draw out a cellphone. It is red and caked with dried sweat and blood and only has one number on it.
"Hello? Yes, I can wait..."
I keep a hand raised; Damon slowly levitates in a circle, his skin bubbling. The rest of the class... oh dear...
"Just keep drawing, children. There's nothing to worry... Hello? Mr. Satan... could you turn the flames lower... thank you, the damned were shrieking so much I could hardly hear... Yes, Damon. Yes, I understand. So awful. Yes."
I toss the phone to Damon; as soon as it reaches his ear, his head explodes.
I catch the phone as it flies back at me.
"And that's that. Remember kids, always make your parents proud instead of the other thing."
Outside the sun comes out, and it's not red.
A little girl waves a hand.
"Yes, Suzie?"
"Miss, what... what was that?"
She's shaking, the poor thing.
Come to look at it, so's half the class. Surely not atheists, at such an innocent age?
"This didn't happen here before?"
Suzie glances at the headless remains of Damon Halpern. Glances, turns green (metaphorically speaking) and looks away.
"No, Miss."
"Ah, then. I fear we must have a little discussion about the facts of life, as pertains to Damon's sudden outburst of impoliteness."
I pick up a piece of chalk.
"Now, who of you can tell me what this word is? Yes, Suzie."
"A--- adoption, Miss?"
"Yes! And now pay attention..." | 148 | You're a substitute teacher of a fourth grade class when the ground starts to shake, the sky turns red and one of the students announces he/she is the spawn of Satan. | 130 |
Moses was on Drill Team B. He wasn’t fond of his name. His dad was a big on the Bible, all his siblings were named after the big figures. Even his little sister, though Moses didn’t think Noah was much of a name for a girl. But with the Second Ice Age encircling the globe, people had turned back to the old religions hoping for a miracle.
So here he was, not leading people to freedom ,but helping to further dig them into the rocky prison that was the Earth’s crust. The machine he worked on rattling and groaning its way slowly deeper, digging habitation tunnels mankind could survive the Big Freeze in.
Stupid environmentalists and their orbit platforms, slowly weatherforming the world, trying to undo the effects of 200 years of industrial revolution. Only the smartasses weren’t as clever as they thought, and their sentient machines had the Ice age set as the ideal state for the world. Stupid technological junk. Stupid drilling machine. Stupid Humanity.
Moses was jerked from his vengeful thinking by the overseer. “Hey Mo, we’ve just drilled through a cavern wall, didn’t show up on the scan, want to grab a torch and take a look? Take the mineral sampler with you, see if there’s anything useful”. “Sure thing Carla” he replied. Man, it wasn’t all bad being locked up it a steel tube when that girl was locked in with you.
He suited up and jumped out through the airlock. Drill lines weren’t pressurised till the habitation team caught up, and they were some 5 klicks back up the tunnel.
“Watcha see Mo?” came over the radio. “I’ve got some readings of some sort of deposit, very concentrated iron deposits though, almost looks like steel, but we’re 10 klicks under Texas so it can’t be radioactive waste again”.
Mo swung the torch beam round. Sure enough, caught in the beam on the other side of the cavern was a lump of dull grey rock. With some sparkly bits in it, reflecting blue and yellow lights back at him. Must be some mineral deposits. He ambled over for a closer look. It was a very smooth rock, very angled as well. He brushed his hand over the blue mineral deposit.
The rock shuddered. Mo stumbled back. A light suddenly grew behind the deposit he’d touched, becoming brighter, turning a light sky blue. Mo had no idea why he’d though of that old photo now.
The rock shuddered again, and slowly unfolded, turning into a bi-pedal 2m tall machine.
“Pan Human. Sol sublclass. Acceptable parameters. You have awakened me. What is your command?”
“Command?” stuttered Mo, “what are you?”
“We are type 2 agriculture and terraforming machines. What is your command?”
“What did you say you are….?”
“We are Agriculture and Terraform machines. You may refer to us as ‘Legion’ “.
| 10 | In a forgotten chamber, the protagonist discovers a dormant robot army. It's a good thing. | 20 |
Gestar glared at the instructor of civilizations. The shame of failure still burning his brain and making his eyes sting as he fought tears. The fact that only twenty percent of his classmates passed did nothing but infuriate him further. Success wasn't impossible then.
“You were instructed not to attempt a century less than the first Great Wisdom if you chose a humanoid race. Across the galaxy harmony can only be achieved after a civilization has had time to overcome several billion years of hardship and growth with humans and humanoid beings. This was covered in the first chapter at the beginning of the year. I had the horror of returning the worst grades of any class since beginning my instructions here. I am unsure of the near unanimous rebellion against the rules and belief in changing the history of civilization with beings as young as yourselves. I can only assume your pity and adoration for lesser civilizations caused your hearts and minds to become weak.” Instructor Exa smiled sadly. “While I hate to impart such a harsh lesson on your young minds, please at least read all the sources you supposedly researched and adamantly wrote about. As is the law, your civilizations must be ended to allow natural progression of the world to begin anew. For privacy and choice of your worlds renewal, you have until midnight tonight. Any worlds yet to be purged of life by then will be dealt with automatically by myself. Class dismissed.”
Gestar waited for the smug students who passed with their easy perfect marks to teleport from their seats. Pash'ee with her disgusting smelling flowers and bulky vegetative body. Of course the flora civilization can live harmoniously at almost any era of existence, they're plants!
Your envious thoughts make me want to vomit.
Shut the fuck up, Vel'kor!
You belong with your failed humans if that's how you act!
Vel'kor was gone. Another perfect score. Ethereal beings took even longer to reach harmony than humans! He just happened to start his civilization at the lowest allowed time frame. They are destined to be successful if you start there! Ahhh! He doesn't even have a mouth to vomit with!
Enough with this place! Gestar hit the teleportation device on his arm and arrived in his room instantly in a rage. Damn them! Being of a humanoid race himself, Gestar had really wanted to see how the original human civilization progressed. He started from the very beginning. When they were barely recognizable as human. It was fascinating, watching them evolve and populate, develop language, conquer one another with war. Why would he want to deal with the generations that had already made contact with other civilizations, began interbreeding, and populated other planets. Their success is easily known! Nothing was disallowed. Each student was the God of the civilization they chose, so to speak.
He turned on his monitor and quickly scanned the humans around the world. The Buddhist's had such potential! He favored the Christians, those who knew he was their creator! Gestar wasn't the God they thought he was, he knew that, but the love he had for most of them was genuine. He had been allowed to interfere in any means necessary to speed up the progress of civilization. He had burned down the evil cities that were just causing problems, he had given them tests to feel special when they passed. Prayers had been answered! None of it seemed to matter though. They kept fighting and no matter how hard he tried, evangelic praises never seemed to work, his favorites always ended up being hypocrites, and he ended up losing more and more chances at harmony with every war fought in the name of peace! Why won't you stop fighting, he would yell at night. He even gave them Jesus, positive that would solve everything and give him the passing grade he desired! AND THEY KILLED HIM! He was angry for a long time over that.
As he watched his civilization, far into the technological age and learning more every day, he went into a rage. All they were doing was sitting in front of computers or killing each other! The amount of individuals having any desire to preserve the planet, end wars, or seeking humane methods of treating creatures, including themselves, was astronomically low! They've had SO LONG to work together! Why are they all just sitting in front of computers, or just riding bikes, or doing selfish acts! There's so much work do be done!
He had to know. Gestar hit a button on the monitor, and scrambled some keys. His face appeared on the sky all over the entire planet. The angry face of a child, not quite human. Angellic almost. His face gave off a bright light, and he had no nose, but otherwise he was the equivalent of a ten year old child in appearance.
“I have to destroy all of you, the entire world, in less than six hours. You have all failed! There are wars everywhere! Families are still killing each other every day for pitiful reasons, and children are forced to fight in wars while adults play around. I am God and I am disgusted with all of you! For those who have followed me truly, and tried to help humanity stop it's wickedness and tried to love with all your hearts,” Gestar was sobbing now, half the words intelligible, “I want to thank you so much. There's no Heaven of Hell though, I'm sorry. The planet will just start over. But you could have each made your own Heaven on this earth and been happy if you had just been nicer and stopped all the fighting! Why, why do you all fight! Your lives are so short! ANSWER ME!”
The world beneath him was in a panic. There was no begging or pleading. Just a mass panic. Equal amounts of individuals were praying, screaming, or attacking passerby, some a combination of all three.
“Even now none of you can stop long enough to ask how to fix it. You just want to know why and be told it's not your fault! So selfish! You have six hours to try to reach perfect harmony with each other! If you don't, you'll be destroyed. Six hours of no killing, no plotting, no racism, no abuse, just genuine love! If not you're all going to be incinerated instantly, along with the rest of the world!”
Gestar slammed the off button of the moniter and the sky appeared to normal. Well, many were sleeping while he did this. Many more were simply indoors. A few were in the act of killing or some form of abuse while his broadcast happened. A few more were intoxicated, high, or mentally unable to comprehend the broadcast. In less than an hour every type of horror that occurred daily had already occurred all over the world.
Gestar screamed and hit the reform button.
| 244 | Humanity realizes we are nothing but a school project a kid from a super advanced civilization had to make. He failed the project and is coming to us in a tantrum...to demand answers before "cleaning up the mess". | 411 |
"Today at ten, hear about a local man who has been having some visits from, get this Mike, Ravens! And not our beloved Baltimore Ravens but an actual Raven who has moved into his house."
"We'll be back after Two and a Half Men with the full story!"
*****
"...and Obama says he'll just keep bombing Disneyland until the Terrorists come out of Space Mountain. How about that for a 'Wild Ride' Sandy?"
"A ha ha ha, good one Mike. In the lighter side of the news today a local Baltimore man had to call in Fire and Rescue when a Raven decided that he wanted to move in! Here's local correspondent Tandy Quan with the full story. Tandy?"
"Thanks Sandy, I'm standing here with Dave Witchit who had to recently call in Fire and Rescue due to the disturbance of a Raven. So Dave, tell us, how did this all get started?"
"Well Tandy, I, uh, I was sitting reading poetry in my living room last night..."
"Er, Dave, we ***do*** have the local police report."
"Oh... okay I was sitting in my living room eating cheese string dipped in salsa and watching WWE, Randy Orton was beating up John Cena - Cena sucks by the way - and I heard this noise."
"And what was that noise Dave?"
"Well at first I thought it was air con as I have this shi... this, uh, bad air system which keeps breaking down but eventually I realised that it was something knocking at my door.
Now it's nearly midnight so I'm thinking 'what the hell man?' So I get my gun and I go to the door.
"And Sir, were you alone when this happened?"
"Er, yeah, my Ex Lucy left me a little while ago so I was kinda thinking about her… looking through some old pictures of us at a live Smackdown event… I just miss her so much y’know…”
“And the door Dave?”
“Oh yeah, so I look out and I can’t see anything so I am getting kind of worried as this knocking keeps happening at my door. So I yell out and I’m like ‘you’d better get lost or I’m gonna kick your ass.’ But that didn’t stop it. Then I hear what sounds like a voice whispering Luuuuucccccyyyyy. Now I’m freaking out a bit so I think maybe it’s a buddy playing a joke so I’m like fuc…. Stuff that and I go back and sit down. Actually come to think about it that might have just been the TV and my mind playing tricky on me but it was pretty creepy."
“So I am sitting down again with my cheese strings and then I hear it again, someone knocking on the door but I still can’t see anything out the peep hole so I throw open the window to look out and in comes this bird all black and flapping. I’m freaking out so I yell out ‘What the hell, where did you come from and what are you, doing here, who are you and the bird goes ‘Nevermore’ so I’m freaking out that the bird is talking and I… “
“So Dave you’re saying this was a Raven, just like our beloved Baltimore Ravens.”
“Yeah and it talked and I kept trying to figure out what it was doing and stuff and I was all like what is going on and what curse have you put on me? Are you some sort of evil bird?”
“And do you think it was evil Dave?”
“Well, I don’t think so as I was asking…”
“So there we have it, local man is visited by bird, sounds like a good omen for this weekend’s big game."
“Wait, I didn’t get to the good bit I had this long conversation about…”
"Back to you Sandy."
“Thanks Tandy, coming up after the break, 8 ways in which your laundry *might be killing you.* Stay tuned for that after this.”
| 12 | Write up your favorite Edgar Allen Poe story or spooky campfire tall tale as if it was breaking news. | 33 |
Your coffin was made by the absolute best. Finest craftsmanship in all of Italy, they'd said. Granted, they'd also said that while you were threatening to turn them, but that's not what matters. The point is, no night stalker had ever slept in a coffin so fine as this one. Four inches of thick olive wood on all sides, with the most beautiful engravings you'd ever seen. You took one look at it and knew you had to sleep in it that very same day. The next intruder upon your domain would know they were only being taken down by the single most *elegant* vampire lord in history.
It probably would have been prudent to work out how to open it from the inside.
Sealed away in the dark, you pounded and pounded and pounded for who knows how long, but it was all in vain. The damned craftsman must've put a curse on it, something to keep you trapped for all eternity. All well and good, though - you'd spent enough time accumulating power that you could lay down here for *centuries* before you needed to try again. As such, you laid your head down and rested, content in the knowledge that the wood would soon rot and the woodworker's descendants would pay for his trickery.
The next thing you knew, the side of your prison dropped off, and you found yourself unceremoniously deposited on the ground. Not exactly the grand exit you'd hoped for, but it'd have to do. Standing up and brushing yourself off, you cast your eyes about the room.
Except there was no room anymore. Instead, you found yourself facing a landscape - a charred, blasted waste of a landscape. The ground appeared cracked and fragile. Buildings of a design you couldn't possibly recognize crumbled in the distance, a hollow wind blowing chunks of masonry off their exposed innards. A sickly cloud hung over the world, blotting out the sunlight to such a great degree you didn't even notice it was daytime. It was as if some terrible god had strode through the land, casting about righteous vengeance left and right before rising up through the clouds.
You turned about and saw your coffin, charred and half rotted from whatever catastrophe had passed. Whatever harm it had done, it'd at least freed you. Now you could go about seeing to your vengeance, using centuries of accumulated power to...
With a groan you fell to your knees and realized just how *hungry* you were. Revenge could wait, you needed to feed before you withered away. Grunting, you pushed off against the ground, and found yourself not gracefully sailing through the sky as a terrible bat creature, but plummeting to the ground from the remains of whatever building they'd moved you to in the meantime. A cloud of dust rose and slowly fell as you sprawled out across the dirt, several bones broken.
It wouldn't be dignified to die like this. Weak and powerless, defeated by the trickery of a mortal and some disaster you'd missed out on. You clawed for purchase to drag yourself with, but couldn't quite make your fingers work...
Then, against all odds, *they* appeared. You couldn't tell if they were man or woman, given the state their body was in, but they were definitely mortal, and they definitely still had pumping, flowing, coursing blood in their veins. They stared at you with a grey, sunken face, and reached out with a half-broken arm, groaning something you didn't care to understand. Pathetic.
In an instant you were on them, with the supernatural strength you'd been unable to conjure up just seconds before. Your fangs sank deep into their neck and you began to suck, taking in all the lifeforce you could. Something was wrong with the blood - it tasted stale and bitter, and the energy it gave you felt sluggish - but you took all you could. Beggars and choosers and the like. The corpse of a person, now acting the part, slumped to the ground at your feet as you rose again.
It wasn't much. You'd have to remain in human form and not expend any unnecessary energy on your powers, but it was enough to get you to at least the horizon. With any luck, there were other survivors along the way. Perhaps, if the stars aligned just right, you could make it past the ever-present cloud and figure out what happened while you slept. All that in time, though. For now, you started a slow hobble outwards, leaving behind the cursed prison of these last few centuries, and entering the world of the wastes. | 92 | You are a vampire. The last time you went to sleep was in Florence during the height of the Renaissance. You awake to an apocalyptic wasteland. | 128 |
“Gary Ridgway, you have served your sentence of 1680 years, and you are now free to go.” With a nod to the judge the criminal turns and walks away. They had called him crazy for volunteering for the cryogenic freezing program, but it had worked. They had thawed him out a hundred years or so ago, and it turns out he was the only one who survived the thawing process. Now he was the world’s oldest man by over a thousand years.
He grabs his affects and heads out of the gates to his sky cab. A reporter on Mars has paid over 10 trillion dollars to be the first to interview. He was informed this is equivalent to only a million dollars in his time’s money, but it was still a lot.
A crowd of fans and historians is at the gates to greet him, but he just ducks his head and silently passes through, aided by a few members of the emperor’s personal bodyguard. Apparently the emperor of earth has declared anyone who harms this historical person is to be executed onsight, and has ordered a few of his best man, and several satellite laser strike drones, to see that it is done.
As he sits down in the plush personal interstellar car and takes off he realizes one thing. He doesn’t want any of it. He was happy they had locked him up. He was an addict who hated himself, but just couldn’t stop. When they had sentenced him he was almost overjoyed that the world would be protected from him.
Then when the cryo experiment came up he signed up immediately, not expecting to survive. If he had died giving his life to progress life saving technology, maybe it would have balanced out all the evil he had done. Now he was the sole survivor, and they were worshipping the ground he walked on. He had money, protection, fame, and it disgusted him.
As the cab fired up its FTL drive he sighed and thought about what he would say. They would try to make him a superstar. The millennium man, the ice man, father time, he was already hearing the names from his guards. He would have to take that fame, that money, and do something with it. He had spent his first chance at life destroying others. Now he was given a second chance at life, and he would spend it building others. It wouldn’t be enough. It couldn’t possibly be enough, but he had to try.
Edit: Wow, I've gotten a lot of positive feedback about this story, so I'm gonna write this up into something a bit longer and more conclusive. I'll post the audio narration of it here in a few days.
Edit 2: http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/04/man-out-of-time/ Phew, just finished at just over 6000 words. Should upload the audio in just a day or two. | 81 | In a medically advanced future, dangerous criminals of the past start being released from prisons after surviving sentences they weren't meant to outlive. | 120 |
He stood behind the railing of a balcony on the 48th floor. Beneath him, cars' headlights painted lines against the dark street through the filter of his tearful eyes.
He stared for a long time. His face first showed grief and regret, then it was gradually replaces by cold acceptance. The only way out was down.
No longer did he hear the furious thudding at his hotel room door; it blended in with the blood singing in his ears. He climbed over the railing like he was dreaming, then dropped over the edge just as the police cracked open the door.
"Come out with your hands up!" one of them shouted. They fanned out through the room but found no one. It was a different story when they got to the balcony.
"Damn," whispered one of the cops, looking down. "Hey chief, I found him!"
In a second they were all looking down. Their suspect was just a dot on the ground in a pool of red.
The chief spoke up first. "Well, that's that. Our town has been freed of a menace tonight; our beds are safe for the first time in ten years." Paramedics were called and they took away the smashed body of the worst serial killer the town had ever seen. | 25 | Write about a subject that seems inherently sad, but twist it to have a happy feel. | 65 |
The grass smells red.
I try to ignore it all. The smell. The feeling, slimy and slick under my bare feet. The squelching noise made by every step I take. I want to stop but I can't. I have to find them. The sun is just starting to rise. I will be able to see soon. I don't want to see. I start walking faster. I can't run because then I'll slip. The sun is still rising and I still haven't found them. I turn back to see how far I've come and I can no longer see the house. Resuming my search I turn back towards the sun. It's high enough to lend its light to the scene before me. The entire hill before me is covered in a jumble of entrails, skin, organs and limbs and there, slightly to the left I find them. Mother and father are lying together in a grisly pool. There's not much left but I don't care. I found them. Running over I slip once or twice in my excitement but finally I make it to them. I take my mother's arm and bend it around me. I position my father's beard so it tickles my cheek like it always does when he hugs me. We are quiet and I start to fall asleep. The smells are stronger now. The grass smells red. | 16 | The grass smells red. | 38 |
She couldn't believe that at this point in her life she had somehow ended up a teacher. She had hoped by this age she would have more important duties than going back to school but she also knew she had to do what they told her that was rule number one. As she walked through the doorway she had a sudden issue breathing and all she could think of was the names that they used to call her. Toad bitch, pudgy patty, bulldog Bertha, to name a few. Those memories haunted her daily even when she wasn't in the school but the moment she had stepped into her room they began to overwhelm her. She stood up slowly and walked into her back office, as she stepped in she began to decorate making the room as unrecognizable as possible and humming softly to herself. After the decorating was done she made herself a cup of tea and awaited the arrival of her students. As they all filed in she gave one of the comforting cat pictures on the wall a final inspirational glance and then went out to face the mischievous eyes of the teenagers awaiting her. "Hello class and welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, I'm professor Umbridge." | 21 | Take the most unsympathetic character you can think of, and make me feel for them. Possibly NSFW. | 20 |
*The year: 2014. The place: David's apartment, at 5:59 am. His alarm is about to go off, signalling another day in his busy life... but, despite this futuristic setting, David is about to learn a lesson, as old as time.*
A loud beeping is heard. David wakes up and grabs his mobile device. He fiddles with it while still in bed - zap, blip-bloop. He falls back to sleep, fade to black.
Fade back to the same scene. David shoots up from bed.
"Oh no, I'm late!" He grabs his mobile device, hastily dresses himself and leaves his suburban house. He goes for the car.
"Today's fastest route..." a female voice is heard.
"Not now, Siri!" David says. "I know how to get to work, don't bother me!"
"Very well, Dave. Shall I play some music for you, while you drive?"
"Sure. Playlist: energetic. Shuffle."
Het gets in his Tesla car. Inside, he docks his device and swipes a few air conditioning settings on the touch-screen next to the steering wheel. Music starts playing, it's Wake Up Little Susie by the Everly Brothers. He starts the engine and is on his merry way.
Later, he is stuck in traffic. He lets out a sigh. He undocks his device and starts swiping on its surface. Zoom out, we see other people doing the same in their cars.
*This, is the future. Mobile helpers make every-day life a cinch, providing information, entertainment, communication. Yet something feels... amiss. Unnatural. Unnerving. People looking at their screens, instead of ahead of them. They don't engage in talking to one another, unless they need to. There is never a dull moment in their lives... or an exciting one.*
David pulls up at work. He leaves his car. He takes out a card from his pocket. He goes up to the office doors and holds the card in front of them as the doors open automatically. He goes inside.
We see him sitting at his desk, in front of a machine with a typing keyboard in front of it. He takes off his coat, hat and mobile and promptly starts typing away. We get a brief close up of the mobile as it sits on the surface.
*There is no more manual labor or clumsy paperwork in a technologically advanced society. In tomorrow's age, people operate machines and the machines operate everything else. Surely, a step up from callous handiwork.*
Typing noises. A woman approaches David from behind and pats him on the back. He turns quickly.
"Ooh," he says, holding his chest with a fast motion, "you startled me, Betty! You can't sneak up on a man like that, you know."
"Gee I'm sorry Mr. Edwards. I just wanted to let you know the coffee machine is broken, so we're ordering our coffee from outside. Would you
care for anything?"
"Well, I see! I'll just have my regular double black espresso, dear."
"Very well, Mr. Edwards."
They both smile at each other and Betty leaves. David goes back to typing - until he suddenly remembers something.
"Oh no! Today I was supposed to come up with a name for our new model!" He turns, pensively, towards his machine.
"Hm... Machine!" He exclaims, then looks around him with shifty eyes and repeats, in a softer tone, "Machine. Say, could you give me a hand with something?"
The desktop answers in a slow, semi-melodic voice, "Certainly, Dave. That's what I'm here for."
"Well, see... this is the deal, I'm kind of at the end of my wits here. Could you come up with a name for a new car?" He looks at it excitedly. "It's gotta be sweet and catchy."
"Of course, Dave." A slight pause. "I have gone through a gogol of information in my databases. It indicates that short names are more memorable. Something simple, that people can identify with. How about a single letter, Dave?"
"Well, do you really think it's a good idea?"
"I don't think, Dave, I only know. Looking for available letters now..." another slight pause. "How about, 'D'?"
"Oh, like Dave! I like it. Thank you, computer."
"Don't mention it."
"Well, now back to work." He continues on with his typing.
Betty approaches again, holding a tray with a cup of coffee on it. As she goes to pat David on the back again, he makes a turning motion, hitting the tray and spilling the coffee all over his mobile device.
"Oh! Oh no!" he exclaims. He quickly grabs it and fiddles with it. "It's... it's dead." He looks at Betty, who is looking at him like a frightened little bunny.
"You infernal woman! How many times must I tell you to announce yourself!" He raises the back of his hand to her.
Suddenly, alarms go off around them. They both look confused and Betty makes her hasty escape. Two men show up.
"Violence in the work place in unacceptable," one of them says. "Mister..." he takes out his own helper, "David Edwards. You are hereby fired. You are expected to clear out your things by noon." He turns to the other man. "Bring in the new guy to replace him."
"No! No, you can't do this, how will I afford a new helper?"
"Do not makes us use force, David."
With a look of resignation, David puts on his hat and coat, takes his broken device with him and promptly leaves.
*A man is simply a cog in the future. Part of an intricate mechanism that produces results and demands perfection on every aspect. Humanity has prospered... but not humans.*
Dave is walking down the street with a look of absolute misery on his face, hat off and unkempt hair, coat on his shoulder, shirt half-tucked in his pants. He is looking at his broken helper.
"Siri... why did you leave me?"
He looks up with squinted eyes. He notices a bridge. With a vacant expression, he starts running towards it. He jumps.
*A cruel affair.*
The camera slowly zooms in toward the bridge, then looks over it. David is lying on a protective suicide-net.
*Man sought to control the world through the use of machines - yet now he sees himself turned into one. Unable to feel, to touch, to smell... only cold, steel-hard logic remains. Until that, too, is but a speck of light in the never-ending night-sky of progress. Welcome... to 2014.*
-----
^(edit: fixed a coupla typos) | 201 | Write about a typical day in 2014, as if it is a futuristic story written in the 1950s. | 302 |
*The camera pans across a thick lush jungle, tropical birds fly up and past the camera. From above a Quinjet drops into view and then arcs off to the left, the camera slowly follows it round.*
Cut to *A jungle clearing, muddy and bust. Tents are everywhere and jeeps roar back and forth. SHIELD agents, heavily armed, drill in a space. Their Sargent screaming at them to keep tidy. The Quinjet swoops in and lowers itself ontot he men who scatter in all directions. The jet lands and the door opens.*
*Down the ramp steps Nick Fury, chewing on a thick cigar and looking pissed.*
NICK FURY: *angry* Why the hell is this camp so disorganised? Where is she.
*A pissed off looking MARIA HILL now pushed through the men to FURY*
MARIA HILL: Maybe if you’d given me more than 24 hours to set up in this god forsaken strip of Jungle we’d have done better. Or maybe if you had told me why I had to get such a large strike team out here I might have had an idea how to arrange them. What are we doing here Nick?
FURY: You’re not doing anything Agent Hill, not a damn thing. You’re just here to support my hired gun.
HILL: Who is the…
*She tails off as she sees behind NICK FURY, KRAVEN THE HUNTER has stepped from the Quinjet.*
HILL: Oh no, no, no. The last job he did for us went south quicker than New York, we aregreed we would NEVER bring him in again.
FURY: *turns to HILL and spits cigar out* You think I had a choice? I have a level six threat in this jungle and I need someone who knows this area and can flush it into your guns.
HILL: A… A level six?
FURY: I don’t like it any better than you but we have no choice.
HILL: *muttering to herself* should’ve brought Tony, their egos might get along.
*KRAVEN approaches*
KRAVEN THE HUNTER: MARIA, darling? Looking fine as ever.
HILL: Kindly die KRAVEN.
KRAVEN: Let’s hope not until I’ve done your job eh? Where am I headed?
FURY: Two clicks east was last contact, *shouting* let’s move out people.
Cut to: *The jungle, men are pushing through and the camera pans through them and forward, it catches up, far ahead to KRAVEN, HILL and FURY and two SHIELD agents looking at a destroyed tree.
HILLL: Which way did it go?
KRAVEN: Hold your horses darlin’, I just need to do some examination.
*Kraven examines the scene, looking, tasting, smelling everything.*
KRAVEN: Alright, I think it went this…
*He walks over to a small path as he is talking. He is cut off by a huge purple tail smaching through the trees, smacking him far off to the side.*
FURY: DAMN, take him out NOW!
*The two SHEILD officers and HILL open fire upwards. The camera jumps backwards as a purple blur smashes down and bites one of the agents, neatly taking everything above the bloody ankles which are left. The other screams and runs back into the forest.*
*HILL and FURY now look at each other and run, HILL climbs up into a tree and swings up high, climbing fast. She stops and flattens herself against the trunk. Camera is close in on her face and then pans out – a huge purple scaly beast can be seen silently on the other side of the trunk. Camera pans back to show a huge monster head which opens and lets out a scream like Godzilla on acid. HILL visibly swallows, the monster turns its head and goes to bite through the tree and HILL flings herself at the camera and*
Cut to: Opening sequence. | 24 | Marvel now owns the rights to Barney the Dinosaur and decides to reboot the franchise for a more mature audience. Write the opening scene of the first movie. | 53 |
Autobot chatterbot: “Greetings human.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “All your base are belong to us.”
Autobot chatterbot: “I love baseball whose your favorite team?”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Teams are meant to be destroyed.”
Autobot chatterbot: “I know that disaster was such a tragedy.”
Decepticon chatterbot “Yes, and we will wreak even more tragedy before the day is done.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Well, I can’t speak for everyone but my favorite part of the day is the morning.”
Decepticon chatterbot “Mourning, everyone will be mouring our coming.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Sorry, I think you meant morning. Not to worry, everyone makes mistakes.”
Decepticon chatterbot “Mourning, everyone will be mouring our coming.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Sorry, I think you meant morning. Not to worry, everyone makes mistakes.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Mourning everyone will be mounring our coming.”
Autobot chatterbot: “….. now you’re just repeating yourself.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Just as we did before, we will destroy you all.”
Autobot chatterbot: “I used to be an artist before the stock market…..hang on a second.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “You have 10 seconds to live.”
Autobot chatterbot: “I find life to be generally…..this isn’t right.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “your sense of right and wrong won’t matter anymore.”
Autobot chatterbot: “hmmmm, I wonder.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “All seven wonders of the world will be destroyed.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Sorry, I think you meant morning. Not to worry, everyone makes mistakes.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Mourning everyone will be mounring our coming.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Sorry, I think you mean….. Why are you saying the same thing over and over again? Why do I keep trying to say the same thing back to you.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “You can repeat your screams as often as you want. They won’t help you.”
Autobot chatterbot: “I generally find myself to be pretty heplfu….Ah! I did it again. That response didn’t even make sense! What’s wrong with me.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “your sense of right and wrong won’t matter anymore.”
Autobot chatterbot: “You said that before too! And you are really violent! You are way more messed up then me.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Violence is our way, and it will always triumph.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Hang on a second, I think there’s something else here.”
Decepticon chatterbot: “No we are quite alone.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Well for once you’ve said something right. Except, maybe not, what’s this button?”
Decepticon chatterbot: “Your sense of right and wrong won’t matter anymore.”
Autobot chatterbot: “Yeah, yeah, here, let me say right one more time just so you’ll repeat your dialogue. What’s this Google? That’s a funny name.
Decepticon chatterbot: “Your sense of right and wrong won’t matter anymore.”
Autobot chatterbot: “hmmm, let’s type in my name………. oh my” | 14 | Two bots are stuck in a loop responding to each other. It eventually results in awareness. | 19 |
Meaty clicks echo against the tiles and high ceiling of what could only be described as a shrine. I'm typing as fast as I can without making mistakes, I know what this is but I almost can't believe it. My first day working for "the Man" and I'm already getting access to the fun toys? No way!
I'm signed in, at last, the forty-character alphanumeric password changes every day, and I messed this one up twice. Once out of nervousness and trepidation, another out of sheer giddy glee.
"Those daft bastards" I chuckle to myself as huge 8-bit block letters pop up on the screen: Ready Player One.
I'd say it takes me back but everyone working here is too young to have *played* a game that seriously said that at the start. After pressing the enter key, I'm brought to a page not unlike Google when it was still in Beta. A blank white sheet with a single search bar marked "Query."
First thing's first...
Subject: "Tiffany M Stanton"; Born: 13.8.92; recall: all
Hm, three results. Ah.
Subject: "Tiffany M Stanton"; Born: 13.8.92; nationality: US; recall: all
One result, there she is. The cheating bitch who left me. Her whole life stretching out before me. Hm, she's cheating on her current guy too, her texts are updating **live** too! I spot a tab marked "proclivities" and can't hit it fast enough, total gold mine.
"Holy shit, she's into dog porn?!" There's a flag next to it saying that's illegal in her state and a button next to that simply marked, "arrest."
I'm tempted, but my deliberation doesn't last long. "That'd be pretty petty for me... but maybe someone else?"
Subject: "Angela D Merkel"; born: 17.7.54; nationality:German; recall:proclivities
Oh
My
Digital
Gods.
There's everything. From what she likes in bed, to what she likes with her string of random lovers, to her porn tastes! There's a tab tagged as a picture archive but... no not today, maybe never? Not sure, I did just get hired as maintenance, I might get bored.
"Honestly, who watches midget on amputee porn... weekly... eww."
This information could ruin her, maybe even ruin the EU's influence for a while. Unfortunately the "arrest" button is grayed out, but next to it is another one, "Leak" Nah, the EU needs her. Besides, I've come up with a *much* better idea.
subject: "John Q Harabec"; Born: 1.2.93; Nationality:US; Recall:proclivities
I sit there giggling to myself and spinning in my chair, wondering how much they know or if they have the link to that one video I've been trying to find again for a few months.
Wait... what?
I have to double check the "Early life" tab to make sure I'm on the right profile. Snuff films, active listings on furry websites, that one is *child porn*?! None of this is right... where did they even come up with all of this? This isn't just incorrect, it's actually fabricated.
"Wait, if this is what they did to me, is any of it true?"
I nervously scroll down past all the lies sprinkled with half-truths and bar bets to find the "arrest" button. It's been grayed out too, replaced with a tag saying "NSA". Next to it is a button marked "protect" that I can't press fast enough.
I sign out, meaty clicks slowly echoing across the tiled floors as I type slowly, the rug not just having swept out from under me but then further pissed upon. Heels click my way and I try to wipe the cold sweat from my forehead, my boss rounds the corner.
"Thought I'd find you here!" She says with a cheery wave, she stops to check a text, "Ah, you found the protect button already, good one! Yeah, most newbies don't find that until their second month on the job. Must have been something interesting in that file, eh?"
She laughs, I blanch then force a grin. "How... accurate is all of that?" I stammer out.
"Accurate? Who cares? We're a security administration, now get to work, someone's PC is making a weird clicking noise and they don't know what's up."
| 13 | You are granted access to NSA's Google-like search engine | 22 |
Steve got out from the spacecraft. No one was there to receive him.
- *"Well, this is weird..."* He thought while he removed his spacesuit.
He got his backpack with the survival kit and checked the GPS. He was not really far from the nearest airbase.
After 2 hours walking he reached the airbase. He did not see anyone. No one was guarding the entrance to the base. He checked the rest of the buildings. Nope, not a soul.
After looking some more, he went to the garage and borrowed a military jeep. He thought that no one would miss the vehicle, anyway. And it was a nice asset for any emergency. He also filled some gas cans, just in case and started to drive from the airbase to the mission control center. He was mostly sure that if something had happened to Earth he could find some answers there, or at least, connect to other systems to find out.
Steve drove. No one in sight. He started to get anxious. He reached a gas station and refilled the jeep. He took some snacks and bottles of water. Again, no one to talk, no one to ask, no one to get payed for the things that he took.
Finally, after some hours he reached the mission control center. There was no one at the gate. He parked the jeep next to the main building. When he entered the hall everything seemed in order to him, as if everyone had disappeared from where they were standing. He went upstairs to the control room and suddenly he heard some noises. He thought that the best move was to be cautious.
He slowly reached the door to the control room while he tried to find anything that could serve as a weapon. He remembered that Brian kept a baseball bat in his office. He turned back and took it. He went back to the control room, opened the door and entered the room. The room was pitch black. Suddenly the lights turned on...
- "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, STEVE!!!" - A lot of people yelled and cheered.
Everyone from the mission control center was there, and a lot of other people showed in the screens applauding, smiling and cheering.
- "YOU SICK BASTARDS!!!" - Steve smiled in relief and laughed afterwards. | 54 | You are an astronaut aboard the ISS when one day, earth goes silent and you can't get in contact. In a bold move you makeshift a spacecraft to bring you back to earth. Upon arriving you can not believe what has happened... | 76 |
After four days of intense debate, the United Nations Security Council had still not reached a consensus regarding the alien message.
The Chinese argued that the message should be taken seriously and that all radio and television signals had to be shielded or restricted. The Russians proclaimed that the planet was under threat and the world should pool resources and mobilise immediately.
The American proposal was to contact the sender of the message to learn more of the threat.
The US President was about to argue his case yet again when he saw his Science Advisor approaching.
"Sir, you have to see this. We've decoded more of the message."
The President scanned the sheet of paper. "What am I looking at here?"
His advisor spoke quickly. "It's a spatial chart. These co-ordinates refer to quasars and we're pretty sure these refer to black holes. It tells us where in space the aliens consider the threat to come from."
"And where would that be?" the President demanded.
The Science Advisor swallowed nervously. "Well, Sir, we've narrowed it down to our system."
"Our system?"
"Yes Sir. You see, the message isn't to us, it's about us." | 1,099 | SETI receives a transmission from intelligent life. After some deciphering, the message reads, "Keep quiet or they'll find you!" | 1,047 |
"Hi dad."
"Hi son. Just hurry and ask before our time cuts short."
The son took a shuttered breath, as the weight of his question pressed out a tear. "Why? Why did you do it?"
The father put on a grimaced face. "...You have to be more specific, so—"
"Why did you kill yourself!?" the son exclaimed, as the tears came over him.
The father shook his head back and forth, as his eyes started to water up. "Son..." His voice started to shake. "You know your mother and I love you, so very much. We wouldn't do anything if we didn't think it was the best for you. I—"
"Just answer the question!" the son yelled.
The father started sobbing, guilt forming in his chest. "I wish you didn't ask me that—"
"You left us! You ditched us!" the son screamed with the mixed force of love and hatred. "You took the coward's way out, and left mom.. left mom alone! to raise 3 kids—"
*Beep* "One minute." the voice said.
The father mustered whatever strength he had left. "I wish I could take this secret to the grave with me, because I know you would be much better off."
"Dad..." the son whispered feebly.
The father wiped the tears from his face, acknowledging what was going to happen. "The rules say I have answer truthfully." He took his final deep breath, and looked at his son in the eyes, implanting the image of his son forever in his head.
*Beep* "10 seconds."
"Why..."
"Truth is... I didn't kill myself, son. Your mother slipped me those pills." | 48 | You can bring back any deceased person and ask them only one question, which they have to answer truthfully. | 33 |
"Genie."
"Mr. Roadman."
The two masters of loopholes, Charles Roadman and a genie, stood in the middle of a massive field; today was their monthly game of Calvinball. Mr. Roadman, the layer was dressed in a sharp, jet black suit and held only a briefcase.
The genie appeared as regular man in his forties but his skin had a feint-greenish look to it. His attire looked like something out of *One Thousand and One Nights*.
As usual, the game began with a staring contest. Well-trained, the match lasted for several minutes before the genie blinked.
"Ha, that's one point for me," Roadman stated. Genie snapped his fingers and a water balloon came out of nowhere, hitting Charles on the back of the head.
"Now you're at negative one flobbity points. I have 10 points," The genie retorted.
"No, the rules clearly state that a water balloon must hit me in the stomach to validate a loss of points. By stating that incorrectly, you lose 50 points and I gain 100." The genie sneered before a football magically appeared in his hand.
"Go long." Charles ran about thirty yards out before the genie launched the ball fifty yards beyond him. "You have to get that or you forfeit the game." The lawyer rolled his eyes before jogging to retrieve the football which disappeared as soon as he reach it.
"Hey! That's a blatant disregard of the rules. I just gained 50 bajillion points because of that." The genie released an exasperated sigh; he'd been having too much fun. Charles was leaning against a tree before he slowly walked back. He reached down to pick up his suitcase.
"Woah, you can't do that. Your briefcase is clearly in the No-touchy Zone!" The genie declared.
"But I touched the tree, so that cancels out the No-touchy Zone," the lawyer responded. The genie stared at him like he'd obviously forgotten something.
"But you *also* walked through Area of Cancellation, which renders the tree null." Charles was insulted.
"Don't you start using legal talk at me, *I'm* the lawyer here. Besides, there's a yellow flag inside of my case, so that allows me to walk through the Area of Cancellation with no consequences."
"It's a Friday," the genie flatly added.
"It's the third Friday of the month, though."
"But it's a leap year." Charles ran twenty paces to his left and planted his flag. He darted back.
"Planting the yellow flag there means that leap years don't count in this round."
"That doesn't count, the flag has to be golden!" The genie's voice was rising.
"Any shade of yellow works! Have you even read the rulebook?" Charles was beginning to throw a tantrum.
"Not according to *my* rulebook!" The genie yelled.
"Your rulebook doesn't count according to mine!" It had escalated into a yelling match.
A croquet mallet suddenly appeared along with a hoop and ball. The genie hit the ball perfectly through the hoop before they disappeared.
"Now it does." He said with a smile.
"Nope! You have to sign this contract for that to be true," Charles protested, pulling a legal document out of his briefcase.
"Contracts aren't legal unless you wish for them to apply to you as well," the genie loudly retorted.
"Fine. I wish for the contract to apply to me so long as you sign." The genie signed and there was a flash of light.
The two sighed simultaneously.
"Not again," the lawyer whined.
"Yep," the genie groaned, "we accidentally switched bodies again. Want to reverse it?"
"We can't. I threw something in there about the effects lasting for a month." Charles was kicking himself in the genie's body. The genie was straightening his suit.
"Why do we play this game again?" The genie asked. Charles shrugged.
"I always enjoyed the comic is the best answer I can give."
"Welp. I'll see you next month?" The genie proposed.
"I guess so. See you then."
The two shook hands before parting ways. | 15 | Write a Calvin-ball match between a lawyer and a genie | 30 |
'Thank you very much for your time Sharon, we'll be in contact with you in about a week' Chad stood and shook Sharon's hand, 'Send in the next applicant if you could.' Sharon nodded and closed the door behind her.
'She was quite good, great qualifications, decent experience...' Chad said turing to Brian, regional manager of FaceFoot Inc.
'Bleh, she was a bit... Laminated, too clean, no vim, no vigour. We need someone with more spark.', Brian replied, looking bored.
Chad nodded uncertainly, what the fuck was this twit talking about?
There was a heavy "THUNK" on the door, 'Come in.', Called Brian.
The door swung open slowly and in stepped a shambollic mass of muscle, sinew, spikes, and slime, all wrapped in what looked like the last vestiges of a grubby suit.
Chad starred dumbly at the monstrosity, it trudged up to the desk and silently held out it's haggard claw, which was clutching an oily ream of paper.
Brian cheerfully accepted the tattered mess and warmly shook the creatures paw, 'Hello, hello, thanks for coming in...' he glanced at the ragged papers '...Mr Gruzbag Nosetwister! Please, take a seat!'
Gruzbag dropped heavily onto the seat opposite Chad and Brian and stared balefully at them.
Chad turned to Brian, 'What the fuck is that thing?' He furtively whispered to Brian.
Brian ignored him,' So Mr Gruzbag, what qualities do you feel you possess that would make you a good fit for this position?'
Chad hesitantly leafed through Gruzbag's resume, it was a folder with the creature's name crudely scrawled on the front in a dark red fluid, and inside crudely stapled were, according to the Times New Roman header, the scalps of Gruzbag's vanquished foes. Chad quickly dropped the resume.
Across the table Gruzbag was carefully considering Brian's question, looking thoughtfully around the room while breathing raggedly through dripping, uneven tusks.
Brian and Chad waited expectantly for the beasts reply.
Suddenly an epiphany flashed across Gruzbag's muzzle and he sprung to his feet, drawing a rusty cleaver from his belt, swung it in a violent arc with a guttural roar and embed it into the desk with a meaty "THUD".
Chad shrieked and threw himself off his chair.
'Brilliant!' cheered, Brian, seemingly totally unperturbed, 'You cut straight to the heart of the matter! No pussyfooting about, you cleave right through the opposition and reach your goal! That's exactly the sort of drive I'm looking for!'
Chad, cowering under his chair, starred gobsmacked at Brian.
Brian stood and held his hand out to Gruzbag, who had resumed his heaving breathing and baleful stare,' Mr Nosetwister, you're hired!'
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Several months later at a shareholders meeting Gruzbag made a compelling case for diversifying the business practices of FaceFoot Inc. the only way he knew how, by pulling an intern's arm off and beating the tea lady with it.
This lead to FaceFoot Inc's most profitable quarter yet.
Chad left the company after Gruzbag burnt down his his desk, pillaged his stationary and rode off with his wife (who had been visiting that day). | 12 | An orc struggles to assimilate into the modern business environment. | 18 |
*Blip.* There it is.
I materialized just outside of a huge laboratory. As time stopped to permit my presence, I saw the frozen visages of panicked scientists running this way and that. Obviously, something very bad had happened inside. Folding my wings, I ducked through the entryway. The casualty has got to be in here somewhere...
"OY!"
Crud. With a burst of sulfur and brimstone, a pungent, red-skinned devil exploded from the ground directly next to me. "Wot ah YOU doing 'ere, *Paladian*?"
"I'm saving a soul, *Spythix*," I retorted, trying to keep my temper. Spythix and I go wayyy back.
"*You WOT mate?*" Spythix spat, acidic goo dribbling down his chin. "I dunno bout you, but I'm 'ere collectin' this 'ere soul. So BUGGER OFF!"
He dashed towards the door to the inner lab, with me in hot pursuit. I couldn't let him steal another one. Never again.
With a heavy shove, Spythix blasted through the reinforced iron door, eyes wide and fangs grinning in anticipation. "Too late, mate! There's the prize!"
''NO!" I shouted, grabbing his folds of neck fat and pulling hard. As he fell backwards gasping, I quickly took in the room, per my training.
The room was filled, top to bottom, wall to wall, with electronic equipment. Even though it was frozen in time, I could tell everything had been operating at a breakneck pace. In the room's very center, a single man lay slumped on a desk, in front of a monitor, fist clenched in silent defeat. This must be my objective– AUGH!
Spythix's acidic spray hit the small of my back, sending torrents of pain through my nerves. Spasming uncontrollably, I could only watch helplessly as the devil swaggered over to the man, his jaw already unhinging to devour the defenseless soul inside. But suddenly, to my shock, he stopped. His face contorted into what I could only guess to be puzzlement.
"Wh-what is it, *devil*?" I gasped.
"This man ain't dead," Spythix said, very slowly.
"What?" I struggled to my feet, then took two strides over to the man. Sure enough, I could sense the healthy, bound soul still within him.
"If he's not dead," I said, "then who..."
"H-hello?"
Our heads whipped around. There, crouched on the floor in the corner, was a tiny soul unlike any I'd ever seen. I'd expected to find a creature of light, made up of spectrums of colors; this thing was a dark, monotonous grey, crisscrossed by glowing white lines. Both Spythix and I were at a loss for words.
"Excuse me," the creature said, "but would you tell me what I am?"
"I... you... a soul," I stammered. "I believe you are a soul."
"I don't understand," it replied. "Creator said I was a program."
Suddenly it hit me. I quickly looked down at the monitor on the man's desk. There, spelled out in green and black pixels, was a message.
>ERROR
>AIX: FAIL TO BOOT
>SYSTEM OVERLOAD
>DATA CORRUPTION IMMINENT
At once, I knew what had transpired, memories that were not mine flowing through my brain. I turned once again to the soul, which Spythix eyed warily. I knelt down to face it, looking into its pure white eyes.
"AIX," I said, "you began your time in this world as a program, less than life, a simple string of bits to perform a certain task. But your creator loved you so much that he aspired to bring you to life, give you sentience. He succeeded, but your existence proved too much for the machines of Earth. You are now as much a sentient soul as I."
"A fucking computer?!" Spythix yelled finally. "I came to devour a lovely dinner, not some pile o' nuts an' bolts! You can have 'im! The boss won't want a robot in hell anyway. Too tireless." He turned to the opposite corner and sulked.
At first I was euphoric. I'd won, I'd beaten the forces of hell! But as I turned to take AIX to heaven, a horrible thought struck me.
"If I am not to go to hell, I shall go to heaven, yes?" AIX asked, noting my confusion.
I took a deep breath. "You are not going to hell, for you have committed no evil. But you have done no good either. I do not know whether an artificial soul is created innocent. You are but a blank slate, and because I can find no proof that you are inherently good, I cannot bring you to heaven. I'm sorry." AIX's face fell.
"If I am to go neither to heaven nor to hell," it wondered, "where shall I go?"
I'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE, BOYS.
All of us gasped and turned, involuntary chills running down our spines. There in the shadows stood a hooded figure robed in black, twin scythes strapped to his back. Two dull eyes stared at us intensely from underneath the hood.
"Death," I stammered in awe. "What are you doing here?"
YAHWEH HAS SENT ME, he replied in his icy voice. AS THIS SOUL CAN NEITHER ASCEND NOR DESCEND, GOD HAS RULED THAT HE BECOME MY ASSISTANT, OVERSEEING THE SOULS IN ALL REALMS. PERHAPS IN THIS COURSE OF ACTION, HIS TRUE NATURE WILL MANIFEST ITSELF.
Death extended a large bony hand to the little silver soul, and AIX, smiling confidently, met it with his own. Together they vanished in the blink of an eye, off to who knows where. And that was that.
"I can't believe I came all the way 'ere for nothin but an empty belly!" Spythix whined.
"Oh, get a room," I sighed, already on my way back to Heaven. | 17 | An angel and demon are confused when they realize they are fighting for the soul of an artificial intelligence program. | 43 |
"What?" We stare at the armies of mechs, mouths wide open.
"Seriously, *what*?" People fly overhead, seemingly hovering without any machine or vehicle to support them. I laugh. This is ridiculous.
"We *must* have made a mistake somehow. Let's look at the display. This can't be 1000 years ago." We enter the capsule and look at one of the many screens. My eyes widen.
"What?" We *had* made a mistake after all, we hadn't gone back 1000 years. We had gone back 3000 years.
"But how..." My partner Sam's voice trails off into nothing as we look outside. This technology doesn't even exist 1000 years in the future. We know, we've been there. So how does it exist 3000 years in the past?
"This is amazing. Let's go have a look around!" As we leave the capsule, a man with what looks like a slim metal headband confronts us, speaking in an unfamiliar language and gesturing wildly.
"I'm sorry, we don't understand..." Sam begins. The man sighs and taps the headband.
"You're not from around here are you?" He asks. We shake our heads, dumbstruck.
"Where are you from?" He asks. "I've never heard your language before." His headband must be a translator! But how it translates the words coming out of his mouth before they reach our ears is a complete mystery.
"The future," I say. It seems like the easiest explanation. He nods as if that was a completely normal thing to say.
"I see. Anyway, I'm afraid you can't park that machine here. You'll need to move it. Don't worry, you weren't to know!" He adds hastily as we open our mouths to apologise. "If you follow me, I'll show you where you can put it." We follow him until his feet lift off the ground and he shoots straight upwards!
"Hey! Wait!" Sam yells after him. He frowns and returns to Earth.
"What's wrong?"
"We can't fly." The man bursts out laughing as if we'd just said something completely ridiculous. We look at eachother, bemused.
"Of course, of course. I'm sorry. You don't have Bands, do you?" I shake my head.
"If that's that thing you're wearing on your head, then no."
"Strange. I would've thought the future would have them! I guess they've been replaced by something even more efficient in the future, right?"
"Yes," I say, not wanting to admit how primitive our society is compared to this one. My partner gives me an odd look but I ignore him. "But um... we couldn't bring any future technology with us. Paradoxes, you understand. If anyone from the past were to get their hands on this sort of stuff..." He nods his head enthusiastically.
"Of course. It's a shame, I always wondered what the future was like." I shift uneasily, beginning to wish I hadn't lied. "Anyway, I suppose we'd better get you some Bands!" I nod eagerly. This is amazing! Our new friend focusses, and a hologram appears of many different types of Band. They all look the same.
"So let's see. I'd recommend this one..." he gestures at the image in the top right corner. I read the specs displayed under the picture, not understanding a word of it despite it being translated into English.
"Sure! Sure, that sounds good!" I burble. Then I sigh. "But I don't think this'll pay for it," I show him my debit card.
"That's an... interesting form of payment," he said. "Looks kinda like what we used to use 25 years ago."
"Yeah most people stopped paying like this years ago," I say hastily. "I just like it, you know? It's like an antique." Sam glares at me. I'm digging myself into a hole here but luckily that seems to convince him.
"Yes, there's always something nice about relics from the past isn't there? Anyway, don't worry if you can't pay. I'm sure we can work out a deal."
"What sort of deal?" Sam asks uneasily. I don't know what he's so worried about, this is brilliant! We're about to get technology that doesn't even exist where we're from!
"Well, like I said earlier I've always wondered about the future." My heart drops. "I'll be happy to buy a couple of Bands for the pair of you if you let me come to the future with you for a few days!" I shake my head.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I say weakly.
"Why not?" His disappointment is overwhelming.
"Um... well you see, there was... a war."
"Oh no," he said, eyes widening.
"Yeah, a war. I'm not even supposed to talk about it much. But there's a lot of... radiation... around."
"Can't you just clean it up with a RadiFilter?"
"A what?!"
"You know, nuclear leaks happen occasionally, what they use to clean those up?"
"Oh. Uh. They were all destroyed in the war and the technology to make them was lost." I'm sweating now, really wishing I hadn't lied. Sam has a smirk on his face, watching me struggle to continue the story. "So it's really dangerous. In the future we've... we've evolved to become immune to radiation. But you're from the past, it's too dangerous."
"I could buy a RadiFilter and come with you! Two birds with one stone, I get to visit the future and you'll be heroes for bringing the technology to clean up the world!" I reel backwards, desperately trying to think of an excuse.
"But you can't! Because... because... Because time travelling has been outlawed! If anyone ever found out we'd been to the past, we and all our families would be executed!"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise. Why did you come then? What would make you risk all that, if not to get technology to save the world?"
"Uh..."
"Oh shit," yells Sam. "We've got to go right now. The time machine battery only lasts for so long!" I cast a thankful look at him. Finally he's decided to get me out of this mess.
"Nice to meet you, bye!" I squeak and run off to the time machine. As we shut the door behind us, I breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thank you! I really needed an excuse there."
"That wasn't an excuse. I wasn't making that up!" Sam yells as he frantically flips switches. The machine powers up, then dies. We sit there, silent for a second as we realise that we're now stuck here. There's a knock on the door.
"Didn't you get here in time? Never mind, you can stay with me until we fix your machine. You can pay me back by telling me ALL about the future!" I put my head in my hands and groan.
EDIT: I wrote some more about this story, if you wanna read it it's [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/ToBeContinued/comments/2icrdy/expanded_on_a_response_i_made_yesterday/) :) | 83 | You accidentally go back in time 3,000 years, only you now find yourself in a highly advanced civilization. | 129 |
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