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*Oh great, there's that creep again.*
Dave smiled when Amos entered the lab, greeting him with a "Heya, Amos."
Amos nodded, and looked over at what Dave was doing. His coworker was making the final adjustments to the photonic overdrive core, installing glassian wires that would connect to the hybrid photo-electron layer.
"Just a few more hours before we can finally plug this bitch in, huh?"
*We'll be fucking rich.*
Amos smiled, and said: "Have the other teams finished up already?"
"Yeah, we're the last ones. But we'll make the deadline." *No thanks to you. Always snooping around the facility. I should inform the boss about it, really.*
Amos gave him an odd look. "You know, there was an important call for you when I passed the entrance. Some woman called Nancy."
*Nancy? Oh god...I hope nothing's wrong with the baby.*
"It was something about a pregnancy. The call came in from St. Martin's hospital."
Dave paled. "Oh God...it's too early." *This is what I've been fearing for days!*
Amos tilted his head to the side. "If it's important, I can take over the final adjustments. I understand if you want to drive to the hospital right away. I'll cover for you, don't worry."
Gratitude washed over Dave's face. "You'd do that? Thanks, man, you have no idea what this means to me." Dave put his lab coat on the hook and sprinted out the lab. *If I hurry I can make it in time!*
Amos' expression became neutral again, and he quickly made some adjustments to the photonic core, using some strange tools that weren't provided by the lab. Then he went over to the intercom.
"Boss? The core is ready to be implemented."
There was a pause.
"Excellent, bring it down to 5A then," the intercom cracked.
When Amos entered 5A, there were three other people there, all in long lab coats.
*Finally.*
"Where's Dave?" one of the labworkers asked.
"Still upstairs."
*bullshit, Dave would never let you carry his precious core down here without accompanying you...*
"He wasn't feeling too well, suddenly."
"Well, whatever," their boss, Regan, interrupted. "We'll take it from here, Amos." Amos handed over the core, and his boss accepted it with glee. *Now if these final tests work, I can contact the military...* Regan gave Amos a stare and said: "Thanks, Amos, we'll contact you if we need you." *Leave already.*
Amos closed the door and waited outside until he picked up the thoughts from the other side. Amos ignored the thoughts from the labworkers and focused on Regan's. *68D54ly...*
Amos waited three more minutes before entering. 5A was empty. He went to the bolted steel door at the end and entered the code he had picked up from Regan. The bolted door opened.
Amos walked into a huge underground hangar, with spotlights above. There was a room with monitors to his left, where some researchers were operating a control board. In the middle there stood an enormous steel giant, gleaming in the spotlight, equipped with thrusters on the back and armed with the newest technology. Some researchers had just finished installing the core.
"Hey, who's that?"
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"
*Shit, he's not allowed to be down here!*
Amos took out his stun gun when a barrage of voices invaded his consciousness. He walked up to the center, calmly. One particular thought demanded his attention. *I better call security!*
With a fluent motion, Amos shot the source of the thought, and sent a stun bolt into the security communication device as well for good measure. People were yelling while some others tried to sneak up on him, but their thoughts betrayed them and Amos quickly took them out.
He'd reached the mecha in the center, where only Regan was still standing, trembling from what Amos discerned as some fear but mostly anger. "What's the meaning of this, Amos?"
Amos paused. "That mecha has to be destroyed."
"Wh-what are you talking about?! That mecha will revolutionize the way we wage war! People will no longer have to die, steel giants will decide our conflicts for us!"
"Don't kid yourselves. These mecha will trivialize war and drive your human race to extinction."
*What's this nut talking about?* ***My*** *human race?* Regan buried his hands in his labcoat's pockets. *Thanks god I thought of bringing a gun...* "So how are you going to destroy this thing, huh, Amos? Even if you do, you can't destroy all our research. You c-"
Amos shot Regan before he could draw the gun, and his former boss collapsed on the ground. "I can scare people off from the research," Amos gently told his stunned boss. "By staging an accident. I built something else in that photonic core. Something that reacts to this stun gun. The mecha will explode when I shoot it, and it'll appear as a malfunction to the people who find you."
Even though Regan was paralysed, he was still conscious, and Amos picked up his thoughts. *You'll die too, you stupid bastard.*
"Not exactly," Amos said. "I won't die. Let's just say that I'm not exactly...human."
*What the...he can hear my thoughts?*
"Yes." Amos casually shot another researcher who had snuck up to the hangar's exit. "Like I said, I'm not human. But fear not. The interests of my kind lie in preserving humanity. That means we have to keep you away from extinction every now and then. Like your kind would grow a tree and occasionally cut a few bad branches."
Amos smiled. "Yeah, I like that. You can see us as Gardeners."
Regan was genuinly horrified now. *You...I don't know* ***what*** *you are, but you can't halt these things forever. Those mecha's will be developed by someone else eventually. The course of human progress cannot be stopped!*
Amos laughed loudly this time. "You stupid human. What do you think me and my kind have been doing all this time?"
And with that, he shot the mecha, causing it to explode into a million pieces.
...
By the time Dave got back to the facility, the fire department had already passed him on the way. The facility was intentionally located in a secluded area, but even here some people had stopped to watch at the rising smoke. Dave stepped out of the car and looked up at the flames.
*Holy shit.*
"Hello, Dave."
Bewildered, Dave turned around and saw Amos standing behind him, watching the flames as well. "Amos! God, what happened down there?!"
Amos slowly looked into Dave's eyes. "An accident. Something must've malfunctioned."
"An-an accident?" *Shit...why is Amos the only one here? That guy has always been so suspicious...that reminds me!* "Hey, what was up with the fake message, Amos? When I got to the hospital, they said no one had called for me! And Nancy was safe at home!"
"Must've been some kind of prank," Amos said.
*A prank? Prank my ass, this whole thing is way too suspicious. I better contact the police as soon as possible.*
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Dave."
Dave's heart stopped beating for a few seconds.
Then Amos gave him a friendly pat on the back and grinned. "Just messing with you, Dave. No one will believe you, anyway. Take my advice and forget about this whole thing. Have a good life with Nancy and your kid instead. You'll make a great father."
Amos turned around and calmly walked away, leaving a baffled Dave standing next to his car. Dave absently looked over the facility, where the fire was still roaring high into the sky.
"Oh, and Dave? It'll be a girl. I took the time to check."
When Dave snapped his head back, the road behind him was empty.
Amos was gone. | 100 | Write a story where I know what everyone is thinking, except the main character. | 160 |
I stared at the piece of paper in my hand. The bold block capitals stared back at me. It was definitely my writing.
"When you're reading this, " it began, "it will be the 12th of June, 2013. I know this because it is always the 12th of June, 2013. This sounds crazy, but believe your own handwriting. It's the only way this will work."
I looked at my watch. It was the twelfth. Of course it was the twelfth. It was the eleventh yesterday, so naturally, the twelfth was today. I looked back to the letter.
"On the other side of this page, there is a tally. Every time you find this letter, you must add to the tally. Add a message if you must. Convince tomorrow this is real."
I turned the sheet over. Hundreds, maybe thousands of lines covered the sheet. Scribbled notes like "You've got to believe", "We've got to get out", and, repeated again and again: "Tomorrow never comes." All in my handwriting.
Slowly, I walked over to a chair. My knees were going weak. I smoothed the letter out on the table, and read the next line.
"You wake up at 8:57 to the sound of a lorry reversing outside. The post comes at 9:10. There are no interesting letters, just a water bill and a leaflet from Oxfam. You catch the end of the news, a story about a GMO crops."
Askew on the table sat the two letters mentioned. The letters that I had picked up an hour earlier. Before I had seen this. I definitely hadn't written this letter in the last hour. I wasn't going mad.
"From there, the day isn't set in stone. But, I think, on most days, you'll decide to do some clearing out. The box you found this letter in, is, for some reason, the only thing that doesn't change back. That is how I got this letter to you. We need to work out what's going on. There should be a collection of information in the box by today. Work out how to get to tomorrow. "
I turned to look at the box. It was just an ordinary, brown, bland cardboard box. I looked it up and down. It was filled with junk; all those things you need to get rid of but can't bring yourself to throw away. I couldn't think straight. How could this letter know what post I would get, when I would wake up, and how was it in my handwriting? The paper was creasing at the sides, and had torn around corners. I turned it back over. Had I really been living the same day for years? There were hundreds of tallys. What was going on?
Just like the letter had said, in the box, there was a folder. The word INFO was written in huge letters on the front. I heaved it out and set it down on the table. It was thick. And I didn't remember seeing any of it before in my life.
"I've worked it out. We have to get in the box."
| 10 | While looking through a box of junk in your closet you find a letter from yourself you don't remember writing that starts you on a hunt for more clues... | 24 |
She was sitting on a fallen log when he saw her, her head between her knees. Silently, he watched her small body shudder and quake as she held herself, and a gray haze descended over his eyes.
When he moved, he was noisy. He kicked rocks off the trail and swerved to crack branches and rustle leaves. She started as he began to move, her face bursting from the cocoon of her legs to search the forest around her, her eyes red and wide. As he approached she stood, frantically wiping her tears and attempting a posture of casual indifference.
"Hi there," he said, stopping some twenty feet from her, and smiling openly but not too wide. "I didn't expect to run into anyone all the way out here."
"Hi," she replied, her voice barely a whimper.
"Lost your way?" he asked.
"No," she said, "My Dad's around here somewhere. He should be back any minute now."
He tilted his head upward, gazing at the shattered sunlight through the trees. The Sun was low in the sky, a hint of crimson just creeping into its yellow glow.
"It'll be dark soon," he said, "You can walk with me a little way if you want. There's a shelter down this way, where the two main trails meet. Your Dad will have to pass through it on his way back - you could wait for him there."
"Thanks, but I'm fine," she said.
He shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said, walking away.
He was almost ready to turn back when he heard her.
"Wait," she called, jogging to catch up with him. "All right, I'll walk with you a little."
"Cool," he said, "I'm Mike."
"Lucy."
"Nice to meet you, Lucy. You and your Dad do a lot of hiking around here?"
"Yeah. Well, no, not around here. Back in Michigan."
"You're a long way from home."
"Yeah. I just needed to get away - we did, I mean, me and Dad."
She blushed, and his smile got wider.
He looked at her backpack. It was overfilled and poorly chosen for hiking. The flap on top was loosely held and had fallen open, revealing amateurish supplies - bulky clothes, a cheap plastic compass, an impractically large knife.
"I'm surprised your Dad made you carry all that stuff," he said.
"He always wanted me to be able to survive on my own," she said.
They came to a bend in the trail and suddenly a small, dark building was visible just ahead of them. Two boulders standing before it marked its unlit entrance.
He stopped and turned to her.
"Come on," he said, "Does anybody really know you're out here?"
"Only you," she said. | 337 | Two serial killers stumble upon each other while hiking. Both find the other to be the perfect next victim. | 831 |
"Surrender to me now or meet your end," I announced to Superman, whose abs looked rather fake. He was much shorter than I'd imagined. And a bit more... rotund.
"Dude! Come over here. This guy refuses to go meta." Batman joined him, his mask was rather fabric-y; he snorted in derision.
"Who are you supposed to be?" Gotham's hero asked with a look of superiority.
Typical Batman.
"I am your doom!"
"Like Dr. Doom? No, you're way off. He never wore a coat and tie. Your mask is made of white rubber, not metal. And where's the hooded cape? You completely messed up the costume," Superman stated.
"What? No, I'm the Grim Reaper; I bring death to all of you!"
I waited for them to tremble in fear. Spider-man came to join them... wait. What? He's from the Marvel comic books; he's not real.
Iron Man and the Hulk joined him. Huh? Why did their costume look like they were bought at a corner store? And why was the Hulk only five-feet tall?
"...Um... You will all bow to me."
My confusion had taken away from the confidence I'd built up. I'd spent the months practicing this. What the heck, Grim? Pull yourself together.
"Who leads your brigade?"
There we go. The poise was coming back.
The group of five all pointed to table about twenty feet past them.
"He is," they stated simultaneously.
"Stan Lee! What is he doing here?" I excitedly exclaimed. He was my hero. I'd grown up on his comics, relying on them during the divorce; he'd inspired me to become a super-villain. "Oh my gosh, I'm so excited! Do any of you have a pen I can borrow; I'm going to get his autograph."
| 57 | A super-villain attacks Comic Con, assuming it's a summit of the worlds most powerful super-heroes plotting against him. | 153 |
Narrator (Arnold Schwarzenegger): **D'AHH!** NO ONE KNEW FROM WHAR HE CAEME, BUT HE CAEME WHEN THE WOORLD **NEEEEDED** HIM MOOST!
***Camera falls on our protagonist from behind. He is looking out at a miraculous skyline from the top of a roof. It is sunset; the colors contrast with his black outfit.***
Protagonist (Morgan Freeman): I had long forgotten the day of no'malcy... and forfeited them for taking down the robot overlords. My firepower was heavy [extended pause] but I did what was needed of me. Thus was the life I chose.
N: OUR HEEERO STOOOD, GAZING OUT **OVAH** THE CITY SKY IN HIS LEATHAH TRENCH COAT, AN AUTO**MA**TIC WEAPON IN HAND! SUDDENLY THREH ROBOTS APPROACHED!
***The camera pulls back to reveal the silhouettes of three androids — all heavily armed — surrounding the hero.***
P: You all. Hmm... I was beginnin' to wonder when you would make your presence known. [calmly referring to an absent watch] Well would you look at that? It's half-past kick-ass o'clock.
***The dark advocate turns around revealing his face as bad-ass music starts. The tempo quickens and he unleashes bullets at the robots, diving to his right.***
N: SURELY HE WAS **DOOMED**. IT WAS THREE-ON-ONE, **D'AH!** DID HE HAVE THE METTLE TO SURVIVE?
***The hero has somersaulted behind an air vent. One of the androids is down, beyond repair.***
P: I had a plan when you arrived, but in these battles to the death [pause] I've found improvisation to be so much mo'... stimulatin'.
***He smoothly launches a grenade toward the two remaining androids. It explodes, shredding one and damaging the other. The last android shoots and the air duct is disintegrated. He is blocking our hero from jumping off of the roof.***
N: FACING DEATH HE KNEW **NOT** WHAT TO DO. OR **DID** HE?! COULD HIS CUNNING SAVE HIM AGAIN?
***The protagonist steps toward the android as it recharges its weapon. A smirk is on his face.***
P: I told you: improv takes ma' fancy. Why you ask? Because it always works... and my intelligence is far superior to your measly coding.
***A simple kick sends the android careening to its death. Our hero walks toward the exit, his trench coat flapping in the breeze as he becomes a silhouette. The sun has set.***
N: ONCE AGEHN HE REIGNS SUPREME OVER THA EEVILLLS THAT PLAGUE THE CITY. HE. IS. FREEEE-MAN!
***Text covers the screen:***
***COMING THIS SUMMER***
***
Slightly edited to better convey Freeman's speech patterns. | 440 | Due to errors in their contracts, which both actors are insisting be followed, Arnold Schwarzenegger is narrating an action movie in which Morgan Freeman is the hero. | 921 |
"Holy sh… John, I think… I think it's back!"
There was a bang, and the whole table jumped. A short red-haired man crawled out from under the desk, clutching his head. If it weren't for the tiny flashlight he had in his mouth, he'd probably be cursing up a storm.
He pulled the flashlight out of his mouth and slipped it into his shirt pocket. "What did you say, Brittany?"
"I think it's back…"
John sucked in a breath. "*It*?"
Brittany nodded. "We found it. The Internet is back."
"Holy sh… We need to make sure, quick! Get on it, or "log on," or whatever the term was!"
Brittany moved the mouse slowly to the large "e" icon on the faded screen. She clicked on it and held her breath. For about five seconds nothing happened. She was about to click again when suddenly a big, white window opened up. It displayed the words "Google," and had a bar under it for text.
"John," Brittany gasped, "Do you realize what a treasure trove this is?"
"Humanity lost the Internet over a millennium ago." John muttered gazing at the screen like it were made of gold. "Archeologists all over the world would sell their souls to research something like this."
Brittany's hands were shaking as she began to type. John grabbed one of her wrists quickly. "What are you doing?"
"I remember from a history class I took a while ago… A website, or whatever they were called. I'm just curious to see what all is still there."
John nodded slowly. "Okay, just be careful not to ruin anything. That's a thousand year old time capsule we have, there."
Brittany nodded in understanding, and carefully typed in, "*Reddit.com*" | 34 | You accidentally erase the entire internet. | 41 |
He had been doomed from the moment he was born.
He had had five siblings, in the beginning. One was shot on the orders of their grandfather; another on those of their father. He himself had ordered the death of a third just weeks ago. He hadn't wanted to, but he hadn't had a choice; there never were choices.
Switzerland had seemed like a choice, like freedom. The private school had been nice, with lots of people, nobody thinking he was anyone special. He had played basketball there. The others had cheered when he did well, booed when he didn't. He so missed that. Now, everything he did was the best thing in the world; to say anything else was treason, and traitors disappeared. Here everybody smiled all the time, tears brimming at the corners of their eyes from the intensity of their enormous happy grins.
Once when he had been a little child, he'd seen a general's mask slip when his father's back was turned. He had had nightmares of that face for years. Years later, he had learned the general's wife had disappeared after making a joke about his father. There had been nothing the general could do, except keep smiling.
His generals smiled, too, but for different reasons. He knew he wasn't his grandfather, or even his father. He didn't have that drive, that hunger for power. He didn't want to be the greatest man in the world.
He had tried to run, once, in Switzerland, when the time to go back had come close. He had taken a backpack, walked to the village, gone to a cafe, and asked for a bus schedule. It had worked, just like in those American movies. The bar girl had been so incredibly curt and dismissive, slamming the booklet on the desk, he could have kissed her unsmiling face. The schedule had been difficult to read, but he had figured out the next bus to Zurich. And then...
And then it had struck him. Where could he go? What could he do? Wouldn't the... the Americans make him their prisoner? Make him tell all he knew of his family, and then confess endless lies to cold cameras, then make him disappear? Or were the Americans like that? He had seen so many of their films, extolling their fairness and goodness, but he had also seen films extolling the goodness and fairness of his father's nation, and those were lies, makeup on a corpse.
Even if no agents from America came after him, what about his own people? Nobody ever escaped, nobody of any consequence. He remembered a cousin, a pretty woman with full red lips. The second to last time he'd seen her had been on a Japanese TV show, she telling of prisons and work camps, cringing in the alien environment.
The last time had been in the bunker under the palace, when cold-eyed men in uniform rushed a gurney past him. The lips of the body on it were cold and bruised and split open, but still red.
And even if neither the Americans nor his own people came for him... what could he do? He was exquisitely aware of the money the school's other students had. He had much less, and even that was grudgingly given, in small installments. He would starve, out in the world. Nobody... nobody would help him, if they knew who he was.
Some at the school knew, or guessed. They stared at him, angry, contemptuous, silent. Their faces were almost as terrible as the smiles he remembered.
Years later, when he was the leader, he had discovered a report from that day; an older classmate with a gun and a military rank had been watching and following him the whole time, with orders to bring him back by force if necessary.
Not that it had been. He hadn't dared to escape, and now it was too late. The generals had their figurehead --- it was too late, if he tried to assert himself now, order arrests and executions, he would suffer a mysterious accident, and then one of his brothers, or cousins, would suddenly become the greatest man alive. Nobody had ever told him this, nobody would have dared to, but he knew it. It was clear in the slight slowness of the generals' bows, the small hesitations as they spoke his titles, the way his orders were confused and how nobody thought to tell him anything unless he asked.
Some days he went through the previous day's papers, orders for arrests and executions, promotions and medals, and he couldn't remember if he had written that particular signature or not, He read the papers, and couldn't say what they meant. He wasn't sure if anything he signed ever went outside his office; maybe there was someone with a deft hand who didn't ask questions, someone with a smile and nothing under it.
He had this recurring nightmare where he found out he had accidentally signed an order for his own execution the previous day, and nobody would believe the greatest man alive could make a mistake, so they hauled him to the cellar, their smiles falling away---
Whenever he woke up crying in the darkness, he was so certain that he should have ran. He should have tried.
Now it was too late. | 18 | Make me sympathize with the leader of the North Korean government | 24 |
Sometimes it sucks being the only psychic in the world. Well, technically everyone is psychic. They just haven't opened their eyes. I'm different. I'm better. I figured it out, tapped into whatever force allows someone to read minds and predict the future.
So what did I do when I first became a psychic? Mess with charlatans, of course. Tarot card peddlers, palm readers, and other self-proclaimed psychic mediums were the primary targets. I sent many of these people screaming from their own offices and homes, entirely freaked out by my displays of enlightened potential.
That got boring after a while. I wanted to parlay my newfound abilities into something that would actually make my life better. Naturally, gambling was a perfect fit. I was a millionaire in a week. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I was featured on television programs where eager journalists would ask me how I did it. I chalked it up to luck and practice, of course.
Money was one thing, but my psychic talents left me wanting more. I wanted control. Unfortunately, mind control was not a possibility. However, I figured out a way to leverage my enlightenment. By reading their minds, I was able to establish a framework of their needs and wants on both the conscious and subconscious levels. From there, it was easy to manipulate people into doing what I wanted them to do under the guise of doing something for themselves. It was perfect.
Unenlightened humans are my puppets now. I control them and they don't even know it. They are sleepwalking through life, unaware of the potential locked within each of their minds. I am simply giving them some direction, what's so wrong with that?
| 41 | A man holds the key to a secret that mankind has searched tirelessly for, but refuses to share it simply because he is an asshole. | 78 |
He never knew what the purpose of his writing was, but it was the only thing he had left to do. The cancer had metastasized to his lungs; he was living on borrowed time. His doctor was stunned that he managed to live past the 24 hours they told him he had. This was hour 34. The man refused to sleep, instead scribbling hastily on the pad his wife had brought him from his office. His mind darted from topic to topic as he filled page after page with nearly indecipherable notes. His father always told him "If what you're saying is important enough, people won't care how good it looks or sounds". He never really believed that, and always had assumed it was his father's way of explaining away his shortcomings.
When his father passed away, he wrote the most beautiful poem and read it aloud during the eulogy. It was wonderfully concise, with every words purpose carefully considered and placed just so. His mother, a self proclaimed bookworm, had it framed and hung it above his fathers half of the bed.
But now he sat, essentially writing his own eulogy. As he peered at the page in front of him, he saw his own mind spring to life from the chicken scratch. It wasn't the eloquent, thoughtful person he had become accustomed to seeing in the mirror, but a scared, jumbled mess of thoughts and ideas. Like a student taking a test, he furiously wrote, hoping he'd be able to finish his last thought before his time was up.
The life he knew was gone, and no one even knew about it. What would happen to all these feelings when he went? He didn't care about his possessions, only that the things he held as truth were at least attributed to him. As the monitor beeped slower, the frequency of his writing increased, until finally, the monitor held a constant, flat tone. His last line, knowing that he couldn't possibly finish putting his thoughts on the page, hurt him the most to write. As he stained the page with his tears, he wrote the only thing that he could think.
"I'm sorry, dad."
The universe did not end with a bang, but with a whimper. | 19 | "Every person sees the world in a unique way. When someone dies it is, in a way, the death of an entire world." | 55 |
--May--
It had to be done. Someone had to go down there into the depths of the world. It was perennial darkness, only the lights inside visible. This was a one man mission, not because it could only be done by one person, but budget cuts. My commander hated my guts as well, so I was sent down the hatch and away from civilization. I got to know myself pretty well, as a bout six weeks into the mission, I lost all care. I had begun talking to myself in different voices, trying to hold conversations with different portions of myself. It didn't work at first, it was too stupid to work, I was too sane. I write was, but now I am capable of enjoying deep conversations with my alternate self. Why am I writing this? After my mission was complete, what I came up to was barren. As of now, this is the only writing to exist in this world, if we can even call it that. If I had to describe what exactly happened to completely corrode and eradicate all life, I would say it was some kind of world bombing tour. An endless supply of bombs and nuclear weapons being dropped and detonated until it was all gone. I don't even see bones, just these hollowed out looking burnt up barns, but I can see below, this is not barn it was a house once. I don't now if everything is gone, but where I am now is a wasteland. If it wasn't bombings, it may have been in relation to the stars. There is no longer a night. The nine months of darkness I subjected myself to seems all the more punishing. The sun looks much closer than it did before. I sleep in the shadows. I found a hole with a house smashed up below, with a stream, or a river, or some kind of water source. I gobbled it up so quickly and stood up too fast, throwing up. I've encountered no food. But I can survive with water, if there is any point to it. The Earth feels too large now, there's too much space, I can't fill it all. I long for my submarine once more. It was so compact, a place I could hear my voice echo throughout the hull, rewarding with my a sense of belonging. My friends don't exist out here, the sunlight has fried them all. I don't feel depressed, I don't even know, it's just devoid of life entirely. Couldn't it have been someone else? I can't be expected to be the savior of Earth, I'm just a lowly private. I feel so weak, and alone. I'm going to go back to my submarine, where I'll stay until I die. There's still some food there, I'll stock up on water and conjure a life for myself within the walls. If anyone finds this, please come to where my submarine is the directions will be left below.
--August--
This will be my final writing, things have changed. I don't think I'm alone anymore, but whatever is out there could come for me. Maybe it's just the sense of paranoia that fills me, I don't know. I've become more and more unhinged. No one came to the sub, even though I waited, and waited. I've been through the town again and again, still no survivors, no signs of life. Each time, I feel older and older. My hope finally died. I found another person, laying dead on a beach. Their body all ripped open and devoured. How could they have not heard my call? I know it wasn't there before when I first arrived. I don't want to walk back through the remains of that city for water, I know where the water is, and I am going back down to visit it once more. Someone was out there, but it's too late for them. I'm going back below to where I came from and I am taking the only soul I found with me. This time I'm not coming back, just know the one grave on this planet sits in silence on the ocean floor. | 10 | You have been stranded, in a submarine, for 9 months. When you can finally resurface, the world as you know it is gone. | 27 |
The four of us were on our way to a knew gig when we heard it. The familiar sound of instruments warming up and mic checks. We looked to eachother, curious. Why would there be anyone warming up here in the middle of nowhere, much less what sounded like hundreds of people doing it all at once?
So, we followed the sound and stumbled upon a breathtaking sight.
In a field of clouds stood a temple of white marble. A sign pointed out it was called "Mount Olympus".
And beyond that a banner hung that read "Annual Olympus Battle of the Bands".
Various gods and goddesses were scattered everywhere, some in groups, some alone. All with some form of instrument.
We were approached by a young man wearing winged shoes.
"Are you guys here to sign up? I hear this year is gonna be a doozy! We got the best bands here! *Aphrodite and the Boys*, *Narcissistic Beauty*, even *Ymir* showed up! You guys should definitley sign up!"
I looked to my bandmates and shook my head.
"No, I'm afraid we cannot. We are actually on our way-"
"Ahh, I get it! You guys are scared! Scared you'll lose!"
My temper flared almost immedietly and I snatched the clipboard from his hands. I signed our band's name on it, breaking the wood of the board and the pen.
The boy took it back, unfazed, and grinned.
"*Santa's Helpers*, eh? Weird, but I like it! You guys better start getting ready. And you better be good, too! Don't make me look bad!"
He then zipped off to the judges table, his winged shoes carrying him. | 23 | Olympus. | 131 |
"Quick." I motioned my hands, making sure that they were the ones talking. Smart little Rob waited for the blue flashing lights to pass, and rolled towards me.
"Good boy." I pushed him ever so gently to the side, peaking out of the alleyway to check for the police cars.
"Daddy, why are running again?" I quickly placed my index finger on his lips, giving him a glare. I've explained it to him many times.
"Can you load a gun?" I pulled one out of my pocket. I handed it to him, and within moments he has a new clip inside and his fingers were ready to squeeze the trigger. He stared at me, and nodded twice.
"Good." I pulled my own out.
"Daddy. Are we the bad guys?"
"What? No we're not. They are." I pointed to the cops outside. I could hear the dogs barking at us. I steadied my aim.
"Daddy, I don't want to die."
"Look at it this way. We can visit mommy later in heaven."
"But you killed mommy."
"Well..." A bullet almost hit me, denting the wall. I stuck my arm out, and shot back in return.
"Go. Go. If anyone dies tonight, I don't want it to be you."
Rob quickly took off sprinting, not looking back at me. I didn't bother, as I hear the sound of a rifle clicking into action. I peaked out a little, and hid back behind the wall. There was no way they could shoot me from here-
"Sorry, daddy. For mommy."
| 36 | "Daddy, are we the bad guys?" | 42 |
Hello Mr. Stone,
I am Gordon Andrews, a former agent of the Secret Service. I'm sure it comes as no surprise that the Secret Service has known of your organization for some time, though it has taken me considerable time tracking you down. But I must digress.
As a young man I joined the Secret Service under the Reagan administration. Shortly thereafter during one of our intelligence briefings I was informed about a certain race of humanoid known as Reptilians. Little was known at the time about exactly what they are and where they came from. This was all a bit difficult to take in, and I wasn't sure if it was some joke until I was informed that "they live among us". That took me back. They could be anyone, even my friends or family. I was informed on how to spot them and what kind of threat they might pose to the President.
When Bush Sr. was elected into office, I sat in on his introductory intelligence briefing. They of course discussed the matter of reptilians. I watched the President intently during this time. As he was informed that "they live among us," the President was visibly shaken. "Among us?" he replied. The answer was a series of statistics, about one in 10,000 people, located throughout the world, often living in clusters. The President's initial reaction was to negotiate with these people. He was informed that all previous negotiations have either failed or had undesirable outcomes. There is currently an equilibrium in the balance of power between us and them.
When Clinton was elected, I once again sat in on his intelligence briefing. The mood was generally light, but when the discussion of Reptilians came up, the room grew heavy with an air of seriousness. When informed that "they live among us," the president inquired about their attractiveness and if any of them are going to want a sample of his DNA. His joking did little to ease the tension in the room, and the briefing continued. There is currently an equilibrium in the balance of power between us and them.
Bush Jr. was a bit more aggressive than his father. I was watching a look of worry on his face as the descriptions of the Reptilians were conveyed. "They live among us," he was told. The President's worry grew to a startle as he spoke up, "How is their military might? Do we have the strength to overpower them?" Previous military assaults have proven costly and largely ineffective. Although we outnumber them 9,000 to 1, they are technologically superior to us, and we still know very little about them. It would be ill advised to disrupt the relative peace. As of now, there is an equilibrium in the balance of power between us and them.
Then there's Barack Obama. During the briefing he wore a pleasant smile similar to the one that won him the election. I watched intently as they described the Reptilians in as much detail as they could. "They live among us." This didn't seem to phase the President as it did his predecessors. His only reaction was a blink. But he didn't blink with his eyelids...
Mr. Stone, the balance of power has shifted between us and them. The world needs your help and the help of your organization. I would like to help in any way I can. I still have contacts in the government, and I am familiar with their security protocols. We must find a way to put an end to this invasion once and for all.
Signed,
Former Agent Gordon Andrews | 127 | A Secret Service Agent recounts how different US Presidents reacted on learning America's deepest secrets. | 123 |
I had never noticed it at first. Or if I had, I simply pushed it away, my brain struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. It was in small details, you know?
Sometimes I would see something move slightly, or something would be slightly different. But when I turned to look at it, it would just be back to normal. just my imagination then.
But no, there. Something about the tree that I was so used to seeing out of my window every morning just seemed...off. Sort of like when you feel like there's something there, even when you know there probably isn't.
When people normally describe that feeling, they talk about having a cold chill, but mine felt..warm. Sort of a warm tingle that rippled across my skin, and the tree seemed to shimmer, but only on one side, where my right eye was pointed.
I closed my left eye and focussed on the tree. The shimmering spread across the entire trunk, and the air wavered like it would on a hot summer's day, only it was winter. As I walked towards the window, my left eye still closed, I caught sight of the sky.
The heavens had turned a burnt orange colour. A solid sheet of sky that was somewhere between tangerine and whiskey.
*What the hell?* I though to myself. This had to be some sort of weird dream right? I switched eyes, only through my left eye, everything turned back to normal, and the temperature dropped noticeably. This was seriously weird now.
I changed back to my right eye, and the heat had risen even further, the sky burning a darker orange. There was a strong wind kicking up outside, only it was accompanied by a faint crackle of static discharge.
What the hell was going on? When I went back again to my left, the world was normal, but everything from my right seemed to die. The world heating up and everything beginning to burn.
Every time I went to the dying world, I could feel the heat of it clearly, which brought me into a sweat, which would remain when I came back to my regular world.
I began to hyperventilate, struggling to understand what was happening.
"Just calm down," a voice from behind said suddenly, causing me to almost leap out of my skin with fright. I spun around, and saw a man in black clothes, one hand casually in his pocket. His short grey hair seemed to shine white in places, as he looked at me with a bemused expression on his face.
"I'm the Doctor," he said, "Now tell me what you've seen." | 35 | One of your eyes sees into your own dimension whereas the other sees into another, the other dimension is seemingly identical, until one day... | 44 |
"This wasn't expected."
Bill found himself staring at the barrel of a gun. Which was disappointingly anti-climatic, considering he just got in here 5 minutes ago.
His hand began to quiver, as it gripped onto the jet black Glock 19 aimed at the other guy.
*"Why don't you put that down, huh?"*
"Sorry, can't say I trust you enough to do that."
Silence.
*"We could stay like this foreve-"*
"Unlikely. We wouldn't be so lucky the next time."
Bill tilted his head and gestured towards the body slumped against one of the pillars.
Bill had nothing personal against him; in fact, he wasn't planning on shooting anyone. The unlucky sap just had to fire out and it was during one of the worst times possible.
"More of them would be coming soon".
Bill coughed loudly for emphasis
*"I don't need to worry about that."*
Bill laughed. Who does this guy think he is?
The shadows hid his face pretty well, but that meant he couldn't see Bill's face too. He didn't need to care either way, the mask wrapped around his face did that for him. He reached out for it again for comfort.
*"Getting together like this. Its a bad joke. I don't think I need this anymore than you do."*
Bill's eyebrows raised. He felt obligated to ask.
"So what are you doing this for? Family? Because tha-"
*"Family?"* A cackle followed. It was chillingly raspy and Bill felt a frisson grip him.
"Then we're over that. So now the question is, who puts the gun down first?"
*"Want to hear a little joke?"*
Bill's eyes glazed.
"The fuck are you playing at."
*"One day,"* the other guy began. He sounded coldly condescending, uncaring. Cheerful, even. He didn't seem to be too aware of Bill's flaring up.
*"Two rabbits come across a carrot. Now, this was a pretty normal carrot. Nothing out of place. But the two of them are hungry. Really hungry."*
Bill hears a sudden pop and he jumps. His forefinger draws towards the trigger.
*"So what do they do? Fight of course. But little did the rabbit know..."*
*sniff*
Bill felt it. Something fragrant, yet so empowering. It seemed too fragile to taste, yet it made him feel weaker than he had ever been before. The breathes he drew began to shudder.
*"...the other rabbit had something up his sleeve. A pretty dangerous fart. And it was..."*
Bill's eyelids felt heavy. The world seemed to blur.
*"...quite the little joke he had."*
He felt the edges of his mouth stretch.
Shit.
It was a pretty funny joke.
A small snigger escaped between his lips.
Then another. Then another.
Then another.
And it erupted into a raucous cacophony.
His eyes shot up at the other guy, the comedian. And he saw his face in the bright light-no, there wasn't anything bright about it. It was just his face.
It was deathly pale, with the creases of red staining the sides of his cheek. A thin slit of a grin drew from one end of his cheek to the other. And no matter how hard Bill tried, he just couldn't seem to be as happy as him.
*"Have fun!"* he chuckled.
The man went about his way. | 20 | Two different bank robbers enter the same bank at the same time. | 75 |
"Fire breathers cost an extra 500 gold," I said flatly.
The King looked appalled. "I don't understand. How can you call it a dragon if it doesn't even breath fire? Doesn't that just make it a big lizard? Would you call yourself a lizard slayer?" He chuckled to himself at his conclusion.
"Call it whatever you want, your majesty, but the fact remains that a dragon that breaths fire is harder to kill than one that does not. "
"So then if all dragons breath fire, should this not be included in your cost of service upfront, rather than as a hidden cost?" he asked suspiciously.
I was starting to lose my patience. "They don't all breathe fire, your Majesty, and I did not know that your particular problem had the ability to breath fire until about 15 minutes ago." I was referring to when one of the knights of the Royal Guard had burst into the throne room, screaming, "ITS BURNED ALL THE LIVESTOCK! ALL OF THE SHEEP ON MCCREADY FARM ARE GONE!"
I sighed, thinking about the difficult task that lay ahead of me, granted an agreement could be reached. "The extra charge is a standard guild rate."
The King stared at me disapprovingly, stroking his whiskers. "During our times of economic strife, these costs strike me as nothing less than extortionate. Have you no pity for people you see terrorized by this menace? Perhaps you could find it in your heart to slay this beast as a service to the people of this kingdom?"
If anybody had the right to act condescending, it was a King, yet I was offended by his tone all the same. I was not affiliated with his small second-rate kingdom in any way, a union of small worn down villages ravaged by harsh climates and never-ending border conflicts with neighbors far more powerful than it could ever hope to be. He should have been grateful that I answered his call at all, yet now that I stood before him, he had the audacity to ask me to do his people a service for free. If I had not known that the King was prone to imprison those that he felt disrespected him in the royal dungeons for a minimum of a fortnight, I would have turned my back on him and left on the spot.
I stood there, uncomfortably, contemplating my next move. To my relief, Lord Reginald, adviser to the king, and the single voice of reason within a royal court composed entirely of either manipulative bureaucrats or High-born idiots, finally broke the silence.
"Your majesty, Lord Taylor holds no allegiance to our kingdom. Slaying dragons is his life's work, and we must ensure that he is compensated adequately for doing our kingdom a great service."
The King's face soured as he considered his options.
"Perhaps we could send Sir Winston of house Hyll to slay the beast instead? His family has a long history of accomplishments on the battlefield," he suggested hopefully.
Lord Reginald turned his head away from the King to roll his eyes. "Your majesty, Sir Winston Hyll is currently confined to the infirmary after attempting to drink an entire barrel of mead during our late Autumn Festival. We monitor his health with great concern, as he remains in critical condition."
"Classic Winston," the King muttered. The whisker stroking resumed.
"Lord Taylor, perhaps you would consider compensation for some your price with non-monetary assets. A title of Knighthood in my Kingdom is very prestigious, even when living in foreign lands." The King looked at me confrontationally, as if daring me to accept his bogus offer.
The offer was worthless to me. I was beginning to regret the decision that I had made to represent myself in the negotiations. I was a warrior, not a salesman, and dealing with a petty King was even more tiring than I had imagined. My guild-mate, Nelson, had an agent represent him in all official court proceedings regarding his contracts. The only thing he ever had to worry about was how to kill the damn buggers.
I was about to counter the offer, when I was interrupted by the sound of the two heavy oak doors of the throne room bursting open. A knight of the royal guard ran through the front doors, his armor echoing through the spacious hall in a cacophony of clangs.
"TWO DRAGONS!" he screamed. "TWO DRAGONS ARE CIRCLING THE CASTLE!"
Half way down the hall, the guard tripped, and fell face first into the plush red carpet. He struggled to get up for several moments in his armor, before realizing the futility of his effort, and giving up.
The King let out an exasperated gasp, and closed his eyes. For a minute, nobody spoke. When he opened them they focused on me once more, filled with contempt for the man standing in front of him.
"Fine, rob the whole bloody treasury for all I care! Just don't come back unless you're dragging two giant lizard heads through that doorway, you damn thief," he spat at me.
"Its been an honor, your majesty," I said sarcastically, now aware of my own value to the King, and no longer afraid to lose my head. I nodded solemnly at Lord Reginald, then turned back to the king and bowed mockingly low. I turned on my heel and strode towards the entrance, and approached the royal guard, still flailing his limbs helplessly from his position on his stomach. I stopped momentarily to help him to feet, before continuing my strut down the hall.
When I reached the doorway, I suddenly had the urge to do something that I would never have the chance to do again. I looked back at the King, one last time, smiling, and flipped him off. Before he had a chance to react, I was gone.
Negotiating was exhausting. After this job, I thought to myself, I'm hiring an agent like Nelson. I already felt like I had put in full days work.
In reality, my real work day was just about to begin, and today, it looked like I would be pulling a double shift.
| 20 | You're a member of a dying race of professional dragon slayers, and you're negotiating the terms for killing of a dragon harassing a city but the King is being unreasonable. | 20 |
On the day of the visit things were supposed to be very peaceful at the orphanage; things were supposed to go smoothly.
Things were not peaceful. And they did not go smoothly.
"You... stupid... little... *freak*!"
A vicious kick followed each of Sam's words, landing like the blows of some terrible drum. Spit flung from his lips as he shouted at the smaller boy and continued his assault, landing blows on the little rat's shoulders, back, head, whatever was exposed as Jason tried shielding himself, huddled up in a trembling little fetal ball.
A door down the hallway flung open on squeaky hinges. Feet rushed across the tile floor- two pairs of dress shoes and a pair of high heels- and it took both the orphanage director and the visiting man to drag Sam off the smaller boy. He was roughly hauled up against the fall wall of the corridor and then held down against the ground by the director. He watched, face smushed up against the cold stone floor, as that visiting couple rushed to Jason's side. The couple gently 'uncurled' that pathetic little twerp from his fetal ball. The woman poured reassurances into his ear as the man checked Jason for any injuries.
He'd find a few of those, at least. Sam had seen to that.
He watched as the couple tended to the smaller boy, even as the orphanage director grabbed Sam by the neck and barked at him:
"What in the name of God were you thinking, Sam?"
Sam looked up at the director, a cold sneer on his face:
"L'il twerp is pathetic," Sam grumbled. "And I don't *do* 'pathetic'..."
A day before the visit Sam found Jason alone in the sleeping area, skinny legs dangling off of Sam's cot as he looked at a photograph on the nearby windowsill. Sam narrowed his eyes at the kid:
"What're you doing, twerp?" He bared his teeth.
Jason swung around, black eyes wide:
"N-nothing, Sam. I swear-"
"You messing with my stuff?"
The smaller boy shook his head adamantly.
"No. It's just... I was lookin' at your pictures, here. You've been here a long time, haven't you? At the orphanage, I mean?"
"What about it, runt?" Sam crossed his arms.
"It's just... well..." Again Jason looked at the window, but this time he looked outside, lips curled in a small frown. "Does it ever get any better? I mean, do you get used to it, at all?"
"Why do *you* wanna know?"
"They say that no one ever really comes in and adopts a boy. Everyone wants girls. Or really *little* boys, maybe. Like five or six-year-olds. I'm just thinking..." Jason looked away and shook his head. Sam could tell that the little snot was gonna tear up.
"I'm thinking," Jason managed, "that *I'm* gonna be here a long time, too..."
Jason sunk his head down and started freely tearing up. Sam scowled at the kid as he wept, shaking his head.
*Pathetic*.
Two days before the visit the orphanage director took Sam into his office. He explained the situation:
"We got a man and woman coming here in a couple days," the director said. "Nice couple. God knows why, but they're interested in *you*, Sam. Liked your picture and your profile, at least..."
Sam scoffed, flicking a few stray hairs from his shirt sleeve:
"Heard it before," he grumbled. "And it always ends the same way: 'no sale'-"
"This time might be different," the director folded his hands on the desk. "They're quite serious about adopting a boy, and they've narrowed it down to either you or Jason- the new boy. When they come to meet you two later this week, well, that'll be the clincher, Sam."
Sam reacted to this with an indifferent scoff.
"Sam, for God's sake, you should be more invested in this process. You know as well as I that you're aging out of the program. You don't get plucked out of here, and *soon*, you could very well wind up bedding down on the streets-"
"I don't mind," Sam said. "I'm tough enough-"
"But is that what you *want*?"
Sam stopped playing with his shirt. He looked up at the director, and for the first time his face was serious:
"These people *really* wanna adopt a kid?"
The director nodded.
Sam perched his lips; he slowly sat up.
"Well... what do I have to do, then? What should I do to make 'em pick me?"
"Don't be yourself," the director growled. "Couples like this one, well, they're not looking for a cocky and disrespectful smart-ass. That's evident, you know. What they're going to want to see is... well, more like vulnerability. You need to make them feel sorry for you, Sam. You're not out to impress them. You've got to show *weakness*, not strength. Try to be as pathetic as you can possibly be."
Sam lay awake that night, absently staring at the ceiling above his cot. He thought about sundry things: a home to call his own, his own backyard, home-cooked meals, and a room to himself. He thought about a lot of things, and after a while they put a rather large smile on his face.
He blinked in the darkness; there was a small noise on the other side of the room, something like muted sobs coming from one of the other cots. He turned his head and saw the silhouette of that new boy- Jason- curled up and facing the far wall. He was doing his best to hide it, but his shuddering body betrayed him.
Sam rolled his eyes, and again he stared at the ceiling.
He put those thoughts of hearth and home out of his mind. They were a pipe dream, after all. Maybe he wanted them, and maybe he desperately wished for them, too.
But, in the end, he just wasn't pathetic enough to deserve them. | 24 | Write a story that starts at the end of the story and ends at the beginning of the story, and have a plot twist at the beginning | 24 |
The doctor was nice enough, and I thanked him for the prescription.
When you are a single guy and you've lived your whole life alone, people honestly just don't want to have anything to do with you.
People like *couples*. It's amazing what a difference having a girl on your arm makes. Total strangers who would normally never so much as make eye contact with you will walk right up to you and ask you questions like, "So what do you guys like to do around here?" Or offer tips like, "There's a great restaurant around the corner there, you two should really try it out."
The world is for couples, and I'm not a couple, at least not anymore. Not for a long, long time.
There's something incredibly empowering about solitude. By having no one else to affect your temperament, in a way, you are who you really are. But overtime, you begin to realize that part of who you are is a social being. That's the difference between solitude and isolation. One man's stoic is another man's pathetic. When the realization of that sets in, that's when the irrational thoughts begin. Here I was, acting irrationally.
*Having acted* irrationally, rather.
The package of Zoloft was already in my bloodstream. What little money I had left was spent on a bottle of Pinot Noir which sat beside me on the kitchen floor. Not normally one for wine, I figured this would be my last opportunity so I grabbed the first clean beer stein and filled it to the rim. Not bad, not bad at all.
Once in the early spring, I had found myself on the side of the road in the valley a few miles from home. A dense fog had settled amongst the trees and I would watch as the rising sun slowly dissipated the vapor. In an hour or so, most of it was clear, having been pushed back into the firmament of blue sky where it belonged.
Something not unlike this was happening inside my head at this very moment.
Good God. The static nonsense, the black and white and grey film that smothered my soul was being conjured away by some inconceivably powerful entity. Some kind of reckless, magnificent beauty smashing forward through the rubble and debris of my mind. Peeling away rotten layers of the dull melancholy bullshit of existence, revealing all its falsity. The world that had pressed down upon my shoulders was merely an atom - a smoke and mirrors apparition of my own making.
A price comes with such joyful epiphany. That which destroys the walls without, ravages the world within. Great beginnings bring great finales and mine would be clear-headed despite the wine.
I had expected something dreadful, if anything at all. Were these just chemicals in my system, or was it something greater? If there is nothing above or below, what will become of me? I wipe away the sweat and look at my hands. Droplets of water. This used to be me, it still is somehow. The stuff of stars if I remember correctly. Dissolved back into the ether from which I came.
To fall asleep under the stars and have them swallow me back up. What is time? A *one* with as many zeros as the human race could ever write down in all its lifetimes. Those eons will pass and the whole world will have resurrected. A brand new universe, made from the old one, which itself was made from the one before it and over and over again ad nauseam. And we shall all awake, as if from a slumber. One will survive, grow, and mature into the being that is here now. Sitting in the kitchen floor, with the same pills and the same bottle of wine. The end and the beginning in one singularity.
It is time to sleep. | 12 | You O.D. on antidepressants. In the last few minutes of your life the antidepressants work for the very first time. You reflect on your life and realize the consequences of the mistake you just made. | 21 |
Yesterday was the last day. Two of us sat on the porch of his cabin, passing a bottle of vodka back and forth, waiting for dawn. Waiting for the end. Dr. Robert turned the little orange bottle over and over, listening to the rattle of the pills inside. I reached for it, but he pulled back. "Wait," he said. "She loves you."
I was already drunk. "I know. But it's the end, and Julia deserves better than this. I promised her she wouldn't have to watch. 'You won't see me,' I said, 'you don't have to watch me go."
Dr. Robert considered a moment. "Where is she now?"
"She's leaving home. I told her, 'Girl, run for your life. Drive my car out to the caves. There's a place deep in the caverns––your mother should know. You'll last longer there than anywhere else.'"
The cultists had come together less than a week before, standing in circles in major cities, chanting The Word over and over. Some weird new religious movement, we'd all assumed, and let it be. But when something descended upon us from across the universe, something hot and hungry that burned like a star and roared like a beast, we stared the fate of our planet in the face. They called it the Sun King, and it was almost upon us.
A blackbird began to sing as the horizon brightened suddenly. Rays of gold and orange shot through the sky, though it was only midnight.
"Here comes the sun," I said. Animals pounded through the clearing in a panic, running helter-skelter from their doom.
"The End," replied Dr. Robert, and poured out a handful of pills for me. "It's just as well, I guess. I'm so tired." He left none for himself, instead taking out a pistol. With a wry smile, he said, "happiness is a warm gun."
I thanked him, and chased the pills with a final shot of vodka. My hair began to curl from the heat as it rose above the mountains, and the sky burst into light. Tendrils lashed out from the burning god, but my vision was darkening, as I drifted into golden slumbers. "I... I feel fine."
*See how many you can spot!* | 23 | Write a dark, serious story using as many Beatles song titles as you can. | 24 |
"Well," I say, trying to ease some of the tension from my throne room. "This is awkward."
The room's heavy with that kind of silence that comes after big revelations. You probably know the sort I'm on about. Not a regular silence, not by a long shot.
There's a loose semi-circle of horrid, twisted creatures that have followed me in my war against the Devil himself. My troops. Their eyes are flitting between me, sat on the Throne of the Damned, and the angelic envoy sent by the Creator, who's bowed before me.
His impeccably tied and excessively clean white toga is cast in a dark crimson glow in the low light of my palace. His pure blue aura overshadowed by the black-and-red corruption stemming from all around him.
In the silence you can hear every scream, every cry of pain, coming from the outside world.
It's the Throne's previous occupier and his biggest, baddest Generals making all the noise. Once he bent his knee to me, handed me the crown and the keys to the kingdom, I had him and his buddies impaled outside m front door. That was the better part of a month ago, and they're still out there, slowly dying.
"I assure you, the Lord God agrees with you." The Angel replies. "But you can read it yourself - here - it's a Royal Pardon. An admittance to Heaven."
"That's sort of weird, don't you think?" I ask. "I mean, I've been here less than half a year and Lucifer's gone. His Generals are dead or dying. I've purged Hell of the weak, the old and the sick."
"You don't have to remind me." The Angel frowns. "I am well aware of your exploits."
"Well apparently not, if you're letting me back through the Pearly Gates." I laugh, and then snap my fingers in the general direction of the creature to the left of my Throne. He darts out the room through a door nearby, and returns soon after with a goblet and a pitcher of wine.
'Wine' is a little generous. It tastes like what you'd get if you mixed kerosene and the tears of orphans. Still, it's all I have to drink. And drink I do, downing the goblet in a matter of seconds. I hand my servant the goblet back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
"It's not my choice to make. I'm just - "
"Hang on," I cut off the Angel with a raised palm, and point at one of my guards. He snaps to attention under my gaze, shaking a little bit. Makes me feel a little bit of glee when he does. He's more than twice the size of me. Saw him rip a man apart with his bare hands once. "You! Put on some music. Something classic. A little AC/DC, maybe."
He scampers off to do my bidding. Don't think I'll ever tire of that.
"As I was saying." The Angel says, his face tripping him even more than before. "The Lord God requires your answer immediately."
It's not too long before the opening riff to *Back in Black* echoes throughout my palace, and I'll be honest I tune out of the Angel's spiel as he goes on about his Holy Master being very forgiving. I'm too busy listening to the music.
My Steward, Pez, has to tap me on the shoulder to break me out of the hold that Brian Johnson's vocals have over me. 'Pez' isn't his real name. His real is *Pez'Rinkl Van'HurdenShenktNurgal*, but I can't pronounce that, so Pez it is.
He's an impossibly tall thing, with long purple limbs and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth. He's got the sort of voice you can only really get from a lifetime of smoking unfiltered cigarettes and slinging drinks in a seedy Vegas nightclub. To hear him, you can't hep but think of a rusty hinge, or a steaming kettle. To see him, well, you just know he's someone who could turn your life upside down in an instant.
"Your Grace." Says Pez, arching something that could be an eyebrow.
"Hmm?" I reply, clicking my fingers to the rhythmic hammering of the drums.
"The Envoy. He requires your answer." Pez says.
"Ah. Of course. Grand." I say, turning my attention back to the Angel at the foot of the raised dais my Throne sits on. I study him for a few seconds. A few seconds turns to a few minutes. Silence again. More screams in the distance are audible. My armies are still out there, reveling in the spoils of victory.
"You don't remember the question, do you?" Pez breaks the silence.
"Not a bit." I reply, with a shrug.
"Oh for the love of all that's Holy!" Thunders the Angel. "It's a very simple question, *Your Grace.* Do you accept the Lord God's Royal Pardon or not?"
"No."
"Good, then let's you and I leave this...Hang on. What?" The Angel's jaw drops, practically all the way to the floor. His eyes are wide, incredulous. "Did you...Did you just refuse?"
"I did."
"Well...Well...*Why?!*"
I cast my eye around my Throne Room. Scan the faces of the guards and the Nobility of Hell come to offer me their allegiance. There's a line of them at the door. I'm making them wait, because I can.
"I rather like it here." I reply, holding one hand up to my face and examining my finger nails. "There's hedonistic pleasure to be had. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure Heaven's a lovey place, but I like sex. And drinking. And smoking. And rock music. And fun."
"You will rue this decision, fiend!" The Angel snaps. "When the Lord God hears of your defiance, he *will* strike you down!"
I sigh, shoot a side-long glance at Pez that says *I told you so*, and then nod to a few of my guards. They move in before the Angel has a chance to clock what's going on.
He gives a strangled cry as he's forced to his knees by one, and the other touches an ugly-looking blade to his throat. He's being held in place by his long silver hair and the shoulder of his toga.
"Cut his throat. Stuff the pardon in his mouth." I bark the order at them. AC/DC's still going in the background.
"No! Please! Wait!" Pleads the Angel. I let him beg.
"Pez, you know a sorcerer that can whip up a spell to keep his head alive even when...Y'know...*'seperated'* from his body?" I ask.
"Of course, Sire." My Steward nods. "I'll send for her straight away." Then he's gone from the room.
"Brilliant." I clap my hands together, then shoot a little grin the Angel's way. His eyes are bulging, the veins on his neck and forehead clear as day. "You can take my letter of Pardon back where it came from, Angel. And be very sure to not leave out any details of our meeting. We wouldn't want God misunderstanding and sending down another one of you poor buggers, would we?"
I order the Angel taken away, down in one of the Black Cells will do it. A few hours of total sensory deprivation will ensure he's sharp for his meeting with my sorcerer. I watch him as he's dragged away. As he kicks and struggles and then eventually, when he's a little more than halfway to the exit, go limp and let it happen. Maybe I should feel bad. But then, beheading a man and keeping him alive afterwards doesn't even come close to being the worst thing I've done this week.
"May I ask, Your Grace, how you came to die?" Asks Pez when he's back in the room, ready for the next petitioner.
"I was shanked in prison, Pez." I reply.
"Ah. And may I ask why you were in prison?"
"Pirated a copy of Disney's *Cars 2*." I say it through gritted teeth."Wasn't even a good film." | 1,139 | A man dies and goes to hell only to find out he was supposed to go to heaven...after he already toppled Satan and started a reign of terror the likes of which had never been seen. | 829 |
"I'm home Jenny!"
"Welcome home my sweet pumpkin! How was your flight?"
"It was a bit bumpy. Some turbulence, but overall, the plane didn't crash so that's good. Looks like someone has been keeping an eye on the fort?"
"Of course! Though wasn't the same with out you."
"Oh stop blushing. How was it without me, *truly*?"
"Oh, had a few hiccups. Can't say that I downed an airplane, but some of the things I did came close to it!"
"Forget that business. I'm just glad everyone is safe. I learned after the fact that the scientist Dr. Jennings was on it! Did you know that? It's the guy who was going to testify against the serial killer a while back but was afraid for his life! Now that he's here, they'll definitely put him away."
"Oh that's nice dear. I'm glad that Dr. Jennings is safe, but he better watch out. His luck looks like it might change, seeing the rain clouds coming in."
"What are you talking about Jenny? Weather says tomorrow will be beautiful. I'm sure he'll be fine."
"Nevermind this. Let's go eat. I've prepared you *something to die for*." | 22 | A superhero and supervillain are married. Neither knows the other's identity. | 75 |
(This might be really disturbing. I'm not sure. Good luck.)
My eyes drift slowly to the clock. I consider getting a snack or something, but I don't want to ruin the dinner that I have planned later on. He's late though, over an hour late. That's pretty normal for him lately. He tells me work has been keeping him late, making him do extra reports. I know that's not the case though. I know the laws. He's not on a salary at his company - that means they would have to pay him overtime.
But I've seen his bank records.
No overtime payments.
Sloppy.
I know there's someone else, or a few someone else's. Maybe hookers, maybe some of the whores from his office... I'm not sure. He's spent money in odd ways for the last few months and that makes me even more suspicious. He was smart enough to take money out of an ATM or from the bank instead of charging places to the card, but still.
Hundreds of dollars have gone missing and I haven't seen anything new around the house save for some tools in the garage.
Oh, good. There's his car. It's what... eleven o'clock at night.
I get up from the couch and turn the TV off, heading for the door. My feet are sore because of all the walking today, at work and then when running errands after. My dress is nice, at least. Immaculate, beautiful, revealing enough to be enticing. Perhaps I can entice him into some sex.
That's one thing that gives me doubts about him cheating on me. Lately he's been an absolute animal in bed, and it's been fantastic. There's this look in his eye, too. This hungry, animalistic look that he gets at times. That's been nice, to have something so primal in my life. Makes up for all of the sterility and pristine white nonsense at work.
Being a surgeon can be so dreadfully boring sometimes.
When I open the door to meet him, he looks disheveled and tired. His tie is loosened, his suit is a bit rumpled and creased as if it was folded improperly.
"God am I glad to see you, honey," he says, smiling and leaning in for a kiss. His lips are warm, and the kiss tastes like mint and coffee and it's just wonderful.
"I'm glad to see you too, dear. Late work at the office again?"
He nods and steps in, kicking his shoes off by the door and shrugging out of his trench coat. I take it from him and hang it on the hook by the door. Before he can go to slip out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable, I grab his arm. Something is odd about him. He looks... nervous, fearful. Does he know I know?
"Is something wrong, honey?" I ask. His eyes, lovely and blue, meet mine. That spark of animalistic passion is still there, but so is all the nervousness. My hand rises slow, rests against his cheek. It's been at least two days since he shaved and he's got a good black stubble going.
"I've... I've got something to tell you, Ellie, and you're not going to like it - but I can't hide it anymore."
So there is someone else. I see.
"Meet me in the dining room then, Frank. I've got dinner all ready."
He nods and heads off down the hallway for the bedroom. I head for the dining room, frowning. Through the dining room, the kitchen. The meatloaf is warm in the oven, the roasted potatoes right alongside them. It's nothing to make us up two plates for our meals. Those go on the table, and then I fetch a bottle of wine and some glasses. With those laid out, I return to the kitchen one last time to grab a corkscrew - and a little surprise for my husband that I've been thinking about giving him for some time.
He enters the dining room to find me seated with a glass of wine in front of me. Now he's got on just a t-shirt and some pants. Has he been going to the gym? There's more muscle on him now than I realized, and less bodyfat. He's been doing *something* strenuous, that's for sure. Whatever that might be, I... have suspicions, obviously.
He settles in and gives me a forced half smile.
"Dinner smells great as always, honey."
"I know how you love my meatloaf. Tell me, before we eat, what's on your mind."
A look of discomfort crosses his face.
"Well, honey. There's... I know I've been out late a lot recently, and... I've spent some money without talking about it and uh... well, you see, I uh..."
My hand tightens on his surprise.
"Use your words, Frank," I mutter, eyes narrowing.
"Alright, alright. I know you watch the news. I'm the one whose been killing all of those... you know, all those god damned douchebags."
My heart skips a beat. We sit there, staring at each other in silence for a few moments.
And then I laugh and bring my hand out from under the table, setting the nine millimeter on the wood.
The expression on his face is priceless. Astonishment at the gun, shock at my laughter... god, it's just so funny. I know what I sound like when I laugh like this, this high and rapid cackling. I just can't help myself. He looks so absolutely surprised!
"Is that all!? I thought you were cheating on me!" I exclaim, reaching for my wine and downing the whole glass. "Turns out you've just been taking out the trash. That's absolutely hilarious."
"Wait, back up. Stop the car, throw it in reverse, back the fuck up," he says forcefully, eyes locked on the gun. "That's a gun, Ellie!"
"Yes! Yes it is!" I reply, laughing even harder.
"I... I don't understand."
That just makes me laugh that much harder. Between fits of giggles I try to explain.
"Y-You think you're the only killer in town? I know y-you... oh god, that's so rich... you watch the news too, sweetie. I'm the one who has been butchering all those businessmen!"
His eyes widen. I've killed twenty-five people in the last four years. Each time a new one turns up, missing part of its body, organs all laid out neatly beside the corpses in a nice public place... they bring up my name. Surgical precision, they say. No evidence, they say. No prints, no hair, no blood, no fluid, no witnesses. No idea how I do it. It's just so god damned funny. I can't stop cackling and giggling and...
Within a few minutes, he starts laughing too. It's quiet at first, nervous, and then it grows as the realization dawns on him.
"T-The real kicker, Frank... that boss who was harassing you!? Some of his thigh muscle is in the meatloaf!"
Now we're both laughing so hard it's stupid. I'm a hyena, and he's barking like a mad dog. It takes us several minutes to calm down, to pant for breath. He looks so relieved, and that makes me happy. I can't belief I was the reason for all his worry and stress for so long. Poor man, thinking I'd be angry or upset.
"I had no idea. You're good. Damn good," he says finally, still breathless. His eyes fall to his plate and he grabs his fork, using it to cut free a bite sized piece of meatloaf. "Is this... safe? I mean, can't you get diseases?"
"Trust me, love. I'm a doctor. No prion disease for us. It's not like we're going to get Kuru with me dealing with the meat," I answer, chuckling slightly and taking a bite myself. "You've been eating co-workers and competitors for years."
Another long stare, this time with a smile slowly spreading across his face - a beautiful, insane smile.
"Well, ain't that some shit? God, Ellie. You really are wonderful."
"Yeah. I'll teach you some tricks. We keep our killing separate though, got it? We kill together, differences in MO and victimology will cause fights."
So we drink, we eat, we laugh, we swap 'war stories,' so to speak. Towards the end he falls silent and he stares pensively at his plate for a long moment.
"Something wrong, Frank?"
He sighs and looks up, that horrible smile on his face again.
"Just... now that I know it's human, and I've been eating it for years and... Well, Ellie, I'm kind of turned on."
That's the fucking ticket, Frank!
I am *so* proud.
"I know the feeling, love. What say we throw the dishes in the dishwasher and go fuck until we can't move?"
His smile widens. Now it shows teeth. He looks like a predator. A monster. The gleam in his eyes is beautiful. The sheer horror that look must cause his victims is something I am fully aware of.
I am so *fucking wet right now.*
"Sounds like a plan, beautiful." | 32 | A husband tells his wife he is a serial killer, her reaction is shocking. | 17 |
It was a Monday morning as sullen and somber as any other Monday morning would be; people could be heard groaning on their way to work, one man crying about the massive hangover headache, a pair of parents screaming at their child to get up. But not Harry. He woke up, got out of bed at 5 a.m. sharp, just early enough to see the sun arise from beyond his bedroom window. The smell of daffodils raised his senses sharp, a pleasant reminder that he had filled the entire balcony with yellow and white. Harry had loved those flowers his whole life - or at least a portion of it, the part that he could remember.
"Good morning, Harry," greeted the mailman as Harry closed the front door.
"Lovely day, isn't it Mr. Jin?" replied Harry to the middle-age Asian man who handed him a parcel. Mr. Jin said a joke about it being a dildo, but Harry was too engrossed in what was written on the front to reply. It wasn't his name.
"Are you sure this is for me?"
"Yeah. See, your address." The mailman pointed. "I also found it weird that the name was wrong, but, you know, no other white man around here, so I thought it's for your friend. Or lover," he said, then burst out laughing. Harry merely laughed along and waved as Mr. Jin left for the next address, and returned to the house.
It wasn't poor sense of humor on Mr. Jin's part; his joke had a point. Harry, for the ten years he had lived in this country, had never brought a girl home. It wasn't that the women here aren't lovely; they are, and he wasn't bad-looking either. *You're a good guy, you can get any girl you want. Foreigners like you are like rare jewels*, his old landlord used to say. But he simply had never felt secure with anyone ever since he left the hospital.
Just then, the phone rang. Harry pressed the "receive" button.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Harry Dean?" A young woman. "This is Nightingale Hospital. We are calling to cater to your request for information. You will be glad to know that we were finally allowed to tell you the details of how you came to be here in the first place."
"I did ask, but-" *it's too damn late*, he thought. He had asked for it after his stay there, *ten years ago*. He tried again a few times, even came to the authorities. Nobody talked. Since then, he had lost interest.
"What if I don't want to know?"
They kicked him out onto the streets clueless, no home, no family. He moved on, by himself. Whom do they think they're granting wishes to?
"But you already do."
"What?!"
"Read the mail."
The call abruptly stopped, and Harry was left hanging for a long while, drowning in the tirelessness of the long beeps from the other end. He finally got around, and glanced at the parcel. Could this be what she meant? The thing that had always hung over his head for ten prolonged years. The truth that he wanted. His past.
He found the pen knife and carefully ran it along the taped edges. Inside the box were documents. Tons of documents, the paper kind that was hardly seen anymore. Tons of folders, and pages, half of whose information were censored. But he kept seeing the same things. His face, only younger. The name on the parcel. He stopped at the words "Police Report - Classified".
__________________________________________
"Thank you for offering to meet me, officer." Harry shook hands with the man who just arrived.
"Oh sure, we were planning on a proper chat with you for a long time. The officer in charge of your case couldn't make it himself; it's been ten years, after all."
Harry hardly listened; words fell through him like feathers from a bird, scattered, disregarded, lost. He was still figuring. He stared at the officer's nearly bald head, the way it glistened in the light. He stirred his coffee nervously, or apathetically; his own mood seemed unclear to him. Just like his past.
"He couldn't speak the language- *your* language, anyway. So here I am. But he said he was proud, ya' know. Anyway, how was the read? A lot to take in, I know. But I'm sure you had plenty of time-"
"What do you want from me?" interrupted Harry, suddenly. Too suddenly, perhaps, for the officer just stared, his moustache twitching. It took him ten seconds to gather his breath again.
"Nothing, really. We just want to- thank you, ya' know, that you're proof our project is a success. And we thought you would like to know-"
"What? That I'm scum?"
"No, no, that you-you've changed! You are no longer who you were-"
"NO I'M NOT!"
"Look, look," a drop of sweat dripped down the officer's unwrinkled forehead. "You have become a decent person, and we think it's time to allow you some- a leniency policy. You can go back to your family, and-"
"I don't have a family!" shouted Harry, who was on the verge. "I never did. I am alone, 'cause *that's all I'll ever be*."
By the time he realised he was grabbing the officer's shirt, he also saw the rest of the coffee shop staring. He said under his breath:
"Never come here again."
Harry stepped back, placed some coins on the table for the coffee and left the building. The officer, with his mouth open, was bent on running after him, when a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Please, remember your promise, sir. Your son does not want to see you again." | 13 | In the future, capital offenses don't result in imprisonment or execution. Instead the guilty simply have their memories wiped and are relocated. One day an otherwise morally upright person discovers that they have a criminal past. | 60 |
Officer Abannyer: "Found Flightham, fourty feet from, uhh, Fishmarket"
Poet Flightham: "Enough; quit it with that police-y government-y official alliteration crap."
Cop: "*Ah*fficial alliteration achieves any, uhh..."
Poet: You aren't even any *good* at it. 'Official' does not rhyme with 'alliterate'; are you illiterate?
Cop: Of course it doesn't rhyme! Alliteration *isn't rhyme*! We don't *have* to alliterate, it's about *respect*, something you could do with learning.
Poet: Respect schmespect...
Cop: Watch it.
Poet: ... forcing your *f*enten*f*es to *f*tart with the *f*ame letter, is OK, but ending them, sending them wending their way to your ears with a rhyme is a crime, feeds your fears, drives your tears? Can't you see how ARBITRARY that is?
Cop: I'm warning you! Stop this blasphemous rhyming! The LORD gave us language to communicate, to work together for survival, not to PLAY with. "Don't play with your food, don't play with your words" it's right there in black and white. Alliteration shows respect for His creation, rhyming is disrespectful mockery. You're on record rhyming. You're coming with me.
Poet: Alliteration is just RHYMING, BACKWARDS.
Cop: Tell that to the judge.
Poet: Here's some alliteration for you. epacse teop tel pu-pils poc.
Cop: What? Hey, come back here!
| 14 | In a world where it's a crime to rhyme, describe the situation where a cop meets the most notorious poet for the first time. | 53 |
So this isn't exactly what the prompt is asking for, but this is a true story told to me by a Marine Staff Sergeant. To tell the story efficiently, I have to use some military jargon, so if you have any questions about what this means, I'll be happy to explain.
As a member of a light armor battallion, this Marine, a Sergeant at the time, was station at a forward operating base (FOB) in a relatively large town. This Sergeant is a Motor T Marine, but on this day he was assigned as Sergeant of the Guard (SOG) for the FOB.
***
Man it was friggin hot. Any hotter than this and the soles of my boots might start to melt off (and I'd seen that happen). So I'm making the rounds, checking this station, that post, making sure my Marines all have the right gear, have some chow, have enough water, everybody's alert, everybody's radio works, all that crap when I get a call from checkpoint 3. A man is trying to approach the checkpoint with a large package in his hands and he won't go away. Alright let's go see what this is about.
So I hauled ass across the base and get to the checkpoint. Sure enough, there's the guy, about 100 yards out, just far enough away that we won't shoot him for breaching our security. He's obviously a local, and he's saying something, but we can't really hear him. Whatever he's carrying is pretty large, about the size of a sea bag but really limp, and it's wrapped in a blanket. The translator is trying to tell the guy to go away, but he's not going anywhere. If anything, it looks like he's debating risking the walk straight up to us. This leaves me two choices: I could give the order to shoot and then go check him out, or I could walk my ass out there and find out what he wants. He might just want to blow someone up.
I sighted in with my rifle. The ACOG's 4x zoom is enough that at 100 yards I can start to size this guy up. I'm looking for telltale signs of a PBIED, weapon or some intent to fight. Instead what I saw was a man in great pain. I couldn't see the tears from where I was, but the look on his face told me enough. Out of one end of the package there were two little feet barely visible.
I grabbed the translator and started the hike out there. When we got to him, he set the package on the ground and opened it. Through the translator he explained that his son had fallen into an irrigation canal and desperately needed help. He unwrapped the blanket. His son was probably between 8 and 10 years old. Obviously he had drowned, and looked like he had gotten some serious bumps on the way down. I radioed for the corpsman to sprint out here to us to see what he could do, but this kid looked bad.
The corpsman came running up and immediately went to work. He dropped his pack, grabbed a few things, and did some medical stuff (I don't remember exactly what) and we started chest compressions. We worked this kid for what seemed like ages. The father had calmed down a little, but obviously there wasn't much hope. The kid had probably died long before reaching us, maybe he was gone before they got him out of the water. Eventually we had to give up. The corpsman was still fighting for him, but this kid was gone. I put my hand on the corpsman's shoulder and gently ordered him to let it go. This was going to be hard, but I knew it would be harder on the father. I looked at the father and told him "I'm sorry, but your son is gone."
He looked as though we had confirmed what he already knew. He knealt down beside his son and sobbed. We helped him wrap the body as neatly as possible. The father gently lifted his son in his arms and stood. He thanked us for doing what we could, and turned to leave. We watched him walk away for a minute before turning back to the FOB. | 10 | A distraught man from an uncontacted tribe appears in a modern town, crying and pleading in an unknown language. | 30 |
I fell to my knees.
"This is the beginning of our next great journey."
"And this is where that love shines through adversity. We've been through so much together, and I want us to take this next big step, together." I looked deep into her brown eyes, and they looked back into mine.
I sighed. "It hasn't always been easy, hell, I don't know if it's ever been easy, but I want you to know how I never stopped loving you."
"You and I have always been together, since we were children." I smiled. "I remember the day we were playing in the creek and you fell and hurt your ankle when we were 7. I remember when we first kissed."
I shook my head, the tears running down my face. "I need you to forgive me, Julia. I never meant for things to be like this. But I'm going to make everything right."
"I'm so sorry." I sputtered.
Her unblinking eyes stared into my mine.
Her lifeless body lay in front of me, the pool of red growing larger and larger on the white carpet with with every passing second.
I pressed the hot barrel of the gun against my temple.
*Bang* | 96 | Write a story....Backwards. | 50 |
"You need somebody killed, don't you?"
The kid meets my eyes. He looks twelve and somewhere between driftwood and a cigarette. Sweaty, eyes glassy like he has a fever.
"I can do that for you, if you can afford it."
I try to stare back at him, all shaky snot-nosed fear. Try to meet his gaze but I can't. I can see, contrary to his hardened words, his own fear and my own reflected in it. Amplified.
"Hey, hey, hey. Don't be afraid. I know this isn't your first choice but what options do you have?"
He glances down, slipping a grubby hand into his hoodie pocket. Slipping a rusty box cutter out.
"I'll do it quick with this. I can do it quick now. No trouble." He tries his best not to sound needy, like it's no big deal, but I can here the whiny plead in his voice to match that look in his eyes.
"But, what am I going to do after it's all done? Where will I go? I won't have anything!" My breaths are little raspy moist puffs. I'm so afraid...but I need help.
He attempts a scoff. "You don't have anything now. And if I don't do it, you will have no future. The way I see it, this is the only way."
The doorknob rattles but does not turn. My father's voice wheedles from the other side.
*You have run away from home for the last time my little silly man. I have been so forgiving like I am apt to be. You have missed our private playtime for the third time. I am so sorry but we will have to remedy this like last year hmmm? No more outside time for you mister!*
The doorknob stops rattling. Then my dear father starts smashing away, kicking at the old wood above the knob.
The kid is right. This the only way.
I turn from the mirror, pushing back my hood. My hand is white knuckled sweaty clench around the box cutter, my blood rushing away from it, claiming no part in this treachery, no guilt of this deed.
The door gives a whimper, then submits to my father, sliding open.
| 300 | The child meets your eyes and says,"You need somebody killed, don't you? I can do that for you, if you can afford it." | 139 |
"Finally, some peace and quiet," I muttered to myself as I climbed out onto roof. Sadly it wasn't all that quiet with the loud music from inside thumping against the roof. It was noticeably more peaceful though given I had a clear view of the night sky and wasn't surrounded by a bunch of drunken teenagers.
I sat quietly contemplating my failures as a social animal. I wasn't anti-social, I just sucked in social situations. I knew that but no matter how hard I tried to change I just couldn't break out of my stupid awkward shell.
I hung my head and stared at the red plastic cup still full with beer. Beer? I didn't even like beer.
"Why bother?" I asked rhetorically as I dumped the beer on the singles between my feet. I was so preoccupied with watching the beer flow down into the gutter, as if it was symbolic of my high school social life, I didn't notice I was no longer alone. It wasn't till the slam of the window startled me out my absentminded stare.
"CREEP!" She yelled.
"Uh, sorry," I mumbled completely afraid of her wrath and what I had done to earn it.
"No, not you," she said with a sigh. "Fucking creepy McCreepster Bobby Magee." Her fury returned. "I thought he was actually interested in me and it was just a stupid dare." She spat and then slumped into the roof beside me.
For an agonizing few minutes we sat in relative silence with the muffled bump and thump of the music the only sound being made.
"I'm sorry," I said breaking the silence.
"Sorry? For what?" She said cocking an eyebrow at me.
"For Bobby. He's a jerk. So are his friends," I said struggling to make eye contact with the girl.
"I get that, by why are you sorry?" She said looking perplexed. "Why are you even here if you don't like him and his friends?"
"Because as much of an ass as he may be, he's family. He's my cousin," I confessed.
"Oh." She paused for a second. "Well, no offense, but your cousin is a royal class A jerk face."
"No offense taken, " I said with a chuckle. "Try being related to him."
There were a few more moments of silence before it was her turn to speak up.
"So why'd you even come tonight?" She asked as she stared blankly into the night sky.
"Eh, trying to be social I guess," I confessed. "If I wasn't here I'd be at home reading, playing a video game, or watching TV. I guess I'm just an introvert trying to break out of his shell."
"Trying to break out of his shell by sitting alone on the roof." She added.
"Well, I'm not alone any more," I said letting a smile wash across my face. She smiled back and my heart fluttered a bit.
"Hey, look, a shooting star!" She exclaimed pointing to the sky. "Make a wish!"
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but that's the space station. It's moving too slow to be a shooting star," I said as my inner geek roared it's ugly head.
"Well aren't you just a barrel of fun," she said in a teasing manner.
"Just sayin'," I said. "I'd hate to see a pretty girl like you waste a wish on the wrong star."
"You think I'm pretty?" She asked latching onto my accidental compliment. He eyes were now affixed on mine. No doubt they were wide as saucers as I personified the 'deer in headlights' look.
"I… um… well… yeah," I said finally spitting out some words.
"No one's ever said that to me before," she said cooing. "Well, jerk-face Magee did. Then he slipped his hand up my shirt before running off and collecting high fives from his friends." She was seething again.
"I mean it. You're pretty. I notice you at school all the time," I said unsure where this sudden wellspring of confidence came from.
"You're just saying that because you're drunk," she said defensively buffeting my compliment.
"Nope. I dumped it out. See?" I said pointing to the trail of beer still visible on the otherwise dry roof. She grunted and shrugged. "You have a great smile, very pretty blue eyes, and a nice figure. What's not to love?"
Wait… love? Did I just say that out loud. Idiot!
The next moment of silence was painful. I returned my gaze back to damp spot on the singles between my feet.
"I'm sorry. No, I mean, thank you," she said starting to stumble over her words. "It's just no one has ever said that to me before." She let out a sigh. "I'm not so good with people either." She then flopped backward laying down on the roof.
I leaned back and mirrored her new position. For a little while we sat staring at the stars till a real shooting star streaked across the sky.
"There!" I said. "There's your shooting star. Now you can make a wish."
She let out a gasp of excitement.
"Do I get to know what your wish was?" I asked trying to re-spark some conversation.
"No," she said which caused my heart to sink, "but how about we blow this popsicle stand and you can ask me again in the morning if it came true or not." | 434 | Two introverts are trying to hide from the drunken masses at a High School party gone wild. Tell me the story of them meeting in the only quiet room of the house. | 625 |
For Stefan everything had been leading up to this very moment, he glanced upon his final foe for one last time, and pulled the trigger…and he pulled the trigger...Why isn't he pulling the trigger?
“Hmm…I’m not sure about this”
What? What do you mean?!
“I mean, what’s my motivation? Why am I really doing this?”
Stefan, you've traveled for thousands of miles across deserts and oceans to this mountain top, to track down this Dr. Wargon, he murdered your wife, your one true love…
“Yea, I mean, you say that, but what did we really see of my wife to actually make me attached to the character? She was only in it for the first chapter, I don’t feel like you've really sucked me into the story enough.”
You’re already *in the story*...
“Also, isn't the whole ‘Revenge’ thing a bit overdone? I mean, what if I was doing this for me instead, you know, just because I’m selfish and have my own agenda, I feel that suits me better.”
If you want to go back and rewrite the whole story with that in mind be my guest.
“If you’d written in first person we wouldn't have this problem.”
Guess what, the story is in third, I’m omniscient, and what I say goes. At this point Stefan stopped being an insufferable wannabe anti-hero and put a bullet right through Dr. Wargon's head-
“Really? From this far away? I don’t think I've had anywhere near enough training for that”
You were at the military academy for the entirety of chapter two-
“Oh wow, a whole chapter, colour me experienced, how exactly did I end up top of the class in everything despite everyone else being there for months more than me? Did that not strike you as odd?”
“I was wondering about backstory too actually” Dr. Wargon had decided to join in, wonderful… “I’m supposed to be ‘the greatest evil mastermind to ever grace the planet’, yet I stood here orating my whole plan which gave Stefan the knowledge to escape and corner me.”
Yea, I figured people wouldn't care too much about the villain’s backstory, but You, Stefan, You’re not like the others, you’re-
“Am I special? The chosen one? Why don’t you just call me Mary Sue and be done with it…”
I’m warning you. If you’re not going to be cooperative I’m going to have to force you to be.
“Hah! How’re you going to do that?” Stefan whimpered, his voice quivering like a little girl.
“Hey! That’s not how I said it at all!” Stefan bawled, smashing the ground with his fists like a petulant child…he was also naked.
“That is totally inaccurate!” Stefan said again, his suddenly significant gut wobbling in the wind.
How was he going to prove it’s inaccurate? Besides, I hear unreliable narrators are really popular these days...Stefan now finally turned the gun on the (still fully clothed) Dr. Wargon and -
“I stood before Dr. Wargon, despite everything he had done, I couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the man…”
What? What are you doing? You can’t just speak the story out loud!
“With my unsheathed pistol laid out before me, I didn't know if I could make the shot from here, but I didn't even know if I even wanted to make the shot at all.”
Stop trying to be conflicted, although the pistol double entendre was pretty good.
“Maybe it would be best to just leave Wargon alive, for if he was gone, what would be left for me to do…”
Ok, I warned you, there’s only one thing to do now…
“What?”
**Chapter 20: Dr Wargon**
This amateur-hour protagonist had fallen for my fake scheme, not realising this whole time he’d been following my real plan to the letter…
“Oh you have got to be kidding me” The man cried, tears running down his deformed face.
His inane ramblings had no effect on me, it seemed that he was finally realising that he had been duped and his final hours were upon him. I activated the hidden remote in my jacket and opened the hatch hidden beneath the snow below him. I saw his faint look of surprise as he fell backwards into the void.
As I turned to leave however, I felt a small tugging sensation on my leg…Alas! A cable from the pit had wrapped itself around me. I was helplessly dragged across the floor and into the hole…
But as I was about to begin my descent I felt another tugging sensation from my arm, My jacket! It had been grabbed by the hero, he was gripped onto the metal lip of the pit.
Why? Why would this man not just let me fall?
“What happens after you die?” The hero began to say “What happens to me?” I could see his fingers slowly losing their purchase above me. It was obvious, I, the villain, would be dead, and the story would be over…and Stefan would be left with nothing more to do…oh.
**Chapter 21: Understanding**
Stefan, is that what this is all about?
“Your story, I…It’s ok really, a bit clichéd in places admittedly, I've enjoyed it, but it’s clear my whole arc has been to find and kill the Dr.”
Yes, that’s right, but you've almost accomplished that, is that not good enough?
“After this is done, you get to move on, narrate other stories, meet other characters. I’m just stuck here…no drama, no change, just everlasting conclusion.” the emptiness was apparent in Stefan’s eyes now. “I just don’t want my story to end”
Hmm…Ok then
“Huh?”
I have a solution…how about I write another? A sequel?
This seemed to brighten Stefan up considerably “OK then! On one condition…”
What’s that?
“First person, for at least half the chapters.”
Done.
With that, Stefan gleefully let go of the Dr’s jacket, sending him plummeting down into the pit, he clawed his way up, standing there, looking down from the mountain top, the whole world was laid out there below him, and even though he felt one story was over, little did he know another was about to begin.
“Still a bit clichéd”
You’re still naked.
“Touche.”
Edit: Spelling/Grammar
| 75 | The narrator is trying to tell a story but one of the characters is being difficult. | 89 |
“Come on Jim go talk to her.” One of my friends coerced me. I had refused to look at the girl he kept gesturing to with his beer stone on principal. I didn’t pick up girls at bars. I was looking for a long term relationship, and the odds just weren’t good of finding one here.
I decided to humor him because this was the fourth time he’d asked, and he was my best friend. I was very glad I did. She was a normal girl next door kind of pretty. She was by herself, which made approaching easier. She wore glasses which meant she had a higher than average probability of being intelligent, or more likely, she wanted to look intelligent. Either was good because it meant she placed a high value on intellect either way. What sealed the deal, was she had a t-shirt from my blog store.
My blog didn’t do well at all, and only had a handful of loyal followers. I had only ever sold one t-shirt, and she was wearing it. I had stayed up at night wondering who had thought it was worth spending fifteen dollars on me, and here was the answer, kind of cute, and wearing glasses, just begging to be chatted up.
“I’ll be right back.” I told my friend. He patted me on the back said.
“Told you.” My friend knew about my blog, and also knew about the t-shirt.
I didn’t have any situational openers for bars, but I did know a lot about my own blog, so the opener was easy.
“Age before video games?” I asked as I sat down. She laughed and nodded.
“I can’t believe anyone else reads that blog.” She responded, looking excited to see me.
“I know right? There’s what 22 followers?” I asked again.
“23 last I checked.” She responded. “I got my friend hooked to.”
“So tell me.” I said. “You like country dancing, flipping other people’s kayaks, putting stink bombs in geocaches, and sitting in the back at church so if you fall asleep the priest doesn’t notice.” She nodded at each activity.
“I got most of the ideas from the blog, but yes to all.” Before I could continue she interjected.
“Hey, can I talk to you later. I setup this date online and he should be here any minute.” I was a bit sad at the dismissal, but she did make a point of inviting me to talk again.
“Sure.” I said. “By the way, do you have a smart phone that gets internet access here? I know this can be a bit of dead zone.” She nodded and showed me her phone as proof.
“Why?” She asked.
“You’ll see.” I said, and went to sit back down.
The guy came in, and they talked for an hour, while I fiddled with my phone and chatted with my buddy. He wanted me to go over and start something, but I assured him everything was under control. He got more and more agitated as time went on, but I was cool as a cucumber. This was a done deal.
After the guy left for the evening I went back over and sat down.
“So.” She said. “Where were we?”
“Open the blog, he just posted something.” She obliged and opened her phone.
“Just met this cute girl at a bar. We’re going kayaking and geocaching this weekend. Alright ordered the stink bombs from amazon.” | 10 | You're at a pub when you see an attractive woman sitting alone at a table, after you approach her and talk for a while you hit it off; only to find out that she is there to meet someone she met online. | 16 |
I always sneak into my room. Have since I was ten, being particularly sneaky. When you surprise your parents often enough by being in your room, they eventually assume you're there by default... so sneaking out and doing things becomes easy. They even give you an alibi at times. Now, at an illustrious eighteen, it's more habit then the need for excuses.
Still, back from a year as an exchange student in Paris (yeah, really badass), it seemed like the right thing to do. I grew up in what could best be described as Podunksville, Asshole-of-America. First student to get into this fancy program. It helped that I learned French and German by the time I was fourteen, and had been involved in all kinds of student council stuff since forever. It started out as trying to win popularity contests, but ended up something I really liked.
It was surprising hearing my mom holler to call me for dinner. Seems I'm not as sneaky as I thought. I entered the kitchen in a rush, the exact thirteen seconds it takes me to reach it every time. My mom looked at me and gave her usual slightly wistful smile... while my dad was reading through the paper like I was not there. We sat through dinner in amicable silence.
It was like I was never gone. Dad went to the living room and put the TV on the news, and carefully ignored it as he read the sports section. *Politics is important, but football is sacred*. My dad disliked church because it was during the games on Sundays. We'd go, but he'd grumble about it all the way back to watching the game.
Mom went about washing up after dinner, as usual, ignoring my attempts to help out by defiantly going about it and leaving no room for me to assist. I went back up to my room. My parents hadn't asked me anything about Paris. It was as if I had never left. I heard my mom start crying downstairs. She was emotional, but really, I just got back. Maybe I had changed more than she expected. Perhaps it was her trying to keep everything the same and failing.
Still, I snuck down, to find my dad embracing her as she sobbed into his chest.
"It's been a year since the accident honey." He whispered.
"I... I... dammit, he was our boy!" She shouted, and then broke down again.
Was?
Accident?
Oh.
How did I forget that? | 19 | Returning to your small home town after a year abroad you realize nobody noticed you were gone. | 29 |
**His**
Scott knew that it was over. They had been fighting for weeks now and had grown to resent each other. But still it hurt when Elizabeth said the words that no one wants to hear. "I'm breaking up with you," she said before she walked out the door after their last fight. The apartment door closed with a loud thud. He sat there staring at the eggshell colored walls for hours. He didn't know what to do with himself. He invited his friend and coworker Daisy to talk. Him and Daisy had grown very close as his relationship began to dissolve. Scott opened the door and asked her to come in and have a seat. They began to talk about how Scott's relationship had fallen apart in a month. Scott and Liz dated for 2 years but it seemed like too much happened at once and that the relationship could no longer cope. It seemed that it was better this way.
**Her**
Liz didn't resent Scott for forming a friendly relationship with Daisy. She actually encouraged it at first. "You need other friends besides the assholes at the bar," she had said to him when Scott mentioned his new coworker. Scott did become friends with her. In fact, they were close friends within two weeks. When Scott talked about Daisy to Liz it was clear that he had developed feelings for her, even if he didn't know it yet. When all three of them were together anytime he looked at her Liz felt sick. "I know it's over," she thought to herself "but I still love him." Truth be told, their relationship had been rocky for a while now. The constant bickering and fighting had started to strain their relationship. It just felt off and Liz knew it was time for it to end. So she packed her bags and left."It's better this way," she thought to herself as she slammed the apartment door shut.
**Truth**
Honestly, everybody knew that they were going to break up soon. They had both changed so much over the course of their relationship that they weren't good for each other anymore. Liz was looking to travel the world and Scott was looking to settle down, maybe start a family. When they discovered their different life agendas, both of them ignored it and held on to the belief that true love conquers all. Sadly, that was not the case. They had started to take each other for granted as a person may take a chair for granted. They were together but were living a loveless lie. Daisy wasn't the real reason they broke up, she was simply a catalyst in a slow chemical reaction. Scott could be happy with Daisy and Liz would find her man traveling the world. It was better this way. | 13 | His, hers and the truth. Tell me all three sides. | 37 |
"Boys. Give me that right now."
"Mister Dawkins. I don't..."
"Jonathan! Right now!"
"It's Nightwalker, please. And sir, if you'd only... "
I ripped the document from his hand. An unexpected texture. Almost like leather, but smooth and paper thin.
"Right, Nightwalker. Let us share with class, shall we?"
Some giggles and a sigh.
Jonathan rose from his seat. Cheap metal apparel and piercings making small clinking noises. Was he challenging me, his teacher, when caught red handed in middle of class?
"Sir! I... ", he piped up with less strength than he'd hoped for. His eyes darting around below his home dyed black and blue hair. I turned my attention to the document in my hand.
"Sjung hopp fall... er.. allan lej? Jonathan, what is this nonsense?"
I looked at him and I didn't expect his eyes to meet mine. They never did. But for once his stare was consistent. And it was directed at something behind me.
I turned around and faced what should have been a wall and a black board. Instead I stared into a vast hall of wood and stone, decorated with spears and shields and leaking a musty aroma of sweat and burning fat. Tables were set for a feast and seated were a thousand bearded men, staring at me in great surprise. | 10 | Two shy goth kids are passing notes back and forth in class, the teacher catches them in the act, grabs the note and begins to read it out loud... it is a spell to open a rift into Valhalla. | 32 |
Ever since he was born, Richard had been living a lie. Richard of Wessex, 5th of his name and heir to the Earl-ship of Wessex, his father's only son. His genealogy has been traced back to at least 4 kings, 3 queens, and 1 archbishop. Richard was bred for leadership, and he was betrothed to a fair maiden from Normandy. They had met once, when they were 8. Now 16, the pair were to wed. But Richard didn't love her, he loved his manservant, James. He hated his foul predilection, but try as he might, Richard couldn't shake his infatuation. It might of been his strong chest, his tireless arms, or... "NO! I mustn't!" Richard told himself. He thought of his rapidly approaching wedding day, when the house of Cooper would be joined with the noble houses of Normandy; and of the wedding night, when his heir would be conceived, after a joyous night of... "I can't do this." How can something so natural-feeling be so sinful?
Ever since he was born, Richard had been living a lie. Richard Cooper was a young man, born and raised in Salt Lake City, Utah. He was born in 1870, a generation after his ancestors followed Elder Young to this promised land. The flock was having hard times, and their numbers were dwindling rapidly. Each man was expected to follow God's will and take multiple wives, and multiply. But Richard wanted none of that. He had read the sacred texts multiple times, hoping their wisdom would cleanse his sinful thoughts. They did not. Every time he imagined married life, he could not imagine having 3 or 4 wives, or even just one. He could only imagine himself and James Fenwick, a boy he knew through school. He knew these fantasies to be the work of demons, maybe even the Devil himself, come to tempt the devout and bring about their damnation. But damnation if it didn't feel like the words of God making him think this way. Maybe if he talked to his family about his feelings, his father or mother, even one of the other wives his father had, maybe they could... "NO! I mustn't!" he said to himself. But what was so bad about his thoughts? Love is love, regardless of who it is for, if he could convince the Elders of this... "I can't do this." He said dejectedly. How can something so natural-feeling be so sinful
Ever since he was created, Richard had been living a lie. Richard Wessex-Cooper, a young man in the megalopolis of Saskatoon, was a test tube baby, like all of mankind. In 2081, after the advent of genetic engineering of offspring, the people began to question the merit of leaving ones child to the crapshoot of genes they pass on. By 2090, the government of the United States of the Northern Hemisphere, bolstered by the invention of the Ludovico technique, passed Huxley's Law: all procreation is henceforth illegal.
By 2290, man had segregated by gender to the point of homosexuality being normal, and "heteros" were often cast out of society. And that is precisely why Richard was living a lie. He thought about his future, he was coupled at birth with another boy named James Fenwick-deNormandie, and they were meant to live happy lives, maybe parenting a child. But all he could think about was Her. He knew not her name, only that she was meant for him. She took the same train as him, and he would stare at her perfect features whenever she was distracted by her omniphone or fellow passengers. Richard knew that his thoughts were unnatural, wrong in a society where wrong lost all meaning. "What if we were to conceive a child, what would it's life be like? The child of illegal procreation, he might be killed shortly after birth." He was well aware of the penalties for breaking Huxley's law. But how can something so natural-feeling be so sinful?
| 11 | Write a short story three times. Each time from a different era. | 40 |
As I made my way on foot across town to the Pokemon Professor's Lab to receive my very first Pokemon and begin my quest to conquer the Pokemon League, I was startled by the sound of flapping wings rapidly approaching. I spun around, looking for the source. Suddenly, I felt something lightly bump me on the head, and immediately saw what appeared to be a Noctowl flying away. But I had never seen a Noctowl like this before. It was smaller, fluffier, and as white as snow. A shiny, maybe? I never found out.
Looking down at the ground, I saw what had hit me in the head. I yellowish-white envelope, sealed with red wax. I picked it up and flipped it over. "Red Potter" it said in spindly script.
I looked around. Aside from a few townspeople I saw every day making there way about the town, there didn't seem to be anyone who might have had something to do with this. I figured opening a letter couldn't do that much harm, so I snapped the seal and read the message within:
*To Master Red Potter,*
*We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.*
No sooner had I read the words "a list of all necessary books and equipment" than a second page fell out of the envelope. It indeed listed the names of several books by authors with strange names, and included odd items such as cauldrons, plants I'd never heard of, and body parts of what I assume were new kinds of Pokemon. Honestly, the thought of dealing with dismembered Pokemon struck me as rather morbid, but I was too confused by this letter to be very concerned by it.
[I have to go to my next class right now but I'll continue this later.] | 118 | It's your tenth birthday and you're finally old enough to get your first Pokémon. On your way to Professor Oak's lab, and owl flies by and drops a letter into your hands. It's from Hogwarts. You read the letter and realize you have a very difficult decision to make. | 489 |
Emily looks with disgust into the magical mirror- her scars looked particularly horrendous today. She should’ve known better than to try to shave the fur but then again she was only thirteen when she tried. She runs her claws across the table crying out in pain- she was absolutely hopeless. She had contemplated suicide but she was a coward as much as she was selfish. She now regretted her decision to turn the beggar away on that cold winter’s night but the servants of the castle still debated whether it was truly her selfishness or the punishment that she regretted the most. As her black and soulless eyes stare at the perfectly red rose that possessed more beauty than she could ever have, her new prisoner enters with a pile of books in his hands.
“You really mean it? I can read any of the books in your library?” He asks incredulously reading the first page of one already.
“Yes, that is why I said it. Will you leave?” she snaps with anger.
Evan looks up, “Thank you. Are you alright Em?”
Emily’s heart flutters as he says her name and then it sinks as she remembers her hideous appearance.
“I’m fine.” She lies causing Evan to leave with his new collection of books.
A few hours later she wanders downstairs to see Evan reading contently while nibbling on some food.
“Did you even clean today?” Emily asks as she wipes the candelabra.
Evan nods quietly and then lies, “Yes I did.”
Emily looks into his eyes trying to see the veracity behind his words but just as he suspected; she really couldn’t tell with the amount of dust around the castle.
Evan bites his lip wondering whether to ask the question on his mind and then gives in, “I thought I heard you crying before. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Emily feels rage boil up inside of her and she knocks all of the books off the table as well as the plate.
It shatters into pieces and Evan backs up fearfully as she goes off, “How dare you question me! What am I? A weakling? Are you trying to intimidate me? Do you think you can fool the beast?”
Evan bows his head knowing she would never let up unless he admitted defeat, “Of course not Emily. I’m sorry.”
Emily takes a deep breath awkwardly unsure what to do considering he gave up so easily. It made her feel as ugly inside as her outside to make him look so scared and so defeated.
“Go find a good dinner Evan. You can’t live on snacks. Why are you dressed so nicely anyway?” she asks in a lighter tone.
Evan shrugs sensing the mood change, “The wardrobe gave them to me and said I’d look good.”
Emily nods and turns away to head to the ballroom knowing that the wardrobe was right but at the same time wishing he was still in his tattered jeans and patchwork shirt; seeing him so princely made her feel like a dragon.
Evan calls after Emily and asks, “Is it okay if I change into something more comfortable?”
Emily nods surprised and gives a quick smile before heading to the ballroom. Evan goes upstairs and changes his outfit hoping it would help her mood. She seemed to act strange whenever he was well shaven and dressed in the fancy suits of the castle so he tried to keep a little disheveled most of the time for her own comfort.
In the ballroom, Emily gazes up at the stars and puts her hood down for a moment as she takes a deep breath. She hears footsteps behind her and instantly puts it back up and spins around ready to yell.
Evan puts his hands up defensively and says, “I just wanted to tell you that I made a pizza before. I put the leftovers in the oven.”
Emily looks at the rugged boy now in ripped jeans and a stained tshirt, his hair sticking in all directions.
“You could’ve put them in the fridge,” she says not with hostility but not kindly either.
“It would’ve gotten cold,” Evan states walking to Emily’s side.
“You left the stove on?!?” Emily asks worriedly looking to the hallway leading to the kitchen.
Evan shrugs, “Yeah, but I’m sure it turned itself off by now. Does the stove let food burn?”
Emily shrugs, “I’m sure he was paying attention but you still should try to read a cookbook sometime. The amount of close calls you’ve had in my kitchen is far too many.”
Evan chuckles and looks up at the stars. Just a few weeks ago, he was gazing up at the same night sky but instead of being the content prisoner of Emily, he was a horribly depressed prisoner of his judgmental town, his kooky father, and his overwhelmingly crazy wannabe fiancée; Things weren’t quite so bad now that he was free to express himself. He grins at Emily and wonders how she could be so sad in a place that was so liberating.
Emily blushes and teases, “You are grinning like an idiot Evan.”
He laughs, “It’s a good night, what can I say? Hey Em, If it’s just me and you, then why do you wear that cloak?”
Emily takes a deep breath and crosses her arms protectively, “I am a beast.”
Evan looks at her cautiously, “Not really. You kind of remind me of my horse.”
“Your horse?!?!” Emily shouts in disbelief.
Evan shakes his head, “No! Not in a bad way! She was my best friend. The only one who would let me read to her. She liked me even if I was a dork.”
Emily sees his eyes soften for a minute before looking back up at the stars.
“Being a dork isn’t too bad. You’re a sweet dork at least,” she mutters.
Evan blushes with the goofy smile which released butterflies in Emily’s stomach.
He gives in to his vulnerability hoping to inspire trust in Emily, “People look at me as if I were a beast back at home for wanting to read. They don’t understand me. They think I’m just hot.”
Emily shakes her head, “Then they aren’t worth it. You’ve got a pretty face but you’re more than that and you know it.”
Evan looks at her, “Then maybe you’re more than just a beast.”
Evan and Emily gazed up at the stars both a little scared, neither one prepared, but realizing for the first time that each of them might be more than just a beauty or a beast.
| 12 | A Beauty and the Beast story, only with the genders reversed. | 15 |
The governor had finally finished speaking. It was typical peace and love republican rhetoric. Turning the ceremony of a great man... into a religious lecture. 'Be mindful of each other.' 'Look to the force and find your own path.'
Garvel was sick of being told how to live. But most of all, he missed his Grandfather. The old man had took him in when his idiot drunk father was caught hiding imperials from Aris. He still remembered the day that his mother was taken away and shot. All of this by the 'saviours of the galaxy'.
His grandfather came to the governor's office a short time later. Old Han Mazbek was deadset on an execution. 'Removing the taint of the Emperor' was one of his more popular slogans after all.
His grandfather didn't even blink, he simply stared down Mazbek. The old stooped man didn't even say anything - yet the governor folded. He ordered the guards to release the prisoner, instantly. The felucian wars hero had seemingly decided that his grandfather wasn't worth crossing.
The crowd began to murmur to each other, snapping Garvel back to the present. A surprising turn out for a trader. Senators, governors, soldiers and even a couple bounty hunters came to pay their respects. It was easy to spot those who had travelled for the funeral, they were the ones glaring at the governor. Whilst the locals all walked away, chatting and smiling. They were content that Banal Morassy had been sent to the force.
The true mourners grouped together, hostile intent radiating off them. Security officers entered the square. Garvel was sure one of the dignitaries was staring at him, almost judging him. But a cobalt robed figure obscured his view.
"Garvel, my child. It is time for the final part of the ceremony. We must part Banal from his worldy goods, so he may return to the force forevermore."
"You don't get to call him that. You were no friend of the Morrassy. You killed his daughter and tried to do the same to me. You're a monster." The venom in his voice brought the soldier to the front of the Governor. Only for a moment, the old calloused hand clenched.
"*That wouldn't do.*" The politician chided, *A governor cannot beat a child on the steps of his office. Especially not during a state funeral*
He lowered his voice, "Child, I have fought for this republic and I have fought to protect it. It brings me no joy to do what I do..."
"*Liar*" The child's mind screamed.
"...action I have taken has been for the greater good. No sith has ever set foot on this planet, nor shall they while I draw breath." He stared into Garvel's eyes and saw a storm brewing.
The child had lost his rock, his core. Perhaps in future, his words would reach Garvel Morassy, but he doubted even a jedi could calm him right now.
"Forgive an old man's rambling, child." He didn't even realise he'd came down to a knee. "*Soft old git*" spat a younger Han spat.
"Garvel" He replied.
"Pardon?" The governor replied, shocked by the chill spreading over him.
"I am of age, my name is Garvel. Soon to be Sir Morassy once I take over my grandfather's buisness. Get used to the name, Governor." Words like ice and a coutenance to match, best to end this ceremony quickly.
"Let us proceed to the adminitorum, Garvel. It would not do to keep Ban- Sir Morassy, from his eternity."
The politician had reasserted control and the Governor walked at a brisk pace. Seeking to show the child his superiority. Garvel kept step, moving through buildings that had seen the rise and fall of two republics.
Where seperatists had once fought for the rights of traders like the Morassy. His thoughts turned to the past as he walked through the luxurious space, nodding along as the governor rambled condolences.
"**What makes us, us Garvel?**" Banal asked, sitting atop his throne of leather.
"**What?**" he replied. Instantly receiving a harsh rap for his rudeness. The long cane never left his Grandfather's side... he called it his 'authority'.
**"Address me proper, boy. I asked you, what makes us, us?**
The boy thought. He thought hard, he thought of it as a riddle,test,clue or as unlikely as it was - a joke.
The old man put down the holo tablet with this weeks sales. Rarely was silence so heavy.
Garvel's eyes brightened, he answered his grandfather enthusiastically. "**Our souls make up everything we are.**" He beamed.
A thwack to the knee. "**I did not ask your imbecillic tutors this question Garvel, should you prattle one of their answers at me again I will ensure that smile is a lot less pretty.**" The wroth in his grandfather scared him, he had the feeling he was failing a very important test.
"**Once more brat; What makes us, us?**" He demanded. Banal had dropped his cane and strode aorund the collosal desk of his study.
Fear was all he was aware of and fear presented him the answer.
"**Emotion, sir. Our emotions make us what we are.**"
The old man smiled for the first time in years. His yellow eyes were like suns on his face. "**Good, you understand perfectly. You do me proud Garvel.**"
The child grinned, and hugged his grandfather. He hugged him back.
That week he died, only his cane was found.
"Now Garvel, last scion of Morassy and heir to the deceased Ser Banal Morassy; Economic Adviser, Income Executive, Lord of Industry and finance. Do you uphold these conditions of inheritance and solemnly swear that you understand the implications thereof?"
He froze up. He had gotten so lost in the memory... he had almost felt every hit from authority. This was it, two words and his grandfather would be gone forever. He would be in charge of himself.
"*I should be drowning in sorrow,but instead...I feel excited. Eager even, independance was not worth losing him surely?*"
"I do." He whipsered.
Governor Han Mazbek nodded and pushed a chest towards him.
"This was put in storage last month, your grandfather told me to be here when you recieved and opened it." Garvel placed his hand on the scanner, listening to the hum and whine of the mechanisms.
The box was silver, laced with black stone and emblazoned with his family crest. The six eyes mornet studied him, until the lift slowly opened and bright blue light filled the room.
A large cube, took up one half of the interior. It's glow beckoned to him, and as soon as he touched it the world flashed. His grandfathers face was all he saw, the rough voice of a much younger Banal filling his ears.
"*Greetings and farewell, apprentice. This chest contains your true inheritance, your true lineage. My death has set you free to choose your destiny. These past five years have been the most fufilling in my painfully long life, apprentice. Training you whilst keeping you in the dark brought a unique pleasure - one which confirmed to me I made the right choice in saving you. It also made me realise one other thing, you are your mother's son. This holocron is ancient, even by my reckoning so my time is short. You will recieve everything I learned in the force from this holocron - as well as much more. Your inheritance is the mantle of Darth Moran. You are the last sith I am aware of, but the contacts at your disposal as my heir are vast.*"
"*What you do now is your own councel, you can plot to bring down the republic. I have ensured you have the chance to avenege yourself upon the bastards who killed our family for the actions of your idiot father. Consider it a re-birthday gift. *" He cackled
"*You will be tempted by immortality, I warn you now. That even the most powerful must die. You will find that I treaded that path and turned away, for good reason. The only way to balance life and the force in addition, is to accept you will die someday. But alas I must go my apprentice. Your mother will be waiting for me, you know how she hates to wait... May the force be with you.*"
60 years of study. 30 years of intrigue. 5 years of frenzied battle. All in my hands.
Garvel flexed his hand and the rest of the chest's contents were revelaed. A red crystal floated in front of him at eye level. Metallic parts spun wild around him, as he assembled his inheritance.
The governor tried to run but a glance sent him to his knees gasping for air. As a metallic ring slide into place, his authority was complete.
The chest was gone, the parts having been cannibalised for his authority. His grandfather was one of the most brilliant traders in history. Getting the materials for a lightsaber into one of the most secure building in the sector was child's play.
Darth Moran rised his arm at chest level, as his companions slid into his hand he felt complete on a level he could never comprehend. A push of a button and Authority bared her fangs.
A crimson blade of pure emotion, Moran released the Governor. The soldier was terrified, frozen at the prospect of his acitons creating a new monstrosity. The politicians pissed himself.
Moran's voice was that same cold whisper, "There was always a sith on this planet. There always will be a sith on this planet."
He stalked his pray, a wave turned off the lights to the whole complex. He had 30 seconds.
"My father, was a fool who deserved his fate." Authority spun in front of him.
"My Mother was dedicated to your cause." A chunk of flesh flew, the governor did not even scream. Simply whimpered and stared at his stump.
"My grandfather played you like a fiddle." Another spin, another slice.
"Emotions make us what we are: Anger,Lust,Hate. It is what seperates us from the animals." He leane din and whispered in the Republic dog's ear.
"I am removing the taint of the chancellor. I am Darth Moran, look upon the face of death and weep. For this is vengance." He spun, leaving a huge gash upon the wall.
A thump was the indication that his work was done. He strolled out the door, his authority in hand. His inheritance was due. | 14 | The day you turn 18, you are allowed to open your grandfather's will. You find a lightsaber. However, you also find a note, saying that you are the last sith, and you have to die to balance the force. | 16 |
It's been a hard winter. Nobody really expects the world to end. How do you prepare for that? John has no idea how he made it through the last few months, much less how he'll survive the future. At this point of time, all plans have gone out the window. People now scrape by day to day.
John sighs and keeps on walking. It's the beginning of spring and the area is muddy and wet. He spent the winter hiding away in forests, battling with starvation. The coming of spring would bring wildlife into the area. Perhaps he had a chance of settling down now. *It's not like the world's going to change again*, he thought.
As he climbed over a fallen tree, something off the side caught his eye. A glimmer of metal. That's never a good sign in these dangerous times. Keeping a close eye to his surroundings, John cautiously approached the area. Emerging into a clearing, what he found made little sense.
It was a camp full of the most lifelike statues John had ever seen. Men, women, children. There was about thirty bodies in various positions. Their faces plastered with expressions of fear. They all stared in one direction.
*These aren't statues*, John thought, *they are people. They* were *people*.
There was nothing John could do. He didn't want to think about what could have happened here. Could it be related to whatever caused the collapse of civilization? Could it have been It?
----
EDIT: Wait, [lead](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lead) or [lead](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Main_character)? | 60 | During the apocalypse you stumble into a camp made up completely of lead characters. | 35 |
I live in the home with Jeff and Mary and Manny and Lady. Lady is my dog and she's beautiful. When I was young, my real parents had to give me up so I came to live with Mary and Jeff and they look after me now. They're my fosters. My Dad and Mum loved me very much but they couldn't stay together and when Dad left Mum couldn't cope with being alone. She left me at home when I was really young and went out and never came back.
I remember Dad a a bit but not Mum. He was always so big and smelled funny, kind of like Jeff when he gets home from work but Jeff smells of sweat and I don't think it was that. I don't remember my Mum at all.
I remember arriving at our home and Jeff and Mary being really happy to meet me. Manny came later, I think he's like me, a foster and we're best friends. Lady is my dog, I got her a little while ago and we like to play all the time. Manny doesn't like Lady though and so we don't play together.
Jeff says that me and Manny cause trouble and we don't mean to. We just always seem to break stuff or knock it over. A little while back Mary started to take me to see Dr Kellogg, Mary says her name is different but I can't say it so I call her Dr Kellogg as that's like the cereal. Manny comes with me sometimes but I don't think Dr Kellogg likes him much, she says that Manny has to wait outside and come in after, but sometimes I think he sneaks in.
Last Saturday Dr Kellogg and me talked about my Mum, my real Mum, not Mary. Mary's just my foster. I didn't like talking about her much but Dr Kellogg says it's good for me. When I get upset she makes me pretend that I am playing with Lady, but it's not as good as really playing with her. When Dr Kellogg does that I always go and see Lady as soon as I get home and give her a big cuddle.
Dr Kellogg says that Manny and me need to try to be better behaved. Manny took Jeff's fishing pole and broke it, I told him not to but he did anyway. Dr Kellogg thinks that it was me that took the pole but it wasn't, if was Manny. I told her that it was Manny who started the fire but I think she thinks it was me. I know he didn't mean for those girls to get hurt.
After I finished speaking to Dr Kellogg I waited outside while Mary and Jeff went in. I could hear through the gap and they said I was going to take pills and that it'd help me be better behaved. They also talked about Manny and how he needed to go away and that it was Mannys influence on me that made me bad sometimes.
Manny didn't like that much, he got mad and made me take some pens from the waiting room and scribble on all the seats. Jeff got mad when he came out and saw that but Dr Kelogg said it was okay.
Yesterday I took the first of the pills when I went to bed. Mary said it would mean that Manny went away for a while and I said that I was sorry as we were friends, but that meant that I could play with Lady more.
This morning though I couldn't find Lady. I went all over the house and called to her but I couldn't find her. Jeff then told me that with pills meant that Lady would be gone for a while too. I said I didn't want Lady to go away and Jeff said that it was the only way to make Manny go away too. He said that sometimes we have to lose things to make other things go away too. That made me sad, I loved Lady, she made me happy when I was sad and when Manny got angry I would run and hide with her and it was okay. Now she's gone I feel more alone than before.
I don't really know where Lady is but I'm not allowed to look. I sat out in the back yard this afternoon and waited for her to come back but she never did. I felt really strange today but Mary says that's okay too, it's the pill but it is to make me better.
In the evening I went up for a sleep, Mary said I should sleep before dinner. When I got to me room though Manny was there. I told him that he wasn't supposed to be here any more but he told me that it was me who had to go away and not him and if I did that then I could go be with Lady.
I wasn't sure but he told me that it was the only way and so I went away and left Manny there. It's okay though, I wont get in trouble, Manny is real good at pretending to be me.
| 13 | After taking medication for the first time, you realize that many parts of your life were hallucinations | 20 |
Sixteen years. Sixteen god-damn years. One hundred and ninety two months, seven hundred and sixty eight weeks. When the judge had handed down the sentence even my lawyer had winced, he was incompetent but in Gotham only the idiots become public defenders – there are too many guns waiting to take them out if they don’t get the right verdict.
My idiot didn’t need to worry, I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I was just an idiot and an opportunist and I am going to pay dearly for it. Nearly a year ago now, two face’s gang had smashed up lower Gotham, fires everywhere, confusion, screaming the whole shebang. I was trying to get home from work when I ran across it all, pushing past me into Declaration Square six goons were on the run, I didn’t know what from at the time but I was about to.
As they passed me one dropped a wad of notes, like a fool I stopped and picked it up. It was hundreds and I’d never seen so much money in my life. It was hypnotising and so like in the movies I stroked through the notes and that was when I realised why they had dumped this particular bundle. The ink sac exploded all over me and the world was blue. It burned and I stood, in disbelief, still not understanding what had happened. When I looked up next it was into the cowl of the Batman and the next thing I knew I was on my back, cuffed and waiting to be picked up by the police.
The prosecution had a field day. Caught less than a hundred metres from the bank, covered in security ink and tied up by none other than the Batman, who would have found me innocent? Now I’m here, Blackgate prison, among murderers and psychopaths, six months into my five thousand eight hundred and forty days of incarceration.
It’s hell in here. The guards don’t care and even here on the non-violent wing the others would shank you as soon as look at you. I need to keep my head down, keep quiet and keep away from anyone who wants to cause trouble. I have to get through a hundred and forty thousand, one hundred and sixty hours of this hell and I want to live to see Gotham again.
3PM, any minute now the voice of the warden will crackle over the old speakers and warn us against killing each other this afternoon. Then the gates will scream back in their hinges and let us into the central area for our ‘rec’ time. Two hours of “relaxation” trying not to die and then slop for dinner and back in the cells for another night of trying not to listen to the guy two cells down from me being raped. I did have a cell mate yet. I didn’t want one much.
3pm came and went and no voice. 4pm came around. Still no voice. Curiosity had been beaten out of me but even after just six months here the routine wore on me and I was surprised. Inmates didn’t like things changing.
4:17 and finally the speaker crackled to life. The voice was low and crazed and I knew it immediately.
“Hello boys and girls, it seems like you folks aren’t having much fun?! Well, don’t you worry, Uncle Joker is here to sort that out. Right now it’s time to play a game so be good little boys and make your way out to the yeas, we’re going on a day trip to Gotham.” The doors slowly cranked open and I could hear the screaming and hollering from all around. In the distance a scream picked up that was louder and more pained than the others. A guard.
I huddled down behind my bed. I didn’t want this, I didn’t need this. I have to get through eight million, four hundred and nine thousand six hundred minutes here, I just wanted to pass them in peace as best I could. A shadow at the doorway stopped and I squeezed my eyes shut.
“What’s wrong in there? Don’t you want to play my game?” | 29 | A supervillian has taken over a maximum security prison. The inmates are about to find out they were better off before. | 47 |
I woke up with a mouth full of feathers. At first I assumed that my pillow broke until I realized I was dirt poor and couldn't afford a feather stuffed anything. Leaping out of bed, I noticed a trail of them leading into the bathroom.
"Sandra?" I asked knocking gently on the door.
"Don't come in" she yelled back, "be out in just a sec!"
Sandra stepped out fully dressed with two odd lumps protruding beneath the back of her shirt. "Well, I really enjoyed our time together, but I must get going... To things." She said as she tried to rush past me.
I grabbed Sandra's hand and pulled her back, "hold on dumpling, your shirt is inside out" I pointed out.
"That's okay cause I'm going to a inside out shirt office party" said Sandra as she once again tried to squeeze out, "very official business, don't want to bore you with the details."
Suddenly her shirt ripped apart as the two wings sprung out fully attentive.
"You have wings....." I said profoundly.
"Oh really? Wow I never knew anyone else could see them." Sandra said sarcastically, "I'm just going to leave so you have time to think about all of this......"
Her eyes widen with fear as she saw the smile escape my lips.
"No, you wouldn't!" Sandra cried.
"Hey baby...." I said.
Sandra took off in a run, I chased after.
"Did it hurt?" I yelled.
"No, no, please anything but that!" Screamed Sandra as she started to beat her wings.
Watching her pathetically try to fly away, I let out the kicker.
"When you fell from heaven?"
A piercing scream filled the air as she plummeted towards the ground. The delivered pickup line was so perfect that it literally caused her to skip a heartbeat and die of cardiac arrest.
Now that the deed has been down, I crossed out the line from my notebook. Only 124 more pickup lines to use in literal situations to go. Now I just gotta find a girl from Tennessee. | 17 | You hook up with a really cute girl/guy at the bar, and they spend the night. You wake up, and they have grown angel wings. They aren't surprised by them, only by the fact that you can see them. | 17 |
It's an odd concept...when you're the only person who really vocalizes. I mean really vocalizes. People still shout, moan, grunt or whatever when something happens that causes that spontaneous reaction, but no one ever vocalizes anymore.
People have told me, albeit slowly that having THINK is like having the world's best audio quality ever. Words have fallen to the wayside since the start of the Awakening. Mostly, people communicate in images. They explain words can't do it justice. Well, it's all I've really got, people!
I mean, books, movies, and audio files are all still around. They just kind of shoved them into a repository. Besides me and 3 THINK librarians, I'm the only real avid user of the place.
It's true, war slowed down, communication barriers were gone, but people got a bit...slower. Ever read the Iliad? You probably didn't, most THINKers don't. But here's the issue; they can imagine it flawlessly. That's not really a problem you're telling yourself. Wrong. There's no deviation, no misunderstandings, no...new ideas. When we all communicate perfectly, we all have the same ideas.
All this harmonic wavelength bullcrap has slowed us down.
I'm the only one who reads anymore. I'm the only one who actively attempts to communicate and understand. I'm the one who tries to do things. I'm the one who has found and remembers the tech to doing wide spread, low level radiation.
They got it all wrong. When all people became THINKers, it wasn't an awakening. It was a period of rest. It was nature's way of getting us to slow down and stop the destruction, stop over population, or something. It's my own personal theory. Something about global alignment of the poles or some other stuff I read 14 years ago. I personally renamed the Awakening as The Slumber.
But now? It's time for the human race to wake up again. Mother Nature made a person who could ignore the THINK effect. I, unlike anyone else, have found my own purpose. I'm the Giver, I'm the Book of Life, and me and my little power plant perched on high altitude points are going to give you one HELL of an Awakening. | 30 | Everyone in the world communicates telepathically with each other from birth...except you. You have no idea. One day you find out. | 40 |
Elena, aged 4 and a half, held tightly to Mama's hand as they waited to cross the street. The snow crunchcrunchcrunched under boots. There lots of boys and girls in the park with sleds and they went swishswishswoosh through the snow. Elena was happy when she was alone with Mama. Elena didn’t think anyone was more special than Mama. Not Papa, who was always angrymad or moodysad. Not even baby Ivan, who was stinkyloud but sometimes cutequiet. Today was a special day too because Mama had promised Elena a present that was just for her. In her mother’s bag was a pair of white skates that were just the right size. Elena was going to learn to skate. A hundred electric lightning bolts of joy lit up her smile.
Elena, aged fourteen, fell to the ice again with a crack. Poor sandy-haired Alexander, whose small arms were too weak to lift her, even the smallest of the girls. The instructor skated up to them, and ignoring Elena, quietly told Alexander to pack his things and go home. He wouldn’t look at her as she reached out to him. Turning to face her, the Instructor barked “Elena, this will be your new partner, Oleg.” Her heart fluttered, this was a boy who was handsome and strong. He took her hand and a thousand electric lightning bolts flew up her arm.
Elena, aged nineteen, lay bleeding on the floor. A ten thousand electric lightning bolts of pain were shooting inside her brain. Her right arm wouldn’t lift. Oleg stood there watching her. She tried to use her good arm to reach him, but he stepped backwards. “Bitch.” He muttered. “Stupid stupid stupid bitch.” Elena’s vision was fading. She heard shouts before the darkness took her.
When she opened her eyes in the hospital bed, she couldn’t remember much of what happened. Oleg was not there. By her bedside was a sandy-haired young man holding her hand. His eyes were red, but his hands were warm and strong. "Alex?" she tried to whisper, but her voice was hoarse and cracked. "Da." he said, and kissed her, sending one million electric lightning bolts from her lips to her heart.
[Elena Berezhanay](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elena_Berezhnaya#Early_life) | 17 | Go onto Wikipedia and press random. Write a story about the first article you get. MAX 500 words. | 45 |
“The thing most people don’t know about me,” Obama said, “is that I slept my way to the top.” He glanced over at Hillary and winked.
“I’m not so sure now is the best time,” Hillary said, pressing her palm to her forehead.
“Like hell it isn’t,” Obama said, taking a sip from the brown-bagged bottle in front of him. “Now is the best god damn time for this discussion.” He turned back toward the rows of seats in front of him. “I don’t understand how people don’t realize it. The Presidency is basically a slutty popularity contest. You should have seen the things Bush did for power. I will now open the floor to questions.”
The room remained silent, save for the occasional click of a camera’s shutter. A small, thin hand slowly rose into the air.
“Yes, you,” Obama said with a hiccup. “Speak.”
A small boy, no older than ten, stood up. He was wearing a poor-fitting, black suit, the jacket at least a size too big.
“Hello, Mr. President,” said the boy. “My name is Timmy, I am in third grade. What is your favorite sport?”
“Are hookers a sport?” Obama said, tipping back the brown-bagged bottle into his mouth. “If so, hookers. If not, then still hookers. Next question.”
“Mr. President,” Hillary muttered, taking a step closer to him. She was now just about teen feet away.
Another thin, young hand slowly rose up.
“You, with the hand,” Obama said.
“Hello,” said a young girl. She wore a loose, red-and-white blouse, her hair tied tightly back in a ponytail. “My name is Sarah, I’m a fourth grader. I play the flute. Do you like to play any instruments?”
“That question sucks,” Obama said, slamming the brown bag against the pulpit. “Next question.”
“Barack,” Hillary whispered. “You’re in a god damn elementary school. For once, can you please behave yourself?”
“I am behaving myself,” Obama said, ending the sentence with an inexplicably vulgar hiccup. “Next damn question.”
A third thin, tiny hand rose into the air.
“Didn’t I already call on you? Or was that a different hand? You people all look the same,” Obama said, pausing. “And that isn’t racist,” he added. “You’ve all got hands.”
“No, sir,” said a small boy. He, too, wore an over-sized suit, but his a beige color. “I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You sure haven’t,” Obama said. “Next question.”
“But I didn’t say my question,” the child said.
“Too late,” Obama said.
“Answer his question,” Hillary snarled.
“Fine, what’s your stupid question,” Obama said, taking another sip from the bag.
“My name is Mark, I am in fifth grade. I wanted to know what you meant by ‘sleeping your way to the top.’”
“Finally,” Obama said, placing the bag down on the pulpit. “A good damn question. How familiar are you with sex?”
“Mr. President,” Hillary shouted. “For the love of god!”
“Get off it, Hillary,” Obama said. “These kids are—how old are you, Mack?”
“Ten,” Mark said. “And my name is Mark.”
“These kids are ten years old already, Hilary. Marco over here wants to know what I meant. I can’t just ignore his question.”
Hillary returned her palm to her face.
“Anyway, Martin, for the sake of this answer, I am going to assume you not too familiar with what sex is. Let’s just go ahead and say it’s when a man sticks his willy in a woman’s wolly. Please note the ‘i’ in ‘willy’ and the ‘o’ and ‘wolly.’ There is imagery associated with them. So, to answer your question, I used my willy strategically to climb the political ladder. In fact, every single president since John Adams did this. You should hear what Bush did.”
“What did Bush do?” said a tiny voice from the audience.
“Another good question,” Obama continued. He picked up the brown bag and tilted it back, lifting it until it was almost vertical. “Do any of you know what a Mississippi Flashbulb is?”
“No,” said a different, high-pitched voice.
“Really?” Obama said. “How about the Alaskan Turnstile?”
“Nope,” said another voice.
“Michigan Steam Engine with Toast and Bacon?”
“Yes,” squeaked several voices.
“Good,” Obama said. “He basically did that for six days straight with anyone who so much as looked his way, straight from the floor of the senate. I had to wear rain boots every time I walked by for a week. Next question.”
“I think we’re done here,” Hilary said, walking over to the microphone and pushing it away from Obama’s mouth. “What the hell are you doing? You promised you’d behave, this is your last public appearance as President.”
“I’m teaching these kids the truth,” Obama said, trying to pull the microphone back toward his face.
“You’re drunk, you need to stop,” Hillary said. “Even if you can’t get impeached, you can still get sued.”
“No, you’re drunk,” Obama said with a hiccup. He grabbed the microphone. “Kids, I’m not leaving. I want to explain to you the importance of getting into drugs at an early age. Also, don’t trust the government. I’m pretty sure it’s being run by lizard people.”
“Barack!” Hilary shouted, pulling the microphone away again, her wrist knocking into the brown bag. It toppled over, landing on its side with a loud clink. “I know you aren’t up for re-election, but you can’t just go around revealing all these government secrets to preteens. You’re also making me look bad, remember who has to replace you. I didn't sleep around for nothing.”
“God fucking dammit,” Obama said, pausing and pulling the microphone back toward his mouth. “God fucking dammit,” he repeated, this time directly into the microphone. He glanced down at the toppled bag, liquid now pooling beneath it, then down at the crowd. Rows of children, each wearing their finest outfits, stared back at him, eyes wide and mouths agape. “She spilled my liquor,” he said. “I’m out this bitch.”
Obama grabbed the microphone out of its stand, took a step back, and dropped it on the floor. He then folded the fingers on his right hand into a "peace" sign before turning and walking off stage.
The crowd of children erupted into tremendous applause. | 69 | "The thing most people don't know about me," said the President of the United States, "is that I slept my way to the top." | 75 |
We stood rank and file as the priest spoke.
"My fellow clergy members" he shouted, "you know why we are here!"
I look down at my bare feet, and the men next to me. We are framed in voluminous robes, and carry m14s with the crucifix emblazoned on their grey casing. My standard issue bible hangs from its chain under my robes, slowly dragging across my chest from each slight movement. Sweat pours from my freshly shaved head.
The priest spoke out again, "Four weeks ago you came here in suits and ties, and now you leave as angels of death."
All the men gathered in the great chapel were silent for the priest's ministrations. He raised his hands towards the great painted dome above him. Each of us mimicked his gesture, straining towards the faces of cherubs and archangels.
"We have given you arms, and God has given you his blessing. Go forth with these, and cleanse the world."
With the priest's final blessing we filed through the great wooden doors of the chapel, our heads hung low in worship . Outside in the courtyard, troop transport helicopters churned the air waiting for us to board them. They would carry us to war, wreathed in our father's glory, as proper Angels of Death. | 18 | Pope Francis calls for a crusade against ISIS. He summons all Catholics to the Vatican, where he has secretly been building an army. | 46 |
I could get used to this' I thought. It seemed like years since I had that strong frame and power of my twenty five year old self. It was in fact just yesterday I had been in that stiff and smelly bed. It reeked of cleaning detergent and the sheets just weren't as soft since my wife of sixty years passed on. The home was pleasant, just missing her warmth and energy.
When I got to the gates, the old man with his ledger looked me up and down with his striking green eyes and said "Age?"
I proudly said "Eighty-Seven years, sir". This was apparently the wrong answer, as he made a clicking sound with his tongue and motioned to the sign on the podium; "Choose your age, and that you stay!"
Realization dawned on me like spotlight. "You mean...I can...Wait...what?" I stammered.
The kindly old man smiled slightly. "Exactly. I'll give you three minutes, but there is a queue forming behind you, so hurry up."
Without a second more of hesitation I nearly yelled twenty five. That had been the best year of my life. With a wave and sparkle, my frail form filled out, my hair grew back in and oh boy did the back straightening feel great. I stretched a huge stretch, smiled with every single of my original teeth and thanked the kindly old man behind the podium. With a nod and gesture, I was off through those pearly gates.
Now, to find my wife. I had been wandering around the beautiful vistas and exquisite panoramas of the great beyond, noticing how every had such youthful appearances, so much energy and so much joy. This truly was worth the virtue and early nights. Sure it was hard at some points, but man, this was great.
As I absently wandered around what had to be Nebuchadnezzar's Hanging Garden I caught a frail old man sitting in a corner with this...look... on his face, I couldn't quite place it. I knew my wife was waiting for me, probably someplace obscure, but this was something I needed to look into.
"Sir?" I decided to go right for it, no point dillydallying, I was already in Heaven.
"EH??" He spoke louder than he should have, but I guess not everyone has the ears they had when they were twenty five. I bounded over, still not quite over how great it was not to have to shamble along with a cane.
"Pardon me for being rude, Grandfather, but I could not help but notice, but did you not know of the deal at the front gates?"
"Oh, I know about it." He answered easily enough. He seemed to be inviting me into this conversation, and who was I to disappoint the only centenarian in Heaven?
"...So you chose to remain as you were when you...passed?" I fumbled for the last word, afterall, being departed was still settling in.
The old man barked a short laugh. "Look at you Mr. Oh-so-PC!" I couldn't help but smile. The old man rubbed his eyes as if he was settling in the for the long haul.
"Well, sir, could you please try to explain?"
"Sure, sure. Not everyone is as polite as you" He looked at me with a gleam. I did pass at the young ripe age of 87, but this man made me feel like I hadn't lived a day. Either his energy, or his gleaming grey-blue eyes.
"What are we now? In Heaven?" He began with a simple enough question. "We are thoughts, spirits, souls...what-have-you. And these spirits and souls, they aren't tied to any form or body. Our forms and bodies are tied to our souls. Everyone wants to remember their strengths, their vigor. I say forget that"
As he spoke he seemed to have the slightest of accents, I couldn't place it. Mid-eastern? Turkish? German? I was always terrible with them.
"I chose this age, one hundred and ten years old. And I would chose it every time. Sure, I may not move as quickly as I did eighty years ago, but this is the age that I will forever remain. When I turned one hundred and ten I made the last revelation I ever would. I learned what happiness truly was.
"At fifty, you think you know more than anyone else, that you've conquered the world, and at sixty you begin to realize how human you are. At seventy you start to appreciate the finer things in life and at eighty you begin to prep for the end. I've seen too many people get to ninety and say 'no-thanks' and just check out. When I turned one hundred, I no longer had my dear Sarah with me. She had moved on without me. I was not sad, I was lonely, and my children came to comfort me, and my children, and my great grandchildren, and even my newest great, great-grandchildren, twins!" He trailed off smiling with eyes swimming with tears.
I was beginning to understand.
"They never left me alone. One of my five children would come nearly every other day. And with them, one of my twenty four grandchildren, or my seventy six great children. I was never left alone for a minute. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
"I thought it was peter-out after a few weeks, or months; I was never happier to be wrong. Soon enough it was every day. The visitors drove the aides batty. The children's laughter and candy covered faces brought new life to me, and to all the other men and women in my home, too frail to be left alone.
"When I turned one hundred and ten, I had the privilege of having a birthday party. I had one hundred and ten direct descendents at my party, (he winked and said his great grandchildren were a busy lot). I looked at my birthday cake, like looking at a small forest fire and closed my eyes. The song of one hundred and ten strong singing to me, the plumber who came to a foreign country with nothing. I drew in a deep breath to blow out the candles and I heard my wife's voice echo in my ears, and it is something I will never forget; 'This is what it was all for...'
The man had closed his eyes, with a few tears gracefully falling down. my own face was damper than I had cared to admit. A comfortable silence descended. I let it settle in, afraid I would wake this old man.
After a few moments more he slowly opened his eyes. "Sure I have the memories, but it was those ten years in this frail old body that I had known the purpose of life, the nature of joy, and the limitless love that is family, and that is something I would never want to give up."
I thanked the man for his time and scurried off to find my wife. | 28 | When people arrive in heaven they choose what they look like. This decision is irreversible, and it must match their own body at some point during their mortal existence. Today you meet someone who looks like an emaciated old man. | 32 |
**Okay, so I really hope this is not racist or something. It's meant to be funny, not insulting. If there is an issue, I'll delete it, as my intention is not to offend, although I assume that if you read the title of the prompt you would probably expect at least something that is offensive, after all.**
"Get out," he yelled as he woke up.
"He's up," the choir began. "He's up, he's up, he's up! And he' yelling to us to get out, yes he's yelling to us to get out. Yeahhhh!"
"He's walking to the bathroom, he is," they continued to sing. "He's walking to the bathroom, by the grace of God he's walking to the bathroom, I said by the grace of God he's walking to the bathroom."
"Hey, this was funny when I paid you to do this to my friend," he said. "It's all good if you want to do this at someone else's house, but for the love of all that's holy I don't want you people in my own house."
"Whew, yeah, he said it's funny to do to someone else," the choir began. "But it ain't so funny when it's done to him. No it ain't so funny when it's done to him. The good Lord says you should do unto others as you would like done unto yourself, yeah the good Lord says you should do unto others as you would do unto yourself."
"Get out!" he yelled.
"Get out!" they sang. "Get out, get out, get out. Now we're leaving, yes we are. He's watching us with an evil eye, he is. And so from your friend, we bid you ado Mr. Sterling."
With one last big note, the choir steps out of the door, and then the lead singer begins to talk.
"Hey, our owner Mr. Rosenbud says he'll personally go over to another one of your friend's houses and do the same to him," the choir leader said.
"And that would be?' Donald Sterling asked.
"And that would be?" the choir began again, each time raising their pitch. "And that would be? And that would be? And that would be?"
"Get the hell out of here!' Sterling yelled.
The choir stopped.
"Mr. Rosenbud said he'd give the same treatment, personally, to your buddy Mel Gibson. Are you sure you're not interested?"
"Wait," Sterling yelled as the choir began to walk away. "Yeah, I think I might be. But let's talk at your office. I don't want you people on my lawn." | 10 | You wake up to a black gospel choir that sings/narrates every action you do | 30 |
"Carl, you can't feed your family if you don't rob that bank!"
The left side of Carl's head was sweating profusely, the light glistening off of his sweat only reflected her radiant beauty. Her golden hair flew lightly in the breeze and slightly lifted the white toga off her body. Then Carl moved his fucking head
"I don't know man, I don't know what to do.". Carl was crying.
The angel sat down beside him on his shoulder.
"There are other ways to feed your family, Carl.". Her voice was as beautiful as the most skilled violin player reciting the most wonderful tune.
"Come on angel you can't say that you've never done anything bad for someone you loved.". The devil said with the tone of one of Les Claypools bass solos
She looked at him,and in her eyes you could see her pain. They had been manipulating Carl for years. So many bad paths they had lead him down. So many horrible things they had key him do, it was starting to catch up with her. It was wearing down her soul.
The devil looked at her and understood, he needed to help her this time.
"Maybe the best thing to do is let your loved ones go". He looked into her beautiful bright green eyes.
"Maybe in the end you have to do that for the best of everyone."
She stood up and screamed
" NO, YOU CAN'T DO THIS."
At this point both the shoulder creatures were crying along with Carl. After a while she whispered
"I've tried so hard..."
Carl, the idiot, thought she was talking to him.
"You're right I have to do this for my family."
Both of the tortured souls started yelling different things as he loaded his gun.
"Don't do it!" Screamed the devil.
"Do it, fucking do it!" Screamed the angel.
Carl ran into the bank
"Give me all your ---"
Boom, blood was everywhere.
There had been a cop in the bank who had just got off duty.
"I'm sorry" she said
"So am I..."
They looked into each others eyes ad the were both being pulled back into Their separate domain. In the moment that they knew their love was about to come to an abrupt end. They both climbed over Carl's soon to be lifeless body and kissed for the first and the last time.
Edit: fixed some auto correct | 337 | A shoulder angel and a shoulder devil are in love. They can only be with each other while their host human is having a moral conflict. | 1,487 |
"Hold your mauling hell-spawn!" Kevin's voice echoed fiercely through the underground station. At the end of the platform the snub-nosed red monster lifted its bloody snout from the corpse it had been tearing strips from and looked around, sniffing the air.
The high pitched whine of Kevin's wheelchair whined as he scooted a few feet closer and the snub nosed demon shook his head as the noise irritated him.
"Where's your master stink-demon?" Kevin kept his voice as level and steady as he could while his nerves churned inside. The monster, around the size of a large dog, stepped away from the corpse and emitted a long low growl. Its muscles rippled under its almost translucent red skin and the solid red eyes seemed to bore into Kevin. Large claws clacked down on the concrete and a wisp of fire burned around its muzzle.
With a snort it suddenly charged, covering the fifteen feet between them in less than a second. In the wheelchair, Kevin, limbless, seemed also helpless but as the monster jumped Kevin's stumps raised and in mid air the monster suddenly stopped with a strange "Urk" noise.
Sweat now beaded on Kevin's forehead, overhead the lights flickered and the beast, trapped in midair writhed but was unable to move or escape. A roar burst from its lips and spittle rained down and in the hail of red spit the sight of Kevin's phantom limbs, outlined in shimmering blue, could be seen.
With a twist of his arms Kevin snapped the demon's neck and flung it aside, onto the tracks. Now, with a small scream of pain, Kevin stood, phantom legs holding him up but the effort showed as the veins bulged against his face.
***"SHOW YOURSELF"*** The words echoed through the empty station and eventually were answered with a sinister chuckle from behind him, causing him to spin round.
"Well done Kevin." The air seemed to ripple and shimmer and from out of *nothing* a figure stepped forth. It was tall, too tall to be human, over 8 feet and skinnier than any man had been. Dressed like a Victorian gentleman it was slightly translucent but its eyes, its eyes were as black as the hell-creatures had been red. "I see you've learned some new tricks."
They stood on the platform, Kevin on phantom limbs and the apparition shimmering in the flickering fluorescent lights. A gust of air blew through the station and a moment later the noise came, a train was on its way into the station.
"Neeznugle." The name escaped Kevin's lips as last but was lost as the train whooshed into the station, noise and light where a moment ago there had been the silent staring. A low bong signalled the doors to open and a hiss of air was matched as Neeznugle now turned to the train, hands lifted to strike with claws stretching out from his hands.
Kevin glanced forward, no way he could contain this beast in time and so with a lash of psychic energy he forced the doors on the train shut again. Inside he could see faces pressed against the windows and so he reached out, searching the minds of the people on board. At last he found the driver and shot him a psychic bolt of terror and longing to flee.
The effort drained him and he fell, his legs evaporating beneath him but the train was moving, wheels spinning as the driver pushed too much power through the train. It would be safe. He would not be. Lying now, helpless and limbless, chair too far to get to and useless even if he could. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as Neeznugle stood over him.
Its voice was like cutting glass and hissed into Kevin's brain, seemingly not even going through his ears. "Psychic arms? Psionic powers? I am impressed Kevin, when I ripped your limbs from your body and left you to bleed to death in that jungle I thought I had finished you. It seems I am going to have the pleasure now of killing you again.
With effort Kevin rocked himself onto his back and looked up. Neeznugle's form was flexing, rippling through forms in its excitement. It preferred its gentleman look but its true form flexed out its face when it was excited and it was deeply excited at the thought of killing Kevin. Its arms now had changed and were long thin blades, slowly it leaned down and pushed one through each of Kevin's shoulders, pinning him down.
"Familiar, isn't it? We've been here before Kevin and last time you failed just like this. Helping others is your weakness." It leaned it, its face now as much as snout as the dead demon-beast and breath like rotten flesh. Kevin struggled slightly and tried to turn his face from the smell. Neeznugle pushed deeper and Kevin couldn't hold it in, a scream ripped from his chest, long and deep. Neeznugle drunk it in deeply.
At last the scream ended although Kevin could feel the tendrils digging into his flesh. His voice was a horse whisper but with Neeznugle so close it didn't need to be louder. "Last time we met, I couldn't do this." He pushed upwards, his psychic hands going through Neeznugle as easily as the blades had entered his shoulders, splitting the demon beast from the centre and slowly ripping him in half.
Now it was Neeznugle time to scream, a primal roar as he writhed, the blades coming loose from Kevin's shoulders. "It doesn't matter any more if you stick me with your filthy blades, I've moved beyond that." Now Kevin rose, his phantom legs coming back and lifting them both up - Neeznugle impaled and half split open, panting and gasping. "You taught me that when you took my limbs, you taught me to use pain for power so I have you to thank for that. Now I'll send you back to the hell where you came from."
With a slightly movement the demon ripped in half, not too fast and with it screaming as it sent. Blue blood flowed out and over the platform and splashed all over the walls and Kevin. Kevins grim face watched every last writing motion until at last he had pulled the beast in complete two. All noise and movement had stopped now and with a motion he crushed the remains into a paste on the floor.
Slowly he moved backwards and found his chair, sinking into it again. Dripping with blue blood he fired the chair up again and slowly moved across the platform, back towards the lifts. The chairs wheels slipped and skidded on the slick wet floor, blue blood mingling as his own red blood dripped down. For now it was over. | 16 | A double amputee fights ghosts with his phantom limbs. | 56 |
**Part One**
My father was a businessman.
Actually he was a collector, but he never liked to call what he did collecting. As part of his job, he would travel to some unknown destination for weeks on end.
During these times, I came to notice that my mother wasn't quite herself. When I was young, I'd sometimes slip out of bed and creep downstairs. The first few times I did this, my mom would see me and carry me back to bed. Eventually, I figured out that I could hide and observe my mom, something that comforted me for some reason.
From the bottom of the stairs, I would hide and sneak glances into the living room where my mom was. The TV would be on, usually muted so I could sleep — oops — and she would be on the couch. However, my mom wouldn't be watching. Curling up, she usually grasped a pillow like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Her cheeks would usually be wet from tears. After watching her for ten minutes or so, I'd eventually make my way back to bed.
When my father would come home, though, she would fill with elation and they would embrace. Holding each other so tight that I sometimes expected them to never let go. When he let go, my father's attention would eventually turn to me. With a big smile, he'd hug me with a similar intensity. He always so ecstatic to see us. What would happen next is the reason I refer to him as a collector.
He'd set me down — shivers running up my spine as my feet met chilly stone-tiled floor — and place his leather briefcase on the hall table; I remember it being engraved with his initials, FTF; Frederick Thomas Falconer, a name we shared. There were two locks on the suitcase and four-number combinations were required for each, followed by the use of two separate keys.
The locks would click as they relinquished their hold on the lid which he would then carefully lift. Always awaiting him at the top of the case was his gift for me: a book.
Actually, there were two books. One was for me and one was for him. His books were typically large and bound in brown or black leather; he would take these into his bedroom and I'd never see them again. I didn't care about those books.
The books for me were not your everyday books; they were in and of themselves works of art. Carefully bound, some would be wrapped in cloth, some in vinyl. And occasionally a leather one would make an appearance.
The colors would vary, but each was spectacular in nature. There were radiant reds, beautiful blues, gorgeous greens, and pulchritudinous purples. Each time my father would delicately remove it with two hands and bequeath it to me. And every time, I would receive the same set of instructions followed by a question.
"Freddy, this book is being placed under your care; it is your responsibility to watch over it. Do you accept this duty?" He always asked that with such formality; it was like a game.
"Yes!" I'd excitedly yell in return.
The first few times I received these gifts, I'd tuck the volume under my arm and sprint to the couch to open it. One day, though, I dropped it in the rush. The book was fine, but my father walked over to me and picked it up with a stern face.
"You *must* treat this book with the utmost care; nothing shall ever happen to it. Do you understand?" His eyes would stared into mine with a calm gravity behind them. My eyes looking down, I slowly nodded my head. He handed me the book, and I firmly held it with both hands. Slowly, I escorted the book to the coffee table. After that day, I would always handle the books this way.
Softly, I would place the book down and open the cover. I was met with a series of creaks that signified a book untravelled. The lengths were different with every book: some 20 pages long and others 100.
Opening the books for the first time, I would turn the pages — mostly made from parchment, occasionally a fabric — with utmost care, tracing each picture with my fingers, getting lost in them without reading.
Illustrations were common in my books, each edition differing in style. Some done only in ink, with long, intricate strokes. Some done with vibrant water-colors. And other done in simple sketches with pencils. No illustrations were the same. One thing was common with every book, though: the theme. All of them concerned fairytales. The myths would come from different cultures — English, Irish, German, Chinese, Russian, etc. — but they all were filled with magic and fantastical creatures.
With every first look at these books, I would avoid reading. That act was reserved for my father.
The original reading of each book was done by him at bedtime. He would take on voices for each new character and creature; hissing for dragons, cackling for witches, using a clumsy bass for the trolls. I'd get lost as my protector led me through those journeys, calming when I would hide under the sheets in fear. He did this until I was twelve years old.
Then he left.
He was on one of his usual trips, a few days in, when my mother received a phone call. Watching TV, I didn't think much of it until my mother's hand covered her mouth and she fell into one of the kitchen chairs in shock. She thanked whoever had called, hung up, and burst into tears. She then informed me that my father wouldn't be returning home and we hugged for hours, the tops of our shirts soaking in each others' tears.
Despite the countless questions, my mother never told me what had happened to my father, and I stopped asking around the time I turned 16. The imagination that he had fostered came up with wild explanations. He was an undercover agent, shot by a spy. He was a superhero who had to go into hiding. He was a time-traveler who got caught in the Middle Ages. But I knew that he'd likely died in a car accident or something boring like that.
The rainbow of books took up an entire case made up of six rows, each three feet long. Every so often, I would pull one out and catch up on my fairytales, but I eventually grew out of that and the books collected dust.
The last time I saw my father was six years ago. Today I turned 18.
I woke up to a wooden box at the foot of my bed, likely placed there by my mother. A perfect cube with each side a foot in length, the box was made of beautiful mahogany, but it was worn with small scratches here and there. A bronze clasp held the box closed. Sidling down to end of the bed, I placed my fingers along its edges.
It perplexed me, but that wasn't going to stop me from opening it. The clasp rattled as I pop it open, and the box squeaked as I lifted the top. Inside was a key and an aged-yellow, folded note. I pulled out the note and opened it; it was a latter.
>*Dear, son,*
>*I hope the day never comes when you receive this letter, but if you're reading this it obviously has.*
>*If your mother has followed the instructions I gave her the day you were born, then today is your 18th birthday. Happy birthday; I wish I was there to celebrate with you. Today you officially become an adult in more ways than one.*
>*It is time you know why I disappeared from your life. I don't know the exact reasoning, but it likely has to do with my profession. I won't delve into what that is. There is always a chance that this letter is stolen or accidentally read by someone else, which would put you and your mother at risk. I will say this; the books I always brought you were given to you with a specific purpose.*
>*At the local library, on the top floor, there is a bookcase at the back. This part of the library is rarely ever visited. Take the key inside of this box and go there. Pull the book entitled "An Essential History." What you need to do next should be self-explanatory.*
>*Your life is about to change entirely, son. Just do me a favor and don't tell your mother about this.*
>*I love you,*
>*Dad*
>*P.S. Remember your name.*
| 27 | Your dad suddenly left and never came back, the only thing he left was a wooden box... with something extraordinary in it. | 22 |
I've seen many things in my time. I'm over 300 years old. My eyesight, poor to begin with has faded even further with time. But, I have no complaints. I have always been treated with kindness and my pace while teased, has never been insulted.
I am Hamwise the tortoise, known to my current owner Madison as Hammy.
I didn't say I chose the name.
I've been through many big events, some which have altered the course of my life.
When I was a young shell, I got picked up by my first owner as I was wandering through the grass. I was trying to avoid getting trampled on by leather boots and the end of thunder sticks. I would come across many red coats and bodies in my time, but that is not the business of a turtle. I was merely looking for cabbage.
I had overheard my owners sometime down the line discussing a big war on the horizon. A harbor was bombed. Such a pity, harbors are lovely to me. I mostly stayed indoors and made friends with the legs of tables and chairs.
Down the line, I heard a man proclaim he was free at last. This made no sense to me, are we not all already free? Furthermore, why was my owner trying to feed me dog food? Such predicaments in life. Truly, mine is the greater struggle.
I remember watching on the giant wood box one day about riots happening and people crying. They were handing out flowers and the males were burning up small squares. I was mostly distracted by the owner's new purchase, a creature named Rufus trying to mount me. Fool! I am Ham! No one mounts me.
I heard a rumor once that man had walked on a moon. That's ridiculous. The moon is the size of my eye and is made of tightly balled lettuce. Every good turtle knows such things.
I've lived through a million events. I'll live through a million more. My wisdom is long and deep, my mind is like a mountain; ever lasting.
I am Hamwise and I understand most things. Except for Rufus.
Notes found in another book: I am Rufus. BarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbarkBarkbarkbark. | 21 | Write the story of a tortoise as it gets passed down form generation to generation of a family and the bits of history that it saw. | 45 |
Samantha waited in the dark room alone. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap, bitten fingernails chewed to the quick hastily splashed with a dirty purple nail varnish, showed exactly how anxious she was feeling. The chair was uncomfortable, the yellow plastic padding leaking out of the green checked material. It looked like the last time someone had replaced the chairs had been back in the sixties. That, or someone like chewing on them. Several magazines lay on the low, scuffed table in front of her. They had been glossy once, but now the torn covers were dull with age and displayed fashions at least four of five years out of date. The blue eyes of one particular model swam out towards Samantha, as though presenting her perfectly trim figure with spectacular aplomb, her ribs like a shining xylophone, reminding Samantha why she hadn't eaten yet that day-
"Shut up," she spoke through gritted teeth. At the other end of the waiting room, a woman with her daughter looked up at the sound of Sam's hissed tone. Noticing she was alone, she wrapped one arm around the small daughter and coughed, imperceptibly shifting till Sam could only see her cold shoulders.
"Don't say things like that!" Sam muttered, placing her hand slightly over her mouth so the mother couldn't hear.
It's perfectly true. Sam's stomach was rumbling, and-
"Please don't do this," her voice had become watery, a sure sign she was about to cry. This was the reason that she no longer wore makeup, and in fact the rims of her eyes and her nostrils were already a sore red, from continuous wiping from the tissues she kept in her handbag.
But she got herself under control, slipping an already-chewed index finger into her mouth and gnawing away.
"Leave me alone!" She said, loud enough for the daughter to look round. The mother stayed stoically staring ahead.
The door at the far side of the room opened and a man in a tweed jacket, bushy eyebrows rising above his glasses appeared. He frowned at the darkness of the room, flicked on a light switch. The sudden burst made Sam flinch.
"Samantha Lloyd?" He announced to the room. Gratefully, Sam stood up. He didn't look too bad, this one.
"Doctor Williams?"
She entered his office, sat down. It was pitch black.
"The lights are on," Sam said firmly, to the Doctor's mild surprise.
Suddenly he grew fangs, large wings, a tail...
"The Doctor looks perfectly ordinary," Sam's voice was firm.
The glass in the windows smashed into a thousand pieces. Sam was feeling insecure. She wanted to go home, she wanted to-
"I'm hearing voices," she said quietly. "I want to talk about medication." | 48 | Write me a story where the main character can hear the narrator | 52 |
I walked into the big house, the door had been left open. I knocked once more and called out. A girls voice of no more than 6 years old called out "Just a minute!!"
I grinned, I knew what was in store and I couldn't wait.
"Can I come in?"
"Just a minute!!" She called back.
I thought about the other nights like this and pulled out my new phone. The camera was meant to be the best available on a phone and I couldn't wait to take some pictures to show the guys at the bar later.
"Ok, come on in!"
It was silly, it was always the same but I couldn't wait, every time it was a little different but they were all memorable and even after it was over I always had the pictures to remind me.
I rounded the corner and there he was standing before me stone faced. Chris Hansen of NBC fame. Chris Hansen, who struck fear in to the hearts of men and women across the country. Chris Hansen who had his daughter over to visit this weekend. Chris Hansen wearing a tiara, pink feather boa and make up that bordered on clown face. I couldn't help it, he was a good dad to do this, but out came the camera.
*click*
Chris: No Don- dammit!
Sarah: Daddy, you said a swear word!!
Chris: Sorry princess.
Sarah: No daddy, *you're* the princess! | 30 | You show up at a friend's house with a 6-pack of beer, ready to party. When you walk inside, you find Chris Hansen standing there, waiting for you. | 21 |
*Sorry, not doing good today, so this prompt response isn’t as good as I’d like it to be.*
He stood back, observing everyone at the party. He hadn’t even wanted to go. But he figured it would be good for him.
One person in particular caught his eye, a red headed woman, who was tall and slender. But he knew he would never work up the nerve to approach her.
All of a sudden he froze in terror as she walked over and introduced herself.
“Name’s Katie,” she said, extending her hand. When he didn’t shake it, she placed it back by her side. “Don’t like shaking hands then?”
He stood there and nodded. He had wanted to shake her hand, just to touch her, but he was too afraid. And then, before he knew it, she was rubbing his shoulder, bringing up topics of conversations he wanted to talk about, and kissing him. It was as if everything he thought she heard. It wouldn’t be until later that he realized that everyone at the party could read minds, and that everything he had been doing with her that night was basically broadcast out to the entire party.
He headed back to a room with Katie, following her lead. People had been shouting to him all night, talking to him all night like they already knew him. And as Katie laid him down on the bed, he found that she was doing everything he wanted.
They laid in bed for a few minutes. It had taken a little while, but he had finished his analysis. Katie was a mindreader and so was everyone else. And she must have figured out what he was by now, a soul reader, capable of understanding the very back bone of what makes a person a person. And his reading of her soul revealed a socially awkward girl laying next to him. He rolled over and hugged her. That was when he realized that she hadn’t been using her mind reading abilities to help him be less socially awkward, but that she was using them so as not to appear awkward.
-281 | 15 | A man that is socially awkward goes to a party full of mind readers. | 23 |
The "Good Doctor" stretched the sterile gloves over his slender, skilled hands. His patient strapped to the operating table.
"Any questions?" asked the doctor.
"Where am I?" asked the dazed patient.
"We're carrying out your sentence." said the doctor.
"I was just in court" murmured the man on the table.
"Sir, that was hours ago." replied the doctor with a sigh "We find carrying these things out swiftly takes a heafty burden off the taxpayer."
"But why am I here? I was gonna be hanged?"
"And you shall be, if you lose."
"If I lose?"
"Well, we feel every... body deserves a second chance. If you win our game, you're free to go."
"I don't understand, why am I here."
"For Disassembly!" said the doctor, frustrated at the confused inmate "We separate your limbs and head from your torso, then as you guess letters for our puzzle, we begin to put you back together. If we complete your body, you lose and are placed in a noose and are hanged immediately. If you solve the puzzle before you are completed, you are free to go and live your life. though you will be missing whatever limbs that have not been reattached." | 13 | Hangman is played with real people | 17 |
Much can be lost in translation. When we first reached out to the humans, we translated our language into the hundreds of languages we had on record for their home-world. After receiving replies in only a handful of languages, the message was clear. They were not happy to hear from us, but it was too late.
By the time we had received their reply, our seed pods had already landed in their oceans and dispersed millions of battle-ready hatchlings. We had assumed that they would be grateful to finally meet us. Our evaluations of their culture indicated that they spent significant time writing stories and thinkings about extraterrestrial contact. Of course, in most cases these interactions resulted in large scale conflict. We were still hopeful that the reality would have a more positive outcome.
We were wrong. The humans fought us and eventually drove us off. Now they face a greater threat, alone and battle-fatigued. We tried to help and they wouldn't let us.
__________________________________________________________
I remember when those bastards showed up. Big ol' eggs splashing into the goddamn oceans all over the world. A few boats were caught in the drop but the real clusterfuck happened when the eggs hatched.
Apparently those bug-eyed water aliens didn't know we all lived near the coasts because when those eggs popped, they displaced enough water to flood every coastal city on the planet. Before the TV went dark they were saying that the eggs hatched with the force of ten megaton nuclear weapons. Like a big stinkin' nuclear zit from space! Some kind of greeting card that is. Kinda makes the poorly translated "We Come in Peace" message ring a little hollow.
My cousin Mike and I were sitting in our trailer when we saw our first 'mander. Ya know, salamander? That's what the fuckers looked like, except larger than a full-grown man and covered in glowing spikes. Anyway, a 'mander showed up outside the trailer that night hissing and flashing like a rattlesnake from hell.
Doing the only sensible thing, Mike grabbed the twelve gauge, kicked open the door to the trailer and screamed, "GET OFF OUR PROPERTY YOU SLIMY FUCK".
Three blasts from the shotgun were enough to rip the nasty thing apart but not before a dozen of the spikes shot out and peppered the trailer. They penetrated the metal and passed straight through but Mike and I were unharmed. As the 'mander died, we heard commotion in the woods. In a matter of seconds, the treetops were aglow with the presence of hundreds of 'manders. They were coming to avenge their buddy.
In a flash, we grabbed our guns and ammo, some cans of food, a few bottles of water, and jumped in the truck. As we pulled away from the trailer, a storm of glowing crystal spikes rained from the tree-line and turned the trailer into swiss-cheese.
After dodging streams of spikes aimed our way, we made it out of the trailer park. We passed other residents who were currently struggling with their own close encounters, being ripped to shreds by packs of 'manders or impaled on spikes. Driving away from this carnage, we tried to acknowledge what was happening. Then it dawned on us. It was just like an alien invasion movie. And this time, Mike and I were the heroes, or so we thought.
We knew the cities were out of the question so we stuck to the back-streets in hopes of scavenging food and gas from houses and abandoned cars. At one point we had to hide from swarms of 'manders, crouching in our seats and listening to gunshots and screams until sunrise. Then the 'manders vanished. Sensing that the way was clear, we drove into the nearest neighborhood.
Mike and I quickly realized that a massive evacuation had taken place and we clearly missed the boat. Those that hadn't made it out remained where they died, pinned to the sides of buildings and cars with crystal spikes or in a bloody, bite mark ridden heap on the ground. The 'manders ate people sometimes, that much was clear. I nearly threw up when we found one body. It was a woman wearing one of those fancy baby-slings, impaled through the chest by a spike. The spike had missed the baby-sling, which flapped in the breeze, the clasps undone. Someone had clearly taken the baby from the dead mother's sling. I tried not to think about what happened to the baby as we covered her with a tarp and walked away.
Eventually we found some survivors. Holed up in a church, clinging to rifles and machetes, those desperate folks looked about ready to roll over and die. After proving that we were no threat, they told us about the evacuation. Helicopters, jeeps, and tanks showed up in the neighborhood and started hauling people off to "Protection Zones" where they would be housed and defended until the alien threat had been eliminated.
Many had hidden away, unwilling to leave their homes. They paid dearly for their stubbornness. As it turned out, the evacuation was part of a larger plan to defeat the aliens. In various places around the planet, governments were detonating "dirty bombs" to create radioactive hotspots that would attract the 'manders. In doing so, waves of spike-throwing monsters would pour over towns and cities, killing anything that gets in their way. Somehow, our scientists knew radiation was like magnetic catnip to them, it drew them in and made them crazy. So the military tried to get everyone out of the way and then they buggered off to some super-compound in the Rocky Mountains. Once the 'manders had all flocked to the radioactive hotspots, hidden nukes would cook off and that's all she wrote.
Armed with this information, all we could do was wait. A day or so later, the mushroom clouds of victory were visible on the horizon. A couple of days after that, we spotted a military caravan rolling through the neighborhood. After a brief conversation, we were informed that the war was over and the aliens were retreating and surrendering. As the military man spoke those words, a massive shockwave erupted in the sky. Where there had been clouds was now a swirling vortex that simultaneously inhaled clouds and exhaled millions of fleshy orbs that spiraled downward in all directions. Electricity arced from the orbs and lashed out to detonate houses and cars all around us. One of the orbs zipped by the caravan, spiked tentacles unfurling and wrapping around the necks and arms of bewildered soldiers. They were then yanked into the air and consumed by swarms of other orbs.
In the distance we could see a 'mander getting picked up by a dozen orbs, plucked from the forest by the electric fleshbags. The 'mander sniped a couple of the orbs with spikes but was quickly overwhelmed by more tentacled orbs. They tore the creature apart and cast aside the leftover spikes.
By now, the entire military unit was shooting at the orbs. They exploded in cascades of flesh and sparks, but there were too damn many of them. Mike and I ran for the storm cellar of the church, hoping that the soldiers would cover our escape. I opened the trapdoor and jumped into the stairwell but Mike did not follow. I turned around and propped the door open to see Mike pinned to the ground by a 'mander. Literally, pinned by spikes. One in each arm. He was helpless as the 'mander wrapped its toothy mouth around his head and crushed it like an egg.
The shock of this sight caused me to fall backwards down the stairwell and hit my head on the floor of the storm cellar. My world went black.
| 19 | Alien force sets up a Forward Operating Base (FOB) here on earth. They meet heavy resistance which hinders them from doing what they were sent to do; protect us. | 50 |
"Assassins say that at the right time and place, a knife can topple an empire. My computer program
can accurately tell you those times and places."
Samson paused drinking in their attention. He was, by consensus, the best stochastic modelling programmer alive on the planet today and the room full of geeky quants were eating up his every word. The power filled him with a powerful nervous energy that animated his thin, stickly frame like a puppet and made his too-large head with the shock of unruly black hair bob up and down like a lure bobbing to the currents. And he was alluring, dragging them in, reeling them in for the...
"With this we can take down Goldman Sachs at will"
The "at will", hummed through the small room. Samuel, held up a hand to quieten down the room. He wasn't done yet.
"Their trading platform has an underlying whisper-net, reading newspaper headlines as they come in, ranking the articles from good to poor for a company and instaneously trading in the anticipation of rises or falls. Of course, mistakes can happen so the size of these transaction and the exposure is strictly limited.
But I you see, know how to turn off this limiter. Found it years ago. There's an exploitable buffer overflow error. Bu of course that's useless unless you know which way to trade, unless you can control and predict the market for that one brief second. After all none of us have the capital to trade with Goldman till our edge gaurentees profits. We're too poor."
The room twittered at that.
"But I've finally figured that out. There's a way to increase the volatility of their bets, make their trades swing wildly back and forth in opposite directions... "
"You can self-arbitrage..." someone exhaled.
"Precisely, I can make them so shook up that for a brief moment they will put out very large buy orders at a higher price than they put out very large sell orders at a lower price. Sell low, buy high.... to me."
A guy in a red-checked shirt, nuzzling a bottle of wine let out a whoop. Samuel smiled at him.
"We'll be hitting them tomorrow. A knife to the back. A dagger to the soul."
Checked-shirt guy laughed loudly, "So how much did you sell them the solution to their little 'flaw' for." He casually stuffed another Pringle in his mouth. They'd all done the same before: found the flaw, sold the flaw. It was far less risky than doing anything that might be illegal.
"$17,5 million," said Samuel softly.
He drummed his fingers on the table, a little victory tattoo.
He smirked as the room dissolved into small-talk.
They didn't suspect a thing.
It was beautiful that way.
There was no bribe-out, and the flaw was present in all the robo-traders.
One by one, the empires would fall tomorrow. | 34 | "Assassins say that at the right time and place, a knife can topple an empire. My computer program can accurately tell you those times and places." | 86 |
"Mein Wenig Pony"
https://derpicdn.net/img/2013/4/6/289767/full.png
"Mein Fuhrer, I have news form ze Eastern Front." Commander Vesile stated.
Hitler took off his reading glasses, composure radiating from his pores. The commander had never failed him, ever since Munich he had stood at his right hand. The perfect Aryan specimen towered over the Chancellor, who stood from the large wooden desk.
"It has been too long Cecil, let me have a good look at you!" Adolf, not normally a man to exchange pleasentries shook the oyung man's hand warmly.
"I have heard you bring me ze greatest news, tell me of your exploits against the communist devils" He said, pouring himself some water.
"Mein fuhrer, I come to report a mass defection, ze Russians have decided to become our faitful friends forever!" The Commander gushed.
The leader of Germany spat water all over the Autobahn reports. He turned and saw the man he had trusted so completely, so much he hadn't hesitated in giving a 24 year old command of the Eastern Front.
He saw the black of an officer, the smart cufflinks and gleaming buttons of a military man. And the brilliant and blazing red of the...
"Vesile." Hitler began
"Yes fuhrer?" He replied
"Vere, in Berlin is your party armband?" Came the icy enquiry.
"Vell Mein Fuhrer, when I decided to show my pride for my new community I swapped...."
"You swapped the symbol of our glorious German reich, why would you - who I raised up from nothing! NOTHING! dare, no dream of replacing our symbol." Hitler screamed. Two guards came into the room, weapons raised at Cecil Vesile.
The commander barely noticed the outburst instead stepping forward and hugging Adolf Hitler.
"I took off the armband when I discovered something Mein Fuhrer, a power greater than power." He leaned in and whispered to the leader of the Nazi party; "I wear this pink armband to show, I know that friendship is magic."
Hitler shouted a command at his guard. Who forcefully seperated the Commander from the Fuhrer.
The commander fired off a salute with a feverish grin on his face.
"Heil Rainbow Dash"
Machine gun fire rang out in Berlin. | 16 | Regarding my armband post in /r/tumblrinaction... | 19 |
I've been around a few people born on the 29th of February. Anytime people are around them, they always say they are 1/4 the age of what they really are. That's plain stupid.
They don't even look like they are 1/4 their age.
I, however, was born on the 31st of September, 214 AD. (Do we still say "In the year of Our Lord?") This day comes precisely once every 100 years. It's often over looked by most people, who every century keep saying "There's a September 31st?"
Which is a perfect segue into the main fact of my life: I age slowly. No, not like those people on TV that seem like they're forever 21. I literally age slower than everyone else. I am 1800 years old, with the body of an 18 year old.
I have found no explanation for this, except for perhaps God (I've tangled with the idea in my mind. Probably in a few decades I'll rethink everything and return. For the giggles). Currently I live in a small town in mid-west America. News doesn't spread outside of our group, so luckily it hasn't gone nationwide that I am, as I have found, immortal.
I have fallen in love numerous times, but each time ends in disaster. The girl either doesn't believe me when I eventually spill the beans, or I don't spill the beans and watch as she ages and I don't, which gets weird from her perspective and then the truth comes out.
I've gone through American high school 13 times now. (Is it weird when I fall in love with someone who is 100 times younger than me?) I've tried college a few times, but have decided I need to lay low.
I don't seem to be able to die by any physical means. I've been trampled, shot, stabbed, poisoned, and hit by numerous cars. I may one day die of old age, but that day is not any day soon.
And there is no one like me.
It's the loneliest thing in the universe, you know. Having someone, and then in a blink of my eye they're gone. Watching someone die. Thinking that I am too old. I have seen it all. War, death, murder, you name it. Some things have never changed.
I'm proud to say I've never killed a man, though. Came close a few times, but never killed anyone. When wars would happen, I would join the combat on my own terms. I have helped save people and stump others, but I am thankful that I'm not some famous person.
I hate imagining being locked up and studied upon. The people of today seem keen on that; studying you to see what makes you tick. I imagine that I'd be stuck in one room for the rest of eternity if they had their way.
I've lived 1800 years, and if nothing changes, I've got 7000 or so more years of emptiness.
EDIT: Segway | 32 | "Leapers" are rare people born in a leap year on the 29th of February who age four times slower than everyone else. But there are whispered legends about individuals born during a leap century... and beyond. | 99 |
(The conspiracy theory gobbledigook here is for the purposes of the fiction only.)
************************************
Dave strides onto the stage as the choir falls silent. He has the Bible in his hand, a beautiful new suit, lovely black shoes. I feel a touch of doubt in me, a fluttering in my chest again, like I still get every so often when that moment of weakness comes. I uncross and recross my legs as he finishes climbing up the stairs and into the limelights, ascending like the angel he surely is.
He walks to where we sit. Father Rob stands and they embrace, then Rob sits again. Elder John and Elder Hank follow. Then it is my turn. I catch his eyes for just a moment and the thudding returns.
"Father Stuart." He greets me warmly. "Kinda warm in the wool suit?" He pats my shoulder and grins with that same casual flamboyant charisma that I envy and cherish, leaving a small touch of my own hand-sweat on the sleeve. He moves on and greets the Choir Director, Rebecca, with a peck on the cheek and a hug. The butterflies in my chest move down to my stomach.
Having finished his rounds, he moves back to the front of the stage.
"Good morning, brothers and sisters in Christ. Welcome to the Tree! If you don't have a program, please raise your hand and one of the ushers will bring one to you shortly. I'll also ask you to make use of the Bibles in the seats in front of you, and please feel free to bring one home if you need it." His smile falters for the slightest instant, and I find myself blinking rapidly in anticipation.
I am reminded of the affair between Deacon Roger and the wife of our previous Choir director, Johnathan Grimes, and the stink of shame as Dave announced they would not be welcome until they had ended the affair and made peace with their spouses. I see her now, Jamie Grimes, two rows behind the edge of the stage lights. I cannot recall the last time I saw Roger.
"Today I have what I think will be a special announcement. Tiffany, would you please come onstage with me for a moment?"
Dave's lovely, lucky, perfect angel-wife stands from her seat and brings Rayleigh, their two-year-old daughter, with her up the steps. Rayleigh wears a lovely little green number and shiny white shoes. Tiffany wears radiance and glory. Dave deserves her, someone with a shadow like a sunset, a glow-in-the-dark...I stop myself, unclenching my jaw with visible effort. Rob glances at me.
I know already. Dave told me a week ago, during our last elder's meeting. There was a little bit of very good whiskey passed around and we all drank to their health. I still had the lead weight in my stomach but oh...it was so good to see him happy.
The expectant mother and happy soon-to-be-two-time-father kiss for the cameras and stage lights, and the girls leave the stage to the roar of six thousand hands clapping.
Dave looks at the floor for a moment. I am deeply worried now. He still holds his Bible. He holds it so tightly. His lovely hands are pressing into the soft cover, the many page-markers curling over from age.
"God often seems to speak to me. He comes to me in dreams. He speaks to me on the wind and through my wife and daughter. Sometimes, even these knuckleheads behind me," he turns with a Han Solo smile back to the row of elders, who smile back "sometimes speak with the words that Heaven wants me to hear."
He's getting into gear now, my nervousness fades a bit. It's just the pregnancy.
"But every now and then, I get a real...prophecy. Every couple of years, if I'm lucky the Big Man himself puts a bug in my ear and gives me words in English that don't come from someone in the same room, if you get my meaning."
The audience listens expectantly. There is a normal level of shifting and noise.
"Last night was not like one of those voices." He has stopped his slow, measured pacing and stands, center-stage, next to the pulpit.
"Last night was different, boys and girls. Last night we had a conversation. Last night, God broke my heart." He is steady, he is going somewhere uplifting now. This is just the lead-in.
Dave's hand twitches. He sets the Bible on the pulpit, abandoning the Word. My vision goes black around the edges as I hear a shaky, raspy sob in the two-hundred-thousand-dollar sound system. There is not a sound that is not Dave crying or my blood boiling in my ears. Every cell below my earlobes tenses to rush to him, to hold him...and then he speaks again. Nine words that end the life of Dave the Golden Child of God. Nine words that give birth to Dave the First Orphan.
Dave is weeping from the pulpit now, slurring. I didn't notice the bourbon on his breath before, God only knows how, but I can almost feel it leaking out of his pores from twenty feet away now. The humidity in the room has doubled.
"I...I know I have told you many things about h-h-him..." Dave sobs. The collar and tie are soaked, his best new suit is growing dark stains below the shoulders. I see a tan streak of stage base on the forearm of his dove-grey jacket.
"How he l-loves us! How H-h-he will stay with us forever!"
The audience is rapt. I sit in my chair, rocked as the rest of them.
"But He has finally answered my prayers, in a voice like a falling mountain, and he...he told me..."
At the pulpit now, Dave stares down, his head looks like a shaggy dog or a shamed child. He hides behind the lectern. He begins to sway. My testicles grind up into my pelvis despite the heat and sweat.
"He told me to give up. That we have already missed our chance!"
There is noise in the audience now. This is not what they expected.
"And He is angry with us! Angry because we did not see the signs!"
I stand, and so does Rob. Rob begins to walk forward but Dave wheels from the audience to us.
I experience my first true miracle. Suddenly, my feet will not move. Rob is frozen as well, and burning lights, dare I say Holy Presence, flash in the eyes of our Golden Dave.
"We didn't notice when the plague took our loved ones! We listened to the scientists and the politicians who told us it was just another bump in the road!"
It was true.
"We didn't see, when the Bear and the Dragon, the Chinese and the Russians, crushed their way through every continent they could walk onto!"
It was true. Only the sanctum of Isreal and the American Alliance now stood against the superpower. Thank God for Strategic Reserves and decomissioned Nukes.
"Did we see the signs when the Government microchipped our children with the Mark of the Beast?! Did we embrace the Prophets, or learn the Plague's true meaning? Did we not notice the Reign of Satan in the face of Islam?!"
I smell fear from Rob next to me, old bacon in a drafty refrigerator. He can't move and he's terrified. Dave is screaming, but coherent, a raging beacon of sanity. I see the halo of prophecy around him and wonder how I could ever have noticed his body.
"We did not see the new Jerusalem in the colony ship! We damned the explorers to hell for their courage and God went with THEM!" He smashes his hand down on the pulpit, on the Bible. Unbelievably, the tempered glass breaks. Dave is silent a moment. A wet dribble taps the floor at his feet.
I can see William in the sound booth, his hands frantic on the control boards. I see the panic in his eyes from a football field away and behind the flaring stage lights.
The penny drops. Will can't turn off Dave's Mic.
The cameramen have all stopped struggling to turn off their machines, to point away anything that isn't a handheld. The mounted machines all turn of their own volition and hold our terrible true Prophet in fierce focus. I am in the presence of holiness, and if I could fall and weep aloud I would. A phrase rebounds in my head IHaveNoMouthAndIMustScreamIHaveNoMouthAndIMustScreamIHaveNoMouthAndIMustScream over and over and overandoverandover and I cannot fall unconscious because my hammering heart keeps pushing blood to my brain against my will.
Dave's bloody hand is in the air and commands my eyes.
"We are all lost now." He lifts his head to the audience. There is blood on his face as well. Jesus, there is blood coming out of his pores to mix with the bourbon. GodChristAlmighty, Gethsemane and Rome, all that's missing is the giant cross behind me falling on his shoulder to be carried up the aisle.
"This Church, this building. It has lost its purpose. My career, my education, my hard work, my God-Damned life, is meaningless now." He is moaning. I have a vision of sackcloth and ashes, of Job and Mary and the first David.
"This Tree, this Cross, this life-giving place that I and my team have built, that you as my family has supported and enjoyed, we all…” his tone changes from heartbreak to lecture… ”missed the boat. We have planted too late and on the wrong side of the mountain, and now the desert has come to claim our orchards."
I hear the words in my head in the voice of a falling mountain now as Dave's luscious, cracking voice echoes my thoughts.
"We are now longer a church. We are now and forever an orphanage. Our father is gone."
And then Dave stops talking, but all ears in the audience hear the final words of the sermon, the final words of Christendom, and the beginning of the end of history.
"I have spoken to God. He has abandoned us."
| 24 | "I have spoken to god. He has abandoned us." | 30 |
It is cold as I walk home through streets of Chicago. Not like St Petersburg cold, but still, cold for this country. I remember back in Russia, one year it was so cold that all pipes froze and so city had no water. I went with my brother Vladamir and we went out to river with hand drill.
Others out there on river too, trying to do what we do, drill through ice to fresh water. Vlad hands me bottle of vodka and says that we take turns, one drinks and the other cuts ice. So I took swigs and Vlad turn the hand crank and then we swap. After few minutes we swap back and I ask where all vodka is and he is 'after 5 minutes? Vodka now halfway to piss!'
That was cold winter, this is nothing, river has ice but not frozen solid, roads all clear and food in shops. In Russia we call this winter for babies - where little kids go out and play in street and not even lose toes.
It has been long day today - shift started at 5am and now it nearly ten at night. I not mind much, as work is good and docks pay well but still, I am tired and looking forward to getting home. Before home though I want food, it has been long time since I ate hot meal and I know that local diner will be open still. Big meals, fill you up good after day of work.
I kick through slush until I get to diner. Funny, in Russia I never see slush, either ice or snow - must be American thing from all the cars. I get to diner and go in, quiet as normal but I like it like that. I sit at bar and waitress, Shirley, comes over.
"What'll it be hon? You lookin' for a meal or just some coffee?"
"I need a man's meal Shirley." To make my point my stomach growls loudly - it must be able to smell food too.
Shirley laughs "No problem hon, take a seat and I'll bring you up a big combo - should be enough to keep even a big boy like you well fed."
I smile in thanks, big combo is needed on night like tonight. I could use Vodka to keep out cold but I promise Vlad before I leave that I will stay sober in America. I do not need the same trouble that made me leave Russia.
I sit and look around, diner is empty, or almost. In far booth a I see small figure, bend over, not moving. Not my business and so I pick up nearby paper and try to read. I am better now at reading that I was but not good still. After few minutes I put paper down, at least I know scores so can keep up in conversation tomorrow.
A noise surprises me from the booths and I look over. The figure I see before, a young girl, looks up. I see her face, it is wet with teas and her make-up has run. She looks at me and then looks away, the pain in her eyes has hit me though. I promise Vlad I would not get mixed up with girls but I cannot help it, young girl in pain makes my heart hurt.
"Excuse me." I stand next to the table, I have taken off my hat and rub my head nervously, my hair has been gone many years. The girl looks up at me, she cannot be more than thirteen or fourteen. Same age as my sister when I leave Russia.
"I'm sorry, I so not mean to disturb you." She looks away through the window. I fiddle with my hat and can see tears still running down her face.
"Are you okay?" I try to make my voice soft. I am told accent makes me sound like a Hollywood villain but I cannot help it. "You look so sad." I wish I could speak to her in Russian, my ideas come out clumsy in English but it seems to work a bit. She looks back at me and I see her eyes are deep red, many hours of crying.
"It's really okay, I just have had a...a rough day."
She has no food and just a coffee in front of her. "Can I buy you pie?" I ask. She seems nervous but seems to realise I am not trying to be creep. She doesn't say no and so I wave at Shirley and ask for a slice of her nicest pie for the girl. Shirley brings over the pie and hesitatingly I slip into the booth.
"You look like you need someone to talk to? I am complete stranger. Anything you tell me, what can it matter, after tonight we never see each other again?"
She looks me over, I am tall, bald, strong and Russian. This American girl should probably run away, but her need to talk seems to overwhelm any fear she might have. When it comes it come in a gush.
"His name was Peter. I thought he was a good guy but he was a scumbag. I met him six months ago online and he just seemed perfect. I've never felt like this before and my parents didn't like it and I didn't know what to do so he said come here and I came and not I am here and he just want to... use me. He... did thing."
She fell silent and looked down, tears fell from her face. I reached out hand and gently touched her chin.
"It okay, we all make mistake sometimes. Things can get better I promise. I am sure parents will take you back."
She looked up. "He has everything. All my stuff, all my things, my money, everything. I just ran and I the cops didn't want to help and... and...."
"Shhhh, it okay." I no longer felt all that hungry but Shirley was coming out of the kitchen with a platter and I waved her over. "Another plate please for my friends" The girl looked up. "First we eat and then you take me to meet this *Peter* and we shall ask nicely for your things.
Shirley had emptied the tray onto the table. "Sounds like a good deal to me hon, you've been here for hours, might as well see if Rusky here can help."
I smiled and pushed the food closer to the girl. "First we eat, no need to go into cold without full belly. Not that this is cold. In Russia, now, let me tell you about cold..." | 90 | Why do large, bald Russian men keep trying to comfort me? | 140 |
*Still no flying cars,* the gentleman scribbles in a leatherbound notebook, seemingly oblivious to how much of a spectacle he is in the middle of the road in the middle of Times square. The machine behind him, something akin to a hobbyhorse with far too many gears and pipes, sputters and coughs, and he uses the notebook to fan the smoke away from his contraption.
Satisfied, he pats down his coat, and addresses the crowd that has formed around him: “Greetings! I do hope you understand my dialect. If my calculations are correct, this is the distant future.” There is a murmur in the crowd, “Could somebody be so kind as to tell me what is today’s date.”
The crowd remains too shocked to respond; even the taxi driver that veered into a hot dog stand to avoid hitting the metal thing that suddenly appeared in a puff of smoke remained silent. A businessman stepped forward, “It is October 9th, two thousand and fourteen, at about,” he glances at his watch, “Eleven in the morning.”
The gentleman pauses for a moment, counts silently on his fingers, and then yells, “Eureka! I did it! I am the world’s first time traveler!” He tosses his notebook haphazardly towards the time machine, grabbing the business man by the wrists and spinning him around like a dame, chanting “I did it! I did it! I did it!” His hat flies off his head, which a elderly man places upside down on the ground in front of him, and a small collection of money begins to form for this dazzling street performance.
The gentleman stops abruptly, leaving the businessman to spin once or twice before regaining composure. “Tell me!” The gentleman yells, “Is my name forever endowed in history? Am I the father of time travel?”
“There’s no such thing!” The businessman yells. Two police cruisers have arrived on the scene and begin parting the crowd.
“What?” The gentleman asks.
“There is no such thing as time travel!” The businessman responds vigilantly.
“But, look here, this is the first time travelling machine, its maiden voyage. As soon as I return, time travel will be a common occurrence, like the lightbulb or the tellie-- What’s this? Unhand me you brutes!”
Two tall men, wearing black suits and dark shades, grab the man by the arms, and yank him into a police cruiser that has driven through the parting of the crowd. In the moments that follow, police, firemen, and more tall men in dark suits arrive on the scene, and a hazmat team stores the machine on an unmarked van. The News reports a car crash with no injuries on 8th street near Times Square.
A small child picks up a leatherbound notebook, before being ushered away by the police. | 357 | A time traveller from the 1930's travels to modern day in his time machine and wonders why his invention never caught on. | 601 |
“Welcome to the 27th Starvation Games,” echoed a disembodied from above, the trees shaking with each syllable. “Pledges, please prepare for initiation. Good luck.”
Carl placed his left hand flat against the clear plastic cylinder surrounding him, his eyes locked on the grass below his feet. He’d been indoors just seconds ago, half asleep and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. He’d had plans that day, goals and tasks he’d hoped to accomplish. Specifically, he was hoping to buy some weed. Yet now he was encased in a mysterious tube at some sort of competition, his bowl of Lucky Charms still held in his right hand. He glanced over to his left, spotting Dave. Apparently he, too, had been removed from their district housing and brought to this gathering.
“Begin,” erupted the voice from above. The plastic tubes sunk into the ground, a brisk, spring air rushing against Carl’s face. Several people, men and women no older than twenty-five, dashed forward, running toward some sort of mess of equipment several hundred feet away. Carl turned to Dave, who was brushing some dust off his vintage Bob Marley t-shirt.
“Where are we?” Carl said, slowly making his way over to Dave. A pained scream echoed from the direction of the equipment.
“I think we’re in a forest,” Dave said. Carl turned his head to the left and stared at the mass of trees surrounding them, which filled every gap except for the area immediately surrounding the equipment pile. Considering how many trees there were, Carl agreed they were likely in a forest.
“Cool,” Carl said, grabbing the spoon from his bowl of Lucky Charms and plunging it back into the cereal. It had gotten pretty soggy.
“Hey,” said a voice from behind Carl. He turned around, spoon now lodged between his lips, mouth filled with Lucky Charms.
“Hi,” Carl said, swallowing. There didn’t seem to be anyone there.
“Who are you guys? I didn’t see you during training.”
“I’m Carl,” he said. “And that’s Dave. He’s my roommate.” Carl took another bite of the Lucky Charms.
“Why did you two skip the training?” the voice repeated.
Carl shrugged. He had just gotten a job at the local factory, but both he and Dave had skipped last night’s safety seminar in order to practice their passion of smoking weed. It was weird that they had been illegally teleported to the next safety meeting, and that the factory had been relocated out of the dusty, grey of their district, instead into a lush, green forest populated by violent youths. It was also weird that there didn’t seem to be any factory nearby. Still, it wasn’t the weirdest thing ever. That title belonged to a bird he once saw while incredibly high, which he swore was speaking to him in Pig Latin. He didn’t even understand Pig Latin, yet it made perfect sense to him at the time.
“Didn’t think I needed it,” he said. He was pretty confident his safety abilities were already up to par, and figured skipping the session wouldn’t really do much for his career. He knew he’d probably not amount to anything, as was typical for the people who lived in the Districts. Maybe if he had been born in The New City he’d have put in a bit more effort, but part of him was glad he hadn’t. The weed was significantly better in the Districts, even if there were considerably more City-mandated beatings.
“Really? Do you want to team up with me, then?”
“For safety?” Carl said. He turned toward Dave and shrugged. “I guess,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Great,” said the voice. “We can—watch out!”
Carl turned his head as a thin, long object spiraled past his chest and directly into the bowl of Lucky Charms in his hand, knocking it onto the floor.
“Hey,” he shouted, “I was eating that.” He stared down at the object. It appeared to be some kind of spear, a sharp, metal point fastened to its front.
“Are you okay?” said the voice from earlier.
“Kind of,” Carl said, lightly kicking the spilled, soggy cereal. He was pretty much done with it anyway, so it wasn’t too big of a loss.
“You can have some of mine,” Dave said, pushing his bowl toward Carl.
“No way,” Carl said, squishing his face in disgust. Dave ate his cereal without milk, which was positively disgusting. He’d rather suffer premature completion of his Lucky Charms than be forced to chew the dry, flakey husks of what could only loosely be considered food.
“We need to get out of the open,” said the voice. Carl turned back toward its source, the trees behind still baring nothing but the emerald hue of the newly budded leaves.
“Are you a ghost?” Carl said, studying the emptiness ahead of him for any sign of humanity. He hated ghosts, even though he’d never met one. He knew he was being judgmental, but they were just too spooky.
“What? No,” said the voice, pausing suspiciously, “I’m not a ghost.” Carl was pretty confident that he was talking to a ghost.
“Then why can’t I see you?” Carl said. He’d once thought Dave had turned into a ghost after they’d gotten incredibly high before a walk through the forbidden remains of the Old City. Carl could hear him speaking, yet, no matter how hard he tried, was unable to see him. He concluded he had died and become a ghost. However, after a few minutes of panic, he discovered Dave was actually standing just behind him, which explained why he could not see him.
“I’m right here,” said a figure emerging from the trees a few feet ahead. Its face was painted in a dark brown camouflage, almost the exact same hues as the forest behind it. Likewise, its entire outfit seemed to be chosen specifically to look as tree-like as possible.
“You look like a tree,” Dave said through a full mouth, spoon dangling from between his pursed lips. “Speaking off, do you know where we can get some trees?”
“Good question,” Carl said, nodding toward Dave. Just because they had been teleported to a safety seminar didn’t mean Carl had to abandon the day’s plan. He could still pick up some weed before his training.
“Yes, but we need to get the paint from some of these other guys, they already got all the supplies from—incoming!” shouted the tree, raising its branch-like arm and pointing behind Carl. He turned, facing the direction the tree had signaled. A man was charging at him, a sword clutched between his hands. He was shirtless, his muscular chest tensed as he rushed toward him.
“Hello,” Carl said, waving toward the fast-approaching man. This must be that weed guy the tree had mentioned.
The shirtless man yelled with a deep bellow, a familiar war-cry he’d heard countless times from the rebels that protested and rioted against the New City guards. Their screams tended to turn to death rattles, though, as they were all mercilessly slaughtered.
The man raised his sword higher as his feet pounded against the ground, then lowered it and pointed it directly at Carl. It was a very strange way to sell somebody weed, but he trusted that the tree knew what it was talking about. If anyone knew where to buy trees, it would certainly be a tree.
“I’d like to buy some weed,” Carl said, just as the man stepped into the spilled Lucky Charms no more than several inches away from his face. His feet slipped forward, the sword coming loose from his grip and launching straight into the air as he fell onto his back. He lifted his hands to his head, crossing his arms over his face. The sword turned over in the air, then plummeted straight down. The blade pierced his hands, entering his skull and splitting it open.
“Nicely done,” shouted the tree. “That was Drake from District 9, the toughest they got!”
“You okay?” Carl said, kneeling down and studying the man’s shattered skull. He was probably fine. He also probably had weed. Carl glanced up at Dave, who apparently had the same idea and was now approaching the body. He knelt down and nodded at Carl. The two of them began digging through the man’s pockets, searching for the bag of marijuana he surely had. The tree wandered over and joined in.
“Here,” the tree said, reaching out its branch-arm and handing them two small knives he’d taken from the body.
“What’s this?” Carl said, grabbing the knife and examining it. He pulled on the handle. No weed came out.
“Just a knife,” the tree said. “It’s not much, but it will hold you over until we can get to the better stuff. One of you can also have the sword.”
“No thanks,” Carl said, tossing the knife aside and glancing over at Dave. “We need some trees, though.”
“Right, the paint.” The tree resumed digging through the man’s belongings. “He has to have some on him—ah, here.” He reached out his branch-arm, a small flask of some kind resting in the middle of his sweaty, slightly pink palm. Carl grabbed it with his left hand.
“Nice,” he said, using his right hand to dig through his pockets for his lighter and rolling papers. “I so need this.” He pulled the paper out first, grabbing two sheets and setting them on top of each other over the grass on the ground.
“What are you doing?” said the tree.
“Hang on, I’ll roll you one after,” he said. He opened the tube and carefully tilted it over the rolling paper. A thick, brown liquid oozed out, soaking the paper and spilling over onto the grass below. “What the hell is this?” Carl said.
“Paint,” the tree said, standing up and staring out into the distance as another blood-curdling scream echoed through the air. “We need to move, we’re still in the open.”
“I thought you were getting us some weed,” Carl said.
“What?”
*(Continued below.)*
| 175 | In a dystopian future like in The Hunger Games or Divergent, two stoners are just looking to get some weed. | 330 |
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" She looked up at me from her book and then glanced at the seat next to her, shook her head and went back to reading.
I busied myself with sitting down, taking off my scruffy coat, folding it round my umbrella and putting it above the seats in the storage area about the seats.
I think I take trains so much because I don't like to be rushed. In airports you're always being pushed and pulled one way or another. Standing in big long lines and slowly shuffling forward while you wait your turn. Trains are so much simpler. Show up five minutes before, walk on and sit down.
Today I was treating myself, first class from London to Manchester. Normally I would have been back in cattle class but the upgrade had only been £5 and I'd given in to the ticket man's pestering. I settled down in the seat, making sure not to spill over to the girl next to me and reflexively let out a sigh.
She glanced across and I thought I saw a small smile play across her lips. I suppose I probably had sounded a little like an old man settling into a comfy seat but it was just so relaxing to know that for the next four hours my travel was taken care of and I could read. At 27 maybe I was getting old enough to enjoy a good sit.
In my little satchel I had three diversions. A book, *Life of Pi* which my flatmate had loaned me, my small work laptop which was full of unreplied to e-mails and finally what I really wanted, a small sketchbook and a few soft leaded pencils.
I hovered for a moment and waited to see if guilt would spur me to take out the laptop but it seemed absent so with relief I pulled out my sketches. I flipped through till I found what I was looking for - a half finished sketch of a watermill I had been working on a few days before.
I'd seen it a summer ago and now wish I had taken a picture but at the time it had been sunny and warm and I hadn't wanted to stop. It had stuck in my mind though and so I was slowly recreating it from memory. The big wheel was deeply satisfying to slowly build into the drawing and it was this I started on now.
After a few moments I was lost and it was only when the girl next to me moved that I realised she had been watching me sketch. I glanced up and she looked away and then looked back.
“That’s lovely – sorry for peeking.”
I looked over, now she had spoken to me I had permission top glance, whereas before it might have seemed rude. She was quite lovely. Her face was soft and oval, dark, slightly curling hair falling across her face and she kept pushing it back behind her ear. She was slightly elfin and very cute. For some reason I pictured her naked and I blushed deep red.
“I’ve embarrassed you – sorry again.” She sounded upset and I needed to talk, to say *something*.
“No, it’s okay, I just had… I was just… no it’s fine. Sorry.” It was not my best ever start to a conversation and my mind screamed at my mouth to say something better. “It’s a watermill.” I could feel my brain slow clapping my mouth at its brilliance of description and I felt the blush building again.
“It’s really lovely, where is it.”
“Cumbria.” I managed without adding anything stupid. “I was biking through with a friend and we came across it was it was too lovely to stop so I am trying to build it in my mind again.”
“You’re really talented.” She turned back to the book she was reading. I glanced again and couldn’t believe it – she was readying *Life of Pi*.
“Er, sorry but it’s a funny coincidence, you’re reading the same book as me.” I pulled open my satchel and showed her, making sure she could see I didn’t have dozens of books in there that I used to start conversations with random girls.
“Where are you?”
“Pretty far in, are you at the vegetation island?”
She frowned “Not yet.”
“Oh God, sorry, well, that’s not a huge spoiler.”
She smiled. “It’s okay.” She seemed to think for a moment and then extended her hand “I’m Katie.”
“I’m Roger.” I took her hand and it was cool and soft.
“So Roger, what do you do when you’re not drawing mills or spoiling books for girls?”
I could feel another blush coming, my third in less than five minutes and my first for maybe 15 years. “I’m an architect, how about you?”
“Still a student. Studying Art History.” It was her turn now to pull open her bag and it was full of books with titles like *Behind van Gogh *
“Oh man, I wish you hadn’t seen my picture now!” I started to close the sketch book but she put her hand on it to stop me.
“No, please!” I looked down, her hand was on top of mine – I looked up and met her eyes. She smiled and left her hand there for a moment before slowly withdrawing it.
There was a moments silence and then her voice full of mischief she turned fully to me and put down her book. “Show me your drawings.”
I did as told.
| 27 | We've all met a person with whom we naturally "click." Write a dialogue between a man and a woman who click so well, they can't stop talking to each other. | 36 |
Velok, as they called him, wandered ahead of his search group through the massive dunes of the American Desert. Standing tall on his rear legs, he covered his face with his cloak so the heavy winds would stop pelting his cheeks with sand. Legend says that this now barren wasteland spanning almost the entire western hemisphere used to be teeming with life.
Velok thought about the stories he was told as a young one, about the prosperous country that became so obsessed with its own power that it threw the whole planet into a nuclear war. Back when Man was still the dominant form of life on Earth, Velok's species was weak to their power. His kind had grown over the years to become the new leader, as their resilience to the nuclear fallout proved to be their saving grace. It was hard to imagine all the different lives that existed over so much time, up until the final Earth War that would end nearly all life on what was once a thriving planet. So many footsteps were taken right where he was walking, but were now replaced with miles upon miles of fine sand and dust.
As he trekked the path towards the most massive dune in sight, he stumbled upon a strange object in the sand in front of him. Looking down, it was hard to see because it had been buried for an unknown number of years. He thought it strange to find something so foreign-looking in such a deserted place, where the only thing spanning both horizons was the sand under his feet. Picking it up, he could feel that it was softer inside than on it's crusty, sandy shell. Although it was coated with thousands of years of dust, there was still somewhat of a transparent element to it. He brushed off what he could, held the object up against the light of the sun and could see right through it.
"Grenyl must see this. He will like this," Velok thought to himself. He turned towards the direction he was coming from and could see the rest of his search party far off in the distance. It didn't take long for him to scurry back to the group, and when he arrived he was out of breath and excited.
"Look what I found!" exclaimed Velok. "What on Earth could be so exciting out here in the desert?" his superior asked. Velok said, "This... this device must be some sort of magnifying object. Probably used so many years ago to look deep into the night sky, or maybe to see the microscopic world that was invisible to the naked human eye!" "Nonsense," said Grenyl, "I'm sure it is nothing but some glass that was molded by the wind and sands over time." Velok replied, "But sir, the inside is soft, and no sand that I know of can be soft!" as his point was proven when the sand continued to pelt the entire group like a million tiny missiles.
"Let me see it," demanded Grenyl. He took the piece into his own hands and held it close to his face. A grin slowly started to appear where his stern, straight lips previously sat. "I know what this is." He proclaimed confidently. The rest of the group gathered closer to find out what the mysterious object could be. "Dude, you found a fake titty lol" | 37 | 2,000,000 A.D., humanity is long gone, a new species is just becoming intelligent enough to form a civilisation. An individual discovers a lost human artefact in the desert and argues to his superiors it isn't natural | 98 |
"... about two hours in the recovery room and you'll be able to walk out on your own. You shouldn't operate any vehicles today, but by tomorrow you will be able to. Avoid heavy exertion for the next two weeks."
I listened halfheartedly to the nurse's explanation. She'd been over this the last time I was in the office.
"Just have a seat here and we'll start with something to calm you down a bit. We'll use the main sedative once we enter the OR."
The nurse gave the injection with a practiced hand and sat down in a corner to wait for it to take effect. A tall man with graying hair opened the door and walked in.
"I'm Doctor Tralls, and I'll be performing the operation today." I dutifully shook his hand. "Looks like we're mostly ready to go, so hop up on this stretcher and we'll take you to the operating room"
Something about the doctor seemed familiar. I couldn't quite place it, but I felt like I knew him. Things were starting to feel a bit cloudy around the edges and I was feeling a bit talkative.
"Have we met before, doc?" I asked as we rolled past a swinging door.
"No, I'm a specialist in this operation, you wouldn't have met me before now" They fitted the anesthesia mask around my face. My fogged mind wouldn't let it go and I kept looking at him.
Then it hit me (hazily). I had mugged the guy. Not even an hour before hand. Just needed some cash in a hurry, I had just grabbed the nearest well-dressed person, forced him into an alley, and stolen his wallet.
I tried to struggle, but my limbs stayed perfectly still. Even my eyes were stuck staring straight ahead.
The doctor looked down into them and I saw his eyes crinkle with vicious amusement.
"Patient is under" he said, pushing my eyelids closed "Starting operation". I felt the scalpel press against my skin and then all was silent screaming.
| 28 | A man steals another man's wallet. Within the hour he has found the man he stole from to return the wallet, but not for the reason you may think... | 43 |
I'm glad to be a bread mage. My skills include sifting flour with a wave of my hand, baking a perfect French baguette with little more than a few strands of wheat and a little water, or, in my more advanced spells, I can summon fresh bread in a pinch.
I have a few students, others born with my powers. My youngest, Fikra, is about six. Her mother saw she was a mage, and delivered her to our order, so she wouldn't be found. Fikra is still learning her basic white breads, how to keep it from overcooking...
Julius is my sullen middle child. He is frustrated by the wars the King has, and it shows. Sometimes I find rye inside his baguettes, it shows he's not fully focused casting the spells. But he shows a lot of talent, and I know he will make a good instructor one day.
My eldest is Edith. Edith actually isn't actually a bread mage, but she studies our order. She will be the historian of The Circle, as is the tradition that one unaltered by magic should write our accounts. She's very responsible, and her ordinary scent keeps us safe here.
Oh, did I mention the King is massacring all mages? He's already killed the Wind Master and her five students, they were the first to go. I haven't heard from the Earth guardians in a long time, I think they're gone too. Rumors that come in to our little bakery all say the Fire mages have scorched half the land, and are barely able to defend themselves anymore. The only mages I do speak to anymore are the Sun Mages. The King keeps them on lock down (he won't kill them, they control the sun). The more obscure masters seemed to have wisely disappeared, just like i have.
I'm glad to be the Bread Master. We are very safe here in our little bakery. We won't be tortured like the others. Maybe it's best to just forget we even are special at all....
| 211 | You are part of a powerful order of mages. Some control fire, others, water. You however... Have the power of bread. That's right, you're a bread mage. Tell me about your day. | 313 |
"Wait what do you mean you gave it all away?" Saint Peter asked with a confused look on his face. The man began again to describe the poverty and hunger in the world and how he had given his fortune away to help feed as many people as possible. "Yeah I fucking heard you the first time dipshit I just can't believe you could be that dense." The man was shocked to say the least at the language from the saint but he attempted to defend himself until saint Peter cut him off again except this time he was speaking into a phone he had pulled out of nowhere. "Yeah the one you read about on the news that idiot gave all of it away- no not to the church to some goddamned poor people like Jesus Christ what a friggin dumbass am I right?" The man suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his gut as the saint hung up and looked at him with a mix of disappointment and anger on his face. "Alright let me tell you how it is," the saint began suddenly, "God's in some deep shit alright no pussyfooting around it. He's way behind on some payments basically heaven's been banking on all your money for a while now... like for the past fifty years you've been heaven's only chance." The man was dumbfounded he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Th-that's not possible there's no possessions in heaven no money no... Oh my god what have I done?" "You fucked up big," The saint said with a frown, "But I guess that's the breaks. Alright as long as you have no money and you're new here why don't you just head in? Oh and fair warning do your best not to see the Big Guy on the streets once he finds out he's gonna be pissed. Ha! Well I guess they were right when they said the meek shall inherit the Earth, except apparently they're taking heaven too." The saint began to laugh and flew up into the air fading into the clouds.
The man turned quickly as he heard the doors of what had once been a beautiful gate open behind him. He stumbled through the gates and walked slowly down the streets. He kept walking until he saw a sign for a homeless shelter. He stepped inside and took a seat in what appeared to be a waiting area. Suddenly beautiful blonde women walked out and greeted him with kind eyes and an open smile. "Please come in sir we have a spot waiting for you." The man followed her inside and found a hard bed with no pillow or blanket. "It's the best we could do on such short notice," She said quietly. "It'll do," he said with a sigh. He slept poorly that night and was haunted by thoughts of what was in store for him in this place he had dreamed of since childhood. He woke up barely rested and surrounded by scraggly men with old torn clothes on. There was an old TV playing reruns of Supernatural and some of the men appeared to be eating cheerios. The man got up and grabbed a bowl walking over to his bed he began to eat quietly doing his best to avoid eye contact. Suddenly four large men with humongous golden wings came in and shoved a bag over his head.
The next thing he knew he was in a humongous yet decrepit throne room where three men were seated in a row. They talked to him in booming voices but he didn't hear anything they said. He was too busy staring at their familiar yet terrifying faces. He had no idea how he knew each of them apart but it was very clear that he was looking into the eyes of the biggest enigma of his life. What had fueled his faith for his entire life was speaking to him with such rage that he almost started crying right there but he kept it together. "Do you understand what we're saying to you?" The man just nodded at all of them not really sure which one had asked him and swallowed heavily fearing he had agreed to something terrible. "Well than let’s open the doors." As the middle one said this, angels by the hundreds began to file into the small throne room. As they all came in the room almost seemed to expand to fit all of them, it would have been amazing if the man hadn't been terrified.
Slowly, the man seated to the right stepped up and drew his sword from his belt. "It gives me great displeasure to be forced to do this my brother but you have left us with no choice." The sword came up to the man's neck as he finished his sentence but was stopped suddenly by a scream. "Wait!" The man yelled desperately as all of his tears came out abruptly. "Where will I go? What happens after this? Please don't, please!" The former carpenter brought his arms down with a mighty swing that shocked everyone in the room.
Where his body fell a pool of blood began to bubble and eventually boil until a sleek figure rose from the steam. He looked around slowly smiling and bellowing laughter his eyes rested on the middle throne. "This is one of many payments I am due father," the sound of his voice pierced the ears of each angel in attendance and a shudder ran through the crowd. He turned again and sniffed the air quickly, "It's so good to see the old place after all this time," he hissed quietly as he began to sink back into the blood knowing he'd be back soon for the next poor soul who walked through those rusty gates.
EDIT: Sorry to anyone who read this with the shitty formatting and grammar I didn't have a chance to fix anything until today. Hopefully this is better.
| 31 | A billionare goes to heaven after donating his entire fortune to charity. This bites him in the ass when it turns out money is extremely important in heaven. | 116 |
“I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” I ask, fumbling my fork through the mound of pasta on my plate.
There is something that is strange about my date but I can’t quite put my finger on it. He seems like a nice guy and we are hitting it off really well but I can’t shake this feeling that there is more to him than what meets the eye.
“Satan. Usually I only respond to ‘Almighty Diabolical Lord of Hell’ but I think I can make an exception for someone as cute as you.” He flashes me a devilish grin and I can’t help but to melt into a pile of goo. He’s smooth, all right.
“That’s an… interesting name. I can’t say that I have met anyone else with it.”
“I would hope not. Otherwise I would have to crush them and their family like maggots for daring to measure up to my greatness.”
I laugh at his joke but he remains straight-faced as if he was serious. I hope I didn't offend him.
“What’s so funny?”
“Oh I just thought of a silly joke from earlier. So, what do you do in your free time?” I divert the conversation from the brief awkwardness.
“I capture the souls of the wicked and punish them for eternity in the most torturous ways possible.”
“So you’re lawyer, huh?”
“Something like that.” He tugs at his collar, taking a quick glance around the room.
He has been doing the same thing every few minutes at the table of nuns on the other side of the restaurant. When we got here he practically demanded that we sit as far as possible from them. In fact when one walked past our table when she was going to the restroom he broke out in a huge sweat like he ran a marathon.
“That’s pretty cool. Are you from around here?”
“No I’m not. I actually lived south of here in a place called Hell. Fire, brimstone, and misery as far as the eye can see. Lots of people avoid it at all costs but I like it.”
“Really? You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.”
“I… get that a lot.”
“So why did you move here then? I mean the scenery is nice and all but it is a huge leap.”
“Work, for the most part.” He once again takes his habitual glance around the room.
I try to keep the conversation going but it is clear that he is uncomfortable. Am I being too clingy? Maybe my questions are too bland.
“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. I always seem to screw up first dates for some reason.”
“What?” He cocks his head in confusion. “You’re totally fine. In fact I’m having a great time. I’m just not the best conversationalist.”
“Oh good,” I sigh in relief. “Then why don’t we leave and go explore the park nearby. I hear that there is a petting pen with the cutest lambs.” His eyes widen with childish glee in response.
“I love lambs! They make the best sacrifices.”
I observe him for any indication of a joke but once again am met with his sincerity. Is there something that I’m missing?
“You’re sense of humor is kinda weird. I like that.”
I signal the closest waiter for our bill. When they arrive for it, Satan and I reach for it at the same time. I can’t resist the urge to blush when our hands brush past each other. Naturally, I do same thing that I do on every date.
“I got the bill. Don’t worry about it. You can cover the next one.” I reassure him with a coy wink as I try to maneuver it towards me.
“No, let me.” He insists, blocking my hand.
“Really, I got it.”
Apparently this doesn't go well for him because he becomes irate. His skin turns scarlet, burning my hand with the scorching heat it radiates. His eyes cloud over with fire, a murderous intent gleaming in them. When he opens his mouth I see the twin rows of razor sharp teeth that jut from his blackened gums.
“I WILL INCINERATE EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR IF YOU CONTINUE TO RESIST MY SIGN OF AFFECTION FOR YOU.”
“Sure thing.” I say, meekly pulling my hand away from the check. Seeing that I’m compliant, his demeanor returns to how it was before in an instant.
“Sorry,” He mops the foamy drool from his mouth with a napkin. “I’m taking anger management classes but they don’t seem to be doing much good.”
Anger issues? That is one check on my bad list. If I learned anything from my last relationship, it’s spontaneous demonic episodes lose their charm quickly.
“So,” Satan rests his chin on fist. “Tell me more about these lambs.” | 17 | You realize you're on a date with Satan, which goes both good and bad. | 23 |
"So, it's been a while..."
The rain drowned out the sounds of the world, drawing a heavy line under the silence that came in reply. He sighed, heavy with regret.
"It was a busy time, you know. And what was the point? It was too late already."
He shifted uncomfortably, and pulled the collar of his coat tight against the icy fingers of rainwater clawing at his neck.
"The work was important. That research saved lives."
He could feel his face getting wet despite the brim of his hat.
"I should have come earlier. Much earlier. It was just... harder, after missing that."
A moment's lull, and then another. The words seemed to slip further from his grasp the longer it lasted.
"I don’t know how to do this. It was the same with mother." He was muttering to himself now, silently cursing himself under every word. "You always have to make things so difficult."
He bent down awkwardly, feeling the ache in his back, and dropped the gas station flowers onto the grass. He gasped slightly as he stood again, looked for a long moment at the old and weathered inscription, then walked off among the headstones into the gloom. | 14 | Two brothers, twins, meet again at old age after they separated in dispute. One went to the army, the other to college. | 32 |
I shifted from one numb buttock to the other, slightly uncomfortably on my seat in the small office and contemplated whether asking for another cup of coffee was a good idea. It was hard to know how long I had been here as in heaven, time seemed to work a bit differently. The kindly receptionist had patiently explained that the reason the clock went between “F” and “143” was to do with 8 dimensional space and that once all this misunderstanding had been sorted out I would go through my induction and it’d all be much clearer.
I roughly estimated that it had been three days now. Normally a simple routine of when you slept and woke would have been one way to keep track but, again, it had been explained that in heaven things worked differently and again, it would be explained at induction.
I flicked listlessly through *Sport Fishing and Outdoors*, just one of the many magazines scattered across the low table, but I had read it three times now, cover to cover and so it had lost much of its initial interest, which was pretty low in the first place. I looked over the others and tried to think if I had gone through any less than four times but they were all now as intimate to me as any magazines ever were. *Woman’s Monthly*, *Readers Digest Home and Garden*, *Guns and Arrows* and my personal favourite *Kids puzzle weekly*, which I had now done front to back seven times, borrowing paper from Glenda the receptionist so I didn’t have to write on the magazine.
My left buttock began to complain and so it seemed like time for another walk. Standing and stretching I went thought my series of exercises. Bend down and up ten times, twist to each side ten times and swivel at the hips for a count of ten four times. Loosened up and leisurely began my saunter – past the table where my friends the magazines were waiting then on and past the three chairs in a row, the one on the far left with a dark blotch that I decided must have been from the original wood. I rounded the corner of the table and turned right, glancing left at Glenda and her desk which was as neat and tidy as ever. She ignored me, as she generally did and tapped away at her computer.
Along the short side of the room now, looking ahead at the picture on the wall of a boat and a fisherman, I paused to consider if my new knowledge from *Sport Fishing and Outdoors* could tell me anything more about the picture but alas I did not feel any more qualified. Another sharp right and past the four chairs on this side, all identical, blue padded seats, and then at the end a quick glance down to see if the toy chest had become untidied in the last twenty minutes or so since I last ordered it by colour.
Finally another right turn and it was just a quick shift along and back to my original seat, where I plopped myself down and looked at the magazines once more. The room was not more than four metres squared and held eight chairs, Glenda, her desk, a door behind her, a toy chest, one picture and me. I had stopped counting the number of times I had gone round, maybe hundreds. When you don’t sleep you have a lot of time to wait.
The sound of the door opening started both me and maybe even Glenda a bit. It had been a long time since the gentleman, Mr Brown as I wheedled out of Glenda, had come in last and asked me to be patient and just the sigh of someone new was slightly thrilling.
He coughed slightly “Sorry for the delay Mr Phillips we’ll see you now.” Adrenaline rushed into my throat and I jumped up, slightly stumbling over the table in my haste to get out.
I followed Mr Brown through the door and we went into another room, roughly the same size as the last but with a higher table, two chairs on one side and one on the other. I was directed into the single chair and Mr Brown took his place on the other side with a different woman. She was introduced as Ms Teach.
“Again, we’re sorry for the delay Mr Phillips, we do endeavour to make a decision within an hour but your case has been… a little tricky.”
He paused and looked at me expectantly. “Er, sorry?” I ventured at which he looked down at the papers in front of him before muttering to himself.
“Still not enough.” He looked up and lifted his voice again. “Honestly Mr Phillips the heaven decision board normally has a fairly easy time, people are good and they get in or bad and then go downstairs. You… you’re neither.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Well Mr Phillips you have done exactly the same amount of good and evil during your life and you are perfectly balanced. Trust me we looked at everything! You went to church but you also stole from the collection plate.”
I spluttered. “Well, yes when I was nine and I gave it back.”
“All goes on your permanent record Mr Phillips. You adopted stray animals but put out mouse traps.”
“Not really the same thing…” Mr Brown didn’t stop this time.
“You paid your taxes on time but played fast and loose with the rules, you never cheated on your wife but coveted your friend Jim’s wife an awful lot. Honestly, it goes on and on. We even started looking at how you behaved in the waiting room up here to find a tie breaker – you tidied the toy chest and then picked the varnish off the table!”
“Okay, so I am a tie, what does that mean?”
“Well, this is extremely rare and without a positive score we can’t let you go up.”
A sinking feeling plunged my stomach “So I go down?”
“Well, no, you don’t have a negative score either.”
“So what then?”
“Well, you stay here with us Mr Phillips. You go neither up nor down and so you’ll stay with us until something can be decided.”
“What will I do? I’ll go mad in there!”
“No, no Mr Phillips, that was just while you were waiting, you’ll have a job now.” He stood and gestured, please go with Ms Teach here and she’ll get you settled.
Ms Teach walked around the desk and took me to the door and we exited into the waiting room. At first glance it was the same room
Ms Teach finally spoke “Oh no Mr Phillips, that was Mr Brown’s waiting room, this is mine. You’ll be working for me in here as my secretary.”
“Secretary, but I was an engineer, there must be some other job, surely Glenda could cover your waiting room too?”
“I’m afraid there are no other job here for you to do, until a decision is reached you’ll be working here.”
“But if this is just a make weight job then why do you even employ Glenda?”
“Employ her? Oh no Mr Phillips, she’s just like you, she’s been waiting here for a decision to be made” With a bright smile she turned and stepped back through the door and was gone. I hurriedly opened the door but there was nothing behind it, just more wall.
Behind me a heard a cough “Er, hello? Am I dead?”
I turned and a man was standing looking confused. I sighed, “Please take a seat and someone will be with you soon.” I circled round behind the desk, at least I could see what was on the computer. I fired it up and after a while a spreadsheet appeared, I glanced up at the columns *Number of times circled the room*, *number of times read Sport Fishing and Outdoors*, *number of times read *Readers Digest Home and Garden*…
| 41 | When you die, the amount of good and bad deeds you have committed is calculated and you are placed respectively in heaven and hell. Unfortunately for you, you have committed an equal amount of good and bad deeds and have caused quite a bit of trouble amongst the gate keepers. | 39 |
The Fringlium door frame was heavy and I had to put all of my strength into heaving it open. Just because you discover a new element, doesn't mean it's any easier to move around!
It had been nearly a month since I sealed myself inside, alone with my lab equipment and Colin, my cat. It had been possibly the nicest month of my life and if all had gone to plan things should just keep getting nicer.
I suppose it all started when I was about six. My mother insisted I go to school, although it was clear that it was unneeded as I was already taking classes at the local University. I was forced to stay for three days and then after that they insisted I left. Those three days though *shudder* - worst of my life.
The children had been smelly and sticky and insisted on hitting each other instead of using language like reasonable humans. I had decided on day two, if I was to thrive then everyone else was going to have to go.
I wasn't easy by any means - I had no desire to kill everything, I am quite fond of many creatures - cats, sheep, kangaroos, some species of sparrow. No this had to be a targeted removal.
From 15 I was working at a small university, specialising on nuclear fusion. I'd cracked it several years before but after some experimenting I found it was the subject which would allow my to demand the most exotic supplies with the least questioning. Any time it looked like people were getting impatient I would reveal a little bit more of my old research into fusion and watch as the journals worked themselves into a froth about the "New coming of fusion". Ridiculous really, most of what I age them was only just right but they bought it nevertheless.
As time went on my resolve hardened and at last the final pieces clicked into place when I offered to built the new scanning satellite for the morons at the Pentagon. it was easy to ensure that all of my components were far to advanced for scrutiny and to manipulate my oversight into believing that they had perfect understanding. Humans are just to predictable.
At last, after six months of hard work it was ready and on July 9th the craft lifted off and danced towards orbit. At first it worked perfectly - beyond their wildest dreams in fact. I had ensured that the equipment needed for perfect resolution scanning was built into one of the lenses and so at once they got all the information they needed - enough to keep them busy for years in fact.
Meanwhile I completed my bunker in an uninhabited part of Canada. Steel, lined with lead and finally 2 inches of solid Fringlium - a new element I had whipped up to stop Fringolium radiation. It took six months to build, six months to equip with food and scientific equipment and then a final six months to put in cat flaps in all the internal doors as Colin hated being trapped in a room.
At last it was ready and six months before I had triggered the Fringolium radiation burst, pulled down the hatch and sealed in until the worst was over.
Now Colin and I casually wandered through the Canadian woods, heading for the Toronto. We passed towns and villages, all empty and perfectly preserved.
Colin meowed and I picked him up, his short legs tired.
"There, there Colin, rest up now, we have the whole world to explore." | 31 | You are the last human on the face of the earth, the entire human species has become extinct and you are responsible for it, this was no accident. | 37 |
I was there for first contact. I was a diplomatic aid with the UN delegation. It was utter panic co-ordinating everything behind the scenes. All of the petty demands from different world leaders. I was constantly on my phone co-ordinating this mess.
It didn't help that the extraterrestrials chose the mojave desert as their landing spot. Putting up wi-fi towers, and all of the communications infrastructure. The whole world wanted to watch.
But we didn't have much choice, it was clear we were outmatched on every level by these beings and their technology. We were lucky that all they wanted was to settle on our land for the moment. But I know my history, that's how the original colonials on plymouth rock started. This time, we were the natives.
This was a soft surrender, we were defeated, and every delegate was trying to prove that they were the biggest ant on the pile. It was sickening. But I had a job to do, and I did it.
The alien ships descended from on high, hundreds of them. They looked like a shoal of metallic jellyfish. The biggest one landed in front of our delegation.
The US president wanted to be first in line to meet our visitors, but then every head of state wanted that. It was then pointed out that they could all be lucky enough to become the first recipients of whatever space disease these creatures carried.
So a diplomatic committee of scientists and diplomats was formed, and guess what, i had to be there too. It was a last minute decision, and not everyone was informed about it. so even as I stood in front of the great big doors of the space ship, my phone vibrated with complaints from the British prime minister. Someone wasn't satisfied with their seating arrangements.
The door opened, and out they stepped. They looked surprisingly like us, except luminsecent green, slightly translucent skin, and antennae. A whole crowd of them came out. It was impossible to tell whether they were armed, or even wearing clothes. Those long flowing membranes could have been robes, or they could have been tendrils. Those could be weird claws, or they could have been laser guns.
They looked slightly unsteady on their feet as they approached. It was unsettling, watching them bump into eachother.
"Hail humans" said one of the creatures in near perfect english.
"Our armies are disembarking, you have no ch..chioice but to surrend.d.d.dd"
The creature stopped in it's tracks, burbling. In fact, they all had stopped. Some fell to their knees. The antennae on their heads had begun to turn a dark shade of black.
"Sooo much noi..se" it cried, before falling head first on the ground.
We didn't understand, it was completely quiet. I looked around, and saw that the other ships had disgorged similarly distressed aliens.
This wasn't going to plan at all, and in front of all of these live cameras. I had to do something, even if it meant getting imminently vaporised.
I walked up to the creature who had spoken to us, and tried to help it up. It looked at me, with an expression that I am sure was disbelief. I grasped its hands, strangely warm, to help it to its feet. Surely, this would be the most important day of my life.
We stood there in that moment, two beings from literally two different worlds, in embrace.
Then my phone rang, and its head exploded.
All of their heads exploded. | 41 | Aliens invade earth, but end up being defeated by an incredibly ridiculous flaw (for example, they're like flies and don't realize you can't fly through windows). | 34 |
My son ask where I have been for the last 14 years.
As reality washes over me it becomes clear that I have done much more than go "buy a cigarette". I suddenly recall my walk to the store taking me not around the corner, but around the world.
I remember running down the streets of Pamplona and being gored by a bull as I dive over a fence. It is at that moment that I suddenly feel agony of the residual pain in my chest from now healed wound. Trying to breathe once again, my son stroke my hand and smiles at me lovingly.
I am then thrust back to a memory of clinging onto the side of a snowy faced mountain in the Himalayas. Only, I am there alone after my guide and all other members of the expedition were engulfed by avalanche. My face displays the agony of my lungs failing as my oxygen is depleted.
My son grabs my arm as I seem to fall to my knees grasping my chest. My son demands for me to stay with him.
I once again retreat into a horrid memory. Now I am holding onto the side of a hand carved canoe floating down the Amazon river. I am attempting to re-enter the canoe as I feel unmistakable pain of hundreds of piranha ripping the flesh from my badly infected torso. I strain to kick and pull myself into the craft only to fall deeper into the water. I feel myself sliding into the murky abyss gasping for fresh air. Only, now the bites are becoming greater as I realize that a feeding frenzy is occurring and I am the chum inviting more predators.
Now lying on the ground, my son once again forces me into consciousness and pleads with me to hold on and fight to stay alive. "Don't give up!" are the only words I can understand him saying.
Then I am yanked back into my dreadful dream state and realize that I am now in the car I drove 14 years ago. I am screaming for help as the car begins to submerge into the flowing stream. I kick, yell and curse only to sit helplessly as the car reaches bottom. All is quiet except for the my breathing and the sound of water bubbles escaping from the crevices surrounding me. I realize that I must break the windows to escape. I kick one last time and the window gives way as I am deluged by the oncoming water. I take what may be my last breath and attempt to swim to the surface. The pressure in my ears is unbearable as I race for the surface. Seeing the glow of the light at the surface is so close, yet so far. I recognize that this is the end.
I return to my senses, but in a different state. I can hear everyone. My family and my friends surrounding me. All of them crying. Not tears of joy for seeing me once again after 14 years. But an outpouring of sadness. It is only then that I see myself. Lying in a hospital bed. No longer breathing on my own, but with the aid of a machine. A machine that has been extinguished. And with the removal of power I see myself fighting to breathe. Only there are no sounds other than the electronic sound of my heart fluttering. There is no movement as I desperately fight to breathe.
My crippled lungs are unable to gather enough oxygen to feed my brain any longer. It is only then do I realize that I am dying. The memories I experienced are not of adventures I had of traveling the world. They are of the torment of trying to capture a single breath every day for 14 years. 14 years of struggling to live after I chose to have another cigarette. 14 years of missing my son grow older due to my debilitating lung cancer.
The machine in the room goes silent as does this tale. But you should feel free to light up.
EDIT: Author added "e" to breath. | 2,106 | You came back to your house from buying a cigarette, and you found your son looks 14 years older, and he claimed that you left the family 14 years ago under the pretense of "buying a cigarette" | 1,338 |
I sat and waited, along with the rest of the growing audience, for the midnight premiere for the ultimate epic poem come to life on the big theater! I sat at the Delphi, and waited for the ultimate crossover event to come to life right in front of my eyes. "Antigonus, who do you think is gonna be in this play?"
"If its anything like what I heard, its going to be every single God they've had perform in recent theater history and a couple new ones! I even hear there's gonna be a cameo by Homer himself!"
"Oh well there's always a Homer cameo! Sometimes he doesn't even hide it. But I just like how the plays are really starting to cross into real world issues."
"Totally Galenos. If done right, this could be an actual portrayal of the Trojan War. The one we are supposed to see. I wanna see Zues and Ares duke it out so bad! Who do you think would win?"
"Yeah, like Ares is stupid enough to fight Zues. I just wanna see who Zues gets laid with this time."
"Of course Galenos, you only care about-"
"Care about the boobs," Why deny it? I love me some Aphrodite cleavage. But I bet Artemis isn't gonna be shy any longer with herself.
Just then, the trailers began.
"Coming soon to a theater near you!" The choir shouted at the audience, "He's an all powerful God, and he's just looking to have some fun. Coming next summer- Jupiter and Priapus! Rated PG-13"
I rolled my eyes, "Okay how are they gonna make that PG-13? That type of play has to be a hard R if they wanna do that."
"I agree. But then again the Roman universe wasn't ever really bold enough to let their characters be who they truly are in the poems."
"Seriously, they should take a note from the Greek universe."
Just then the girl sitting in front of me turned around and retorted, "Right, and give the rights to their popular characters to other companies like they did with Apollo to Egypt."
"Its not like their using the same name! Horus was totally used in case his poems didn't turn out as popular as the Egyptian company wanted him to be."
"They're heiroglyphs! Not poems." She turned away and scoffed at us. The nerve of her.
"Okay now shut up Galenos! I'm sure a play like this is gonna have a post-bow scene that's out of this world!" | 12 | Turns out the Greek and Roman gods were just comic book characters from rival companies. | 35 |
North Korea and ISIS team up to conquer the western powers. They knew they could not achieve this militarily. However, the North Koreans had been working on a plan. Via video conference, Kim Jong Un proposes his idea to the ISIS leadership. "We must unleash a deadly virus upon the world, one that will eradicate the Imperialist powers of the west. We must create an epidemic so devastating that no one survives, including ourselves. We have been harvesting the Ebola virus, and our scientists now believe they have cultivated a strain strong enough to infect everyone on the planet. Consider it a suicide attack against the entire world." The ISIS leadership agrees to the plan. Their jihad calls for the destruction of the infidels at any means. Suicide bombing was already a tactic they were used to using, and this plan seemed to be doing essentially the same thing but on a global scale. However, unbeknownst to ISIS, the North Korean government had been exposing their people to small doses of the Ebola virus, causing them to develop immunity. Once immunity had been achieved in enough of their people, the two powers initiated phase two of their plan: unleashing Ebola on the world.
They started in Africa, where they knew the western powers would do little to stop the spread of the infection. From there the infection spread to Texas via an infected airline passenger. The Americans try to contain the epidemic from spreading at home, forgetting about the growing number of infected in Africa. As people joke on reddit about how unnecessary it is for CDC agents to remove people from airplanes for saying things like "Sorry I'm coughing I'm from Africa haha," the virus continues to spread. In fact, the CDC actually caves to the demands of the reddit user base. The head of the CDC releases a press statement saying "In light of a reddit comment with over 2000 upvotes saying how stupid our agency was for removing a man from an airplane for making an Ebola joke, we have officially amended our policy to only remove people who we are 100% sure have Ebola. We appreciate the constructive criticism of reddit user 'PM_ME_H0TM0MS' and will continue to be open to feedback from the internet. Thank you." The CDC equivalents in other industrial powers follow suit, not wanting to be seen in a negative light by internet users. This policy shift allows more infected to slip into countries undetected.
Four years later, nothing is left. Cities around the world are devoid of human life. Nature has begun to reclaim many developed areas. The human population of earth is dead, with the exception of the North Koreans. The North Koreans have been living life largely the same as they had since before the outbreak. In fact, only the elite class knew about the Ebola crisis. The general population of North Korea knew nothing of what had happened to the outside world. Meanwhile, Kim Jong Un finally leaves the bunker he had been hiding in since the beginning of the outbreak. Most of the world had assumed his disappearance was a result of his death, and that other powers had taken over North Korea. However, the North Korean people, always faithful in their government, believed when they were told that their leader was still alive. When he emerged, he was greeted by roaring crowds in Pyongyang. The North Korean people were curious as to where their leader had been the past four years. Addressing the North Koreans, he said "I have been on a four year crusade against the enemies of the North Korean people! I personally defeated the militaries of the imperialists countries, and made the world safe for the People's Republic! Not only will we rule the entire Korean peninsula, but the entire planet!"
North Koreans begin to repopulate the earth, settling all across the planet. There is no longer a North Korea. The entire landmass of earth is now Korea. Even the name "earth" goes away. The third planet from the sun is simply renamed Korea. Korean students now learn about World War 3 in history class. They learn how the mighty Kim slipped across the DMZ of North and South Korea in the middle of the night, and began his four year rampage executing all non-North Koreans on the planet by hand. One boy raises his hand. "How could one man kill so many people?" The teacher shoots him in the head, then says "Class, why was that boy's question wrong?" In unison the class responds "Because The Great Kim is not a man, he is a God." | 22 | The Allies have lost the Third World War. | 28 |
“I wish to have ten trillion dollars,” Corey said.
*Okay, I’ll make it so that he obtained all the money from hacking governments and banks around the world, thereby stealing all of his wealth.*
“And for it not to be caused by the fact that I stole any of it, or came into possession of it through any illegal or immoral ways,” Corey added, holding his breath as if he may have something else to add.
*Damn kid, he must read minds or something. Nah, human’s can’t do that. Haha. I make myself laugh. Wait, what was I thinking about. Oh yeah, how to seriously screw up this kid’s life. Alright, let’s see. Okay, I’ve got one. He receives ten trillion dollars, but his new found wealth is broadcast to the world. However, this will make those who stand to inherit his wealth so jealous and greedy that they’ll have him killed in order to collect the money.*
“I should also mention that no one must know that I have this much money unless I choose to reveal it to them, nor will anyone want to kill me or hurt me or those I care about in order to get to my money,” Corey added yet again.
*You’ve got to be kidding me. This ain’t any fun. He will have his money at the cost of his health and happiness then.*
“In addition, there will be no adverse effects from having this much money, especially in regards to my or those I care about’s health, happiness, and safety,” Corey finished.
“Fine, wish granted,” the genie said with a huff.
*I’ll get him on his second wish instead.*
“I wish to be a superhero,” Corey wished yet again.
*Yes.* The genie rubbed his hands together. *Yes, this is one I can work with. All good superhero stories have a tragic backstory. His parents will have to have been dead all this time. Or, if he somehow stops that, it’ll be someone else. Maybe it’ll even be his fault.*
“It’s also necessary to mention that I will have no sad or tragic backstory, nor will I have such going forward unless my own actions, created by my own freewill along with the freewill of others, happens to cause something bad,” Corey stated.
*Well, then he won’t be able to control his powers. Or his abilities will be useless.*
“I forgot to say that I will have total and complete control over said powers and that they will not be useless, but rather extremely helpful and awesome.”
*What the hell? How? Just how the heck is he reading my mind? Humans can’t read minds. But every time I think of a way to manipulate his wish, he subverts it. Okay, I’ve got one. He’ll have an awesome and useful ability, but it will change his appearance normally and make his everyday life hell. Yes, this will work.*
“You know what, let’s also add that my powers will cause me no ill effects or side effects that I may not want,” Corey said with a large smile.
“Wish granted,” the genie said, exhausted of trying to think of new ways to use the wish. “What is your final wish?”
“Well, well,” Corey said to the genie. “I wish that you forget everything that has happened, right until the very point where I rubbed your lamp. And that you forget having granted me any wishes yet. This wish will also be bound by the rules I have set forth in the other wishes, even ones you have forgotten about.”
“What?” the genie stuttered, but he soon found it almost impossible to talk. It was like his tongue was glued inside his mouth as his mind raced backwards. He felt his sense of time unraveling as everything became fuzzy. And then, right before all the memories faded, he saw one last, quick flash of a memory, one he didn’t know he even had.
****
“I wish to be able to get this girl I have a crush on to go on a date with me,” a slightly younger Corey wished.
“Wish granted,” the genie said with a wide grin on his face.
Corey started to cover his ears as he fell on the ground in agony.
“What is this?” Corey asked. “Please, make it stop.”
The genie didn’t even bother to talk. He simply thought about what he wanted to say, as that was all Corey needed in order to hear.
*You can now read minds Corey. That’s why you can hear this, even though my lips aren’t moving. Now you can get the girl of your dreams. Or any girl for that matter. You’ll always know exactly what they want now.*
“But why can’t I shut it off,” Corey yelled, oblivious to the loudness of his voice.
*Because that’s what happens to those who read minds. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll find ways to suppress it for temporary periods of time, but you’ll never be able to just turn it off. If you’re around any large group of people, you’ll be bombarded by thoughts just like you are right now.*
Corey started to squeam on the floor. And then his eyes glazed over and the genie didn’t know what was going on. Corey was now foaming at the mouth, rolling around. And then almost as soon as it started it had stopped. His eyes came back to life, but the light behind them no longer shined. Perhaps no one could even tell the difference, but behind those dark pupils of his seemed to be an eternal black void.
Laughter filled the room, the laughter that only a truly insane person could make.
“Genie genie genie,” Corey started. “Oh, my poor genie. And you thought you’d just have a bit of fun with me. My second wish is to control these mind reading powers.”
The genie tried and tried to manipulate the wish, but at every turn Corey outsmarted him.
“And now I wish for you to forget everything that has happened, right up to the point where you first met me. You will forget all the wishes you have granted me so far.”
The genie stared in horror. He tried to stop the wish, to manipulate it, but Corey continued to be one step ahead. He had only meant to screw up the kid’s life. That’s what genies did after all. And Corey was such a sweet, innocent kid. Which made the manipulation even funner. But the bombardment of everyone’s thoughts must have driven him crazy. As the genie’s memories faded, he shivered at the idea that he had created a psychopath whom he would always be enslaved to for the rest of his life, constantly having his own memory erased.
****
“Hi master,” the genie said. He didn’t remember popping out of the lamp, but he brushed that aside. “You have three wishes.”
“Excellent,” Corey hissed while rubbing his hands together. “Excellent!”
-283 | 72 | A mind reader rubs a genie lamp. They both try to outsmart the other. | 53 |
There are certain inevitabilities in life that are easy to take for granted. When you really think about it, the fundamental basis for the bulk of your life lies in routine. When simple occurrences are no longer assured, it takes a complete reimagining, and essential rearrangement of that routine. So here I am, a bishop headed in a straight line to nowhere.
It’s never anything you expect. That’s what takes you the most by surprise. If I turned on my TV and saw that another mass murder took place, I’d probably feel empathy, but certainly not disbelief. If evidence of mass atrocity became evident in a war torn nation, I might donate to a relief, but I certainly wouldn’t feel shock.
That’s what makes it feel so negligible. But it doesn’t make it less jarring. I mean, it’s my life, and really in a completely true, and completely selfish reality, it’s all that matters. I may feel a vicarious responsibility towards the plights of mankind, but the basis for my ability to function is based on simple assumptions that things will act in a certain way.
Last week it was the car. I put the ignition into drive, placed my foot on the gas pedal, and with gusto, I was flying high into the sky. The week before that I picked up the phone to call my mom, and with no effort, I could only speak in Russian. Or at least some eastern European language. It didn’t matter because for a solid 36 hours I couldn’t speak a single word in English.
So this morning I woke up, got ready for work like normal. Showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, changed, made breakfast, headed for the door. With each new step, preparing for something new and horrible. But I made it through it. Headed for the elevator, pushed for the ground floor, but just kept on going. A minute went by, and then another, and another, and so on.
It’s been a few hours and I’m still on this elevator. It’s not even fear that I’m feeling. It’s definitely gotten hotter, and I’ve definitely felt an increase in speed, but I mean, what can I fear at this point? That I’ll keep going and melt in the core of the Earth? Really though, that would be way too exciting for my life. You see my curse is the curse of uncertainty. The curse of always being on the edge of complete and total mental collapse.
The worst part is no one sees it but me. My wife thinks I’m crazy. Maybe I am. Or maybe they just don’t understand what it feels like to be slowly losing control of your life. That’s the hardest part about being trapped in your own mind. The understanding that you’ve lost control of the one thing you unequivocally have control over. The feeling that even the most fundamental realities have become too hard to handle.
When you wake up in the morning and realize that the simple act of getting out of bed has become an insurmountable mission to roll a boulder up a hill, bound to collapse. The world is going to hell, but you’re too depressed to even understand why the innate simplicities of life have become so hard to control, you can’t even rely on yourself to maintain a grasp on the inevitable. And there’s no escape, and the elevator just keeps going and going, and the fingers of your saviors constantly slip out of your hands.
| 10 | A person on the fifth floor of an apartment building takes the elevator to the lobby. After a minute they start to wonder why the elevator is still going down.. | 20 |
They didn't mess with me. They didn't dare. No one fucked me with and lived. I am their demise. I am the apocalypse.
So what the fuck do I do now? They've ruined me - some little prick has ruined it all. Y'see, not long ago we got this new game. It used kiddy graphics, so at first I just laughed at the guards and told them I'd rather put a hole in their faces than play a second of that shit.
But man, does it hook you or what? The first time I punched down a tree in that game I couldn't stop laughing. You can punch the shit outta anything! Cows, sheeps, those fuckin' pigs - anything! I love it.
Time came that I started spendin' all my time on the game. I stopped hittin' the gym, stopped crackin' skulls. They started whispering I was getting soft. Fuck them. I ain't getting soft. I'm building me a town - like something I'd have If I won the lottery. If I was ever gonna get out of here.
You shoulda seen it! Big walls to keep outsiders out, lush green fields like I remember when I was young and we took a trip outta state. The only trip I ever saw fields like that, I tell ya. Little houses all dotted around the town I built, all-red brick and expensive looking. Bookshelves, fireplaces, the works. My own house I built on a hill overlooking it all. Damn man, if I only lived in a house like that maybe I wouldn't be in here. Maybe I'd never have shot that guy when I took the cash.
So my town, right - it's legit. I call it 'Peaceville' because why the fuck not? I'm sick of all this fighting bullshit. I built me a dream town in that game, one hour a week at a time. I think it took me best part of a year.
They had to prise me off that game when recreation was up.
Then one day, my fuckin' world exploded. I don't know how it happened, or what the hell went wrong. The hour I got the week before I'd spent time excavating a tunnel under my house, plenty of room. I didn't bother lighting it though - it was just an emergency store house. A man's gotta have a place to bury treasure - after all. Even here in the pen I had a stash under my mattress. Why should my town be different?
But I logged on that week and boom. It was all gone, just blocks floating on the grass. Some green monsters were wandering around in the cave I'd built under my town - it looked bigger. I cried like a fuckin' baby. I punched the screen through and the guards rushed me. I smashed a few wrists and skulls on my way down. I might not lift anymore but I'm still a beast. When they led me back to my cell I screamed at all the other guys in here, I was gonna find whoever did this and fuck them up. Bad.
So here I am in solitary. I ain't touched that game in weeks. The other inmates are too scared to come near me now. They know I'll smell out whoever did that to my game. To my beautiful town. It was my freedom, that place - the only place i could go to see the sky, walk through the grass, chop down trees. I could build stuff there. In here, in this pen, I can only break things.
All I need to do is find out who did it. Who blew my town up. The only clue I've got is when I first sat down to play that day, I heard a "Sssssssssss" noise and an explosion. Maybe it was Larry. He had a lisp like that.
Yeah. Maybe it was Larry.
Larry is gonna pay.
He's gonna pay big time. | 205 | Minecraft was introduced as a recreational reward in a federal penitentiary, and someone just griefed general population's biggest, baddest mofo's castle. | 226 |
Day 3
I though it was a joke when I got the message on Monday, so I didn't start writing my journal until now. I've been modding /r/Pyongang for a few weeks now, so I assumed it was some prank. Then Kim appeared on my doorstep. I thanked God for the Korean lessons my parents made me take. "THOSE DAMN CHINKS WILL RULE THE WORLD ONE DAY" my dad used to say. I don't think he knew the difference between China and Korea. Bless his heart. His racist, racist heart.
It turns out Kimmy is a huge fan of American Basketball. Wants to tour America. I wonder how long he'll get before getting found, arrested, and put on trial for crimes against humanity. Oh well, not my problem.
Day 4
Man, everyone in this plane is terrified of me. The stewardess, the pilots and copilots, even the two other passengers. I'll have to change that. There are big problems with North Korea, and it's my job to fix them. The food here sucks too. I think that'll be the first thing I change.
Day 5
Wow, what a palace. I decided rather than start making changes I'd spend today getting comfortable around the place. Selfish, I know. I'm a little embarrassed about it really. I spent two hours sliding around in my fuzzy socks. I spent an hour and a half in the hot tub. The food here is a lot better than on the plane, I can say that right now.
Day 6
The first thing I did was destroy the internment camps. Then I got rid of every picture of Kim Jung-Un in the country. Damn propaganda. I can't bring myself to completely hate the guy, to be honest. I mean, he did choose me to rule a country.
Day 7
My advisors are all corrupt. I had to get rid of them. I decided to ship some of my more intelligent friends over here to help me run the country, along with a few people I met touring the newly liberated streets that seemed to have a good grasp on reality.
The people I met told me about the interment camps and just what it was like. I decided to have everyone who worked there of the place arrested. THose in charge of the places were handed over to the U for crimes against humanity.
Day 8
There were like a ton of riots for my destruction of my Kim Jong-un propaganda. It has really gotten to their collective heads. I'll start some anti-propaganda soon. Most of it'll just be funny pictures of Kim Jong-un with funny captions and things, but I've got two movies in play. One's a farce about Kimmy playing basketball. Another's a serious documentary about what he's done. That should help.
Day 9
They're still rioting. Expectable. You can't do away with years of propaganda in a day. It doesn't make it any less damn frustrating.
On the plus side, my friends finally arrived. Steve refused to come, but Frank and Pete are here. After a tour of communist North Korea Matt has decided to stop preaching about Communism now. Thank God.
Day 10
My friends and I have talked about the propaganda. In addition to the anti-propaganda I started we've decided to paint ourselves as a new pantheon, one that has overpowered Kim. That ought to help. We'll slowly dismantle it once we're done. Should be easy enough.
I've also started working on modernizing the place. I commissioned some of the more talented graffiti artists I knew in new York to get rid of the whole "grey" color scheme and get some pretty murals. The country is looking prettier already. We've also opened ourselves to McDonalds. Inexplicably three have already appeared. I don't remember ordering those built.
Day 11
"Project Pantheon" got it's first screen tests today. THey were pretty impressed. We've got some changes to make though.
I decided to have all McDonalds replaced with Sonics. I love Sonic. I've also looked into some South Korean culture. Maybe my people can enjoy them.
Day 12
I sent Frank back to America. He was trying to gain power. I've got my eye on Pete now too. When it comes to power you can trust no one.
In other news the cultural integration is going well. I decided to imprison the rioters, too. The riots finally stopped. It turns out prison is a very good threat.
Day 16
Pete goes back to America today. He left willingly. Something about tyrants. I'm not a tyrant, I'm this nations's fucking hero! I destroyed the internment camps! I introduced culture! I SAVED THEM! Pete doesn't know who he's dealing with. His plane isn't taking him home, I'll say that right now.
My people have finally forgotten about that scum Kim Jong-un. I saw on the news he got arrested yesterday at some basketball game. I hope he burns in hell.
Day 22
I'm sorry I haven't been able to update my journal, I've just been so busy. I started negotiations with South Korea today. Our countries will never be one again though, not as long as doing so would lose me the throne. My people are willing to move to either now, but they know their god will not like it, and they know they will pay in the afterlife.
Day 45
I found my journal. Lost it in the bombing. I won't be writing in it often, rebuilding my country after the war will be top priority.
Day 51
I killed a war prisoner for not bowing fast enough today. South Korea and southern china are now finally mine as well. Russia is on my side, the UN can't do shit about it with all the nukes we have.
Day 216
Peace has been achieved at last. Everything south of Russia is mine. I need to rebuild my forces, then Europe will be mine as well. Putin trusts me. The fool. In other news, I saw Frank again. Had him executed.
Day 427
I rule about 60% of the world now. It's a lovely time to be alive. For me and my people anyway. The Russians, it turns out, make great laborers. Putin's lead-filled skull makes an excellent paperweight. I am emperor. I am king. I am
**Glorious Leader**
| 44 | Kim Jong-un resigns as leader of North Korea. He has selected you to be the next ruler. | 59 |
Dr. Epstein stared at the baby.
There was no doubt about it. This was not the husband's child.
He had always wondered - and dreaded - if a day like this would ever come in his career, and here it was.
"Mr. Johnson", the doctor called to the purported father. "I need to have a word with you."
He was still awkwardly holding the child and trying to wrap it in a blanket when the husband approached.
"Is it a boy, doc?", he asked.
"Well y-yes it is", Dr. Epstein stammered, "but there is another concern right now."
"Is he sick?"
"No, he appears healthy."
"Then why is he so dark?"
"That's what I wanted to speak to you about, Mr. Johnson. This child is not yours."
Tears filled his eyes. His lip started to tremble. All he'd ever really wanted in life was a baby boy.
He asked, "Are you sure?" as he gently took the baby from the doctor's arms. But once he took a good look at his face, there was no denying the child was not of his race.
The mother, only now coming out of her grogginess from the drugs, asked if the baby was OK.
Her husband looked at her with the smile of a maniac, grabbed the baby by its feet and swung it like the arm of a trebuchet so it's soft head collided with the thick bone of its mother's skull.
It didn't feel anything.
But the mother, she did.
Her face covered in newborn baby blood and brains, she sat up in bed, the last of the drug hurried out of her system by the sudden jolt of adrenaline, and started wailing in a tone reserved for the souls of the damned.
Dr. Epstein and his medical staff stood in shock as the husband snatched a scalpel from the tool table and in a flash slit his wife's throat, forever ending her wailing.
It all happened so fast, Dr. Epstein didn't know how to react.
Mr. Johnson stood there covered in gore, still clenching the bloody scalpel, and stared at the medical staff.
There was a brief moment of silence as he glared then asked the good doctor, "How else did you expect this to end?"
| 108 | You are a nurse/doctor who has delivered a black baby to two white parents. What do you say and how do you react to their reaction | 72 |
How did I get this old? When did I start to fall apart? In 80 years I have slowly watched my face fall, wane and wrinkle as time grabs at my shoulders. Experiences take their tole; a new line, another wrinkle. In front of that mirror is where I stand now, wondering which line came first, when the young boy became a man. I can still see him hiding in there somewhere, the tight smiling face of a boy who had no clue what was before him. A time when it was just me I needed to worry about, not my legacy and not my country. I always knew there must be a reason why I wasn't treated like the other children; different classes, heavier clothes, more watchfulness in my teacher's eyes. I was a prince, I am a prince. The final one of my kind. Prince is a dead term, as is everything with it. The times of kings and their courts is over, it has been for a while. Why shouldn't it be? One man should not run a country, how can one man know what all his fellow men need? What is best for them? Maybe that's why I never married, it would not be fair to bring another generation of royalty into this world, another line to be ferried from meetings to balls to summits to ceremonies. More of an ornament to his people than the crux of their respect. I have been lucky, I have been happy. This was a beautiful life. I have made close friends, I have lost them too. I have shaken the hands of the greats in the world, and I have watched them fall too. I have seen the paragons of human design, the buildings of the currents and the ancients, all of them with a thousand stories I will never know. It is not that I have not appreciated the world I have been given, I am just ready to say goodbye to it. I think of all the men before me who've said farewell to this crusty dome of a planet; my past lineage, how I am the end of it. What will happen when I am gone? What will my country do? It is certain they can live without me, but can they live with the transition from monarchy to...to whatever they decide to be? I am a part of history, we all are. But I am also the end of a history. All the achievements, successes and failures of my past people die with me. How long will our history last? How long will we be remembered? I imagine a boy in a small room years from now, staring out the window as his teacher airlessly recites the passed facts and actions of the old world. My world. It's time for me to go, where I go I'm not so sure about; but I'm sure I'll be at peace when I get there. I'll be glad to no longer be a prince, the last of my kind. To be myself and nothing more will be a relief. No more traditions, no more formal attire, no more crown. Just me, and the world ahead. | 14 | Not only empires fall, but also the tiniest countries. The last Prince of Liechtentein thinks back on his life and his nation | 69 |
Muted flashes of light and movement. Voices heard through ears full of water. Being afraid, at peace, anxious. A day is a year and a year passes like a day. Whatever was important no longer held any meaning, but all fell away from what I knew. It was the only thing I knew. The trees, the grass, the birds in the trees was all I could think about.
The scales fell away from my eyes. The bright light blinded me the first few minutes until they adjusted and I could see the doctor and a couple nurses standing by my bedside. She wasn't anywhere in my line of sight. The stiff neck of a hundred long nights kept me from looking around the room.
"Jane...""
"Hush, Mr. Johnson. You've been in an induced coma for two weeks. You suffered a traumatic brain injury during a traffic collision and I felt it was necessary to protect you from further damage."
"Jane! Jane!"
"Mr. Johnson, please don't shout. Jane isn't here and no one has been able to reach her. I'm afraid she is missing. The police wanted to be alerted before you awoke and to question you concerning her disappearance. I wish I could hold them off another couple of days, but they were quite insistent."
"I don't understand. Where is she?"
"No one knows, Mr. Johnson. It's obvious you're still confused. I'll speak to the officers in the hall and try to convince them to leave."
And then I slept again. So tired, and thoughts were racing through my head.
I knew the name Jane. I knew the trees and clouds and birds watching from their perches. I didn't know anything else, including the significance of what I did know.
And I slept.
Shadows running through me and me running after shadows. Jane...Jane...ja
"Mr. Johnson! Wake up!"
"Huh? Wha..."
"You were shouting, screaming."
"Oh, sorry."
"The police are here and I'm afraid its time for you to speak with them."
"Okay."
The cops were standing behind the nurse, holding notepads and a camera, stern in their dark suits. They were both so tall and I felt so little. One was bearded and older, the other kept clean-shaven.
After the nurse left the policemen set up the camera on a small tripod and pulled chairs beside the bed with notepads opened.
"Mr. Johnson, I am Officer Daniels and this is Officer Jackson."
I was surprised to hear she was a woman. I must be more fucked up than I thought.
"Hello."
"Mr. Johnson, are you aware that your wife Jane has been missing for two weeks?"
"Yes, the doctor told me."
"Alright. And did you know you know you were the last person to be seen with her?"
"Yes. Should I have a lawyer?"
"You can have a lawyer, if you would like, but we don't consider you a suspect."
"Okay. I don't think I'll be very helpful. I don't feel like I know anything."
"Anything you do know could help us find her. Honestly at this point we are not optimistic we will find her alive."
Jackson said, "That isn't to say she is dead. We just don't know. It is like she vanished."
"All I know is Jane's name, the trees, and the birds in the trees", I said.
"Mr. Johnson, where do you work?"
"I don't know."
"Where do you live?"
"I don't know."
"Who is the President of the United States?"
"I don't know."
"Alright, Mr. Johnson. We'll be speaking with your doctor about getting you to a psychiatrist. Please think as hard as
you can and if you know anything more about this please call. Here's my card."
I fell back asleep after that, and I was awoken the next morning by an older man, balding, white along the ears and eyes hidden behind thick lenses.
"Good morning, Mr. Johnson. I am Dr. Collins, and we're going to have a little chat this morning."
That was the beginning of all the tests. Tests of my memories, old and new. Tests of my tissues, biopsies, psychological evaluations, physiological reactions. My old friends and my family came to see me and tell me things I should know. That we packed it all up and moved here, away from everyone we knew. Jane struggled with depression and anxiety, I had a drug problem. Every day for a week we sat and talked and it was for naught. My memory was gone. Except for the trees and the birds in the trees.
I started taking walks. Supervised, of course. I was drawn to the forest behind the hospital and would spend as much time walking through it as I could. Farther I would range, my guard struggling to keep up as this invisible impetus pulled me deeper into the dark forest.
One day I was struck with familiarity. Not a memory, just deja vu.
"Will you call the police for me. Here is the card for the person you should reach."
They found us a couple hours later. We finished my walk in a meadow. The trees I knew so well were there. The birds were there, but not the ones in my head. Vultures. Crows. Buzzards. All lined up, eating Jane's flesh as it rotted off the corpse hanging from the tree. | 11 | A young man or woman wakes up from a coma. He/She leads police to a dead body of a missing person. He/She vividly remembers the location, but not why he knows the body is there. | 19 |
This is a different type of cold, unlike the harshest winter or the most brutal wind, so intense it sucks the life force out of me, as if the wisps of breathe flinging before my face were torn bits of my soul, pulled apart by the horrible, unforgiving frost like the cotton from a blanket. I have to keep reminding myself why I started climbing the mountain. I’m thirsty. I haven’t eaten in twelve hours, or had a drink of water in six. I tried sucking some snow before, but it burned my tongue, so I just kept going. Now my head is swimming – from dehydration, oxygen depletion, low blood sugar, or a combination of all. I try to remember why I started climbing but I can’t. The thought is just out of reach. I keep climbing.
I saw the glow from hundreds of yards off, but that might have been hours or days ago. I am locked in some impossibly long night, infinitely dark and cruel, as bad as any of my imaginings of hell. It might even have been years ago. I forgot about it until I saw it again, this time startlingly close, just around the next narrow pass. i climb up, the incline so steep I have to plunge my hands into the snow for purchase, but I reach the top and stagger forward.
The orange glow comes from the mouth of a cave, radiating off the stone walls back into the night. Yes, I came here to find this cave. That’s why I put myself through hell, to find this cave, for everyone who lived all those thousands of yards below. I lurch forward, all coordination lost. My foot, wrapped in ten or twelve layers of cloth, hits the stone floor, and it feels warm. Tears well up. I used my spear as a walking stick, but I collapse and lie there, gathering strength before I pull myself up again…
I hear the light drumming of footsteps on the stone. I crane my neck, trying to see who comes, one hand closing around the spear.
“Sir! There’s a man here! I think he’s dead!”
“Hold on!”
Another set of footsteps, these ones slower and more methodical, approach. An old man’s voice belongs to this one: “Beatrix, I need you to set up a bed beside the fire. Lay cloths and blankets on the floor. Boil some water.” The old man curses.
I see them for the first time, but my vision is blurred. It might be that I just came from a world of darkness into a world of light, or that the fluid in my eyes has frozen over, but I make out their forms. The old man motions to the other, younger one. A girl. She hesitates for a moment and then scurries back down the mouth of a tunnel.
“Half-frozen,” the old man mutters. “Fuckin idiot.” He’s old, but he still has some strength. He starts pulling me up. I try to help him, but I seemed to have exhausted the last of my reserves of strength on that final ascent. He does most of the work. I try to say something.
“Shut up, you fool. We’ll talk later. If you survive that is. You bloody idiot. You have a lot to answer for, anyways, but there will be time for that later… fool…”
A little while later and I’m lying beside the fire. The old man forces me to drink something and I fall into a dark, dreamless sleep.
-----------------------------------------------------------
“Good morning,” Beatrix says when I open my eyes. “How’s the foot feeling?”
I hadn’t felt anything until she mentioned it. Now I did. “Hurts,” I say.
“You got pretty bad frost bite. Master Gavin had to cut some of the flesh away. He was going to cut off more, but we didn’t want to make you a cripple. If it starts to go gangrene, we’ll have to take off the whole foot.”
She seems surprisingly upbeat about this. She wears a leather jerkin, her long dark hair pinned up in the back. She leaned over the fire, over a pot. I smell food. My stomach begins hurting as well. She smiles at me. “Hungry?”
I nod. She ladles some stew into a bowl and hands it to me. I immediately start chugging the broth and shoving chunks of meat into my mouth. I burn the hell out of my mouth and hands, curse, and spill some of it.
“Slow down there,” she said. “That’s the sort of thing Master Gavin hates. Bad table manners. You are a fool, you know that? I’ve made that trip up and down the mountain plenty of times, but you went at the worst possible time. It’s a miracle you’re still alive.” She hands me a heel of bread, which I use to mop up the last of the stew. “Very brave, but very stupid. Mainly stupid.”
“I was coming up the mountain when the clouds starting forming,” I say. “They came out of nowhere. I swear, it was a warm day just… “ I try to remember what happened, “two days ago, so I figured it would be fine, but clouds formed out of nowhere then it started snowing. I couldn’t turn back anyways.”
“Well,” she says. “My name is Beatrix. I’m the apprentice.”
“My name is Rowan,” I say. “What exactly are you an apprentice of?”
She looks at me, puzzled. “Why did you come up here?”
“There was a monk in the town where I lived. Used to live. It was burned to the ground a month ago, and the monk was slain as well. His name was Leo. Abbot Leo. He knew your Master Gavin, and he told me where to find him. He said that Gavin would be able to equip me for what I wish to do. He said Master Gavin had very great, very uncommon skills. Magical skills that would give me the power to do what I need. It took me two and a half weeks of hard riding to get here. I wasn’t even sure that I came to the right place.”
“Ha,” she snorted. “I don’t know if Master Gavin wishes to help you in that respect. He is very, very careful of who he helps, and his greatest concern is our secrecy. Many people with skills like Master Gavin have been put into slavery over the years, to serve evil people.”
“Abbot Leo told me that Gavin makes powerful weapons and armor. Very, very powerful.”
“Why do you need these things,” she asks.
“Many terrible things happened this summer. There was a terrible pestilence, engineered by a group of men. They are pirates, raiders, mercenaries, but they all fight for one man named Devin. The lord of that region was killed by this pestilence, but he had been weak and corrupt for some time, this Devin had been waiting to take his place for years. They waited for the disease to burn itself out, and then they swept in and took what was left. No one was strong enough to stop him. Some of them are armed with magical weapons, and he has sorcerers by his side. They did terrible things. Raped and burned whole towns. Many more will die this winter. There was no harvest, as the soldiers took everything. Now they hold the Lord’s castle, waiting for the cold weather to be over before they launch another campaign. Where is your Master Gavin?”
“He is not here at the moment. I believe he went to the summit of the mountain for some spiritual guidance. He is a monk too, you know.” She had a mischevious look on her face. “I am sorry to hear that, what’s happened to your country men. I can’t guarantee that we will help you, but I do want to show you something, if your promise not to say anything. You have to act surprised if Gavin decides to show you later.”
She helps me to my feet and we slowly approach a wood door, built into one of several diverging tunnels. She unlocks it with a key and uses a torch to light up the room.
“Gods…” I say.
The room was long and narrow. On either wall, suits of steel armor, rows of swords – short, fat, long, two-handed – axes, maces, helmets, shields. She grins, watching me react.
“I’ve never… they say… they say that a few of the Devin’s elites carry weapons like this, and many more carry bits of metal, but they are nothing like this, which is why the militia never stood a chance. Much more crude… and…”
“I know. This one,” she says, pulling out a sword, “Is my most recent work. I’m quite proud of this one. My best one yet. And this armor,” she says, tapping a breast plate with a sword, “well, if you used that little stone spear of yours against this, it wouldn’t so much as a make a dent. If you’ve ever seen a knight of Albion around, he might be wearing something like this, though I heard that order is almost extinct. But I can guarantee it’s not as good as what we make. And not nearly as pretty, either. If you’re looking to do some killing, this is the stuff you want.”
| 21 | A fantasy adventure set in world where metals are extremely rare and the things of legend. | 36 |
“The last bastion of freedom”, what a crock. An immense conglomeration of steel and concrete surrounding a beacon of blinding light stood alone in the desert sand. We’de been travelling for weeks trying to reach it, now that it was within reach I felt an uneasy chill crawl up my spine. “It’s there Christian, we can make it tonight!” My brother was eager, nieve. Ever since the uprising any kind of hope was something. “Tomorrow” I said, “we’ll make camp here for the night.”
When the shit finally hit the fan martial law had been in full effect. The government had locked down all vice, and enforced rule of law with an iron fist backed by a militarized police force. Money, power, isolation, and twenty feet of reinforced concrete defenses allowed Las Vegas to be spared. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”, if you could make it there. The highest ranking political officials could come and go as they pleased, the city-state’s independence hung on a little loose diplomacy. For us stiffs it was a one way trip.
The morning was cool and dry, but you could feel the heat building in the sand. I turned to my brother, “This is it John, we can still turn back.” “To what?” he replied, “That shithole complex, where we can barely afford to eat? Our 18 hour shifts at the mill? No fucking way, lets go.” I shuffled my feet in the sand, put my head down, and started walking. When we reached the gate there was a long line outside. The shells of people who were something before it all fell apart were standing in a row like barn animals waiting for inspection. We all had one thing in common, desperation.
They let in groups forty at a time. The guards were all wearing full riot gear and carried assault rifles. “Step forward on to the platform!”, one of them yelled. We all crammed onto a structure squared off with red paint and then it began to rise. When we reached the holding chamber we were motioned out. John looked pale and his eyes were darting around nervously. “What do you think this is about Christian?”, he muttered. “Im not sure” I answered, “probably just a security check”. Two armed guards pulled us out one by one into a white walled room where a robotic arm scanned and probed for abnormalities. When it was my turn I looked at my brother for the last time, “I’ll see you on the other side bro.” He cracked a dull smile behind the obvious nausea.
From the white room came a white cell. From the white cell came chrome chains. The city is something of such sheer magnitude and glory that it is barely comprehensible and it is all maintained by the largest slave army on the planet. The women go to the kitchens, if they are lucky, most end up in brothels. If you play your cards right you might end up a dealer, the highest aspiration of a chrome chain. I sweep the streets in a chain gang tied to a three ton wretch of a robot. The view ain’t bad if you get a chance to look up from the vomit and blood stained pavement. I haven't seen my brother since we arrived. Its been almost a year now. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas”, I hope for the love of god it’s not true.
* edit for tense issues. | 149 | The government signs into law and begins enforcing "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas". | 413 |
*Trigger warning I guess? I dunno the etiquette for this kind of thing. This could be interpreted as hateful against gays and neckbeards, they aren't actually my views.*
He listened to a classic rock radio station every day. He was the type of person who claimed to be part of the "wrong generation" and that older music is superior to today's trash. He was your ordinary neckbearded basement dweller. He was obsessed with anime, a total gun nut, a woman hater, and an antitheist. But he had an extra layer of ignorance. Despite the fact that he's so left wing that his most prized possession is a jar that has one of Ron Paul's farts in it, he despises the gays.
It happened last week. He woke up, took care of his morning wood and kissed his body pillow, then got ready for his day. He got on reddit, and after browsing /r/redpill for a bit, he went back to the front page. The third most upvoted post was about a gay pride parade taking place in his hometown. It made his blood boil. "They have no right!" he exclaimed. He needed to calm down, his high blood pressure was acting up again.
He turned on his favorite playlist, and tried to relax. It was going to be ok. The sweet sounds of Queen and the Beatles will make even the angriest soul peaceful.
But then *it* happened. Purple Haze by Jimi Hendrix started playing. He enjoyed the opening, but then he heard something that shook him to the core. The lyrics were changed... or something. Instead of "Excuse me, while I kiss the sky!", he heard "Excuse me, *while I kiss this guy!*".
It absolutely infuriated him. They went too far now. Deep down, he was fine with the gays getting married. Hell, he didn't care enough to actually *do* anything about the parade. But changing his music, his only enjoyment in his life to PUSH THEIR AGENDA?! It was too much to handle. He was doing something about it. He grabbed his totally-tacticool AR-15 and a bandolier full of rounds. He needed enough to kill every single one of them.
He went upstairs to the first floor of his house. He waited and waited, listening for the parade. Faintly, he heard some weird techno music. It was coming. The parade turned down the corner, ready to defile his street.
He grabbed his fedora off the hat rack and opened the door.
He was going to be on the news tomorrow. | 19 | A criminal goes on a spree after being inspired by misheard song lyrics. | 34 |
She began to wail when she saw me.
Alissa spread her fingers wide and cupped her palms over each of my ears as her fingers inched up into my hair.
"Oh god, is it really you?" she pulled my face closer to her.
"James, they showed me the body. I made them show me the body... I had to know James. I thought I had lost you."
Unable to stifle the tears streaming down, she removed one hand from my face and began wiping them away from her eyes. Her cries gave way to joyful yet cautious laughter.
The remnants of the day burned into a unremarkable ember that somehow slips my mind. It was the nightfall that ushered forth my usual October dream.
Swathed in darkness, I found myself being drug toward an intense, single point of light that quickly bore down upon me. A merciless, incessant blaring began to grow intolerable in my head. As if Gabriel himself had returned with a resounding call amongst the thunder and torrential downpour. Then a crashing, jarring numbness befell my entire body as I rolled across the red and black ether.
It was the steady pulse, the monotone uniformity of the alarm that had pulled me from that place. That place that somehow I was never quite able to articulate. I learned to stop trying after I turned sixteen. *It was only a nightmare, Jamie*, my mother would try to console me. My father, on the other hand, made his best efforts to instill his vision of manhood in me, *James, you need to grow up. You are a young man now. Bad dreams are what little boys cry about, not young men. Now go back to bed.*
Perhaps not his exact words, but always something along those lines. It didn't take long to learn that I had to depend upon myself. These weren't just bad dreams. Nightmares never had it so good. Every October, like atomic clockwork, some sort of chaotic premonition was thrust upon me. Some angel or succubus was attempting to clue me in on something. Something - or somewhere - that I had seen before. Probably many times. And it would return again.
The images that had seared themselves into my head upon sleeping, crept back into the darkness as I made my way to the shower. The leftover residue was washed and scrubbed away as my thoughts turned to the workday ahead.
The word *blessing* isn't something I throw around often, but it's suitable here. Hard work and stubborn unyielding single-mindedness had somehow bestowed upon me the title of senior software architect. Memories of how I managed to graduate college and get to this place in my life were dubious at best (probably all the frat house parties and alcohol), but the important thing is that I was content. Oh, and Alissa; she was the centerpoint of my life at the moment and probably had more to do with my happiness than could be credited to any job. We had grown up in a small, rural neighborhood together and she eventually became my highschool sweetheart. Part of our unusual bond was that she had been afflicted with horrible nightmares as well, and we often confided in, and consoled one another.
The work day came and went with little in the way of bullshit or fanfare, which is good news for a software developer. God knows the bullshit I've seen at previous jobs. My recollection of the details is always fuzzy, but trust me, it was there and it was piled high and deep. It was nice to be home again, cooking dinner and waiting for Alissa to come home from her job at the laundromat. My small apartment was filled with the aroma of baked chicken and scalloped potatoes; it was her favorite, as well as mine. Any minute she would be home, and after dinner, off to bed for us both.
On the couch, I could see the expression of horror on Alissa's face as the reporter began to recite the facts surrounding the story.
*This is Zachary Tennent with Channel 5 Eye Witness news and I'm here on the scene of what appears to be a horrific accident...*
It was yet another story of a young teen trying to beat the train. It was an unfortunate reality in those small rural towns - especially since they often didn't have a crossing rail to act as a barrier. Some, like the one near the high school where I grew up, didn't even have functional warning lights half the time. You'd just better make sure you were paying close attention or at least had your stereo turned down and could hear the horn in the nick of time.
It was late evening now, and the dreams elevated their intensity as October bled out.
Alissa and I never liked the silence, so we depended on the white noise machine to put us to sleep. I remember opening my eyes and peering up into the dark, vaulted ceiling of the top-floor apartment. I often awoke in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, but would eventually find myself lulled back to sleep with the sound of ocean waves or rainstorms coming from the little box next to the bed. Now, though, there was palpable silence.
Thinking that perhaps the battery had gone out on the little noise-maker, I listened intently for the sounds of night. The rustling leaves of the birch tree right outside to window that sat above the headboard, or the distant guttural hum of tractor-trailer tires pressing down upon the asphalt of the interstate that was less than a mile away.
Just infinite silence and a darkness that my eyes could never seem to adapt to. Slowly, my mind eased and I went back to sleep.
A hurtling, nauseating spinning sensation enveloped my body. As if I were fifty-thousand feet in the air and spilled forth from a ruptured centrifuge with no parachute. Flat on my back, unable to move, I felt what I would have imagined to be my soul extracted from me. My eyes managed to float their way downward toward the cold, dark malevolent entity that began to slowly crawl and drag some as-yet unseen body across the blankets and sheets upward toward my exposed face.
*Wiggle your toe... come on James, wiggle your goddamn toe.* My voice echoed throughout my head. *Wake up James. Wake the fuck up!*
Alissa began to wail when she saw me.
She spread her fingers wide and cupped her palms over each of my ears as her fingers inched up into my hair.
"Oh god, is it really you?" she pulled my face closer to her.
"James, they showed me the body. I made them show me James... I had to know, I just had to know." she began to sob again as she buried her head into my chest.
"It's not my body." I said.
My hands grasped her shoulders and pushed her away from me so that I could see her face.
"It wasn't me, Alissa." I said. "It wasn't me. It wasn't me."
The chant faded into background noise as I began to recall the images of the Channel Five news story.
Things were fuzzy, you know.
Her parents had allowed me to pick her up from her part time job at the laundromat and I was on my way there. It was late fall and we were going to the harvest festival together. I was only sixteen at the time and just starting to drive, but I know for sure that I heard it. I know that I didn't have the stereo blasting too loudly.
The crossing lights didn't always work, but I paid attention. I *always* paid attention. Didn't I?
| 22 | A dead body is identified as yourself, but it isn't you. | 60 |
Liars. Cheats. Frauds.
Those three pigs are the worst people I've ever met. Oh sure, they seemed nice enough at first. I remember when they first moved in like it was yesterday. I had gone over to greet them and welcome them to the neighborhood. The pig who answered the door gave me a wary look, but that wasn't a surprise. Most folk aren't too keen on wolves -- which is a bunch of racist crap if you ask me.
I had expected that, though, so I had brought them a pie. Not meat, of course, though I much prefer meat pies myself. As soon as I brandished the apple pie, the pig seemed to forget any misgivings he may have had. They invited me in, and we chatted for a while. They seemed like nice people, and I bought the charade hook, line, and sinker.
It didn't take long for the rest of the neighborhood to suspect something was up. They were belligerent and rowdy, and they often kept us up with their partying well into the early hours of the morning. They were rude, too. Never directly to anyone's face, you understand, but always behind your back when they thought you were out of earshot. The pigs also had an unpleasant tenancy to show up to parties where they weren't invited. They'd show up, eat up whatever food they could, and trash the place with their partying.
Their rough straw house took a good pounding from their rowdy lifestyle. They never seemed to bother with the upkeep that a straw building needs. Their house had been standing only a few months before it started falling apart. Now I, being a good Samaritan, decided to go over and give them some friendly tips on home ownership -- which ended up being the worst mistake of my life.
The whole time we talked, they were nasty. Nasty like I'd never seen them before. They shouted, they brandished their hooves, and they threatened to call the police on me. Finally, I had enough. I turned and left, and resolved to never bother these rotten pigs again. Unfortunately for me, *they* decided to bother *me*.
I had just gotten back home when I heard the sirens. There must have been ten or fifteen police cars barreling down the dirt highway toward the direction of the pigs' house. Not long after, the cops showed up to my place and arrested me. I didn't hear the full story until much later.
Not long after I left, the pigs' house had collapsed. They called the police and told them I had attacked them, destroying their house in the process. I did no such thing, of course, but that was the story they stuck with. I couldn't deny having gone to their house just before the collapse, as my paw prints were still fresh in the mud. I told the judge that it must have been an unfortunately timed accident (though, personally, I always suspected they did it on purpose). The judge didn't buy it, of course, and neither did the jury.
That hurt me the most, I think. Most of those folk were my long-time neighbors. They knew how bad the pigs could be, but still they'd rather believe an evil wolf had attacked the poor defenseless pigs. My cousin Vinny came down from the city to help me. He got me a decent lawyer and even paid bail, but it was no use.
He still visits me in jail from time to time. This morning he came here to tell me the damn pigs had built a massive wooden house with their insurance settlement. He was as angry as they come when he said that. I told him not to do anything stupid, but I know the look he has in his eyes when he's set on giving someone a piece of his mind. I only hope nothing bad will happen when he shows up at the pigs' new home tonight. | 119 | Big Bad Wolf never existed, in reality the Three Little Pigs were pulling off an insurance scam | 425 |
"You ever hear the story of the scorpion and the frog?"
"What? Y'all crazy. World's gone kaput and you're hearing yappin' on about a frog."
"My momma told me it, long time ago. Shows who people really are."
"I ain't no frog man!"
"It's a metaphor." The office shifted in the car, turning in his seat. "Anyway, you're the scorpion."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm a scorpion, that's better."
"So this scorpion, it wants to cross a river."
"Why?"
"So it can buy some crack, doesn't matter. The scorpion gets to the river edge and asks a frog if it will carry it across the river."
"Why don't it just swim?"
"Christ!" The perp lent back in the seat, cuffed hands raised in defence. "The scorpion can't swim, the frog can. Get it?"
"I get it."
"The frog's like, 'Why should I take you? You're just gonna kill me.'"
"What if the scorpion just wanna get across the river?"
The officer sighed. The perp zipped a finger across his mouth.
"The frog finally say alright, the scorpion hops on its back and it begins swimming out across the river."
"See my man, this is us! You're the frog and you can get me outta here!"
"They get to the midpoint of the river, the deepest bit..."
"Enough with the fucking story!"
"And the scorpion stings the frog."
"What? That dude crazy. They're both gonna drown now. Why he gone done that?"
"The frog stops kicking, it's body dying and they both start sinking. And the frog says to the scorpion, 'Why did you do that? Now we're both going to die.'"
"You're not gonna let me go are you?"
"And the scorpion, it turns to the frog and it says, 'It's in my nature. I can't help it.'"
"They both die?"
"They both died."
"Why'd the scorpion do that Officer? He coulda waited 'til they got to the other side."
"It's always the same Lenny. It's in your nature." | 45 | A police officer and an arrested criminal manage to survive the apocalypse in their police car, the officer is conflicted about trusting and freeing the criminal as they struggle to survive. | 77 |
Raptor soared towards the warehouse, this was it, every other possibility has been crossed off, this was the only location left. Close to downtown, abandoned, and large enough to hide the bomb and all manner of traps and security measures. He angled himself into a dive, aiming for the center of the roof, time was running short. He accelerated downwards, approaching nearly 200 miles per hour, the wind pulling his long blonde hair back, leaving his masked face unobstructed as he neared his target.
Raptor thrust his fist forward, the heavy, clawed, gauntlets he wore pierced the roof, creating a hole more than large enough for him to fit through. He landed on the floor of the warehouse in a crouched position, with a heavy impact, strong enough to shake the walls and cause dust to fall from every corner of the old building. He rose slowly, the sun glinting off of his red and gold uniform, and accentuating his, bare, heavily muscled arms.
"It's about time." a familiar voice called behind him, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."
"Dr. Ash!" Raptor roared as he turned to face his lifelong adversary.
Instead of being met by the tall, dark figure, in his black trenchcoat, and skull mask, there was a man, of the same height and build, wearing just a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of worn out sneakers. But still Raptor recognized him, this was the man who had on countless occasions tried to take his life and destroy the city. He strode forward, aggressively approaching the mad man. "Where is it?" he shouted, "Where is the bomb?"
"There isn't one." he responded calmly.
Raptor froze in his tracks. "What?"
The Dr. shrugged, "I just wanted to talk to you, and this is the only way I've ever been able to do that."
"Well I'm here." Raptor snarled, "What do you want to talk about?" He kept his distance, wary of a trap.
"I'm retiring." He said matter-of-factly. "I've torched my costume, all my weapons, and plans, and sold all my assets. All that was left to do, was tell you. I figured you'd like to know you have one less thing to worry about."
"Really." raptor said, eyeing him suspiciously, "Fifteen years of fighting and you just decide to end it. There's more to it than that."
Dr. Ash looked off blissfully, "I've met someone, someone who makes me want to change, to be a better person."
Raptor scoffed, "And who might that be? A russian assassin, an arms dealer, or the queen of some oppressed nation."
Dr. Ash looked at him calmly, "It's my daughter."
Raptor took a step back, "I didn't know you had a daughter."
"Neither did I." The Dr. reached for his back pocket, Raptor tensed up, until he saw him pull out his wallet. From it he took out a small photograph which he held out to Raptor, who took it cautiously. "Her name's Cassie, She's seven, and up until six weeks ago I didn't even know she existed."
Raptor examined the photo, on it was a small girl, beaming at the camera with a wide, happy smile. He looked back up at the Dr., the resemblance was undeniable, the same brown hair, the same gray-blue eyes, and the same round face. "But now," the Dr. continued, "I do know, and I want to be there for her. To give her someone to look up to, to raise her, and love her. Something I never had." His voice hardened, "You and I know better than anyone else how dark this world can be. I want to be the one to protect her from it."
"After everything you've done," Raptor looked back up at him, their eyes locked, "After all the lives you've taken, all the chaos you've caused. You want me to just let you go, and forget."
"I have done terrible things, unspeakable things. And I know that some day I'll burn for it, but all I want, is to do something positive for once, to create something good, and beautiful. If you try and take that from me, then this time, I will kill you." The familiar malice had returned to his voice, but tears had begun to form in his eyes.
Raptor held out the photo, "Go, take care of her. But if you ever step out of line, and be anything but a law abiding citizen, I will make her an orphan."
Dr. Ash took the photo back and placed it in his wallet, "Good, I was hoping you'd say that. And if you ever want to check up on me." He dropped a slip of paper on the ground. "That's where you can find me."
The two men, enemies no more, made their own ways out.
----------Six months later----------
Damian tucked his daughter into bed, "Alright sweetie, time for bed. Did you remember to brush your teeth?"
"Yes Daddy." she responded sweetly.
"Did you take your medicine?"
"Mm-hmm." She said, nodding her head vigorously.
"Did you really?" He said, cocking his head at her.
"Maybe." She said, bringing the covers up over her face.
"Cassie." Damian said with a sigh, "You have to take your medicine every night, remember?"
"I know Daddy." She whined, "But everytime I take them I feel icky all day."
"I know sweetie." Damian said, rubbing the back of head, "But you know what the doctor said, you only have to take them a little longer and you'll be able to run around with all the other kids."
"Okay Daddy." She said with a pout.
Damian brought over the pill container and gave her the large pills one at a time with sips water to help her swallow them. After she had swallowed the last one he sighed. "There we go sweetie, all done. Now time to sleep."
He tucked her in again and stood up. "I love you Daddy." She called as he started to leave.
"I love you too Cassie." He said before flicking off the light and closing the door.
Damian went into the kitchen, fixed himself a drink, and leaned against the counter. "What do you want?" He said with a sigh.
Raptor stepped out from the dark dining room, his broad shoulders almost touching the sides of the doorframe. "You never told me she was sick."
Damian took a sip from his drink. "I figured you had heard enough sob stories."
"How is she doing."
"Fine," Damian said with another sip, "The doctors say that after another couple years of treatment, she'll be as healthy as can be."
"How are you doing financially? That treatment can't be cheap." Raptor asked, leaning against the wall.
"We're doing just fine." Damian snapped.
He sighed and took another sip of his drink. "I'm sorry. Things have been tight. I just want to give her everything she could ever want. Anything to make her happy." He looked out the window, towards the night sky. "If she wanted the moon, I'd get her all the stars to go with it."
He stared out the window for another moment before laughing. "Did that sound as corny as I think it did?"
Raptor shrugged, "Just a little, but so long as you don't try to LITERALLY steal the moon and stars, it's fine."
Damian laughed again and straightened up. "So, why are you here?"
"To give you this." Raptor said as he tossed a small black box to him.
Damian caught it and examined it for a moment. "What is this?"
"Half a pint of my blood." Damian looked at him curiously. "I can heal ten times faster than any human," Raptor continued, "and i'm immune to virtually all diseases. You're smart, I'm sure you'll figure something out."
Damian reexamined the box before looking back at him."Thank you." he said, but the hero was already gone.
**EDIT** : because of all the positive response I decided to write a part 2, I hope you all enjoy. | 28 | The villain has found someone who made him or her quit villaining around, while he or she won't admit it. Write about the confused hero's confrontation of the villain. | 28 |
Hello, Lakae! I hope you love this little horror piece. May your night be sleepless!
This was it. Elaine had found him, the man who murdered her father. Never had she forgotten that day, a year ago, that the little twelve year old girl had watched her father's extraordinarily, exorbitantly brutal murder. The things the murderer had done would be impossible for a normal person to watch, so extraordinarily repulsive that it would cause almost anyone to question their sanity. But not little Elaine. Oh, no, Elaine had relished the gore. Her father had always loved and cared for her, but Elaine loved no one but sweet, sweet horror. She had watched with hungry eyes the murder of her foolish father. She recorded his screams of agony, and savored the memories of blood spraying, of his hot, fresh flesh being ripped off. She licked her lips when she fondly remembered his face, filled with such exquisite horror, such lavish pain that it sent shivers of joy down to her core. Throughout her mundane, numb live, she had never felt anything like that night. Now she stood before the monstrous man, with a fresh victim struggling against her restraints at his side.
This was where she made her strange request. She fell down on her knees, and began, "I was there when you murdered my father, a mister Steven Haggart. I vividly remember your gruesome, and torturous methods. Please, mister, could you repeat the same process upon me?" This request was nothing like he had expected. He lowered the knife, and rolled his hand. The girl nodded, and explained, "I remember his face, vibrantly filled with pain and fear. How tasteful it was!" She closed her eyes, put her hands up to her chest, and continued with a happy tone, "Such fear and pain, so full of life right before death! I've always lived in a daze, numb state, devoid of feeling, until that night." She opened her eyes, and began crawling towards the murderer. Elaine began to speak louder, "That feeling, from watching his death, was the most alive I've ever felt. I want to feel it again, I want my life not to end in sadness, but choking with vibrant pain, relishing intense fear that, for once, makes me feel alive! Please, oh glorious killer, bring me my vibrant death!"
It was at this point that the murder took off his mask, and revealed himself to be a middle aged man, with a scarred face. He knelt down to the ecstatic girl before him. Her little body was covered in scars, presumably self-inflicted, to get that little burst of blissful pain. His face just inches away from her radiant, eager face, he broke her heart, "I'm sorry, honey, but you're not my type." Her face was shattered, her hopes of murder destroyed, but he decided to give her a wonderful offer, an offer that she wouldn't refuse.
It was years later that the police caught the father-'daughter' duo, the serial killers of hundreds. Now at the age of 18, she was given the death penalty, but she seemed oddly pleased by this. Her guards were extra-careful, convinced that the happiness of the 18 year old psychopath meant a plan, that she had a clever, complicated plan to escape, but they were dead wrong. She was smiling as she walked up to the electric chair, and showed her radiant face to her disgusted audience. As she was strapped in, the straps firmly dooming her to her inevitable death, her last sabotage was soon evident. Inspectors soon found that she had managed to lower the voltage, not to safe levels, but to just barely lethal levels. This caused her death to be long, and filled her little body from head to toe with indescribable pain, he mind was ablaze with no thoughts other than that of fear and pain, and this was exactly as she wanted. | 34 | A young girl catches a serial killer red-handed. She enthusiastically and genuinely wants him to murder her too, out of an interest with the macabre and general boredom with life. But she's not ''his type''. Tell us about an unlikely friendship. | 53 |
"I promise, it'll be great," Lily said after Hannah expressed her reluctance to go. Hannah sighed, and nodded. She couldn't back out now anyway. She began having a thumb war with herself, and noticed the butterflies in her stomach as Lily finished straightening her hair.
"Okay, done!" Lily announced. Hannah put her glasses back on and looked in the mirror. With a little more makeup than usual and a dress, she had to admit she looked pretty nice. Even so, she was very nervous. Hannah wasn't exactly the type to date. Lily sensed this nervousness and decided she would try to relax her friend, "Hannah, don't worry, I'm sure she'll love you. It'll be fine."
Hannah nodded again and glanced at her phone. It was 6:48pm, and she was to meet her date at 7. She informed Lily and left. She was walking to the meeting place, as it wasn't very far from her home. She got to the fast food restaurant in time and sat at a table by herself to wait. After a few minutes, when she was staring at her phone screen, she heard footsteps. Her stomach was doing somersaults.
"Hannah?" She looked up, but was not expecting what she saw: Ellie Reynolds, a cheerleader from her school. She wondered what the hell Lily had been thinking, but remembered she didn't go to their school.
"Ellie?"
"You're my date?" she asked in disbelief.
"I guess so," Hannah replied. She couldn't believe her best friend would match her with someone who is such a, well, a bitch.
After a moment of silence, Ellie sat down next to her. "I guess I can give you a shot," she grinned.
Hannah thought that maybe she was wrong to judge simply for the fact that she was a cheerleader.
Ellie grabbed for her hand and Hannah felt her heart flutter. | 19 | A nerdy girl goes on a blind date. She's surprised when the date is the bitchiest cheerleader in her school. | 28 |
Sinclair twisted the neck of the bottle, and champagne burst forth, ruining the little red cloth covering the table.
"I believe you owe me, friend." He said, his best shit-eating grin on his face. His victim groaned.
"You're a total fuck, you know that?" The drunken Jersey boy reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and he slapped it down onto the table. Sinclair nodded his head appreciatively, disappearing the wallet into one of his many coat pockets.
"So as you honor our deal, honor comes to you." Sinclair left, champagne still frothing, and the Jersey boy shook his head, his fists clenched, and started drinking his consolation.
The champagne was almost gone by the time the officer rolled up. A few questions, and he asked for ID. The Jersey boy couldn't give it, and the officer sighed. Another one for the drunk tank.
But the car never made it back to the station; Jersey boy got sick, violently. Thrashing in the back of the car, Officer Gerald did the only reasonable thing he could do, and the two were soon speeding off to the hospital.
When Jersey boy woke up, he'd been in the hospital for twelve days. Alone in his room, a clipboard notified him that he'd had a severe seizure due to some unknown catalyst. Had he made it to the hospital even a moment later, he would have died. He also knew he was unnamed, and his escape only took him walking out of the chlorine stained room.
Somewhere under one of Vegas's royal casinos, in a large, plush room, Sinclair toyed with his cards, flicking them into the air. His friend stared at them, bemused, and laughed as the wrong card came up yet again. Taking a deep draw of his Gentleman Jack, he leaned back in his chair, a question on his face.
"Ask, Tommy. You know we've got no secrets here."
"Well, Sinbad, I was just wondering somethin'. You're a bonafide fucking superhero. Why do you help out the trash? Why help the random shmucks that you catch on the streets with this shit?" Another pull. "We could be fuckin' millionaires, you know."
Sinclair laughed, flicking a card in the air. "That's the real game, Tommy. If they don't honor their promise, they don't live. If they do, they get to breathe tomorrow. They choose life or death." | 21 | An all-around scummy scam artist tries to ruin peoples days. It turns out he is helping them inadvertently. | 70 |
It started off like it always did: a quick elbow to the window, the dowel to keep it open, and he was in. It was routine by now. Not just the theft itself, but the expectation that he needed to be a thief. He settled into his role nicely, as if this was his ordained path, what he was meant to do.
This job was a little different. He typically worked at night, but he had tracked this family for a while. The kids would be at school, the father at work, and the mother off fucking her pilates teacher or whatever else. The robber had seen her before, and smirked to himself while thinking that maybe he should have taken up pilates himself.
A tablet in the kitchen was brushed into his duffel bag like scrap. The lengths he went to in order to steal, the risks he put himself in, and he always treated his haul like trash. He continued into the bedrooms and took a pair of shoes and a watch, then moved into the study.
The study took him aback. Through the buttresses of light shining from the windows to his left, dust set heavily, swirling around the room. Long shadows were cast as the man in front of him atop a mahogany chair gripped the rope around his neck.
"You're here to steal from me, aren't you?"
The robber thought to himself for a moment. Immediately the hypocrisy hit him- oh, how rich it was that the suicidal were accusing the thieves of theft!
The robber looked up at the man, skin like paper and hollow eyes. He walked over to the man, judged him up and down until his eyes met those suicidal globes two feet above his. He smiled, and the homeowner flashed a panicked face for just a moment before beginning to struggle as the robber kicked out the chair from underneath him.
"I could never rob you of your freedom." | 182 | A burglar breaks into a home to accidently find the owner attempting to hang himself. | 228 |
She sat in the chair glaring at Bellatrix. In a moment, she'd throw another curse at her, but Bellatrix needed a moment to catch her breath.
Another day wasted tossing imperius curses at her. She'd never seen a muggle resist so well. "I will break you. You know this don't you? The time you lasted will make it all the sweeter a victory when it happens."
"Well, that's a possibility, but it won't make a difference. You'll still lose."
Bellatrix hated the look of triumph on the sow's face. "How, can you still believe something so ridiculous?!"
The woman smiled at her. "You haven't heard from him in awhile, have you?" She froze. The woman's smiled widened. "You really haven't!" She threw her head black in laughter.
Bellatrix dropped her wand in a moment of fright and then she shrieked in anger. The woman's fingers caught fire. The flames burst into being, flared and then extinguished in the blink of an eye. The woman screamed in pain. Bellatrix picked up her wand with shaking hands. It'd been years since she'd wildly done magic. She'd been just a girl, first discovering that she wasn't a squib after all.
She took a breath and composed her self. The woman writhed in pain. Bellatrix paralyzed her with a petrificus spell. "You will tell me what you know about the Dark Lord and what's become of him. We can take all night, or you can spare yourself some pain now. Either way I will find out what I need to know." She leaned into the face of her captive "Do you understand?" She released the woman's head from the spell, leaving the rest of her body frozen.
The woman nodded. "Let's skip the pain then. Your boss? He's dead luv."
Bellatrix laughed, but it was in vain. She could see in the woman's eyes that she was telling the truth, at least as she believed it. "How."
Smiling the woman nodded again. "Your lot, you ever bothered to learn more of the natural world once you figured out your special tricks with your little sticks. It put you ad a disadvantage luv. Once you learned how to throw fireballs, you never bothered to learn how to make other incendiary devices. Well me and my lot did. We learned it very well, and we kept learning how to do it better and better. You'd be surprised how much damage can be done by just a small bit of C4 or Semtex. Enough to reduce a human being to ashes... along with his big pet snake."
Bellatrix looked the woman in the eyes for the longest time trying to formulate a question. Then one jumped at her. "How do you know about the Dark Lord's snake?"
The woman smiled "Your 'dark lord' had many enemies. Of them, a school teacher, or a head master of some sort wasn't the kind of man to leave things to chance. In addition to following up on some kooky prophecy involving some 'boy who wouldn't die' or some rot, he contacted a common woman. One of us 'muggles' as you like to say. He told this woman, some gal named Rowling, everything he knew. She was a back up you see, one of many people across the globe put in place to get the word out on how to take out your boss if his plan A didn't work out."
Bellatrix soaked it all in. Finally she raised herself up. "Well then. Unless you've got anymore to share, let's get back to turning you to my side. If the Dark Lord is truly dead, it might be time for a Dark Lady to rise up and take control."
The chuckle that came from the woman seemed resigned. "Sure, knock yourself out, but I already told you. It won't work. You're going to lose no matter what." Bellatrix blasted her.
3 hours later the woman finally broke. Bellatrix was elated. She wanted to make the woman do so many degrading and horrible things to herself, but she kept her head. Now was not the time to distract herself. "Now that you are mine, you will tell me everything of strategic value."
The woman nodded with dull eyes. "Yes mistress. I suppose I should start with the bomb inside my body, where my apendix used to be. It's set to go off in about 2 minutes."
Bellatrix was struck with horror for only a moment. She cast the spell to apparate immediately. Disappearing in a puff of smoke she appeared... in the same cell. There was a long beat of panic and then she ran for the door. A blinding blue bolt of lightning struck her in the chest and pushed her back.
She got up off the floor and spun on the woman. "How is this happening?!"
"There are counter spells being directed at this location by the allied forces of the UK and Germany."
Bellatrix was confused "How are muggle armies using spells against us?"
"We made some of your fellow death eaters some very attractive offers mistress."
Bellatrix struggled for understanding "What was offered?"
"There's not enough time to answer mistress. We have ten seconds."
In those final seconds, for the first time since she was 15 and for the last time in her life, Bellatrix Strange wept. | 146 | Death Eaters win The battle of Hogwarts killing all opposition and breaking a one thousand year old truce between muggles and wizards. Lord Voldemort must now face the full might of the United Kingdoms' military. | 305 |
I didn't spend much time on my wedding vows. I didn't intend to keep many of them, anyway. My first vow was to always be honest with her. I broke that vow at the reception when she asked me how her hair looked. My wife still believes in pure, innocent love, so I do the song and dance. I bullshitted a few more vows for her benefit. Must've done a good job, since she was almost too emotional to say the words "I do."
I watch my brother give a toast. He's red-faced and needs one hand on the table to stop from falling down, but everybody is eating this crap right up. He's slurring a made-up story about how he knew my wife and I were meant for each other from day one. Even though he's too drunk to pronounce my wife's name, half the audience is in tears.
Not everything I said was bullshit. At the end of my vows, I looked deep into my wife's eyes, and I said, "I would do anything for you."
That was true. I would do anything for my wife. And I have.
If she knew about Brenna, it would kill her. It would cost me my job, too. I've been teaching at that high school for fifteen years, and that one mistake would've taken everything from me.
So I went to Brenna's house. I knew I could shame her into aborting it. Her parents had abandoned her years ago. Giving up on children was in her genes. It was tougher than I thought, though. I didn't want to call a seventeen-year-old girl a whore. But I did it for love. She should be going to the clinic any day, now. Might even be today.
Brenna lived with her grandparents. I came to her house when neither of them were home. On my way out, I encountered her grandmother. That complicated things. She knew. She threatened to expose what had happened. I'm almost positive she hit me first, but it's tough to remember. I didn't mean to kick her once she was on the ground. Not that any of that matters. I did it for love.
Brenna, God love her, agreed to stay quiet. She would say a burglar came into the house and attacked her grandmother. Last I heard, the old woman was in a coma. Her husband intended to take her off life support any day, now. Might even be today.
As I watch my brother give a speech, I see my nephew in the back of the reception hall. He steals a kiss from the flower girl. She turns red. It might be her first. Maybe someday she'll learn that there's no such thing as pure and innocent love.
Might even be today. | 1,194 | make them connect. | 912 |
I'm sitting at home, alone. It's about 9:30.
Friday. There's homework to do, and lots of it. My friend's celebrating his 23rd birthday. He's at the strip club. My job is calling me incessantly--they probably want me to come in, or to fire me, or whatever.
But fuck all of that. This beer is delicious. And the TV's on. So I'm watching TV, when there are literally a million other things I should be doing. I'll probably start jacking off in a bit, but for now I'm watching Spongebob.
It's one of the old, better ones. The one where Spongebob and Sandy are karate fanatics and they drive everyone crazy. Hilarious. Classic.
*KzzzZHHGTtht*
I sit up. The TV's acting strange. Static. Weird. This isn't 1998. This shouldn't be happening. Is it the weather? Does the weather still fuck with DirecTV? I'm not sure.
*KzzzZHHGTtht*
More static. Muffled voices. Then, suddenly, the picture is clear. But it's not Spongebob!
An office. A desk. A black man. This is the Oval Office!
It's President Obama. He's sitting there, and he doesn't look confident, or presidential, or anything. His suit is all crumpled. He's not wearing a tie!
There's a man standing behind him. Or, I think that's a man. He's kind of...tall. And his pale face is waxy, tight. And his eyes.
The man's eyes are black.
Just, black. No pupils or irises or cornea or whatever. Just solid black! Who the fuck is this?
He's wearing a Ghostbusters T-shirt. The black one with the Ghostbusters insignia on it. I have that same one. Got it from Wal-Mart years ago.
And he's wearing....Spongebob boxers! And nothing else!
The President's staring at the camera. He clears his throat uncomfortably. He turns to look at the man. The man nods, knowingly, powerfully.
"My fellow Americans," he begins. He gulps. Looks at the man again. The man nods again.
"My fellow Americans. I come to you tonight not in jest, but because events have transpired that will overturn everything we've ever believed."
The President gulps again. The man, the black-eyed man with the Spongebob boxers, places his hand on the President's shoulder.
The President shudders, jumps. Who in the flying *fuck* is this guy?
"Now, please. I implore you. Listen carefully." The President gets up and motions for the man to sit down. He does. The President slips away, out of the shot.
The man adjusts himself, brushes back his bushy brown hair, stares into the camera. Those eyes, man. They're just, black. Nothing else. Two oval-shaped obsidian stones just embedded into a waxy, vaguely human head.
"People of Designated Frontier Territory Number 6001," he says. "I am a being from another planet. An alien, if you will, although from where I'm sitting *you're* the aliens."
Oh. He's an alien. That makes sense.
"I'm here to inform you that your planet is now under the total jurisdiction of the Greater Hyper-Galactic Prosperity Initiative. Currently, as it stands, you are all subjects of the Immortal HyperLord **KZZZHHHHTTTTT**"
The TV fizzes harshly. I didn't get any of that. HyperLord who? Maybe his name itself is too advanced for my puny human cerebral cortex to comprehend? The picture clears up.
"Excuse me," the guy says. "It would appear that the venerable immortal HyperLord's name is too advanced for your brains to comprehend."
Right on the money.
"In any case, for now, you may carry on with your daily activities. There will be a great many changes in the near future, but for now--"
He's interrupted by another weird, black-eyed person, who quickly jumps into the shot. This guy's wearing a T-shirt too. It's Oscar, from Sesame Street. It says, 'I wear this shirt when I'm a grouch.'
And coincidentally, I have this shirt too. Got it from Wal-Mart.
Sesame Street whispers into Ghostbuster's ear hurriedly, furiously.
Ghostbuster slams the desk with his fist.
"YOU FOOL!" he roars. "BEARS! BEETS! BATTLESTAR GALACTICA!"
Sesame Street is nodding, his eyes closed.
"Now, go watch it again, or you shall be sentenced to six cycles in the Blurgorian Xyntho mines!"
Sesame Street bows and leaves.
Ghostbuster returns his black gaze to the camera. "As I was saying," he says, "Expect further transmissions from us in the near future. In the meantime, carry on with your lives."
He gets up, turns around. He's got a wicked wedgie.
Like, literally. Spongebob's eyes are so wickedly entrenched inside of this person's ass that it takes him about six solid seconds of digging before he gets it out.
And then the TV fizzes out again, and then it's back to Nickelodeon.
"I hate all of you," Squidward says.
I missed the episode.
| 14 | An alien fleet comes to invade Earth, but on the way here, they become infatuated with human TV and radio broadcasts | 36 |
I'm going to multi-part this story so here is part one.
Best of Show.
Chapter One
There was a burst of blue light in the lab and what I'd assumed was Cherenkov Radiation which is why I was running like hell
The Hayes Kansas Tachyon Collider had erupted and anyone not heading for the exits was done for. I'd gotten most of the scientists to safety when I was hit by the standing wave.
The sensation was wrenching as I hurtled through time and space and when I stopped I was in a strange auditorium, dizzy but as far as I could tell unhurt with no visible radiation burns and my radiation badge was unaffected.
I stepped out into the empty hall. The signs said "Show in progress" so for not being sure what to do I headed in that direction. It seemed the soundest choice in a sea of bad choices,
The auditorium was crowded so I grabbed an occupied seat in the back. An older lady, maybe 50 and tre' attractive sat next to me "I haven't seen you around here Is this your first show?" she asked
"Mmm hmm" I muttered. She introduced herself "Ekatarina King" . She was well dressed in a feminine pantsuit and smelled faintly of lilac.
"Jeff Thorn." and we shook hands
A few moments later the show began, I first assumed it was some weird S&M thing as a huge range of humanity, all beautiful was paraded out with a silk voiced announcer extolling the virtues of each person. I didn't know whether to be enticed by the beautiful people, turned on by the kink or disgusted
As the show went on I must have seen 50 people performing tricks, dancing and in general reminding me of the AKC dog shows my mother always watched .
This went on for several hours and than the awards were handed out, best show, best of breed, best comportment, sexiest and so own.
I shook my head and headed for the exit. I certainly wasn't in Kansas anymore. Two large guys with with boxy weapons of some kind were waiting for me "Come with us"
I pulled my Glock 23 and pointed the laser on them "No."
They took a step back , I don't think they were used to being disobeyed
"Who are you ?"
They looked puzzled by the question "Int-Sec. Who are you?"
"Special Agent Thorn"
The older Int-Sec guy said "Do you mind coming with us Special Agent"
"Sure. I'm keeping my sidearm."
"Of course." They replied "I'm Beale and this is Post ?"
The car didn't have a barrier in the back so we drove fairly amicably to what I assumed was the police station and as I looked out I saw the City of the Future, Today and shuddered. | 27 | You discover a dystopia where a 10% elite group of people are breeding other humans like dogs. You witness one of the shows where prizes are handed out to the best new breeds of the year. | 188 |
It just happened one day. I was just a child when, angry at my parents, held my breath to try and get what I wanted. When I took that first lungful of air, everything suddenly froze. Surprised, I let it out in a huge gasp, and my mother continued to make dinner. Confused, I held my breath again, this time for longer. The broth she was pouring froze, hanging in the air as if it was held by invisible strings.
From then on I used my power quite a lot, from getting answers on a test from others or moving myself into just the right position for a soccer play. Whenever something was wrong, I take that breath in and just think. Then there was that one day, during a midterm in college. I pulled my breath in, and was casually sauntered around gazing at answers when all of a sudden some movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked over intently and saw a girl with bright red hair, still writing away. I froze, trying to comprehend what was happening. She glanced up casually, then froze wide eyed. She looked around confused when her eyes alighted on me. We stared into each other eyes for a moment until I jumped back to my seat and let out my breath. For the rest of the test the only thing running through my mind was this girl. Who is she, and how did she not freeze?
Afterward I searched her out, looking for her brilliant hair. I came up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and froze staring into my eyes. With only a whisper, she asked what happened. I brought her aside, and started to explain my power, my curiosity getting the better of me. As we talked, I found out she had the same, weird power. The funny thing is, the only reason she wasn't frozen was because she was holding her breath too.
It was then I knew I had to be the only one, and thus began our battle. the very same battle that has been going on for so many years. The only reward being the destruction of the other, though at a great cost. Even though its been so long, we've still never stopped. Maybe someday one of us will prevail, but until then we must continue, vying for victory. | 33 | The protagonist suddenly discovers that he/she can stop time by holding his/her breath | 82 |
Okay, I'll admit that the prank war has grown a little bit out of hand.
Yes, I started it. But in my defense, you were snoring really loudly, and only getting a couple hours of restless sleep a night tends to wear a guy down after a week or so.
Maybe giving you permanent eye shadows with a Sharpie while you were asleep was a stupid move, in retrospect, but I felt that at least we should both look sleep-deprived.
As you remember, you retaliated by painting all my nails. This wouldn't have been so bad if you'd just done my fingernails, but you did my toes, too. And painted little flowers on them. I'm a little worried about how well you made those, you know. Those seem disturbingly neat for a guy's nail painting skills.
Of course, I couldn't let that go. No one could. And replacing the cream in all your Oreos with toothpaste seemed like adequate revenge. I was helping you eat healthier!
There really was no call for you to follow up with those mayonnaise filled doughnuts. You know that I'm pressed for time in the mornings on my way to class. I nearly puked on the professor.
But after that, I decided that I wouldn't mess with your food any longer. You should have been happy about that. The fact that I glued all your toilet paper rolls together really should have been the last sally, the final blow before the peace treaty.
Instead, you blew up all my condoms like balloons. Haha, funny, but I *told* you that I was bringing my girlfriend at the time over, and that this could be "our special night." And when I stepped into our room, not only was the mood ruined, but you didn't even leave me a single condom! Dammit, man, blocking me like that is against Man Code.
Once again, perhaps I was acting in anger, after she stormed off. Maybe bleaching a dick onto all of your polo shirts was a little too mean. I suppose that it is technically property damage, like you pointed out. But you ruined all my condoms - and my shot at a girl that could have been my future wife! So I stand by my actions.
Besides, those polos totally made you look like a tool.
I will admit that when you put the slime inside my pants, it was a good slow-played revenge. I didn't realize what was wrong until probably a good ten minutes after I put them on. I'm still not sure what that slime was. My best guess is lime gelatin mixed with Elmers glue.
So to make up for the dick shapes on your shirts, I put spray glitter on them. Now, no one will notice the offensive shape, because you'll look fabulous! Girls love sparkly objects. I was doing you a favor.
But you apparently didn't take it that way. Instead of thanking me, you covered my bedspread in little hairs. I don't even want to know where those came from. I had to wash my sheets four times to stop the itching.
And once again, I might have slightly over-reacted. I think you ought to be proud of me, however. Figuring out how to program a script to make your computer blare [Chacarron Macarron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l12Csc_lW0Q) every hour, on the hour, took a lot of work. Be proud of me for learning!
But as I can see now, you instead insisted on fighting back.
So I'll ask you again, oh roommate of mine:
John, why is my table on the ceiling? | 11 | "John, why is there a table on the ceiling" | 15 |
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