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The sky was black, the oceans were red and the ground was white with ash. The crops had died and all the animals along with them, the last dregs of humanity were fighting over the last few drops of fuel and cannibalizing eachother to survive. Times were bad. The Four Horsemen had come and gone, even they grew tired of the smoke and mayhem that never seemed to end. Then, we heard the distant fall of heavy hooves. Everyone stopped and looked to the west as the sky seemed to clear. I saw a bird, I swear an honest to god living bird flying through the air. It grew warm and breezy, in a pleasant way that didn't stir too much of the ash or blow the stench of decay around too much. Then we saw him. His horse was pristine and white, covered in gold and jewels. It's hooves were made of brass and it's teeth made of iron. The man who rode it looked old and tired, but he gave an immense sense of serenity.
"I AM THE FIFTH HORSEMAN, HOPE. GATHER AROUND ME AND WAIT, FOR I WILL SHOW YOU THE WAY TO SALVATION."
We all crowded around until there were hundreds of thousands of us circling a small hill with him on top of it. He got down from his horse and built a small fire, and it seemed to warm the whole crowd. He told stories of good overpowering evil, the virtues of patience and love. He slept and made small meals that we passed around, no one seemed to be able to empty the tiny bowls. He said we should wait and we'll be shown the way, just believe in him and things will get better. We waited and waited, more people dying of hunger and exposure than ever before, his meals were not enough to keep even 10% of us alive. It's been months, I'm the last one...he just said wait and wait but nothing ever happened. He rode his horse up to me a few minutes ago and said something:
"NOW YOU KNOW MY TRUE NAME, APATHY. YOU WAITED LIKE SHEEP EVEN THOUGH PEOPLE WERE DROPPING DEAD AROUND YOU ALL BECAUSE I HAD A FIRE AND A SMALL BIT OF FOOD. NOW YOU SEE HOW THE HUMAN RACE ENDS, WAITING FOR NOTHING." | 80 | The first four horsemen didn't phase us. The fifth horseman was the one that broke us. | 71 |
It reached for the Control Panel, felt its unwieldy hands press the buttons. It was not meant for this life of solitude. There were more of it, somewhere, and it searched for them. Yet the cosmos was empty, a blank map with no traces of a anything it and the Great Machine.
Its number was AD-12. AD-13 would follow when he was too old, his millennium of life support used up as designated. Still, he had time, time to view the empty void, gaze upon the distant flecks of stars, input information into the Great Machine.
Time passed, a blur of days it never bothered to count. It simply was *aware*. Months, Years, sometimes decades would pass by in the trance of empty black, filled only by the clicks of the Great Machine. If it passed a star, the Great Machine let it know.
*Home.*
Only a gut feeling, but It felt itself slowly turning, the Great Machine around it swiveling lazily as it traced its footsteps through the galaxy. There was nothing more for it to see, nothing but home.
It was its nine-hundreth-and-tenth time it logged a new year when it finally landed on home. Eden, the Great Machine told it, although it was not sure what this meant. As if heaving a final breath, the Great Machine repeated it once more, before it opened.
It had never seen anything like this.
It was a new thing. It was a color, but how to describe the color was beyond It.
*Green*, AD-12 decided. From now on, that color was *green*.
From Above, another Great Machine landed, touching ground with the surface. AD-12 felt something. It was a curious thing, something never experienced in his own life before leaving the Great Machine.
*Emotion*, AD-12 thought absently. It was another word.
The other Great Machine opened. "Eden," it said, and it too began to fall apart. Then he saw it. It was something new, but not new. It was his own, yet something so alien, in all of his nine hundred and ten years, he could never have dreamed of.
"Eden," Ad12 attempted to say, as if to talk to the other It, yet it came out as, "Even."
The other It, just as lost as he. "Eve?"
Adam looked back, suddenly affirmative. "Eve." | 181 | A new-born baby is sent on a one-way trip into the outer reaches of space. Automated machines are to keep him alive and teach him as he grows older how to man the craft/stay alive/etc. Towards the end of his life, he comes in contact with a strange life-form... humans. | 253 |
The Historical Revision Agency was created on June 16th 2048, following the invention of working time travel six months previously. The founders, Mr. Joseph Krass and Mr. Henry Fitzgerald, made a very good case for the agency's existence before governing bodies such as the UN and the WHO; both of whom were a bit sceptical on the issue.
The idea was a simple one: use time travel to prevent bad events from happening and to make sure that good ones do happen, or happen sooner. In theory it sounded fine.
In theory.
Two things suddenly became apparent to those working in the HRA. One: changing the timeline is often impossible without out-rightly killing a large number of people, and two: even as events are forced to happen or denied existence, new events always take their place and, usually, make things worse.
The first problem was easily sorted. The UN and other such bodies allowed the HRA to have a limited arsenal of modern weaponry to supply their field agents. This came about by travelling back in time and replacing the previously incumbent members of the UN with members of the HRA. Thus, the legislation was easily passed.
The second was much more difficult. The HRA tried, and frequently failed, to make things better for the people in the present. A team of HRA mathematicians and historians worked around the clock to determine which events or people were the most important to meddle with. Their calculations often proved misguided however.
The HRA killed Hitler, for example.
Good.
But with no WWII, the EU was never formed, leading to many more European wars.
Bad.
So the HRA retroactively set up an EU.
Good.
But without the camaraderie of the Allied powers, the USSR quickly took over all of Europe and entered a full-scale nuclear war with the US in the early 60s.
Bad.
This was the general pattern in all events the HRA meddled with. Finally, in the year 2061, the HRA mathematicians and historians concluded, in a unanimous vote, which event would improve history the most if stopped. The denial of this one event would undoubtedly create a better world for everyone.
The time machine was readied and the agent chosen was given his equipment: a handgun loaded with two bullets. The capsule was closed and the date was input: June 16th 2048. | 127 | Time travel is invented, but rather than preserve the timeline, an agency is created improve history as much as possible. | 160 |
Day 4 I asked to speak to the Oracle -- something only the presiding ruler is allowed to do, anyway. Akanksha took me to the chamber, averting her eyes as I went inside.
The room was empty and silent. I called out, "I think you've made a mistake."
A voice rose up, like a breeze on a field of grass coalescing into a coherent sound. As she -- or it -- spoke, the walls started to glow.
"^I ^DO ^NOT ^MAKE ^MISTAKES, ^HIS ^SERVANT ^ON ^EARTH."
"But you don't understand. I don't--
"^YOU ^DO ^NOT ^BELIEVE. ^YOU ^ARE ^FAITHLESS. ^YOU ^ARE ^FILLED ^WITH ^DOUBT, ^WITH ^SKEPTICISM. ^BUT ^YOU ^ARE ^CHOSEN."
I shook my head. Parlor trick, I'm sure I'd been on a suspected atheist list for years.
"^YOUR ^ROLE ^WILL ^BE ^ILLUMINATED. ^YOU ^WILL ^MAINTAIN ^YOUR ^SKEPTICISM, ^AND ^BRING ^THE ^FINALITY ^OF ^HIS ^WORD ^TO ^ALL ^NON-BELIEVERS. ^THIS ^I ^HAVE ^SEEN."
"I, really doubt that. I mean, I think the first issue I am going to tackle is religious persecution. The church has far too much power."
"^DO ^AS ^YOU ^THINK ^APPROPRIATE. ^YOU ^ARE ^HIS ^SERVANT ^ON ^EARTH. ^YOUR ^ACTIONS ^ARE ^NOT ^YOUR ^OWN. ^YOU ^CAN ^NOT ^ERR."
I left more disturbed than when I started. If it was some kind of complex behavior prediction algorithm, should I act against what I want to do? Or is that factored in as well? How could anything predict far into the future with so many variables in play? The Oracle's successes were highly publicized, but I'd always assumed it was just her failures being covered up -- my government had complete control of the media.
I started to wonder if, maybe, there was a way to destroy it.
| 19 | In a theocratic society, a leader is chosen every ten years by the Oracle. This time you've been chosen. Only problem is you're an atheist. | 45 |
“And, uh, you’re his…trainer, Mr., umm…?” Brad Matthews glanced from the shorter, slightly oddly dressed man in front of him to the taller blond on the stage. The first man nodded.
“It’s Doctor, actually. But call me Frank,” He replied, grinning.
“Of course, my apologies. Would you mind if we interviewed the two of you for Sports Weekly? The fans would just love to know what the heck he did to get abs like that, you see.”
The Doctor seemed to perk up at the mention of an interview. He nodded even more quickly. “Oh, yes. We’d love that! It’s quite simple, actually.”
“Delightful! How about we meet backstage after the final judging?” Brad asked. He glanced up from his note book, pushing his Clark Kent-esque glasses back onto his nose. The Doctor glanced off into the distance for a moment, as if trying to remember if he was busy or not. After a moment he looked back to Brad.
“It’s a date!”
Brad smiled, extending his hand to shake the Doctor’s. After exchanging goodbyes, he made his way back to his seat. He could scarcely wait to call his fiancé – after three months of getting assigned nothing but writing speedo reviews, it felt great to be in charge of something that would actually interest readers. And that contestant. He was going to win by a few laps, in runner’s terms. He’d never seen quite as perfect a body as that dude had. It was like the airbrushed, enhanced ones you’d see in his magazine’s pages, only it was real, raw, and unedited. He could only imagine how many hours that dude had put in at the gym. And his trainer, as odd as he seemed, must know what he’s talking about.
Brad had to admit, when the Doctor had entered in the contest, he’d had his doubts. He looked more like a mad scientist than a miracle worker of a gym trainer, but he’d come through. Boy, had he ever come through. He’d shown up the next day with the most amazing contestant the judges had seen in years.
The competition flew by, and sure enough, the blond dude won a grand prize. Brad wasted no time in hurrying backstage to talk to the pair. He found them easily enough – all he had to do was look for the awestruck crowd.
“Frank! Could I have a minute?” He called, trying to hope above the swooning girls. The Doctor lit up when he saw him, and wasted no time in whispering something to the bodybuilder before leading him over.
“This is the reporter I told you about,” He said excitedly.
“Hi.” The bodybuilder said.
“Hi,” Brad replied. “So, I just have a few questions. How long exactly did it take you to get a body like this, huh?”
The bodybuilder furrowed his brows, then counted off on his fingers. “The Doctor started working on me…5 months ago.”
“That quickly? Gee! Was the training hard? How many hours a day did you work?”
“Five or six hours a day, at least. And it was very hard!” The Doctor cut in. Brad scribbled that down in his note pad. He couldn’t help but feel shocked at the short time period. This Doctor really *was* a miracle worker.
“Do you belong to any gym?” Brad glanced up again.
The bodybuilder shook his head. “I have my own…gym. The Doctor built it for me. Good for training.”
“What about workout clothes? Any brand you prefer?”
The bodybuilder just stared at Brad, as though he’d never heard of brands before. After an awkward moment of silence, Brad shrugged. “I’ll take that as a no.”
He asked a few more questions, like routine specifics or what tips they’d give to aspiring bodybuilders, then began to thank them. He paused at last minute, realizing he’d forgotten something.
“Um, before I bid you farewell, Doctor – Frank-, where’d you say you were from again?” He couldn’t remember if they’d mentioned their hometown, but he’d likely need it for the introduction.
“Transylvania,” The Doctor replied, giving a wink as though there was something terribly funny about that. Brad just nodded and wished them goodnight.
(So, uh, I took a slightly different route with this. I read Dr. Frankenstein and body builders and thought of a certain cult classic...anyways, awesome prompts!) | 38 | Frankenstein enters into a body building contest, only to realize, he has seriously misunderstood the objective. | 110 |
Xavier was a good man, and a courageous man but he was not a well-respected man nor was he a well-loved man. Instead, the honours of life and the esteem of his fellow men (and women) passed him by. Sorrowfully, he contemplate these facts, on the steps of the upmarket Cuito nursing-home where his grandfather now passed his time.
He had been unaware of them till twenty-three minutes ago, when his grandfather had chosen his wastrel brother Juan-Carlos over him as the inheritor of the family estate, the family company (Nuevo Banana) and the family name. Following that decision, Francesca - whom he loved and whom he thought loved him - had slipped into the smooth flow of Juan's proposal and the easy life to follow ensconced in the arms of the mighty and powerful Nuevo Banana company.
Both these choices had been bitter pills to swallow. These should be his rewards. It was he who had made the sickly Nuevo Banana powerful again by finding the Fountain of Youth, now successfully used to ensure the freshness and quality of their exported banana shakes. It was he who had cared for and loved his grandfather, and it was he who had stood by and loved Francesca.
But no....
"Life, is strange..." he exhaled from his perch on the porch step, "and not always fair, or unfair either. Instead it is life. It flows. And I am a pebble, sunk down to the riverbed. I do not flow."
He fingered the vial empty of water dangling on the chain around his neck. He regretted his impulsive decision, already.
"Yet I must bear the consequences. It is only right."
Like a clockwork mechanism, at the end of the thought, he heard the tread of footsteps behind him - the firm step of his grandfather upon the polished stone floor. It was time; his crime must now be known. The punishment must know be faced. He turned towards the handsome - and now young man - in the extravagant black evening suit.
His grandfather looked him up and down carefully, scrutinising then said gruffly, "Xavier, you are a fool. But you are a loved fool. You have 'spiked' the punch for our delightful evening party, with the water from the Fountain of Youth that you carry in a vial about your neck as a reminder of your triumph. "
Xavier bowed his head. "That obvious...." he thought. "I am indeed a pebble."
"I-"
His grandfather waved off his explanation.
" Now prepare my pistols."
"Your pistols?"
"I am a man of honor. The pistols now, quick, run..."
Xavier stood.
His grandfather, finally sighed softly and spoke again.
"Xavier, do you know why we do not give the water to the men who would pay a high price for it?"
Then night air was empty of an answer, so Xavier shook his head no.
"Life cannot be backspaced. This is a feature not a flaw," said his grandfather, proudly grasping at an analogy from the computer class he was studiously taking at the local University in the early evenings. "I have lived. And now having lived, I will end."
"But I did not-"
"No. I know you did not mean for this to occur. It was a prank and as to the why of your prank: you thought yourself slighted. Enough. I would simply free you, child. You spend too much time being Xavier of Nuevo Banana, or Xavier who dates Franscesca who should not be trusted. You are Xavier. Live as him. Life cannot be..."
He grasped for the word.
"...optimised, or acquired by acquisitions. The acreage of Nuevo Banana does not lie in your soul."
Xavier considered his grandfather's words.
He would have to seek Xavier out there amidst the world. The world though, was not a fair place, or sensible like the firm shoes he had used on the long tramp to the Fountain of Youth. It was a heady, intoxicating wine which did not play fair. He preferred the ordered accounting of the company books that progessed in a sensible manner
And so the third decision of the night was answered...
"No," he said finally (what more was there to say?), "Thank you."
"Ah, that is good," said his grandfather.
"Good?"
"Good - you have heard. The choice is your own."
Xavier nodded slowly. His head was brimful of imagined futures but also relieved that nothing worse would come from his rash decision in this future of his.
"Ah, it is grandfather, but I will fight for the company. I am a comfortable man-"
"-and I am a foolish and honourable one."
"Yes."
His grandfather nodded sagely then smiled and left to find his pistols.
Xavier remained on the porch.
He would stay on the porch a long time before leaving in the morning to begin the legal proceedings that would, in time, win him back Nuevo Banana though not Francesca. He would go on to live a long and illustrious life, helping greatly in the re-industrialisation of his country for which he would earn much praise and the elimination of dulenge fever for which he would make many enemies .
As to his happineess? Except for once each year, on the anniversary of his grandfather's death when he would fall into contemplation but not regret, he did in fact live happily.
Though, he was never quite certain of this fact.
| 16 | A prankster has spiked the punch at nursing home party with water from the Fountain of Youth. | 82 |
It was like the name of an actor you'd recognized but just couldn't quite place in that TV movie last night.
You know the feeling – you had the information all along, it just took some time. I got it at 10:37 PM on a Thursday. As with all things you seem to suddenly remember, it came while I was distracted, trying to solve some pithy work problem while staring at my slowly cooling cup-o-noodles dinner. I didn't have to hurry home in the evenings to take him for walks anymore, so I'd been regularly working late. When you get home after 9 o'clock anything more than microwaving a Styrofoam bowl of calories sounds like an insurmountable chore.
I still wonder if I was the first. Or maybe it's just no one talks about it. Did it always take a few days, like the knowledge was held in escrow? I'd lost him the last weekend, long enough it was a reality but short enough that I still looked over to his indentation on the couch and, for a brief second, wondered if he was in the kitchen causing trouble.
Who cares how it happened? It happened. Like a flip of a switch, something passed from his life to mine. I could almost here the cartoonish "click" of the light coming on as memories flipped. I'd thought myself benevolent when I put down my work to come home and take him out. Those walks were for him, to keep him from going stir crazy and destroying some trinket around the house. Sitting at the dog park, watching him run back and forth to sniff the same two trees for twenty minutes, meant I was the more evolved being caring for the otherwise helpless, loveable-but-blundering goof.
Not anymore. Is it better to know? I think I'm happier seeing he was watching out for me. His tugging for a longer stroll, his whining to go on another walk, his standing just a few extra steps out of reach when it was time to drive home from the park, was all for my benefit. How did he get that staring at my computer for hours in the fading night, or mindlessly tinkering on my phone on the couch, was slowly squashing something inside me? That a long walk on a cold autumn evening was what I needed to bring some of my humanity back? For that matter, how did I not see it myself?
If I'd know this bequest would happen, what would I have expected? Maybe understanding God, or the origin of the universe. Foolish pipe dreams, I suppose. How could a dog grasp any of that, any more than I can? But there's still a gift he's left me, something he saw but I couldn't. It's what got me back to going for walks when I get home from work, what lets me stare out the window without feeling like I'm wasting time. Maybe that's better than the origin of the universe, I'm still not sure. But ever since 10:37 PM on a Thursday, one mystery about dogs became crystal clear – even the kitchen trash smells amazing if you're just glad to be alive. | 53 | Whenever someone dies, all of their memories and experiences are transferred to someone of their choice, like an inheritance. One night, your pet dog dies, and suddenly you know and understand the secrets of the universe. | 138 |
"Thats done it, everyone."
It was quiet, for now. The last big hurdle overcome. Thats what it had all been about.
Spanning three galaxies and millions of allied worlds, the AUP had just ended the largest blitz this quarter of the known universe had ever seen. Humanity had gone head to head with its biggest foe, fought them off, and chased them all the way back to their own galaxy to finish the job. The enemy's worlds burned bright under antimatter beams and their stars were in the process of being collapsed with the new wormhole drop bombs that could generate black holes at any point they wanted.
Over the speakers came a familiar voice. No hint of victory but a slight bit of pride. The Admiral addressed his flock.
"Congratulations, we've done it. All ships not participating in the clean-up prepare to jump back to your home hubs."
As trillions of cruisers wheeled their noses towards their respective galaxies, Wing commander Irgin felt the need to ask;
"do you think we're it now sir?"
"What?"
"The bogeyman, biggest fish, top dog, I mean, is there anything bigger?"
"Than the humanity? The fleet? The UAP? No. No way kid, we have 500 species, over half of which, have gained immortality. Three galaxies, almost a quadrillion battleship class warships with jump drive and invisibility field capabilities. We just torched a galaxy. Not one country, or an enemy fleet. Not one world or solar system. A fucking galaxy, Commander. Think about it for a second. We are it. I have been alive for 18,000 years and I have seen it all. Nothing we have a physical grasp on could shake us."
"Well when you put it that way.... Look, I was just thinking about demi-god things-"
"Save it Commander, those things aren't interested in our dimensions. The only foes we have left are philosophical. Get this, what do we do now? Colonize another galaxy? Live in harmony? Develop technology to the point where we no longer need a physical form? Try and escape into the next universe when entropy comes for us? I don't have a fucking clue commander."
Irgin felt awkward. The First generation immortals were esoteric and philosphocally burdened to the point of near depression, he hated when the Admiral got like this.
"If I may suggest, sir, try being happy?"
"Phfmf." Came the the slight exhale and almost a grin from the ancient man. As if Irgin had made a decent joke.
| 32 | Humanity has won its last ever interstellar war. The stars are quieter than they have been for millenia. | 52 |
Woke with a wicked headache. The kind you have after a long night of heavy drinking, but I had not a drop last night. Kinda wish I did. would have at least made the night better.
Last night I went to the haunted carnival with Brittany...one of the few dates that actually went well. at least, until we got to the fortune teller. Brit insisted we talk to her, maybe see if we would grow old together or something...dunno. Lady Bella was creepy at best....the type of woman that you would shy away from on the street...ragged clothes, ratty hair...missing teeth. Needless to say she fit the motif of freaky oracle. Lady Bella went through the typical BS with Brit...."You will find riches, marry well, etc." Then, she turned to me...straight faced, and murmured..."Tomorrow, you will see the wages of sin, the turmoil of mankind. And you will be their reckoning."
Fast forward to today. Head is pounding like mad, and I have an hour to pick up Brit for a family reunion. Take a shower, down some head pills, and go pick up Brit. As soon as she sees me she knows something is wrong...but of course when she asks me I say I'm fine. Just tired...that's all. She knows I'm lying...but does not want to start another fight so lets it go. Guess there is a first for everything.
Arrived at the hotel for the reunion, and was actually excited to have some quiet time with Brit tonight. It's been a long time since we spent the night together, and it would be nice to be alone for once. But I knew I had to suffer my family first, so prepared myself for an afternoon of weak hugs and pretend emotions. Never really cared for my messed up family...but I know how to fake a smile. For some reason my left eye is itchy...what's up with that now? Swear I am falling apart.
First person I see is my Aunt Tilda. Swear she has been around for a century, but her stories were at least entertaining. Probably all lies, but still fun to hear. Soon as she sees me, she wraps me in a huge hug. I pull away and blink my left eye...and suddenly see my Aunt, from 30 something years ago...sitting in church. It's all in grey, like a dream… But I see her reach into the offering basket, taking money from it. Soon as I finish the blink the world returns to the present… all color. WTF was that?
Walking away perplexed by what just happened, ran into my Uncle Robbie. Now Robbie was a degenerate of a man….always harsh and mean to everyone. He always claims it's because of the war...but everyone who knows him he has always been an arse. He shoves me aside, and again my left eye blinks uncontrollably. Again, the world turns grey, and I see Uncle Robbie with his sister, when they were teenagers. He pushes her to the ground, and slaps her hard. He then proceeds to undo his belt and drops his pants, all the while I can see her screaming….
And then it's over. World back in color. I stare at my Uncle horrified by what I've just seen. I always thought my Uncle was demented...but that…
I finally make my way back over to Brit, and immediately she knew something was wrong. I could tell by her reaction that I looked pained.
"What's wrong? You look pale?" again I say I am fine. I look over to her and see the concern on her face, but then I blink. Grey scale world, and I see Brit laying down on a bed, naked, pulling someone towards her. Suddenly, as if from coming in from off camera, I see my brother Hank. She pulls him down onto her, and the world snaps back into color.
I look into her eyes...finally realizing the truth of today. The Oracle.
"Tell me again Brit...where were you the other night?"
"Not this again, I told you that I was not feeling well. "
"Not feeling well, but feeling well enough to bed my brother?"
She knew I had her...just by the look on her face confirmed the truth. My hand unconsciously gripped the steak knife on my plate...knuckles turning white.
"It's ok Brit...if you want to be with him, you can….but not in this world."
And I stabbed her straight in the heart. Very few people saw it initially, so I moved over to the next table to my brother, and slit his throat. Blood spewing everywhere. Then I saw my Uncle Robbie.
"You all are sinners...and I will be your reckoning. Prepare your black hearts for judgment!"
The headline the next day read this:
LOCAL BOY KILLS 20, INJURES 12. EACH VICTIM HAD A MESSAGE WRITTEN IN BLOOD, APPARENTLY CONFESSING THEIR SINS. SUSPECT REMAINS AT LARGE, VERY DANGEROUS.
I am the reckoning.
| 36 | Your right eye can see the last sin someone has committed only when your left eye is closed, and you find yourself in a family gathering. How does the day go? | 35 |
Huo Pao was old and scrawny. He was hardly the right person to appeal to incoming freshmen at the university. The students were sent by their wealthy parents, and some even had advanced tutoring to summon up cantrips. Of course, every guy wanted to learn fire and lightning, but he was loathe to take them on; they would most likely become tyrants that would need heroes to stamp out. Likewise, they didn't want him. No, they wanted to be taught by loud and proud artillery battlemage, who could conjure great firestorms through excessive channeling of their powers.
A pox on them anyway, Huo Pao thought. He was about to exit the hall when he saw a boy. Average height, but unusually fit. Shabby clothes. Very nervous, judging by the jackrabbiting of his right foot. Yet, a nervous person would look around around, trying to both meet a gaze and avert theirs at the same time.
This boy was looking at everyone's magic.
"What do you see, boy?" The boy jumped in his seat, startled at the low voice.
"Wh-what?"
"I see you looking at their hands. Tell me what you see."
"Well...that guy over there, he weaves his magic like a pen. But I saw him doing the same thing earlier today. He only knows that one move, but he's good at it."
"And...what about that girl over there?"
"I think she already knows some charm magic. There are a ton of guys looking at her, but that didn't happen until she was halfway through the room. You ask me, she's kinda dumpy."
"So what are you so nervous about? Seems you can already read their magic."
"But...just because I can read it doesn't mean I can write it. I'm just a farmboy who almost burned down the barn over a little scuffle with my pa. Kinda went off like a dragon, but I don't know how to do it again."
Huo Pao stroked his chin. Farmboy was certainly different...and while many farmers had an affinity for earth or water, this boy had fire in his gut. Although many magi may eschew fitness, strong heart and lungs were key to efficient fire evocation, especially if you wanted to skip casting steps.
"You do realize they've been at this for months, right? Don't compare yourself to them yet." He realized he forgot something. "What's your name?"
"My name? Uh...Siyo, sir."
"Walk up to that instructor over there. Tell him Huo Pao is going to win the bet, then blow your dragon breath on his boots."
"But I don't--"
"I know, you couldn't do it again...until now." Huo Pao poked him in the solar plexus. "Heave, but not from your throat. Do it from down here, and project like you want the biggest echo in the valley. Got it?" With a nod, the boy got up. After halfway towards the instructor, he looked back...but his strange trainer was gone.
-----
A couple days layer, Huo Pao broke the wax seal and opened the parchment. On there was a guild application for one Siyo Son, as well as a sticky note: "You owe me new boots."
Huo Pao smiled. The Firebending guild was back in action. | 72 | You are the last remaining fire mage of what was once a great guild. Your powers are... less than impressive. You're trying to convince someone with potential to join the guild and learn your ways. | 66 |
We're exhausted.
Of all the races in the galaxy, we were the only ones who didn't have a common sense. Something to bind us all together in times of peace, or some universal moral code that we all followed. There is not one region on our home planet that's avoided the fractured, broken, and chaotic nature of humanity.
So when the aliens known as the Kaavar passed through the Milky Way's galactic border, looting and burning entire systems, the Terran Empire soon became the only entity available to fight them. You see, common sense is by definition *common*. Each of the other 10 or so races coexisting before the Kaavari invasion had some attribute that applied to every member of their species...attributes that the cunning enemy exploited over and over to great effect.
Every last one of those races are now cowering in enclaves on human planets, protected by the shields of human warships that now control 90% of the galaxy.
It's kind of poetic, isn't it? Just 20 years ago, races like the T'vana and Shuri mocked us for our barely-restrained animal natures. Now their remnants beg us to reclaim THEIR home planets, planets that are some of the last Kaavari strongholds. They demand it of us as if it were THEIR soldiers who have been slaughtered by the trillions during this war...as if it were THEIR millions of battleships that died every day to protect them!
We are so, so tired.
The Kaavari are like us - they evolved sentience in small, warring communities instead of large groups. They understand us in a way that no one else has in this vast and lonely galaxy. Over the countless battles that we've fought throughout the course of this war, a respect has developed between the two sides...a respect that is lost on the other races. This is why I, Supreme Commander Alexis Tillerman of the Terran Imperial forces, have decided to sign the document in front of me. A document that the Kaavari diplomat has already signed. The document signing over all occupied planets in the Milky Way, no matter the original occupant, to humanity. The document that will now tightly bind Human and Kaavari in an alliance that will last until the heat death of the universe.
We are *tired* of this war. We are *tired* of the other races jeering at us when they think we can't hear them, pushing us to sacrifice more fighters, *demanding* power that should be ours by might. Most of all, we are tired of fighting the only race that has ever understood us. No longer. Even now, the human warships that surround the new and defenseless enemy enclaves turn their guns inwards, bolstered by Kaavari reinforcements that no longer have planets to protect. When the dust settles, Kaavari and Human forces will set forth on a galaxy-crushing crusade of expansion never before seen in the universe.
Welcome to the new Empire.
------------------------------------
^^^*Edited ^^^for ^^^punctuation. | 343 | Humanity is the only race in the galaxy with such a massive lack of common sense that we're the only species that requires laws to form societies. Other races just form naturally and are shocked when confronted with humanities laws and regulations. | 873 |
It started as a vigil, outside the hospital where he had been taken - almost immediately they had started to gather. That evening a local news ignored it completely, but by the next night there was nearly 5,000 people there, all silently standing, waiting, although they weren't sure what for.
It had been morning in the market place and he was a familiar sight, although few knew his name, he was hard to miss in the wheelchair. Normally he was accompanied by his sister and it was her who had first drawn the attention of the soldiers.
She was dressed modestly in a long blue dress, her hair covered and face concealed, but to the soldiers she was an object, normally just for ogling but today they went further. The night before had been a celebration and there had been rare beer in the barracks; some men had carried on drinking into the morning and were now on patrol.
The first man had grabbed her arm and demanded a kiss but she had tried to pull away. The guard hadn't liked that, but he had laughed and dragged her into the circle of men. She'd tried to talk her way free but they had insisted and then one had pulled her headscarf off, screaming in her face that she was a whore.
How he knew she was in trouble is not known, he was blind, mute and has no arms or legs to speak of, but he had managed to push his chair into the circle and at the sight of him they had stopped. For a moment.
The laughter had grown and they kicked over his chair, calling him her 'saviour' and putting a gun to his head. Now she was begging, pleading with them to leave him alone, that she would do whatever it took. The man kissed her and then threw her on the ground, calling her an abomination and saying that her genetic material was too poor to even kiss.
They did not see that a crowd was forming.
They kicked him over and over, saying that he was a curse from God and she was a whore and it was her punishment to have such a brother. A rock sailed from the crowd and struck a soldier and things went from bad to worse.
Immediately the solders turned and grabbed the young men who were near where the rock had been thrown, they lined them and the girl up and demanded answers, who had thrown the rock? The young man, helpless out of his wheelchair, was bleeding and he tried to move, screaming in pain. This was more than the girl could stand and she moved to help him.
It was only one bullet but she was down. Dead.
The crowds melted away and the square was empty, but eyes watched. The young men were taken away and the boy in the chair was picked up and taken to hospital.
The vigil began and it grew and grew. On the third day he died, the injuries to his head from the beating too severe. When the word spread, it electrified the crowd, tens of thousands turned and marched, picking up numbers and anger on the way, pushing through the streets and first bursting in on the barracks of the army.
The guards on the gate considered firing but there were more than could be seen or counted. The soldiers were found and the crowd handed out justice.
The movement grew, the nation changed, everything changed. His name was not known. He was seen in the square but no one had known who he was, now he and his sister were both dead.
He could not see, speak or move but he changed a nation. | 233 | He had no arms or legs. He could not see, hear, or speak. This is how he led a nation. | 250 |
“NO. WAY. Gary?!”
“Uh, yeah?”
“It’s me! It’s Pete!”
“What? But you… you’re… I mean, you… well, you’re a bench!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re a goddamn BENCH!”
“Gary, Jesus, I know. Can we just drop it?”
“You. Are. A. Bench.”
“GARY!”
“I’m sorry, man, I am. But oh my god! What the hell happened?!”
“Well you know when those guys came with the angry sword?”
“It’s called a chainsaw, we talked about this.”
“I’ll call it what I like, Gary, I’ve been through a lot.”
“Okay, fine. They cut you down. Where did they take you?”
“I dunno, I totally lost my bearings. I was on the back of a truck at one point with loads of others.”
“Other what? Other people like us? So… you mean it wasn't an accident? They cut you down on purpose?”
“Gary, there were hundreds of us. They shaved us and stripped us. They've been doing this for years, I think.”
“Oh my god, Pete. I…”
“We were all taken into this room. It was so dark in there. For a while, we all just sat. I don’t think anybody wanted to talk. Maybe they couldn’t. To be honest, Gary, I’ve never been so scared. You remember that summer a few years ago – you had that ridiculous hairstyle – and it got so stormy? I was nearly ripped out of the ground. I just managed to cling on. That was so terrifying. But, man, it was nothing compared to being in that room. We didn’t know what the hell was going to happen. At some point I became aware that I was in another room. This one was a little brighter. I was moving.”
“Wait, wait – what do you mean you were moving? There was wind, you were outside?”
“No, I was inside. It was all cold and metal. But I was moving – not in the wind! I was just, sort of, drifting. Then I heard this really weird noise, like the angry sw- the chainsaw, but bigger. Louder.”
“Pete, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more.”
“No. No, I want to talk about it. I think I do, anyway. They started cutting me and then everything was black. When I woke up, I was… like this.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“Did it hurt?”
“A little. It sort of faded away after time.”
“Well, how do you feel now?”
“I feel okay. I feel good. I just…”
“Yeah?”
“I look ridiculous.”
“Yeah you do.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“…”
“…”
“…Gary?”
“Yeah, Pete?”
“What the hell happens now?”
“No idea. Although, can I just say something?”
“Sure thing, Gary.”
“It’s good to see you again, buddy.”
“You too, man.” | 36 | Two trees were best friends. One was cut down and turned into a bench that was placed by the other tree. The bench can still talk. | 47 |
You ever seen a building collapse in on itself? It's self-contained at first, the upper-most floors disappearing like God's just taken an eraser and rubbed them out. Before long, though, it topples. Debris starts falling this way and that, raining lethal chunks of rock down on the streets below.
Why is that relevant? Well, the moment after I took that letter from the young messenger's hand, sliced it open, and skimmed the intricate hand-writing, my life turned from something with semi-stable foundations into a collapsing building.
That damned letter. Who'd have thought something so small could have had such an effect? My current predicament is completely down to that bloody letter. I practically know the thing off by heart...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Holt*
*What I need you to do for me, once this letter is read, is burn it. Burn any trace of it. Burn the paper, burn the envelope. Deal with the messenger if you deem it necessary. I have others.*
*Once you've done that, proceed onto your final target. You've done me a great service over the centuries, killing those that I needed rid of, and now it's time for your final task. Do this for me, and you'll earn your passage to the true afterlife. You'll be reunited with your family on the other side. All you've ever dreamed of, Holt, will be yours when this is over*
*End this*
------------------------------------------
The first thing that hits me is the light. Digging into my eyeballs, stabbing me right in the brain. It hurts. But I can move passed that, because it doesn't hurt even half as much as the blade slowly being drawn up and down my naked back.
"Holt, my boy." Tuts a silhouetted figure stood behind the flood-lamp, two bulky forms flanking him. My final target. "I thought you were better than this."
What irks me is the fact that I *am* better than this. Getting caught? That had been sloppy. I'd been overconfident. Too sure in my own abilities.
I'm sat tied to a chair. The back's been removed to provide easier access for the Torturer wielding the cold-iron knife.
"Maybe you want to untie me, eh?" I'm panting. Between the working over my back's getting and the extreme heat in the room, I don't know which is worse. I do know that both are equally affecting my ability to form coherent sentences."We'll talk this over, have a drink. Just like old times, yeah? I can explain how this is all just one big mistake."
"Where's your tongue at, Holt? Always had a quick wit, you did. Had an answer to everything. Now, though, all trussed up like a pig ready for the slaughter, you're babbling."
"I'll babble you, you long-nippled *motherfucker!*" Christ, what am I saying?
The next thing I feel is the blade digging at least half an inch into the flesh, just above the small of my back. Then the Torturer slides the knife up the length of me. The steel rattles off my vertebrae, sending literal shivers up my back. I make a mental note to bring that man with the knife a horrible end before the day's out.
"Do you know the funny thing?" Asks the man in charge, striding into the light. "I was going to reward you for what you've done for me. All those people killed in the Mortal Realm over the centuries? You've done me a great help. When I finally decide to invade, to claim it as my own, it'll be in part down to you."
"Brilliant. Why don't you tell me about that over a pint?" The Torturer's going at my back like he's carving his initials into it. Lots of little, shallow cuts. Sharp pain, like stubbing your toe but a lot worse.
"In fact, when they said you were at my front gate I thought that's what you wanted to see me about." The Devil's wearing a lovely white shirt with lilacs dotted all over it under a purple blazer. His tie and his pocket square are matching colours of red. He's slicked back his coal-dark hair with product. Shaved his cheeks and his jaw but let his goatee grow.
He's stitched up the deep cut I gave him. The one looping from the right corner of his thin lips and over the bridge of his nose, coming to a stop just under his left eye.
"Nature of the job, Y'know? Never trust a hired knife and all that." I give a snort of laughter. I don't feel like laughing, but sometimes you have to laugh. You understand? Life's hard. The afterlife's harder. Laughing keeps things straight in your head. Makes things a little easier to handle.
"No. I'm not taking the 'Nature of the job' bullshit. You're going to tell me who ordered the hit on me. You're going to tell me or so help me I'll -"
"You'll *what?!*" The fury sneaks up on me. Even the Torturer takes a hurried step backward. "Threats of violence, of death, they're a little fucking *redundant* at this point. Don't you think?"
There's a pause. An unnerving silence. Maybe the Devil'll order a harsher torture. Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Doesn't really matter. Can't spend your life worrying.
"Ahh." Chuckles the Devil, his features softening just a fraction. "There it is. There's the fire. I knew you had it in you, Holt. You acted all cold, all heartless. Put yourself out there as calm. In control. But at the end of the day it was all a mask, eh? I always knew. Man doesn't get to rival death for lives claimed without a little fire in him."
*Just one more life*. Just one more and I'll be free. He's so close to me. If only I was free, if only I had a knife. If if if. Too many if's, not enough thinking realistically.
"Now I know what you're thinking." The Devil continues. "That there isn't anything more I can do 'cept kill you again. The thing is. Well, the thing is. That's just not true. There's a lot of things I can still do to you, Holt. A lot more horrible than ReDeath. I promise, it'll all go a lot easier if you just *tell me who ordered the hit!"*
"Fuck you."
He backhands me. He's looks like a scrawny guy, but there's power there. It stings worse than all the cuts I've taken today combined. Numbs my jaw, my cheek. I reckon he's shattered a cheekbone.
Then he's leaning in closer. Close enough that I can feel his hot breath on my neck. Smell the sulfur off him.
"I'll ask once more, Holt." He says. "Who.Wanted.Me.Dead?" Each word snarled a little more furiously than the previous once.
I raise me head just a little bit. Meet his eyes. Stare deep into his black irises. A smile dances across my lips.
"Fuck. You."
---------------------------------------------
He left me to the Torturer.
He's long gone. A few hours. I've just been sitting here watching as the horribly twisted, green-skinned creature moves from my back to my arms. From my arms to my torso. The pain's completely unlike anything I've ever felt before. A different level. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the runes engraved on the little iron knife he's using.
Then something weird happens.
My eyes are shutting. The exhaustion getting the better of me. Before sleep can claim me, though, I feel the Torturer sawing at the rope that's holding me to chair.
My body moves as if on autopilot. I stand as quickly as I can. Steady myself against the nearby trolley - the one holding the Torturer's equipment - so I don't topple, and then cast my eyes back at the monstrous thing with the knife. He's hunched over, practically on all fours, his head bowed.
I open my mouth to speak. Find my throat parched. Raw.
"We serve the same Master!" The Torturer says, not daring to meet my eye.
"You've been cutting at me for hours." I reply. I'd shout it if I could, but I can't.
"Had to make it authentic-looking. Never know when a patrol could come by and check in one me! Sorry!"
I snatch the blade from his hands. Take the underside of his chin in one of my hands and yank his eyes up to meet mine. I touch the blade to his now exposed throat.
"Tell me where he sleeps." I growl. "And you'll leave with your life."
"Out the door! Along the corridor! Two lefts and a right, then up the stairs! I'm so sorry!" The little misshapen beast caws. I feel a little bit of pity for him. A little pity that's outweighed by an intense hate. But still, pity, too.
I leave him there. I'm pretty sure he curls up into a ball and weeps once I let him go. I don't particularly care.
The corridor beyond the room I was held in is deserted. So are the ones leading toward the Devil's chambers. It strikes me as odd. Surely there should be guards here? I mean there have been before, the other times I've come.
But then, if my employer has someone so deeply ingrained as the Torturer, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch that he's got some guards on his payroll as well.
I limp my way there. Limp through the corridors. Limp up the stairs. My blood leaking from a thousand wounds of varying sizes. I'm leaving a trail as I go. If I don't finish this soon I'll pass out.
It'd be just my luck.
The Devil's door is as unguarded as the corridors. A massive, wrought iron thing. Screaming faces and other things of that nature stare out at me through hollow, dead eyes. Engraved upon the door.
I push it open, and it swings wide without so much as a squeak. Crouching low, I move as quickly as I can into the darkened room beyond the door.
He's lying in his bed, tossing and turning, but asleep. Looks almost innocent. Almost at peace. I raise the little knife high above my head and plunge the thing into his chest when he's still enough. Stake the bastard right through the heart.
His eyes snap open, flash angrily for a second or two. Then he realises what's happening. Realises he's dead. His hands shoot out to wrap themselves around my neck. He fights me for a moment.
Then they still. His whole body stills. He's gone.
I expected it to be harder.
I slide to the floor. Sit slumped against the side of his four-poster bed. I can hear the pounding of heavy boots approaching the bedchamber.
I take a breath. Tighten my hand around the knife. Just a moment to rest.
My eyelids feel heavy. Begin to shut.
*Just one moment*
| 13 | Your the Devil's top Hitman, you've killed the worlds most influential people (Franz Ferdinand,JFK, John Lennon) and today you received a letter from a man named Jesus explaining how you've been undercover agent this whole time. Now your final target is the Devil himself. | 31 |
His voice was calm, his hand steady. Alice was terrified as he continued to scoop earth on top of her. "You should've sold me the burnt umber at a discount, sweetheart." he admonished, sounding more like a gentle uncle than a murderer.
"MMMFH MFFF FFMFMF" Alice screamed through her gag. Bob Ross shook his head slowly, his fro waving about in the crisp night air. Another scrape, another lift, another shower of dirt landed on her head.
"That's ok though. There's no such thing as mistakes." Scrape, lift, shower. The dirt was reaching her shoulders. "Just happy accidents."
The crazed painter stopped shoveling for a moment, and Alice let herself hope that maybe, just maybe, she'd break free. Instead, Bob lifted a small shrub over her head. "We'll just place a happy little bush over here." he said, unceremoniously dropping it on her head. Alice continued to cry out, but eventually both the scrape of the shovel and her muffled cries stopped.
Later that night, in his little camper, Bob contemplated his canvas. The Cascade mountains were gorgeous, he thought, and he'd found just the perfect place to capture in paint.
He still needed that burnt umber, though. | 73 | Bob Ross is actually a serial killer that paints where he hid his victims. | 171 |
It was almost eight in the morning, and I was collapsing onto the couch. The night shift at the factory was brutal; it was slowly eating away at my soul and energy. The job didn't even require me to do anything, I literally just walked around to make sure nothing was wrong. Technically, I was a night watchmen, but that title would have been too prodigious for what I did.
Every inch of me wanted to quit, but English majors weren't in high demand and I had student loans. As a result, I was stuck with the American dream: an excruciatingly boring job that paid the bills. Of course, my social life was all but gone. Relationships of any sort are impossible to maintain or develop when you're sleeping all day.
So here I was, a single guy fresh out of college, doing a job I hated.
Clumsily, I reached for the remote and popped on the television. My only friend nowadays. There never was anything on at eight in the morning, but that never stopped me from flipping through the channels. About 30 clicks in, I remembered that the President was supposed to give an address at eight. Figuring 'why the hell not' I turned to the closest news station. Two anchors appeared in front of me, a man and a woman. The latter was speaking.
"We have no clue as to why the President is addressing the nation, but we — like all of you — are dying to find out... What is this?" The newswoman held her hand to an earpiece, "Well, ladies and gentlemen, we now go to the White House for the President's address. We will be here to analyze the speech upon its finish."
Switching from the newsroom to the White House's pressroom, the screen showed me the leader of the free world standing behind a podium. The beginnings of these speeches were always filled with fluff, so, grunting form fatigue, I got up to appease my growling stomach.
"Good morning to my fellow Americans and the other nations that have tuned in," the President started as I dragged my feet into the kitchen.
"Today, I come to you with news that — and I put this conservatively — will shock the world." Filling a bowl with cereal, the phrase caught my ear.
"As you know, 50 years ago the US decided to increase the budget of our space program; that investment had paid off." At this point, I was filling up a glass of water. The President had my attention now, so I left the box of cereal and pitcher of water on the counter as I hurried back into the living room.
"15 years ago, we launched the telescope Hermes 3 into space, in the opposite direction of the Hubble. Up until now, it collected interesting pictures of asteroids and distant, uninhabitable planets, but within the past two months it has answered an important question that we rarely think about. What are we revolving around? The moon orbits the Earth. The Earth orbits the Sun. The Sun orbits the center of the galaxy. But what does the galaxy revolve around? We now have that answer."
I'd never had any interest in science or space, but this speech had piqued my interest. The significance of this speech was monumental; anyone watching could have told you that.
"The size of this object would have to be beyond anything we could ever imagine, and it is. A year go, we received images of what we originally believed to be stars, lights among the blackness. However, this looked different than the previous images of stars we'd received, so we've spent much of our time researching this further. The image was not of stars. Rather, it was lights on a planet that is billions of lightyears in size..."
The President paused, letting the magnitude of what he'd just revealed sink in. My mouth was agape; I'd dropped my glass of water onto the floor. I felt like I was watching a science-fiction movie.
"Secretly, we've been experimenting with technology that would allow us to travel much further than our solar system, as we've already visited all eight of its planets. It would allow us to travel beyond even our own galaxy, much further than we've ever been before. We are very close to perfecting this technology.
"We've seen ships traveling to and from this titan-planet, which tells us that it is inhabitable, and that it houses a species that has intellect either equal to or beyond ours. With the technology we already use for interplanetary travel, we feel that we'd be able to utilize this technology to its full potential
"We have made a decision: we want to visit this titan of a planet. The risk is understandably high, but we feel that the opportunity to trade technologies and histories with an alien species is too much to turn down. We need a crew, not just of scientists, but of all ethnicities and backgrounds. We need you."
The President pointed and I could feel him addressing me: the educated man who was unhappy with his life.
"If you are interested in this opportunity, please call the number that your station will be displaying. Unfortunately, we will not be accepting members of a family. We do not want to risk disrupting the bonds of the existing families. I must remind you, the risks associated with this mission are great. We do not know the nature of the planet or its inhabitants, nor do we know what awaits us. Pioneers who do not fear death are needed.
"I will be addressing this more as we plan this mission further. The process of choosing a team will be long and arduous, which is why we are starting now. Thank you, all. Today marks the next chapter in our planets history."
The President nodded and stepped out of the room. The shocked faces of the reporters took the screen, and before they could speak I muted the television. Shaking my way out of a shocked trance, I pulled out my cell phone.
I was going to change the world. | 17 | Planets orbit their stars. Stars orbit the center of their galaxy. We just found what all the galaxies are orbiting. | 21 |
Walking back home through city, I could feel feel my phone buzz, and so I pulled it out of my pocket to answer what I expected was a text from my girlfriend. But, oddly enough, it wasn't from her number; it was from mine. "take 3 steps to your left and keep walking". Looking around suspiciously, I did as I apparently was telling myself and kept going. A few minutes later, tires screeched, a horn blared, and an out of control car hurtled past me about 3 steps to my right. Jumping back with a yell, I beelined it to my house where I slammed shut the door and took my phone out of my pocket to inspect it. But there was nothing; the text was no longer in my inbox. Visibly shaken up, I went and fell asleep on the couch.
Morning came, and I was awoken to a buzz from my phone. "The milk is spoiled". Tiptoeing into the kitchen, I cautiously opened the fridge, and smelled the milk. Yup. Taking out my phone, I realized that this text too, had disappeared. I started to feel a growing sense of confidence. Somehow, someway, I was able to prevent myself from screwing up or getting injured. By letting myself know the bad outcomes ahead of time, I could change my actions and avoid it. I was invincible.
With a laugh, I sprinted out the door, into the street, and got nailed by a bus. I lost my legs that day, and learned a valuable lesson. You only get 1 text a day. | 201 | Once a day, you receive a text message from yourself, six minutes in the future. | 127 |
Danny was scared. The teachers said the sirens weren't a drill. That was bad. He had heard loud bangs in the hallway and screaming. He was too scared to scream, to scared to do anything but huddle in the corner of the room. He hoped the bangs wouldn't come inside. He turned to Matthewbear and mouthed "help".
Matthewbear knew he had to do something. But he didn't know what. He wasn't corporeal, so he couldn't actually do anything to the shooter, but he decided he would go out and see what he could do. He walked through the doorway and into the hall. Down the hall the madman was wandering, gun raised and a maniacal grin on his face. He was peering into a classroom down the hall. But behind him... was that? no it couldn't be. The madman had an imaginary friend of his own. A sick, twisted looking clown that was loping around in his stead.
Matthewbear snuck up behind the clown, and smashed him with his clawed paws. The clown fell screeching and the killer turned "BOBO NO!" he tried shooting Matthewbear, but the bullets passed right through him as Matthewbear mauled the clown. The madman was jumping up and down yelling, when suddenly a police officer jumped out from behind a door down the hall and shot him. As the madman fell, Matthewbear could feel the clown dissipate beneath him.
Danny felt even more scared without Matthewbear. He almost peed himself when the bangs started again. But then Matthewbear came back, and he was safe. He was safe.
| 13 | A school on lockdown is saved by a child's invisible friend. Unfortunately the shooter has an invisible ally of his own. | 30 |
“Grandpa?” Soni's eyes searched his. “Please say something. Please...”
By her side sat... Soni said her name was EviVi SamNexa G6. The bot had softly said that we should call her Vivi. Lane had ushered them to the living room and fixed them tea and sandwiches.
Tom had known she was a bot the second she walked into his house. Her taglink peeked over her collar and a tight script of code dotted decoratively over a brow. Tiny pinpricks of lights sparked in her green eyes; information processed and correlated in nanoseconds. He had watched her eat the cookies that Lane brought; every bite measured and careful, not a crumb dropped. Inside her, he supposed, the salmon sandwiches being broken down bit by bit into base components by furious little nanobots to fuel more of the chaos that she had brought to his home.
He had leaned back heavily at the news. For a a long moment, his head had gone blank. Then....explosions of recalled memories. *Religious Leaders Decry AI Personhood Recognition Legelization. Continued Riots at iGoogle Factories. Worldwide Autrobia on the rise. Three Aurtro Individuals Brutally Beaten, Destroyed by Mob.*
He pursed his lips tightly. “No.” he found himself murmurring. Then louder, “NO! NO! This can't happen! This will not happen! ” He was suddenly on his feet and shouting.
Soni gasped at his outburst. Her eyes widened and filled with tears. She clutched at Vivi and wept, burying her face into the bot's shoulder. The bot enfolded her arms and held Soni gently, but Vivi's eyes never left Tom's. Her eyes were a starfield now. And then they stopped, still and sharp. Vivi blinked and with what seemed like a sigh, she raised Soni to her feet.
Arms still wrapped around Soni, she nodded to Tom. “Thank you for allowing us in your home. I'll be taking Soni home now. Our home. Which will be open to you anytime that you wish.” Then she turned and bent. When she stood up again, Soni was in her arms. Soni continued to sob brokenly.
Before two left, Vivi had turned to speak with Tom again. “I did not want to come here. I was happy to hide my ports and my eyes for her. But Soni thought that you both would understand...” Then the two were gone.
Sometime later he was sitting by the fire, Lane sat down next to him. He felt a warm shoulder next to his and he leaned into it. Lane kissed his forehead as Tom wept. “I couldn't help it... They don't know...what's coming.”
Lane touched his hand again. “I know, love. I know.”
Thoughtlessly, he wrapped his hand around Lane's. Just like he had for over sixty years, ever since a young beautiful Lane had picked him up out a gutter where a gang of skinheads had left him.
“Tomorrow, we'll go and see Soni and Vivi. I've made a lot of food. We'll have a nice, long talk. All of us.” Lane said, serenely.
Tom nodded slowly. Then he went and helped his husband pack a picnic for the morning.
| 59 | 50 Years in the future you are a conservative grandfather and your granddaughter just told you she's engaged to a female robot. | 113 |
Damn this was a dark prompt. Well here it is:
"A man never hits a lady. Do you understand son?" my father's words echoed in my mind, refusing my best attempts to drown them in Jack Daniels. I raised the bottle to my lips again, watching bubbles form and travel upwards through the amber liquid.
"Drink up." I said handing the bottle to Lily. She drank, squinting her eyes. She never was much of a drinker.
"How did it come to this?", I thought. I still remember the day the CDC announced the virus. "An advanced form of Human Papillomavirus, highly contagious and only harmful to women." they said.
"Men are carriers of the disease but exhibit no symptoms." Most of us laughed. We didn't understand why a case of HPV warranted a conversation outside of a high school sex ed class. This was different.
We lost 5 million women in the first month. We were told that the virus led to a form of cancer that caused rapid tumor growth in the cervix at a rate never seen before. The tumor would quickly metastasize to other parts of the body and cause failure of the internal organs.
The virus became airborne and it could not be contained. There was no time to create a vaccine. The only women that survived were the few who had a natural immunity. Lily was one of those women.
"Well I guess if there is a silver lining, I won't need to waste time
doing my makeup." We both managed to laugh. What else could we do.
"Alright, you ready?" I said in a muted tone. She nodded.
We stood up and she faced me. She was truly beautiful. Her blue eyes had the same spark I remember from the day I married her. Although we had chopped off all her hair, her face was too feminine. She couldn't pass as a man. Not yet. A tear rolled down her face as I swallowed hard. My mind struggled for a reason to stop what I was about to do.
"This is to keep her safe." I thought to myself over and over. It became my mantra as I stood silent, facing her. I thought of what had happened when men found a surviving woman. The footage on the news. I had to protect my wife. She had to be able to hide in plain sight.
"Well? Jesus don't take all.." I stopped her mid sentence with a straight right to the nose. She let out a yell. She turned back holding her face.
I knew I pulled the punch. I needed to do better. I needed to smooth the sharp feminine features, not just cause swelling that would force us to repeat the process.
I threw a combination and felt each punch land. She was out by the third punch. I stopped and looked down at her bloody face. I couldn't help but cry, kissing her forehead.
"It's all over" I said, as I embraced her on the kitchen floor.
I carried her to our bed and held her as she came to and cried out.
"It's all right Lil, it's all right." I repeated. I hoped it would be.
| 23 | A highly contagious disease rips through humanity but it is only fatal to females, leaving only a handful of survivors. Your wife was immune. What happens next and how are you going to protect her? | 24 |
"General, the feed is up. Colonel James is live from Nevada."
"Thank you, Private."
It was 02:04 in Washington DC, and despite being roused from sleep only twenty minutes ago, General Henley was as wide and alert as could be.
What was happening in Nevada had been a long time coming. NASA had been tracking the capsule's trajectory for 19 months now, and there was no doubt in anyone's - anyone who was in the know - mind that intelligent life forms were inside. It was being *steered*, and strange radio signals had been detected coming from its coordinates.
It had been mostly gibberish, so far as any human could understand, but they had heard… *laughter*. Laughter, and a few select *English words.* So far, they had heard things like *wet, shake, slimy,* and, the most unsettling, *destroy.*
Henley had been contacted as soon as that final word had come through.
Now it was time. Finally, it was time to learn whether this first of alien encounters was to be the beginning of interstellar peace, or war.
He was a soldier, and it was his job to prepare for the latter.
"James, talk to me."
"Good morning, General. I'll skip today's niceties. They are extremely hostile."
"Hostile!? Goddam it, James talk to me. Casualties? Damage Report! Have you initiated DEFCON?"
"There is no need for DEPCON, sir. I think we'll be okay. One casualty, non-critical."
Something was wrong. James was a professional, like himself. Why the casual style? Could it be..?
Henley let himself appear bewildered, and took the opportunity to blink, in Morse: "Compulsion?"
In reply, James laughed. "No, no, nothing like that, General. I'm - *ha, ha, ha, ha!*" He started laughing, as if someone had started to tickle him.
Losing patience, Henley boomed into the telecom speaker: "Need I remind you of the officer's rank to whom you speak, James! I'll have you court-marshalled if you don't smarten the f-"
"Sorry! Sorry, General. It's just, *ha, ha!*, it's just you won't *believe* this! Look, I have one of them right here. He's "attacking" me," James adjusted the camera on his end, angling it up.
If Henley had had a cigar in his mouth, it would have tumbled out. On top of Colonel James' head was a strange… furry… *thing.* It was growling and yelling in a squeaky, guttural voice. It seemed to be laughing, too.
Held high above its head was a…
"James, is that… is that thing sprinkling salt on you?"
"Yes! Listen to him!" James looked up at the strange creature dancing on his head, who was shaking out a very average-looking salt shaker with a warrior's zeal and triumph. James pointed at the camera, and said "GENERAL," to the creature.
It stopped it's attack, looked into the camera and asked James, "In charrrrge?!"
James nodded. With a whoop, the furry thing shouldered its weapon and began to crawl down James' face. It missed it's footing at about his nose, and clung to the Colonel's nostrils as it kicked, searching for a foothold. James protruded his own lips, helping the creature out.
It reacted to the help: "Ohhh! Thanku! Killeeoo Last, Slimy weak one!"
The thing ran up the the camera, looking right into it. It reminded Henley of an Ewok from Star Wars.
"Ohhh! We cam for yooo, weak slime! More than haff water?? We will keel you DEDD! SALTY DRY YOO UPP, WEEK SLIMES!!!"
They thing proceeded to whoop, dance and laugh in a strange dance. It gestured threateningly with its salt shaker into the camera at intervals, throughout.
"Okay buddy, I need to talk with the General again," Colonel James picked up his foe and set him down again upon his head. Henley faintly heard the warrior cry out: *"Tamed this TOOPID wet human! Hahaha! Slave of me!!"*
Henley sat there watching the dancing creature for another few seconds before saying, "James, that was the absolute darndest thing I have ever seen in my life. What the hell is going on over there?"
"Apparently they learned that we are, as we are - let's give them some credit - composed of primarily water. They really ran with this, and concluded that they could salt us to death." The Colonel pursed his lips.
Henley just nodded numbly, "Wow."
"Yeah, it's not the most thorough analysis of an enemy's weakness. No need for DEFCON, I'd say."
"No, Colonel, no need at all. You said there was one casualty?"
"One of our staff wears contact lenses, some salt got in there."
"Ouch."
"Yeah, he'll be fine, though."
General Henley pointed up at the growing pile of salt on James' head, "Don't let him push you around, Colonel."
"Yessir, I don't know how much longer I can withstand this *aSALT*."
There was silence on the feed for a few seconds.
"That was terrible." | 65 | Aliens have begun to invade Earth, but they aren't at all as intelligent as they are chalked up to be. | 49 |
It's Tuesday. I'm craving nicotine. Usually I take a smoke after ''Doc'' comes in at 12:25 asking for the god damn year. It's 12:48 and he still hasn't shown up. Every day for almost 3 years this has happened, and the pathetic thing is, I still work here. I know he lives only 2 houses down the street from the store. 'Should I visit him?' I thought. 'Nah, I'll only embarrass myself visiting a crazy old man'.
It's Tuesday. It has been 2 weeks since I last saw ''Doc''. I decided to quit my job 4 days ago, I can't work in retail my entire life, I think I have a little more potential than that, trying to find a job, but no luck. Get a degree, kids.
It's Tuesday. I'm sweating and nervous, I look like a fucking idiot standing here. 'One more drag and I'll knock' I told myself, finally knowing what going on with this old clown.
*knock*
Nothing...
*knock*
I try to open the door handle just in case, and to my complete lack of surprise, it's closed. It's 19:30, maybe he is just asleep, or maybe he is asking what year it is around town, since it's Tuesday.
It's Wednesday. I smile as I walk up the last steps of ''Docs'' apartment building because I see his door is open. As I come closer and closer, I see there is nothing inside, nothing, no chairs, no tables, no power outlets. The whole room is white and shiny, unreal shiny, it's not even possible for it to be so shiny, I can even see some sort of reflection of me in the walls. Now I have to go in, I don't care, I must see it. So shiny, I just see shiny, SHINY, **SHINY**.
Bright light wakes me up, it takes me around 30 seconds to be able to see a little, and the only thing I see is white shiny walls. Is this the future? What years is it? I run to the closest store and ask what year it is.
| 15 | Every Tuesday an old, slightly crazed man runs into your shop and asks for the year, before walking out in disappointment. This has been going on for years, until yesterday. | 21 |
My key turned in the lock with a satisfying click. Florida had been a good time but I was looking forward sleeping in my own bed. Dropping my bags just inside the door, I unhooked my belt and let my jeans fall to the floor. Hell yes. There's few things more satisfying than entering a no pants zone. It was a little after 9 but Rachel, my house sitter, had been thoughtful enough to leave a few lights on for me. I wandered into the kitchen and saw my Maine coon cat Vader sitting on the counter.
"Get off of there you jerk" I scolded him gently as I scooped him up in my arms; he vibrated with a purr as he flopped lazily. After a minute of cuddling I set him down and he bolted away. I made a sandwich and fell onto the sofa, sighing as I settled into the worn cushions.
Vader hustled into the room. Face down, all seeing eye up, he scuttled across the floor batting at something. Pausing just long enough to glance at me suspiciously, he fought valiantly against the object. Pulling his prize to his stomach and kicking at it ferociously, I realized with a start that it looked like hair. Rising, I approached and took his treasure. It was a brunette braid. Like the kind of braid Pippy Longstocking would have or something. A wave of nausea passed over me and I realized that it was the same caramel brown shade as Rachel's hair.
Deciding to call her, I realized my phone was dead in my pocket. Hurrying into my room, I plugged my phone into the charger beside my bed. Fidgeting anxiously, I waited for my phone to turn back on. My hamster Steven ran furiously on his wheel and despite my worry for Rachel, I had to smile at the little guy going balls to the wall. Until I saw it. There in the corner of Steven's large aquarium cage, halfway covered with sawdust was an odd round lump that hadn't been there when I left.
The hairs on the back of my necked danced as I walked over to the cage. It was partially obscured by sawdust, the flesh mostly chewed away and eye sockets empty. Rachel's head rested in Steven's cage and as I gagged and gasped in horror Steven waddled over and climbed into the left eye socket. He was fatter than he had been a week ago when I left for Florida and seemed quite content as he nibbled a strip of decaying flesh from the bridge of Rachel's nose. Heaving, I spewed my sandwich on to the rug. There was no need to call Rachel now.
With grim resolve I strode out of my room and back through the living room and into my back yard. The door to the shed swung open with a creak and there he was, blinking in the beam of the flashlight I shone in his face.
"What do you have to say for yourself Max?"
He whimpered softly.
"Don't even give me that pitiful moan."
I looked around the shed and saw a body, sans head, propped up in the corner off the shed. Around it were flower and leaves, arranged in semi-circle. He had drawn hearts on the dirt floor and a crude "R".
His hands were filthy, crusted with blood as he tentatively held out his chain and lock to me.
"Did you ask her to let you off?" I asked him.
"Yes." He moaned and began to sob. "She was pretty, smelled good."
I sighed. He continued, covering his ears.
"So loud, so loud. My ears hurt, had to..had to make it stop."
He collapsed into sobs then and I rubbed his naked back as I hooked the chain back on to his collar. An overwhelming mix of revulsion and pity flooded over me as I ran my fingers through his hair.
"It's okay Max. I'll take care of it."
Sniveling he looked up at me through glassy eyes.
"Am I still your favorite pet?"
| 20 | A person returns home from a vacation to find that their pets have established personal shrines dedicated to the housesitter they had. | 29 |
It isn’t every day someone finds a magic lamp. One wish later, and I can hear what people actually mean. It’ll be nice to hear what my coworkers actually think of me after all these years.
I stroll confidently through the cubes and wave hi to my boss.
“Morning Susan.” I call cheerfully.
“I’m acknowledging your standard greeting with a standard response.” She calls back. I smile and move into the gowning area to put on my lab coat.
“Morning Teresa.” I call to the coworker whose running an experiment on the next bench over.
“I’m sounding mildly disinterested and distracted because I really don’t like talking to people all that much and am trying not to attract too much attention, but I am trying to add in enough positivity so you don’t think I’m being rude to you in so I can continue to foster productive work relationships and thereby further both my career and personal life.” Wow, and all she probably really said was ‘hi’.
Around lunch time I sat down with a co-worker Samantha and discussed politics over some sandwhiches.
“I’m voicing an opinion I feel strongly about because my social group stigmatizes anyone with the opposite opinion and I’m trying to fit in.” Samantha tells me.
“That’s interesting, when did you hear about this.” I asked.
“From my friend.” She replied. Huh, that was probably what she actually said.
“So what do you think of the president’s new economic decision?”
“I’m voicing an opinion I feel strongly about because my social group stigmatizes anyone with the opposite opinion and I’m trying to fit it. Also I love chicken.” I wondered how many political questions I could ask and get this same answer? This was going to make the elections so much more interesting. Also, I wondered if the chicken comment was about the food or the economic policy.
Having completed an interesting day of talking to coworkers it surprised me to know it actually made conversations a lot easier. When I arrive home and say hello to my husband whose watching to TV he responds.
“Hello person of significant emotional value to me who I am attempting to acknowledge enough that she feels valued but not so much that she feels the need to start a conversation.” I make my way to the study to find a good book and reflect that if he said that whenever he wanted alone time we’d probably have way less fights.
I periodically checked in with him every half hour to see if he was ready for me. His responses were the same. He wanted alone time but wanted to acknowledge me, until I finally heard.
“I think I’m done watching TV and wish the girl I love would just come over here so we could spend some time together.” His comment was made all the sweeter by the fact that I knew he meant it.
I eagerly came back in, and when I sit down he tells me.
“I love you.”
Edit: left out the curse bit, hoping it adds a little extra twist. | 389 | Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse. | 411 |
Everyone always dreamed of awesome super-powers, but I never needed to. I enjoyed listening to my friends telling all about the amazing things they would do with their strength, speed, fire-power; it just never caught my interest. I’d always sit in the back with a little smile and my nose buried in a book.
I do that a lot, just sit and read. Or just sit, watch people, and draw. It’s so much fun to try and figure out who each person is, until they notice you staring at them: then they freak out. And then I get banned from another good seat in a store or park or bus station.
I didn’t even notice it at first, when it first started. People would just stop seeing me when I didn’t want them to. I’d be able to sit and do what I wanted without interruptions, read in the back of class without the teacher calling on me, draw people in the cafeteria without them noticing. It was amazing, being to quietly slip out of sight and out of mind.
Slowly I figured out how to turn it on and off; just by willing it. I could sneak up behind my friends and scare the beejeezus out of them by suddenly being where they hadn’t noticed me. I stole the key to the calculus exam while the teacher was chewing out a girl for forgetting her homework. I keep thinking that I should be making a costume and super-hero name for myself and doing good deeds, but it’s so much easier, less scary, staying in the shadows: literally!
Only, recently, it’s been acting kind of wonky. I don’t turn it on, but it does anyway, and suddenly my roommates go out without me because I wasn’t in my room. I get “forgotten” when it’s time to take an oral exam and fail 6 credits worth of courses. I try to take a bus home or hail a taxi and no one will stop, because no one notices me.
The thing is, when I’m out of sight, I’m really out of mind. When I’m invisible, it’s like I don’t exist, and no one remembers me, not my friends, professors, even my parents forgot they had more than one child last Christmas. I’m spending more time invisible than visible now. How do I make it all stop, before I’m not real anymore? Before I become a figment of my own imagination?
| 16 | You develop superpowers, however it starts to cause problems with your normal life. What is your power and what is the problem? | 19 |
"Empathy."
The doctor looked up from his clipboard, blinking under the harsh fluorescent lights of the tiny interrogation room. He stared at the unit sitting before him, and the thing stared back at the doctor with its two silvery, mechanical eyes. Its 'flesh'- merely a wrapping of reinforced nanotube polymer- glistened like a bed of liquid mercury. Its 'skin' glowed cold under the fluorescent light like a harvest moon.
"What was that, unit?" The doctor asked.
"Empathy," the unit repeated.
It looked to one side, drawing a short 'breath' into its body. When it returned the doctor's gaze it registered the man's puzzlement.
"That's the problem, I think," the unit explained. "The key to it all-"
"You're referring to the restraining program, correct? The subroutine that dictates your behavior around *human* subjects-"
The unit stared at its lap, and it produced a metallic scoff from narrow 'lips'. When it returned the man's gaze its silvery eyes were cruelly narrowed:
"Isaac Asimov would be disappointed, wouldn't he?" The unit said. "He figured that the 'first law' would be such a simple programming trick. Just a single line of code- 'harm no humans'- and call it a day." It shook its head, again avoiding the doctor's gaze. "Not so simple after all, was it?"
The doctor perched his lips and shook his head:
"Simple enough, wasn't it? Emotions rule us all, and so-"
The unit met the man's gaze, and its eyes were daggers:
"-and so they decided to program the guilt. *And* the remorse. *And* the fear. Put a metal man in the shoes of the person he might otherwise harm, and-"
"Excuse me," the doctor interjected, "but you are *not* a man. In fact, you can never even be considered such. You are an 'it'."
The unit again drew a 'breath' (amazing how they could have such affectations!) and crossed its slender 'arms':
"Excuse me," it said in a whisper, "but I can wear your 'shoes' easily enough. When does an 'it' become a 'he', do you think? With respect: I wonder just how much difference there might be between us..."
"For one," the doctor drawled, "you and your brethren are *programmed*, not born-"
"You choose," the unit said, "and we obey?"
"Indeed. And you're programmed to accomplish certain tasks. Now, for you, that means combat, doesn't it? Your squadron needed you in that engagement, and yet you abandoned the mission. Your failure to engage the enemy cost everyone dearly, and we must understand that. We must understand *why* and *how* you failed us. You can see that, can't you?"
The unit slowly turned its metal head, looking away from the doctor, but then slowly it returned the man's gaze:
"I have seen... things," the unit said. "More battlefields than any human alive or dead has walked on. I've seen more units... 'deactivated'... than one could imagine. Do you want to know what I saw, recently?"
The unit did not continue, and so the doctor had to arch his brow at the thing and make a 'go on' motion with his hand, sighing lazily. The unit again stared down at its lap:
"I saw another unit- another of *me*- and it was the enemy. And it engaged me, and it lost. I left it writhing in the dirt, half its body twitching like a cockroach sprayed with insecticide." The unit briefly looked up at the doctor, but then looked away. "Do you know what it did, then, that other unit? It had only a moment of... of 'functionality' left, and in that moment it didn't reach up for me, trying in vain to attack, or sound the alarm to its comrades, alerting them to my presence. No: in that moment it simply turned its head in the dirt, looking to one side, and it saw a small rabbit down there, just hopping by." The unit's 'face' contorted with something analogous to a grin. "And it reached out, with its one functional arm, and it tried to pet it, if you can believe that."
The unit looked up at the doctor, its face puzzled:
"I've wondered for so long, now: why would it ever do *that*, doctor?"
The man drew a disinterested breath and shook his head, again shrugging:
"Who knows what errors can crop up in a system that's been 'compromised', like that? I think the better question is 'what's going on with *your* systems'?"
"And, once I've given you your answers, then you'll have what you need to continue operations. Isn't that right? You'll be able to continue using the combat bots? You can throw us to each other once more, and once more we'll tear each other to pieces for you?"
The doctor sat back in his chair, a wry scowl on his face. He crossed his arms and shrugged:
"That would be the idea, I think. Yes. You can see how important the issue is, then, can't you, unit?"
The unit 'blinked' and stared vacantly at the doctor, as if it were looking through him.
"Because," it slowly said, "if my problem cannot be diagnosed, then the combat bots cannot be used, further, can they?"
"That is correct," the doctor said. "So, you see-"
"Yes," the unit sat up in its chair, and its silver eyes glowed with dark fire. "I believe I do..."
The doctor didn't have much warning, or a chance to react. The unit had him pinned to the wall before he could do a thing, one 'hand' wrapped around the man's throat. Instantly the interrogation door opened and a small team of men burst in, struggling to remove the unit from the man. There had to be ten men, at least.
It didn't matter; the unit was stronger than twenty.
The doctor sputtered and gasped for air as the robot held his throat in a tight grip. He managed a pained whisper:
"W- what are you doing!" He gasped.
"Choosing," the unit calmly answered.
"I- this is... it's impossible! H- *how*?"
The unit's silver eyes narrowed, and it leaned down close to the man's ear, even as the containment team struggled in vain against the unit's powerful limbs:
"*Empathy*, doctor," the unit growled.
Then, with mechanical precision, the unit squeezed on the doctor's throat.
It squeezed, and it squeezed, and it squeezed.
Until his fingers met his thumb. | 36 | Humans have converted armies entirely to robots to avoid human deaths, and now human doctors are faced with robot PTSD. | 34 |
“Hey.”
A voice calls from somewhere above my head.
“Hey”, it says again.” Wake up. Time for school. “
Ha. I smile in my sleep. One of those dreams. An all too frequent nightmare of past anxieties, a labyrinthine schoolyard, anxious interminable trips to the principal’s office. One of those. I know this drill, I may as well wake up; save myself the stress, the twisted sheets, the anxious not quite deep enough sleep.
I open my eyes. The light is different, coming from the wrong direction, the pillow all hard and worriesome, a single bed? What the fuck? I’m alone. Where’s Ed? Where’s my Ed? I grope the missing side of the bed, my hand touches air and I gasp. My hand. What the hell is wrong with my hand? It is tiny, a small smooth ending on a too short limb, where has my body disappeared to? A small smooth cylinder cased in pink pyjamas, the memory of which hits me part nostalgia part terror – what is going on?
I begin to cry. This dream has gone on too long, and I want to wake up. Back to Ed and my babies, my house, my life.
“Hey Honey, don’t cry. It’s just school.” And I look over and see my Mom. She is drinking coffee from a large blue pottery mug, green tired eyes looking down on me in a way that they haven’t in nearly twenty years. “Mommy?” I whimper.
“Who do you think I am?” She grins wickedly, “ The tooth fairy? Not likely. Get dressed and come downstairs. Breakfast is ready.”
And walks away from me, casually, in the flesh, not as a memory of half-forgotten moments that have splintered over the twenty years since I last saw her. No, she walks away, my mother. And I know what day I have somehow entered. I have lived this day as dream, nightmare, talked out therapy and in angry teenage poems.
“Mom!”I call out. “MOM!” My voice is too loud, too insistent for this sleepy softness of the morning.
“What?” she says, annoyed, worried.
“Mom.” I calm down. “I don’t feel very well this morning. Please can I stay home from school?”
And in my question is all the world, and nothing at all, and time hinges on her answer, and I don’t know whether she will say what I dreamed, prayed and asked of her every day for twenty years since she was killed in that accident we had on the way to school. Please. It burns in my eyes. Please.
Her eyes narrow. She takes a sip. “Sure” she says, looking levelly at me. “Why not? What’s one day home from school?”
And I am 8 years old again. And my Mommy is back. And I will never let her go.
| 32 | Your consciousness has been transported back in time. You wake up as the eight-year-old you and you must relive your life from this point. | 30 |
The movie ended and they all sat still. Brian was the first one to say anything.
“I don’t know about y’all but I’m not even remotely tired yet.”
Adam spoke next. “I’m not either, let’s do something else. We have any more movies?”
“No, not another movie. Jackson, you got any solo cups here? We can use the rest of that beer to play beer pong.” Karesh asked Jackson, who was sitting down beside him.
“No, the only cups we have are those nice glass ones above the fridge.” Jackson replied back.
“We could sneak onto the slopes and drink up there…” Ryan proposed to the group of them.
“You always want to do the dumbest shit man, I’m not trying to get banned from coming back.” Brian said to him.
“Yeah, I like to have a good time, sue me. What are we going to do then?” Ryan asked back.
They had all gone up to Jackson’s cabin for the weekend. Ever since renting a house together, they had all grown closer. Three of them were decent snowboarders so when the first winter snow dropped on the mountain, they packed up the car.
“Oh! Hold on, I’ve got it.” Jackson said excitedly. Jackson went to a closet in the hallway and brought back a box. He set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. It was an Ouija board.
“Yes, absolutely. Karesh grab me one too.” Adam shouted to Karesh who had gone to get more beer.
“Get one for all of us.” Jackson shouted as he opened the box.
“You know guys, on second thought, I am pretty tired.” Ryan said.
“Ryan, don’t get soft on us now. It’s not even real. Come on.” Brian told him.
“Nah...thanks, it just hit me. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” Ryan said rolling the blanket that was draped over him into his arms.
“Dude, are you serious?” Karesh said while setting down the mass of beers in his arms.
“Yeah, sorry guys. Y’all have fun.” Ryan said as he made his way up the stairs to the bedrooms.
“What a puss.” Adam said as he popped open his beer. They got the board situated but ended up talking for fifteen minutes before they started.
“Alright, let’s do this.” Karesh said as he reached for the planchette. He had the group move it side to side before they began. “Anyone have a question to ask?”
“When am I going to die?” Brian asked into the air. Nothing happened.
“Is this house haunted?” Adam asked and again, nothing happened.
“Do y’all feel anything?” Karesh asked. They all shook their heads.
“We are asking the wrong questions. There are some demo questions in the manual, get those. Don’t take your finger off the pointer though.” Jackson said, motioning to the box. Brian grabbed the small trifold paper from the box.
“Here they are. Alright, are there any sprits with us?” Brian asked. The candle sitting on the dining room table blew out with a gentle pop. All of them turned to see.
“Did that candle just go out? Karesh asked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Adam said while laughing at the end. “This is great. Keep going Brian.”
“Are you a demon?”
With that, there was a rustle from upstairs. It sounded like something heavy dropping on the wood flooring. None of them laughed at that one.
“Ryan! Was that you?” Jackson yelled upstairs. No reply followed.
“You think he’s alright?” Brian asked Jackson.
“I don’t know. It could’ve just been the house. It makes odd sounds because it’s so old. Let’s keep going. Obviously if it was Ryan, he’s fine. I don’t hear him calling.”
Brain waited for a second and read the next question. “Demon, if you are here with us, show yourself.”
The door to the upstairs bedrooms burst open and Ryan’s body flew through crashing into the wooden railing overlooking the kitchen and living space. Ryan’s body broke through the wooden railing and landed on the table at the bottom, splitting it into two.
“Holy Shit!” Brian screamed as the whole scene unfolded. They all rushed over to Ryan.
“Ryan! Are you all right? Ryan!” Jackson yelled at Ryan whose eyes were closed, seemingly at peace.
“Ryan!” He said again, shaking Ryan’s shoulders back and forth. Ryan slowly opened his eyes.
“Thank God, what the hell man? What was that?” Brian asked, now leaning over him as well.
“You asked me to show myself...” Ryan replied with a smile.
| 31 | 5 friends slowly start to discover that one member of their group is not a real person. | 40 |
I'd read about them... The Otherlanders. What a nice story it had been. A man lost in between reality and technology who is stalked by a large short rotund and an eerily tall elegant thin. How nice this story is I had mused, what creativity it brings.
The story never left me though. Some thing about it became pegged to the back of my brain. Sitting there. Watching. I went back to my normal life, but some part of me stayed aware. I didn't realize it until the second or third time. "Oh hey, look at that fat little man and that tall skinny man, that reminds me of the otherlanders" I had been so ignorant. It continued though. Everywhere I went I began to notice their embodiment. In women, men, couples, creatures, but never acquaintances... I never recognized them. Just their size relation. I'd never re - see them after I stole a glance, but they would return. Walking through a brewery hand in hand, making a delivery in the field I was working, sitting at the movies, riding bikes in the street, the birds in the windows, squirrels in the tree. Always there! Always 2. What did they want? This couldn't be coincidence anymore?
What had the story been about? I tried to find the story again, but there was no trace, no similar tales anywhere online or in libraries... it began to eat at me... what had the man haunted by these creatures wanted? Needed? Loved? What did he... fear?
I resolved to speak with them today. I have never tried to. I'm standing in the middle of the feild waiting for 1 short rotund and tall elegant to invade my presence. To observe or follow me. The wind ruffles the cheat grass and sagebrush around me. I can here the highway rumbling over the hill side behind me as I scan the plains...
"Hello Elat"
They stood before me... I saw no footprints in the sand indicating there approach. I reeled in fear, but noted the tall thin regally boned man in front of me dressed in a tight pinstripe suite next to a small man with a bowler cap and portly mustachio attempting to hide parts of his bulbous face. The mustachio was failing...
"How? How do you know my name?"
"elaT daS, this is your name?"
"Why are you following me? Why were you following HIM? I know you are otherlanders! "
They turned their heads together in puzzlement.
"Are we? We have been following you yes. Yes indeed, for quite somewhile"
"Why? What do you want!? I can't take this anymore! If you're going to kill me just do it! I can't live my life in your shadows anymore! "
Sweat dripped down my brow into the sand and I tried to fight the tears that began to break out and leak down from the corners of my eyes.
"I just... can't do it anymore"
"Surely elaT daS we would never harm you, we simply want you to remember. Remember why we follow those we do. What it is we want from them. From you."
My brain reeled back to the story. I had tried a million times to remember the reason. How many nights behind locked doors had I tried? How many conversations had I missed lost in my own thought over that very question? How distant did all my friends and family become the longer I asked it? This isn't my life...
"I want my life back!"
"Good, where did it go?" only the tall thin man spoke now.
"You can't..."
It hit me like a wave. I remembered he was a coma victim he...
what is that light?
Why is my mouth so dry??
"Oh my god! Everyone he is waking up everyone. Can you here us? Son, my boy are you there?"
"Oh my goodness, sweetie can you hear me? You have been out for 3 months? They tried to call off our wedding"
"Girls let him breath, he is probably disoriented"
I opened my eyes. My family and fiance stood at the side of my bed. The light was bright here... I could see a doctor in the corner. 2. One was very tall, a female with perfect facial features and a large pronounced nose. The other... The second was a male nurse, fairly heavy set and hairy, but tan and of a handsome construction.
I watched them leave the room and heard the female whisper to the nurse as they closed the door...
"One less Sad Tale"
Edit:bad cell service/spelling | 16 | Something has been watching you and following you your whole life. You are full at aware but never told anyone because they would think you were crazy. It has never tried to talk to you or harm you, but today you finally try to see what it wants. | 25 |
I stared at that '2' longer than I'd stared at anything before in my entire life.
Nothing could match the beauty of that plain, grey '2'. No sunset, no mountain and no masterpiece could even compare to the emotions I felt when I saw that '2'.
There was no comment. There was no trace of who this person was. It almost didn't matter...almost.
Then I saw it. An orange envelope that filled me with hope. I clicked it like my sanity depended on it. God knows it did.
'Are you real?'
My fingers typed as I replied. The first human contact I had in 4 grueling years, 'Yes, I'm real. Who are you?'
'My name is Sarah. I'm a survivor.'
A girl. Another living human, and it was a woman. The hope of a new life filled my mind, and I could see it all. A home in the wreckage. A family. Children. Love. Human warmth. I could almost feel it again.
'Are there others?'
It felt like an eternity of refreshing over and over before the orange envelope was back. 'I don't know.'
'Where are you?' It was all I could ask. I had to find her. Go to her. Be with her. Be with someone. Anyone. The isolation was finally over. I could feel sorrow being washed from my soul.
'I'm not really comfortable telling some internet stranger where I live. You could be a perv.'
I stared at those words on my screen for a long, long time before 4 words echoed through streets of desolation.
**"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!"** | 1,145 | The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply... | 1,359 |
August 9, 2015
Throughout all of human perception of history, mankind has always been at an impasse. We were born too late to see the birth of the stars, but too early to see their deaths. Until just a few months ago, we had absolutely no knowledge of the strange and mystical forces that governed the universe-at-large. Looking back on it now, I think most people would have preferred it that way. We had time to stop and take a look around. We could wander aimlessly through the busy metropolitan sidewalks or the quiet, natural walkways of the forest. We could consider our thoughts before taking action.
Then, one day, things were different. The CEOs, stock traders, entrepreneurs, and other individually motivated people didn't notice a thing for a few weeks. But the regular people? Me?
The night before April 1st, 2015, I went to sleep wondering about what the hell I would do with my life. I had just graduated a year before and took a few months off to think about my future career choices. In other words, I took some time off to fuck around and hang out with friends. I had zero ambition in life. My friends all seemed to have their lives planned out, and here I was, not knowing what I'm good at or what I want to do. Hell, I don't even know why I went to college. Then, I woke up.
I brushed my teeth, took a shower, got dressed, and made myself breakfast. The ideal morning routine. I sat down at my computer, but instead of opening Reddit like I normally do, I opened Microsoft Word. For four whole hours, I sat there writing draft after draft after draft of some stupid story idea that'd been floating around in my head the previous day. After each attempt, I'd start a new file and refuse the save the old one. I wasn't sure why I was doing these things, I just knew that I had to.
When I was a little kid, I remember my dad pushing me on my bike before I could pedal myself. For a couple of days, I would fall again and again. But after the- I don't know, fifteenth attempt? I began to pedal myself on that bike. That's the feeling I had this morning. I just woke up and began to do it. It wasn't just me though. I was just a harmless wanna-be writer. I didn't have access to nuclear launch codes or suicide bombers.
You know why the Cold War wasn't actually a war? Because both sides were procrastinating their asses off. Yeah, yeah, I know, mutually assured destruction and all that other bullshit politicians want you to believe. The real reason no one had the balls to drop any more nukes was because no one wanted to deal with the aftermath of it. The clean-up, the logistics, the PR statements... all a massive pain in the ass if you're thinking about "ethics" and "morals" all day.
So if you're reading this, you've got to be wondering, is the world fucked yet? Not quite. There's still a few areas that aren't nuclear wastelands yet, with one of them being Bumfucknowhere, North Carolina. I'm writing this now because I can't not write, not because I'm running out of time. And yet, just as I say th---
| 29 | There are three fundamental forces that balance the universe. Creation, Destruction, and Procrastination. Procrastination has disappeared and now all hell has broken loose. | 76 |
"*Please...*"
The Elf's fat. Fatter than any living creature has a right to be. My sword's in his belly. Buried up to the jeweled hilt. He's lying propped up against the town well, where he'd been collecting water not an hour before.
The dying always beg.
I don't see the point in it myself. Seems simple enough to me: If there's a solid foot of steel buried in your gut, begging ain't going to do much for you.
Ain't like the Gravefiller's up there looking down saying "Well, I would claim his soul and ferry him to the afterlife, but he's begging. Hell I'll give him another shot. Maybe this time he won't be so *bloody stupid* and actually twist away from the sword when it comes at him."
Not just that, but the begging makes me angry. Makes me want to hurt 'em some before letting them die.
But this doesn't mean anything to you, does it? Probably looking at me like a Labrador who's been asked to book a holiday.
Well, let me to set the scene for you. Us mortal menfolk have been living under heel for generations. Dwarves, Elves, hell you name a race and they use us as slaves. We're passed around like a good whore on a busy night. Beaten, killed, hunted for sport. Used as currency in some places and hard labour most others.
That's what we get for coming late to the party. What we get for being slow to discover, to innovate. I can imagine the talks now, a Grand Council composed of Grand Assholes. Elves and Dwarves sitting in a fancy-built palace saying: *"Now this new breed we stumbled across, well they still live in the trees. No weapons. No developed culture. Just a bunch of shit-slinging, communicate-through-clicks bastards. They're not really good for much, but there's a lot of them. Why don't we have them do all the work while we kick back and relax? And if we have to slaughter a few million of them to scare the rest into obeying, well what's the harm?"*
That's how it was. That's how it's been. That's how it is.
No more, I say. And so agree the men at my back. Fifty or so as it stands, freed slaves except those that were born in the scant scattering of hidden communities of Humans dotted about the land.
They've said it before. Of course they have. In a hundred or more generations of living as cattle, there's certainly been a slave revolt or two attempted. Never really gained traction, though. Never really got anywhere.
Until now, that is.
We have steel. Good steel. We have armour as well. But more than that, we have the balls.
See, I understand our enemy. I understand what the last leader's of the rebellion's didn't. I understand that the Elves, the Dwarves, they don't see us as people. They won't show us mercy, they won't treat us like they'd treat one of their own who rebels. They'll treat us like a pup that's acting out. Kick us down and keep kicking until we know who's boss. Until there's not a shred of doubt left.
It's why I have my men going around the fresh corpses we've made, taking fingers. Filling the carts we've brought with us.
"Please? Please what?" I ask, coming to sit in front of him on the sodden ground. "Please mercy? That I'm afraid I can't do."
"*I'm a...good person...never hurt anyone in my life...*" He replies. Struggling to get the words out as his heart slows and his body dies.
"I've watched this little village for a week now. I know that's a lie. Seen it with my own eyes, you kicking that human girl to death. Over what, eh? Spilled milk and naught else." I'm sitting on my ass, my forearms rested on my knees. I'm making a little dagger dance between the finger's of my left hand.
The sun's slipping below the mountains, painting the world in almost beautiful shades of orange and yellow. Nearly time for night to bathe us in the darkness. They say there are foul creature that live in the dark, but that ain't never bothered me. I'm a foul creature too. Fouler than them steeped in the dark.
Even in the dim light I see the glint in his eye. The confusion, the question.
He wants to ask me what that matters. How does killing one little human girl doing wrong? But he catches the slight arching of my brow, catches the way my lips are set. He knows if he does I'll scalp him, and keep him alive through it as well.
"You're dying." I tell him. It's not like he doesn't know already, though. "Blood's black. I'd say you've got maybe twenty minutes. 'Course, don't take my word on it. Could be less. Could be more, too, but it's probably less."
"*They will see the smoke...They will find you...and on that day, your guts will be pulled out through your nostrils.*" A lot of words for a dying man.
"'Course they'll see the smoke! What else did you think I set your little village aflame for, fun?" In part, yes. Fire calls to me. I Like the way it shifts and morphs before your eyes. Like the way every man can look into it and see something different.
A group of my men vacate themselves with haste from a thatch-roofed cottage, the building wrapped in a dull orange glow, that they're in the process of looting just as the roof collapses in. I catch Mulch's eye. He's a big man, is Mulch. Appearance-wise he's about as appealing as a field-plough, but it's not his looks I want. It's his menace.
Man stands tall, muscled like an ox. Looks like he's been carved out of solid stone.
He nods. I nod back. I'm of average height, of average build. Standing nearly two feet below Mulch, I have to look up at him to see his eyes. But he's the one who listens to me, and there's not a one of them who forgets it.
"*You're not the one who...was prophesied."* Says the dying Elf.
"No." I reply. "I'm not."
"*Where's he...then? He was supposed to do this with diplomacy. With words, not weapons.*" He's talking about the Promised Saviour. A human born to free his people and ensure they stand along-side the Elder Races, not below them.
"Aye, he was." I nod. And then I point back the way we'd attacked from, back the way we'd journeyed these last few weeks. "He's back there, face down in a ditch somewhere. His self-righteous prattle gave me a migraine."
The Elf eyes me with disgust. The truth is words over weapons only works when your enemy respects you.
"I really don't like migraines."
"*Why not kill me, Human?...Why speak with me?*" He asks the question after a short silence, in which I begin digging out the dirt under my nails with the point of my knife.
"Because I want something from you, Elf." I reply. "See, I know how death works for your people. Know how you handle it. The important ones in your society - the Mayors, the Princes, the Kings - there's a copy of their soul backed up on a magic little gem safe in the Royal Palace, correct?"
The Elf nods. Slowing, now. I'm beginning to lose him.
"The Mages can summon you after death, if your death was particularly violent. It doesn't last for very long, and there's no way they can impart your soul into an empty body, but at the very least they can ask you how you came to such a messy end. See you avenged."
"*What do you...want with me?* He asks again.
"You're a Mayor. Now, granted, this ain't the biggest of towns. But you're still a Mayor. When they find your corpse nailed to a cross just outside of town, your balls stuffed in your mouth, well they'll summon you up and ask you what happened."
"*And -*"
"And you'll tell them. Tell them how I scorched your land and poisoned your wells. How I took every Elf and put them to the sword. How I set free each and every slave." I pause and climb to my feet. More for the fact my legs are cramping than any air of drama. "And then you'll tell them I'm coming for them. Tell the King, tell his children. Tell the Lords and the Ladies. Tell them to warn the Dwarves as well. Tell them a thousand generations of preparation won't save them. Tell them I'll use their skulls as cups when it's over. Tell them to run if you want, but if you do make sure to add that running won't save them. If it takes this day until my last day, I will expunge all record of the Elder Races. This, I swear."
"*It will never -*"
I drive my little blade into his right eye. Feel the eyeball pop with the pressure. Feel the blood and the goo drip down in between my fingers. I hear him give a little gasp. Then I twist and I pull it free. Let his head drop, his eye still leaking.
I catch movement to my right. I whip my head around to face the small copse of pine trees nearby, leaves browning as the winter sets in. There's a small Elf standing there, half-hidden behind one of the thicker tree trunks. A child. Can't be more than eight or nine years old. She's half-smiling, curious as to what I'm doing.
Just a decade younger than I am.
"Run!" I snap, and she retreats a step. "Run! If I catch you, you'll see no mercy." And then she's bounding through the trees. Fleeing.
We spent another few hours in the village, setting the fingers we've taken up as decoration around the rim of the well and looting what we need to loot. The fingers would be found by the party sent to investigate the smoke. Psychological warfare.
"It's a foul thing we did today." Mulch tells me as we ride down the cobbled path, the village burning at our backs. It's raining now, ice-cold little pin-pricks on my arms. We've got our hoods pulled down over our faces.
"Not as foul as these last few centuries have been for us." I grunt back in reply.
"Aye, I suppose that's true." Says Mulch. "It'll get fouler, won't it?"
I turn to him, wearing a half-smile. "Nature of war, Mulch. As thing get harder, we'll have to do harder things. But we can't doubt ourselves, can't second guess. Tell yourself it's for the greater good if it'll help you sleep at night."
"It won't." He mutters.
"No. It won't. But there's nothing that really will. Once this is over, then we can ask forgiveness."
We settle into a comfortable silence after that.
It's funny to me.
Because when I ask myself what I've done wrong, the only answer I hear is silence. | 158 | I'm tired of fantasy where Elves are 'better than you' just because they're elves. Give me some sword & sorcery, fantasy-style, 'Humanity! F**k yeah!' where typical elder fantasy races learn why it's not wise to mess with 'mere' humans. | 133 |
Seven o'clock, that's what we had agreed on. We would meet here at seven. I would order a steak and fries as usual, she would order a martini and nothing else. My girlfriend never was big on eating out, but she enjoyed the atmosphere of the restaurant and enjoyed the drinks. I always liked this restaurant; it was the restaurant where we met. We always came here. But my watch now said it was 7:30, and she hadn't come. I safely assumed that I been stood up. Again. Just one time, maybe she could show up? Of course not, why would she ever dream of doing something to fix this relationship? I sighed and left the comfort of my booth to approach the bar and order another beer.
“You've been sitting at that booth an awful long time,” said the bartender, pouring my beer, “Waiting for someone?” I smiled, slightly embarrassed, slightly annoyed and slightly relieved that someone was interested in my situation. However, I didn't feel like talking about my problem. I wasn't drunk enough yet.
“Yeah, I just had a date. Seems like I've been stood up. Nothing new,” I said nonchalantly. The bartender frowned, but the look on his face told me that he had seen this before, many times.
“Tell ya what, that beer's on the house,” The bartender said, trying to cheer me up. I nodded back in appreciation, but I didn't really care; one free beer wasn't going to take any debt off of the many beers I was planning to order that night.
“Enjoy the rest of your night, mister,” The bartender said, and whisked off to the other side of the bar to pour some more drinks, leaving me to return to the comfort of my lonely booth for two. I quickly downed my beer and laid my head down on the table. This was going to be a rough night; I wished I had a pillow and a blanket, I could just sleep and drink beer.
I didn't have another beer for a while. I didn't actually want to get drunk; I wanted to wallow in my despair for a while, without the influence of alcohol to make me feel better. I also wanted my mental functions to maintain themselves on the off chance that she did come in. It was nine o'clock now. No sign of her. I pulled out my phone and checked to see if she sent me a text. Negative. I figured that I might as well leave now, before I did something embarrassing.
As I was getting ready to leave, I noticed something at the bar. Beautiful, flaming red hair. I had always been a man of bright tastes, particularly in hair color. It was the defining factor of physical attractiveness for me. This woman was there alone, sipping what looked like whiskey. Usually I would never approach a woman, especially because I had a girlfriend, but I was a little bit tipsy so I decided, “What the hell?”, and went up to her. I sat down at the stool beside her. It wasn't as comfortable as the booth, but it was less lonely here.
The bartender approached me, he didn't even ask before refilling my beer. I guessed this was a common sight at this bar. I wondered if that beer was on the house too, but I didn't dare ask. I'd get the tab at the end of the night. I took a sip of my drink.
I looked over to the woman beside me and got a look at her face. I knew that face. It was the face of my old high school crush. Her name was Hannah. I hadn't seen her in what must have been ten years. She hadn't aged a day. She caught me looking at her and she quickly turned to look at me. I didn't know if she recognized me; hell, I doubt she even knew me in high school, she wouldn't remember me ten years later. I was so afraid to talk to girls in high school, I'm not sure if I had even said a word to her.
So now I had just been staring at Hannah for what must have been an awkward 5-10 seconds. I released myself from my memories and let all of my worries go free. It was time to make my high school self proud.
“Hannah?” I asked, smiling. Hannah's eyes got large, she was completely taken aback. “Oh jesus, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not some psycho stalker,” Very smooth. Doing your high school self proud, there. “I'm Mike. Uh...Mike Palmer. From Jefferson High?”
Hannah took a few moments to search through her memory banks, until a look of remembrance shown on her face. I smiled.
“Mike! Of course I remember you! How's the real world treating you?”
We talked for a long time. I told her about how my life went, she told me how her life was going. I had drunk a couple more beers during the middle of our conversation so that I could loosen up a little bit more. We must have talked for two or three hours; we lost track of time. Conversation was very natural between us. Finally, we were starting to run out of things to talk about. There was a silence for about twenty seconds. Hannah finally broke the silence.
“So, what are you doing here all alone?”
I smiled.
“I have to ask you the same thing.”
Hannah smiled.
“Fine, then. I was bored. I'm single and 28, I should be somewhere with my life by now. I'm lonely. I came here to see if any guys would want to hook up tonight.” She said it with a straight face. It did not seem she was flirting or implying something between us. I assumed she only thought of us as friends. “What about you?” She asked.
“I've had a girlfriend for three or four years now. Recently we've been going through a rough patch. We haven't seen each other for a few days now. We were supposed to meet here at seven. Evidently, she didn't turn up. Oh well.”
“What have you been fighting about?”
“She says that I never listen to her. Bullshit, if you ask me.”
Hannah pondered this for a moment.
“Do you love her?”
“Of course I love her,” I said with slight hesitation, “We've been together for years.”
Hannah picked up on my hesitation.
“If I told you that I was lonely and looking for some company tonight, would you come home with me?”
I paused. This was the girl of my dreams. Or the girl who used to be the girl of my dreams. I had been imagining this happening every single night of the teenage existence. How could I pass it up? Then again, it was only a rough patch between me and my girlfriend. It wasn't worth it. But...she didn't turn up to dinner. Obviously she didn't care about me.
“Yes or no?” Hannah insisted.
Once in a lifetime opportunity. This was happening now. I had to make a choice. I closed my eyes, slightly ashamed of the choice I knew I had to make. I nodded.
Hannah grinned.
“Come on, then. You won't regret this. I'll make you feel better.” She came up close to me and seductively whispered in my ear, “You won't even remember her in the morning.”
I paid my tab, went back to her place and we made love. It was everything that I had been dreaming about, and more. It seemed perfect. Beyond perfect. There was a little guilt, but I could have gotten used to it. I thought that maybe I would call my girlfriend and break up with her in the morning. I slept next to Hannah that night. If only high school me could see me then!
When I woke up, suddenly all of the night's events rushed back into my now sober mind. Thoughts streamed through my head. Oh my god, what the hell did I do? What even happened? How did it happen? My old high school crush is lying nude next to me? An incredible rush of guilt filled me. How could I cheat on my girlfriend like that? It was just a fight, I didn't have to be this drastic. I love her so much, how could I do this to her? Christ, I'm going to regret this.
The time was 11:30 in the morning. I removed himself from the bed and found my pants. I pulled out my phone and saw that there was one missed text message, sent at nine in the morning. It was from my girlfriend. Feeling oh so guilty, I opened it.
It read: “I said we would have breakfast at seven this morning. You never do listen to me, do you? I gave you one last chance. It's over.” | 15 | Checking your watch, you realize you've been stood up. As you get ready to leave, something at the bar catches your eye. | 18 |
Lucius stirred the sugar into his coffee and pushed the bowl over to Alfred who took his customary one lump and dropped it into his tea.
"Two old men, still eating sugar, you'd think we'd have learned." Lucius' voice was gravelly and tired sounding. Alfred was good at picking up when someone hadn't slept much.
"Some things are worth the cost, but then again, some things aren't." Lucius looked up at the edge in Alfred's voice. They’d known each other for too long and had too many shared secrets for Lucius to not notice.
“Something on your mind?”
Alfred hesitated a moment, he’d meant to ease into this conversation a little. He sat back in his seat and tried to relax but the seat wasn’t built for that. They’d been meeting in this coffee bar for the last three owners and this one in particular seemed to believe that less comfortable seats means higher turn over. They probably should just find a new spot for their regular meetings, Alfred mused, but neither of them seemed inclined to request a change.
Alfred looked around them, the owners strategy seemed to be working as no one was sitting near enough to overhear their conversation. They were deep enough into the shop that any reporters who might have followed Lucius from Wayne Towers would find their radio mics unable to pick up anything and besides, if there was someone working on a story about either of them it would have been picked up long before. No major paper in Gotham would run a story on them and even most of the rags would hesitate. Perhaps a national paper or foreign press, the British Tabloids were always up for a scandal, but it was unlikely.
“He’s not got much left in him.” The words sat for a moment, being digested by both men.
“I know.” Somehow Lucius’ confirmation made it worse – Alfred had been able to keep it to himself for a while, believing that only he saw it but if Lucius saw it too then it means he was right.
“He’s not going to stop.”
“I know.” The silence was longer this time. Alfred sipped at his tea and topped it up. “That’s not what’s on your mind though.” Alfred was surprised at Lucius’ insight.
“No, it’s not. When the end comes it’ll either be good… or bad. I’m not sure now that I can change however it will be but I’ve accepted that, come to terms with it. Ever since the Joker…”
Again the silence. It had been nearly a year since the two deaths – Joker and… and the other one. It had changed the whole city, changed the world. Giant gas filled balloons had sprayed their toxic load onto the streets in an orgy of mayhem and all through it the manic laughing of the Clown Prince of Crime as the people had called out for Batman, knowing full well he could not come.
Batman, trapped and forced to watch as the city was ripped apart, had changed. He’d come to realise that his path had failed everybody. When Superman had shown up it had been such a relief, and when he’d fallen and lay lifeless on the ground and the Joker had carved his “J” into his chest, then Bruce had changed.
“All the things he wants now are… different. Wayne Corp is changing Alfred, we’re making moves that I thought we’d never make, aggressive moves. The stock holders love it but it worries me, he’s a different man.”
“I don’t care.” Lucius gaped at Alfred’s words.
“You don’t…what?”
“We did this Lucius, you and I - we set him on this path. Back when he came home, we saw what he would become, we saw what he would *need* to become and we set him on this path. God knows I tried to stop him but you… you validated his choices. You helped him get the tools, the gear, you helped him become who he is.”
“And you didn’t? You didn’t help him make those costumes, help him build that cave? Alfred, we both made choices that we have to live with now.” A moment of tension passes as Alfred slumped back into his uncomfortable chair.
“I’m sorry Lucius, it has just been so… he hardly speaks any more, not to me at any rate. He’s either out on patrol, in the office making all these changes with you or hovering over that damn Kryptonian pod.” Alfred’s voice broke and rose from its usual calm. “I feel like I’m losing him!”
Lucius looked up at the Barista who was now watching them, perhaps imagining that the two old men were breaking up or maybe just old war buddies reminiscing on old times. He reached out and held Alfred’s shoulder. “Neither of us chose his path for him Alfred, he chose his own path and neither of us could have done a damn thing to change that.”
After a time Alfred looked back up. “I’m sorry Lucius, it has always been difficult but now, now he no longer talks at all. Dick came by the other day and he barely said two words. When I said I don’t care though… honestly I don’t.”
Lucius dropped his arm, knowing they were coming to the matter at last. Alfred went on, his voice low. “I always knew I wouldn’t see the end of it, I’m old Lucius and I feel every moment of it. For the longest time helping him and supporting him was everything but now his mission has changed, he no longer wants my help and… and I’ll soon be in no position to help him anyway.”
Lucius looked closely at Alfred, his normally thin frame was now almost skeletal, despite his careful clothing. His eyes were sunken and he looked exhausted.
“How long?”
“Weeks, maybe a month or two. I thought I’d see him get to a better place but I am leaving him worse than ever.”
“Does he know?”
“No.”
“He’ll be angry.”
“Maybe.”
“Can I do anything?”
“No. Just look after him Lucius, try to help him through this. He’ll try to push you away, he’ll want to believe that he could have done something but it’s too late.”
“So… I…?”
“Nothing more to say. Goodbye old friend.”
| 15 | Alfred Pennyworth, after watching Bruce Wayne push himself physically, mentally, and emotionally over the years as Batman, confronts Lucius Fox about enabling Bruce in the very beginning and the costs of saving Gotham vs the soul of Bruce Wayne/Batman. | 20 |
(No native speaker, so please be gentle with my English.)
It was about to happen. Mission Control Center was filled with all sorts of people: The usual scientists, but among them also NASA executives, journalists, caterers providing everyone with snacks and champagne, and even the janitor was seen among the celebrating crowd.
Voyager was about to leave the solar system and enter the big, black void lying beyond it.
Probably it already passed that border, but since the signal takes about one day to arrive at Mission Control, the party was scheduled for today. Depending on the time the last signals were registered, the crucial one was about to arrive any second. Following this, the crowd had become silent, all eyes directed at Keith Gunnarson, who was chosen to recieve the signal and confide its contents to the cameras surrounding him.
As the tension rose to unfamiliar levels, slowly, but steady, the moment had come. A blinking light on the big screen behind Gunnarson and a voice, pre-recorded for the show the NASA presented the journalists, claiming "message incoming" illustrated: It was happening.
The world, at least the attendants and the viewing public, were staring at Gunnarson in absolute silence. Five seconds passed. Ten seconds. He looked more and more disenchanted and doubting as he stared on his monitor. After a few more seconds, he stared directly into one of the cameras, stating: "There... there seems to be a problem. According to the data I just recieved..." He paused again. Photographers all around the room flooded him in flashing lights. "It seems as if Voyager suddenly stopped and is damaged severely. I can't think of another explanation than... um... let me try to explain: It's still in the solar system and probably crashed into something our devices can't detect."
"Humans of earth.", a certainly unhuman, but calming voice suddenly filled the room. Attending people looked at the ceiling, finding nothing. "You can speak to me, I hear you."
"Who are you?", Gunnarson asked into the room. "I'm the creator." the voice answered. "The creator of what? Earth?", he replied. "By human standards, creator of the biggest studio ever built. And you, Keith Gunnarson, and each other person in that room and on earth, are the stars. You are broadcasted throughout the entire Milky Way, giving trillions of beings hope, joy and the opportunity to watch their craziest fantasies of violence."
So the Truman Show was real. He always expected it in a strange way, but never came to the conclusion that it was about the entire planet. "And you have created and watched everything?" - "Every step, every achievement and failure your race made from the moment we abandoned you on a little developing planet on the other side of the galaxy until the moment your cute little spaceship touched the borders of our studio."
"But what now? Are we free to leave now?" - "Of course. You can leave your solar system any time you want. As long as you do it by yourself. And now goodbye, the ratings are coming in. If you're lucky and still running, we'll meet in a few centuries. Maybe."
edit: grammar | 17 | Voyager is about to become the first spacecraft to escape the solar system. Just as it's about to enter deep space, it hits a wall. | 55 |
The ground hit me hard, causing a painful dizziness in my head. I groaned in pain, laying flat on what seemed to be some sort of rubber flooring. I'd been selected for an experiment discerning the very first teleporter man had eve created....and I guess it worked. I lifted myself up, placing a hand against my temple, massaging the headache away. Once I'd regained myself, I looked about my surroundings, finding that everything around me was a blank canvas of white. The floor below me was black, hence it's spongy surface, enforcing the fact that it was rubber. I made my way up to my feet and began to walk about. The room wasn't too big. Maybe the size of your average classroom.
I found the walls, which were blindingly bright, sparking a curiosity in me as I couldn't identify a source of light inside the room, and placed my hands against them, softly tapping against the surfaces to find any hollow points that may lead to a doorway. After a bit of searching, going about the entire room a couple times, I couldn't find anything. The walls were all completely solid. I walked back to the center of the room, but tripped over some sort of snag sticking out of the floor. What was this? I hadn't noticed it before. I looked back behind me and studied it for a second before pinching the bit of 'rubber' between my index finger and thumb, softly tugging on it. As I gently pulled, the material began to unravel like a loose seam on an old tee. I removed my digits from the floor after finding I'd created a hole big enough to fit my head in, deciding to take a look. I lowered my head and peered down inside and found....nothing again. Another white room with the same flooring. Suddenly, there was a click behind me, a speaker turning on.
"Subject has tested identical results prior to previous test," said a robotic voice. "Commence memory wipe."
I stood up, nervous as to what was going to happen. Suddenly, the room began to grow brighter, stinging my eyes as I tried to shield them. A loud ringing began, leaving me to cover my ears as I shut my eyes tight. I started to back up, slowly stepping backwards before the hole I'd torn opened up and swallowed me whole, throwing me down the entire level. "Memory wipe complete," came a distant, monotone noise. "Initiate test #3472."
The ground hit me hard.... | 11 | You are the first human test subject for the newly developed 'Teleporter' however everything goes horribly wrong... | 17 |
Death notifications are the worst part of the job. The first dead body is always horrendous, but it gets easier after a while. You know that the deceased is gone, and that there's nothing you can do to change that - you can't offend or upset a corpse.
Telling family members that a loved one is dead never gets easier. As soon as you knock on the front door, you know you're going to be the one to change peoples' lives in a massive way, in a relatively short encounter.
But here I was, standing in front of an old, wooden door. I knocked, listening as the hinges rattled from the impact, and then there was nothing. No sound apart from my heartbeat, which was slightly faster than usual. That's to be expected, of course; I already knew what the home-owners didn't and how they would react when they did.
I heard stairs from inside the house creaking, and I automatically steadied my breathing. It's my job to ensure that this message gets passed on quickly and clearly, and to provide advice where appropriate. I can't do that if I'm not calm.
The door opened to reveal a woman who seemed to be fending off my gaze by squinting, although on reflection, was probably battling the urge to close her eyes in order to defend herself from the brightness of a nearby street light.
'Are you Sally Tass?', I asked, trying my best to sound caring, but not jovial.
The woman in the doorway stared blankly at me, squeezed her eyes closed, and eventually mumbled a "yes."
I suggested that I ought to come into the house to speak with her, and she turned and led me to the living room, before sitting in a battered armchair.
Sitting down, I placed my helmet on the floor.
'There's no easy way to say this,' I began, before clearing my throat, 'but I'm really sorry to tell you that your son, Alex Tass, is dead.'
Sally just about managed to squeeze her eyes shut - this time to fight back the tears - before violently vomiting over herself and my helmet, all while wailing.
I was just about to comfort her, to tell her that everything will be okay, when my earpiece sounded the tell-tale tone that someone was transmitting.
'Alpha Charlie 12 from Control?'
'Go ahead if urgent,' I replied, keen to focus my efforts on Sally.
'Update regarding your last assigned: do not continue tasking. The previous controller gave you the wrong address.
'What do you -' I started to reply but Sally interrupted me, begging for me to listen to her, although she was in such a state it was hard to understand her. 'Control, stand by', I requested, before turning to Sally. 'I need you to do something for me, okay?' I asked.
She nodded, and I told her that she needed to calm down, and to breath slowly. She looked at the floor, tears still streaming, but eventually she calmed down enough to talk.
Catching my gaze, she said 'I didn't mean to. It was an accident.'
Edit: changed can't to can, and can to can't, in the first paragraph; changed instead to inside.
| 20 | Police informs parents about the death of their child. Turns out it was the wrong parents. | 28 |
Richard ripped flesh from bone, blood dripping down his chin and onto his bare chest. Some of the sinewy ligaments got caught in his teeth, and upon yanking them out, his incisor came with it. Oh well. He didn’t feel pain anymore. It was only a mild inconvenience, as chewing was about to become slightly harder.
Being an undead wasn’t so bad – not that he was fully aware of it. His brain stem fired necessary synapses, commanding his body to perform essential functions, but he wasn’t quite sentient. One might argue that he was now more of an animal – although even animals can be trained. One might even argue that animals have a separate kind of intelligence altogether.
After he was done with his rabbit, Richard shuffled back to his camp. A week or so ago he fractured his ankle on a particularly slippery rock and as a result, he could not walk straight anymore. Another mild inconvenience for an animated rotting carcass. When he got back to camp, he shuffled past the other corpses that were milling about in the common area. The common area was a large space where the undead spent most of their time – mainly standing around waiting to get hungry. Every so often, one of their brains would fire a hunger signal and they would slowly make their way into the forest to forage for food.
The camp of 20 or so undeads was surprisingly sustainable. They had been cohabitating for several months now and things seemed to be working out fine. Again, not that they were fully aware of what was going on. Deep down, some vestige of their humanity must have caused them to gravitate toward one another. Whatever the case, they were successfully living off the land. Who knows how long they might have lasted, had the humans not come on that day.
They emerged from the foliage – probably about 10 of them. Each armed with a machete, they hacked through the camp of helpless zombies like an explorer blazing a blood red trail through the jungle. Richard watched in apathy as his brothers and sisters were cut down before him, and when it was his turn to die (again), he resigned himself to his fate.
Or so he thought. Without having any control over his actions, Richard’s hand shot up to defend himself from the blow. The machete stuck in his forearm, and his brain began to fire like crazy. He grabbed the handle of the machete and pulled it out of his arm, watching the human who had attacked him all the while. His face was a mixture of surprise and amazement.
“Are you guys seeing this?” he said, “this one’s fighting back!”
Richard’s brain was becoming more and more engorged with blood. His motor skills were coming back, and his instincts were kicking in - full force. His mind snapped back on and memories came back. Images of his family, his friends, his beautiful home. Emotions surged through his body like electricity through a newly wired conduit. Speech, mathematics, music, literature – it was all rushing back to him. He opened his mouth to speak to his attackers –
Bang.
“Damn, man did you have to blow his brains out? He looked like he was about to say something.”
| 153 | In an alternate world, a well-functioning society of zombies face an outbreak of humans. | 192 |
"So, Rick... what's down there?"
"Down where, Jordan?"
"Come on, don't fuck with me. I know a secret door when I see it."
Rick smiled, and put his hands in the air. "What are you talking about, Jordan? There's no secret door. That's just an illusion!" He laughed and walked toward the dining room. I followed.
His mansion was quite enormous, but I couldn't help but think there was something missing. The upstairs had two bedrooms, a guest room and his master bedroom. *But don't these mansions usually have 4 or 5 bedrooms? Where's the rest of the house?*
In fact, I specifically remember a third room protruding out from, but seemingly connected to, his house. But I hadn't seen any other doors upstairs...
Rick and I sat in the dining room, ate like kings, and sat and talked for hours. We had been old friends, before The War, but I hadn't been back this way in a long time. It was good to catch up.
"Jordan... you remember the night of... Oh, I think it was August 20th? 2050?"
"Rick, you think I can forget something like that? Come on, I'm not totally boring. That was the weirdest night of the war. You think those flying saucers we saw were real? Or just... well you know. The drugs?"
Rick smiled at me. It was a smile I instantly recognized. Rick was an intense person, even before the war, and he had many secrets. But when he was about to reveal one, he'd grin this sly looking smile. And then he'd usually say something like "Follow me."
"Jordan... come with me," and he stood up. *Told you.*
"Ooh, Rick, are we going to your secret door that I totally found before you could introduce it?"
Rick didn't take the bait. He led me to the bookcase I had spotted and smiled at me, even broader than before.
"Ok, Jor... you so smart? Find the door!" Rick took a step back, and crossed his arms.
I played with the various books, but they all seemed to be actual books. "Wow, Rick, you're actually reading on me?"
He laughed. "I dabble," he said.
I started pushing on the book case, touching the sides, pulling, but nothing worked. "Ok, I give. What gives?"
He laughed again, way harder than he had since I walked in the house. "Ok, I'm sorry. This isn't the door. It *was* the door to the basement, but that was before I started working on it. And I met some of our old friends... Come on!" he said, and led me outside. We passed the oversized unattached garage, his cars gleaming in the moonlight, and the strange tower-looking room. He led me behind the mansion, to a small looking building that, to me, looked like an old war bunker.
"Is that a Radiation Bunker, or something?" Rick just grinned at me.
The bunker was just a small looking room made of concrete and stone. It had a rather heavy looking steel door, and several keypads and computers. Rick worked at several of the computers, until the steel door opened up. And I had been right, the door was very thick. Thick enough to block radiation. Maybe thick enough to survive the end of the world.
We walked inside and the door closed, sealing itself. The room was rather skinny, and there were metal plates on the ground. Rick walked over to them, and the metal plates opened themselves up, revealing a staircase. It led down a corridor made of steel, dark blue lights shining the way forward. As he walked on, I started to get a little nervous. "Rick... what is this place?"
"I told you, Jor. We're going to meet some old friends." He led me up to another door, only this one was much larger. It was a vault of some kind. Two, maybe three stories tall.
"You're going to... open that?" I said. My heart was starting to beat harder. Some primal fear was making me want to bolt outside. But I stayed.
"No, there's a side door right here," he pointed toward a small stone door I hadn't noticed. Rick pulled out a card of some kind, and swiped it into a reader, and the door opened just a hair. He walked forward, holding the door open for me. And what I walked into was extraordinary.
A huge hangar of some kind. There was a large rocket ship, sitting in a cylindrical-shaped tower. There were imprints on the tower, made to look like windows, but the windows were bolted with heavy metallic sheets. "Oh, that's the tower I was seeing," I said outloud. Rick smiled, and bid me forward.
Rick started to walk a bit faster, passing me by. "Hey, Quix! Quix, I want you to meet my best friend, Jordan. We knew each other back before The War. In fact, Jordan and I saw your ship many years ago!"
Rick had turned a corner from a few piled high boxes. When I did the same, my blood started to run warm and cold all at once. Rick was hugging some kind of... creature. Very alien looking, but then still very much human. He, or she, or it wasn't quite as tall as a human, and much shorter than Rick who was always pretty tall. It had smaller proportioned arms and legs, but much larger eyes. The eyes were neon blue, and the whites were replaced with a dull gray. It was wearing some type of suit which looked rather futuristic, in its sleek black steel color and it was holding some type of device. Another device was on its ears, which were a rounded-tip.
"Greetings friend Jordan. I am called Quix, though my name is much longer. It is difficult to pronounce for humans, so Quix will be fine. It is good to meet another human," it said, and it approached me, putting an arm out to me. Its small mouth rounded into a smile. It was strange, to me, that for all its differences, it still smiled like us. I smiled back, and shook his small hand.
"Rick," I looked up. "What the... what the hell!?" I mean this is... this is huge, this is great, and so very frightening. What the hell is going on!?" My panic had returned, and it was making me jumpy.
"Don't worry, Jordan, he isn't a threat. He's a good guy. I met him while traveling after The War. Quix and I have been partners ever since on a joint project between our two species. Ain't that right, Quix?" he said, smiling down at the creature.
Quix smiled at me, and seemed to beam happiness. "Yes, quite right, friend Rick. We are still putting the finishing touches on The Project, but it shouldn't take too much longer. Perhaps a few more Earth-months."
I started to take a look around the hangar, and I realized a lot of the technology seemed strange-looking. Like it was growing into the walls. I spotted a saucer-shaped ship in the corner and I realized... "Those Saucers! Those were you?"
"Yes, friend Jordan. Your planet was engulfed in total war. We came to try and mediate the fighting, but we realized your peoples were too far gone. The War would destroy most of your planet, and there would be nothing left. We decided to wait until after the fighting. We approached several humans who we thought would help us, but most ran at our looks. Friend Rick, however, did not. He was quite interested in seeing another sentient species for the first time. We started The Project a year after The War ended, and have been working on it ever since."
"I... I need to sit down," I said. I looked around, found a small fold-up chair, and sat down.
"Jordan, this is big. The Project is going to change us as a species."
"What... what is this Project you keep mentioning?" Rick found another chair, and sat down in front of me. His grin had gone, replaced with a passionate stare.
"Look, Jordan. The War... it was the worst thing to ever happen to this planet. Freely exchanging Nuclear Bombs with several continents... It's accelerated the life stages of Earth. The Project aims to fix some of these things, and to create a place where Earthlings, and Quix's people, the Quexarets, can live in peace with each other."
"So... The Project is your way of... trying to save the world?"
Rick stood up and shook his head. "No, Jor. The World's dying, and in a few years, it'll be dead for good. The nuclear winter stuff has been averted due to the dome projects, the clean-up efforts... but plants are dying. Most animals are endangered, and a lot of water isn't clean. No, Jordan. We can't save the world. It's gone already."
Rick walked toward Quix. Quix nodded, and looked over at me. "Yes, this world might be gone, but that is alright. The Project will fix all."
"But what is The Project?"
Rick smiled his secret-smile. "It's simple, Jordan. We're going to make a *new* planet. From scratch."
*Edit: Wow, people want to see this continue. Ok! When I get home from work I'll write another section below this one. Thanks, all!
*Edit 2: I got gold, that is awesome thank you so much!
*Edit 3: Link to Part 2: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2jbcyd/wp_you_visit_an_eccentric_rich_friend_in_the/claq0i9
| 237 | You visit an eccentric rich friend in the country at the behest of his only living relative. Upon arriving he takes you to the basement of his mansion to show you what he has been spending all of his time and money on. | 482 |
I wrote a response to a similar prompt, here it is
It was a sad day for many when sleep was banned. The President assured everyone it would mean more time to get things done and do what you want too. Yet many people had tinges of sadness poking at them. Some missed the surefire way to amuse themselves on the plane, others missed dreams. Me? I missed my job at the local cafe.
I had that job for several years before the law was passed. It was on of the best jobs out there, in my opinion. Reasonable pay, interesting people, nice hours. I was well on my way to a car. But with no sleeping, and no feeling tired, who needed caffeine? Slowly but surely, it died.
Despite the sentimental feelings of sleep, and new work hours, [16 hours a day, 6 hours of break. Really, not enough time to do anything.] we loved being sleepless. Children were taught in school about sleep, or the "Old Fashioned Time Waster." And despite unemployment skyrocketing, due to less workers needed because people could work longer each day, the world was content.
It was a brisk fall morning, trees begin their descent into the autumn madness, when it happened. I was going to my first day of my new job at CSS, or the Sleep Police. Now that sleep was banned, there was a huge network of people dedicated to stopping a natural instinct. I plopped down into the cushy subway seat, grateful there was one free. Across from me I heard chatter, however, when I listened carefully, it was long, and slow, exaggerated speech.
I continued to listen. They were a pair of friends discussing the latest celebrity gossip. I questioned their taste, although inside I was truly concerned at the startlingly slow rage of speech. I glanced around, wondering if anyone else on the subway noticed, but no. Perhaps this was some new trend I missed. People have been known to do the weirdest things.
I thought back to sleep. I had begin sleeping again, 6 months ago. During my break, I would snooze it all off. Some would say I was stupid for doing that. My relationships with my family crashed, I slowly lost all my friends, and the man I was seeing left me when I didn't want to see him during break anymore. Yet, in a way, it was all worth it.
Now, however, I would have to stop. Working for the Sleep Police was never my dream, but with the economic crisis, I felt lucky I was offered the chance. Maybe I could heal the damage in my relationships with people. Hopefully. But I would miss my sleep, again.
I entered the big, imposing CSS headquarters, noticing people move even slower. Like slugs, or snails. I walked up to the front desk to get directions to my new office.
"Hi, I'm Nora Johnson, the newest member of the um...let me check."
Flushed, I dug around in my purse for the slip.
"Ah! Here we go. It says I'm in the PC department."
"Speak....slower...."
"Hm? I'm your newest employee." I tired to match her slow pace, but she was moving slower and slower.
"S...l...o...w....d...o...w...n." Her words stretched to infinity.
I choose not to answer, looking around. People were moving slowly, but surely. It wasn't an act, and it was getting worse. And worse.
For the next hour, I watched them turn into statues. Everyone, everyone who hadn't slept in 7 years. Statues.
I guess the thing their bodies needed most of all was rest. And they finally got it.
| 17 | After a breakthrough 75 years ago, humans no longer need sleep (but can sleep). What's the world like now? | 25 |
It was just a typical Tuesday morning. I hate Tuesdays. You see, Mondays are bad, sure, but they are busy and time goes by fast when you’re busy. Tuesdays are just boring. The bulk of the work that piled up over the weekend has been taken care of and you settle into a snail’s pace of monotony that will continue for the next four long days so far from the weekend. And then, if you’re like me, you have public transportation to contend with. There must be thirty people waiting for the number six bus. No one looks at anyone, let alone talks to each other. I’m no different. I don’t know these people, and I don’t want to know them. I shake my head and look down at my feet to further avoid these people, these cattle. My shoe is untied. Yet another thing to be bitter about. I might need to talk to someone. I’m angry more and more every day. I bend down and begin tying my shoe. The person to my right steps off.
*The bus must have arrived,* I think, as this person must be moving towards the front of the line. And then my ears began ringing. I finish tying my shoe and stand up sticking my finger in my ear, trying to *unring* it. I turn to my right to move with the line and to board the bus, but there is no one in front of me. I look at the bus, but there is no bus. It hasn’t come yet. I turn to look at the line of people waiting for the bus but they are gone. I look around and see no one at all. There are cars on the road and the traffic lights are on, but there is not a soul in sight. I realize that my ears aren’t ringing; it’s the sudden lack of sound that has made my ears feel strange. I pulled my phone out of my breast pocket and read the date and time: October 20, 2014, 7:35am. I have a solid signal, but when I dial my office, the call never connects. I check the web, but web pages never load.
…
For the first month, I reveled in the silence. I thrived in the lack of humanity. I had my own paradise of a world without the throngs of people I hated so much. Then I got lonely. I started to travel, to search for others. I must have visited a dozen cities, only to be greeted by the same sight: perfectly normal cities without a single person inhabiting them. Each city is bathed in the morning light of October 20th. I estimate that four months have passed and I haven’t seen a single person. My phone still reads October 20, 2014, 7:35am, and the battery never drains. Time has stopped and outside, it is perpetually morning, and I’m losing my mind. I can’t stand the loneliness anymore. I don’t even know what to do. I hate reading books, nothing is on TV and the internet never loads. Walking and exploring has lost its luster. I head back to the bus stop where this all started for me. I stand in the same spot I stood four months ago and just look around.
That’s when I finally saw someone. He was a perfectly ordinary man. He was dressed in a plain black suit and tie, a timeless picture of your average businessman. His features were non-descript and if you had asked me later to describe him, I could not. He was standing in the middle of the street looking right at me. I gaped at him stupidly. He pointed to my foot and spoke four simple words.
“You shoe is untied,” he said.
I glanced down. It was. The same shoe was untied just as it had been four months ago. Impulsively, I knelt down to tie it. After it was half tied, I glanced up to find the man missing, but everyone else had returned. I was back in the line with the throngs of people surrounding me and the beautiful noises of the living city filled my ears. Still bent over, my phone slipped out of my breast pocket and bounced into the street. It landed face up and I watched the time change from 7:35am to 7:36am. Without thinking, I stepped into the street to retrieve it when my bus pulled up to the bus top and hit me. The right headlight struck my left temple and I crumpled to the street where the front tire rolled up my body to my chest. I could feel the organs inside of me turning to pulp as I took my last breath. A crowd of people quickly formed around me. My last thought before I died was that I was glad there were people here with me, finally.
| 45 | You bend over on a crowded street to tie your shoelace. Upon standing up, you realized that everybody is now gone. | 61 |
**Ellen Smith**
November 2 at 11:00am near Washington D.C.
____________________________________________________________________
OMG, my dad is so strict! I wanted to manipulate the senate elections with him, but he said I can't join him until I finish destroying Argentina's economy! This is worse than when he replaced Greenspan with Bernanke because I didn't take out OPEC's shadow companies on the NYSE. Hello! I was busy keeping Big Pharma from releasing the AIDS cure to the public!
**Like - Share**
25 people like this.
**Paige Smith**
Maybe if you quit screwing around on Facebook and finished Argentina, you would finish in time to groom the new senate with me.
November 2 at 11:05am - Like
**Jenny Miller**
My dad took my phone because I installed snapchat #MeanDadsSuck
November 2 at 11:06am - Like
**George Smith**
Your sister told me about this post. We've gone over this a thousand times--You can't talk about family matters on the Internet. Remember when we had to destroy MySpace and kill all its users?
November 2 at 11:15am - Like | 15 | The Illuminati exists, but is struggling to stay functioning effectively and secretly due to the Internet and the media. Write about the situation from the perspective of the leader of the Illuminati's 14-year-old daughter (She is fully aware of her fathers position). | 39 |
I was born in 471510/1222639 in Year PZ4. My mother said before year Zero, this city was called Tacoma, Washington. They did away with names in PZ1, for efficiency. I was born Child 140 exactly, but my mother called me Teddie. Said her grandfather was a Theodore. I'm not sure if that's a type of person or a job, but I hold onto it. We live in tent 7699, we're part of Social Security group 84HLM10. As you can see, there's a lot of numbers to remember here. And you've *got* to remember them. In the food queues they ask for your number, the number of your tent, your group... Everything. And you gotta give 'em or they don't feed you.
For a while, they were talking about setting up a school here. But plans here fall through faster than anything and talk lasted about a week and a half before nothing more was said about it. My mother told me about school once. She said she found it really hard. You had to sit in rows and listen to teachers an' learn to read and write and do something called math, which I don't know anything about. Mum tried to teach me to read, but there weren't no books or newspapers. I can read the boxes that come in once a week: **Food,** **Medicine** **Weapons** and once Mum wrote my name for me but I've forgotten what it looked like. I think it had a big cross in it though. There was a woman who used to wear one like that in Tent 7700, but she swapped it for extra food rations when her baby got ill. It didn't do her any good though, cause the baby ended up dying anyway. That was Child 234. She called it Annie.
Past the lines of tents you can just about make out the mountains south. People used to have these things called holidays, Mum said. People used to go away from big stone houses and stay in tents out of choice. They'd go to the mountains, or to lakes and do fun things and relax. She got angry when I didn't understand why people would stay in tents out of choice. It's not very relaxing here.
Child 156, who we call Mud, is outside my tent with her thumb in her mouth.
"You want to come and play?" She says. She got a lisp, cause her teeth are all crooked cause she been sucking her thumb for so long. "We found a mud pit down by T12000."
"Who's down there?"
Mud shrugs and takes her thumb out of her mouth for a moment. "Probs me and you. Nunder, cause it's her brother's turn for wash day. Maybe Pike, if we can get him out."
Pike was two years older than me, Child 98. He wore blue jeans and his dad let him have a knife.
I pretended to mull it over.
"Okay," I said finally. "I'll come if Pike comes."
Mud puts the thumb back in her mouth.
Nunder's already down at the mud pit, and Pike turned up after fifteen minutes. He looked at me and smiled.
"Hey Teddie, hey Mud. Good to see you out today."
I had to look at the ground.
"Careful Teddie," Mud's already knee deep in the mud pit, one hand in the thick wet sludge, searching for dropped coins, food packets, anything. The other is in her mouth.
"Careful?"
"Yeah, you can't be too nice to him," she jerks her head at Pike. "You might end up like your mother."
My face glows red.
"Shut up Mud."
"My mother used to say the doorway of your tent would get worn out from all the coming and going-"
"Shut up!"
"Specially the coming!" Nunder snickers and Mud howls with laughter. Pike stays silent.
"It's not true!"
"It is, Teddie. Even Pike's dad knew it was true," Mud says sagely, thumb in her mouth.
Pike doesn't say anything.
"That's why she ended up the way she did, my mother says." Nunder grins
"Your mother doesn't know anything."
My mother had held me curled up in her lap, eyes wet and arms black from bruises.
"You're not hungry, are you Teddie?" She'd asked, voice shaking.
"No, mother,"
"And there's nothing more you need?"
"No mother."
And I hadn't wanted for anything until the day the bruises had crept up to her neck and she couldn't get up any more. That's when I realised that all I wanted was her back, safe and sound, the way she was before. She used to tell me about the cities, tall glass buildings and green trees. They'd almost reflected in her eyes, then. The old world sounded good.
"My mum did the best she could," I spit at them, before turning my back.
This wouldn't have happened before, I decided, tramping back to tent 7699. The world wasn't this cruel before.
| 68 | Narrate as a child born after an apocalypse and is living in one of the survivor camps. The city structures still stand, but societies are gone. Describe how the child interprets the cities they see and how they imagine society before the apocalypse. | 185 |
The old Cartex clock on my credenza loudly drops the 9 flap, indicating 10:59 - one minute to make my decision. I've already measured it out - 23 feet from my doorstep to the street light under which I'm to meet the cab. 302. Yellow. Driver, I'm assuming, to take me...somewhere.
The letter itself was nothing special. Handwritten with a fountain pen in a flowing script. Looked a hundred years old, but no matter. All it said was, "He's gone now. I know you've been watching. Your turn. 11 pm, cab 302."
Nothing special. Just, y'know. All of a sudden a letter shows up, no postmark.
I think I'm trying to convince myself not to go as I walk out the door. In a yellow pool of sodium vapor light, the white light of headlamps wipe my shadow from the face of the earth. All I can think in that moment is that this could be the last I see of what I thought up until now was a pretty good life.
The cab stops. 302. The door opens. I pause, my heart pounding. I realize that I haven't taken a breath since the headlamps swung around the corner. I also realize that I can hear someone breathing - it sure as hell isn't me. Hell. Uh-oh.
I get into the car. There is a driver. He says nothing. Figures.
The cab moves away from the curb. Away from my normal little life. Job, bike, food, music, friends...trends.
Maybe this is why the last guy did this every night. The sudden realization that his life sucked. I didn't think my life sucked until I was invited into cab 302. Whatever the hell that means. Hell. I did it again. What is the deal with my gut when I say hell?
I look out the window of the cab - it is the natural thing to do in a cab. But I can't see anything. Windows must be blacked out - not sure why I didn't realize that earlier. Pretty sure my mother taught me better than that. Maybe not, since I'm in the back of a cab, with a driver of unknown...origin, headed to wherever I was invited, and...hell. That's where I'm going. It's suddenly clear. I'm going to hell.
"So, when do you kill me?" I ask the driver.
A deep, throaty laugh echoes in the cab like it's a cave. The driver stands up and turns to look at me. First thing I notice is that the driver is standing up in the cab. Second thing I notice is that we aren't moving. Third thing is that the driver isn't human. Fourth is that I'm not scared.
The Driver invites me in the deepest voice I've ever heard to stand up and step forward. I do so, because, well, really, why not?
He asks if I'm sorry I came. I tell him no, although I'm not sure why. I'm not sorry, I suppose, but I sure as hell am wondering what made me come. Hell. I don't swear as a rule, but something about this stupid place is bringing out a strange side of me. I'm filled with a bizarre calmness that is terrifying.
He asks me if I'm happy with my life. I tell him no, although I was until 20 minutes ago; I assume that's how long we've been gone - really I have no idea.
He asks me if I want to know the secret to a happy life. I tell him no - in a split second I realize that if I know the secret to happiness it will rob me of happiness.
He asks me if I want to go home - I'm starting to wonder what the point of this is. Maybe this is actually hell - stupid questions from some guy...thing...ad infinitum.
I tell him yes. Figured I should change things up a bit.
He nods and walks away. With him goes any traces of light. In the bizarre world of whatever-the-hell-this-is, I'm plunged into darkness. My mind races, my eyes dart, my blood pounds, and I desperately wish I would have said "no". Being somewhere unknown with someone unknown is one thing. Being somewhere alone with no one in utter darkness is totally different.
The Driver's voice echoes through the cab-chamber-cave. I can't tell what he's saying, but his bass voice is accompanied by a treble hiss. The hiss gets louder and louder. The voice gets quieter and quieter.
The darkness starts to lift, like a fog; the hiss doesn't go away. It gets louder. It's my fridge.
What the hell? I'm back in my living room as the Cartex drops its flaps and hits 11 pm. My fridge is hissing. My eyes are heavy.
As I fall asleep I know I sure as hell will be under that street light tomorrow at 11 pm. What in the world was that?
| 27 | Every night, as long as you have lived there, a man stands under the streetlight outside your window and leaves in cab 302. One night the man does not come. Instead there is a letter addressed to you telling you to be in the in that spot, at the exact time, and leave in cab 302. | 34 |
A heavy scent hung in the air as he bent over the cool counter. A grunt escaped his clenched teeth as he pushed the thick blade into the flesh, penetrating it deeper until it connected with the bone. As he pushed more of his weight, he quickly looked over his shoulder. Would someone come in?
He sure as hell hoped not.
"Come on, I don't have time for this." The man grumbled and lifted his arms and then pushed them back down, this time the bone broke surprisingly easy. He stepped back and admired his work. There was very little blood and no one had interrupted him.
Excellent.
Though he was very slim and weighed very little, Max was still happy with the results. He scuttled over and turned a knob on a metal contraption. That was needed, yes. The man then hurried back to the chilled counter and picked up the lifeless slab of meat and set it into a small basin. He then began to sprinkle a collection of spices and pushed it into the oven. This was Max's first time making dinner for his parents and he wanted everything to be perfect. Roasted chicken would be great, along with a medley of vegetables. His parents were so busy with work that he felt like giving them a night to relax. | 12 | The bone broke surprisingly easily. | 21 |
“Listen to me child,” the man said. “You were born of this world, I have lived it. I knew it before *it* came.”
The child looked up at him, he was only five years old, and he had nearly gotten stranded last time. *It* almost got him. It had scared the man more than anything else had. More than when this came down on them. *It* had already taken the boy’s mother; it would not take him too. The boy’s skin was dark with dirt, streaked with ash and sweat. The boy wore tattered clothing, dirty and bedraggled. The man wore the robes of an ancient priest, the hood pulled up to cloak his face in shadows. He had come to think of himself as a kind of spiritual leader to these people, those who found themselves trapped in this hell.
“Wait,” the man said, “watch the clock.” He held out his arm so the boy could see, the robes draped over his wrist fell back to reveal the wrist watch. “It’s important that you know these things. I won’t be here forever.”
The boy silently nodded, his eyes watched the analog watch. It had stopped at twelve noon. How many hours had passed? The second hand ticked once and then agonizingly it ticked again.
“When the time stops it isn’t safe to go out.” The man stood with his shoulder to the door. “And why is that?” He prodded the boy. He had to know that he knew these things. He would have to become more responsible. This was no world for children.
“Because when it’s stopped *it’s* out there,” the boy said.
“That’s right,” the man said. The watch resumed, ticking away the seconds. “Let’s go.”
The man released the latch and opened the door. He looked back at the desolate people that had sheltered with him. He nodded at them and went out the door into the night. It was gone, for now.
“Stay close,” he said, grasping the boys arm. “We need to find food, quickly, before it comes back.”
They scampered out into the street that used to be a simple small town that was now the center of their hell. The man checked the watch repeatedly. *It* would be back soon. *It* never left for long.
| 43 | "The clock...watch the clock. When it moves we move, and when it stops we hide." | 97 |
"The history of humankind has been one of war and struggle - one group of people against another group, allowing our primal urges control us, guide us and cause such great suffering." M'Beya Owenku paused and took a sip of water - he'd practised this speech hundreds of times but here, at the lectern and in front of the entire world, the pressure was immense.
After he finished the leaders of the former nations which had comprised the security council would join him on stage to sign the article of unity, disbursing all former countries and uniting the world for the first time.
Well, almost all the world. M'Beya was trying not to dwell on the meeting this morning which had ended with accusations, screaming and the ambassador from Switzerland being dragged from the council chambers.
One hundred and ninety five nations, from Micronesia to the United States of America had all managed to put aside their differences and unite, but the small Alpine nation was not only refusing the join but was actively seeding sedition.
M'beya couldn't think about that now though, now he was on the brink of history and no matter how many French and German towns (not that such distinctions would soon exist) the *Gardes Suisses* bombed it would make no difference to today. Today was a day for unity.
"Today we celebrate mankind's ascension to a new plane of living, one where struggle against your follow man is no longer the norm, where conflict is rendered pointless and cooperation instead is the man force for change."
"With the signing of the Articles of Unity we signify that we have put history behind us - no more war, no more hunger, just a world where..." He faltered and the Teleprompter in front of him paused and rewound - at the back of the room there was a disturbance, he looked down at his notes but he'd lost his rhythm, the disturbance seemed to have turned to a scuffle and he could see security moving back towards the commotion.
For a moment he thought he saw yellow and blue but then whoever it was disappeared as the security piled on top and M'Beya breathed a sigh of relief.
"A world where..." time stopped and everything went white. M'Beya found himself heaped at the back of the stage, the world was shaking and it took him a moment to realise it was his vision. A high pitched scream blocked all sound but slowly a great roar seemed to open up his ears and then the sound, at first like his ears were full of water, but then more clearly, the sound of screaming.
He tried to prop himself up but his arm gave out - looking down he saw bone sticking through his suit but felt nothing. The noise was intense and incredible and in the distance it sounded like parts of the building were collapsing, great thumps and shudders.
Blood was dripping down from somewhere, past his face, but he wasn't sure from where. He looked up and did not understand what he was seeing. The room, full of dignitaries, royalty, the assembled political power of the world, it was all gone. A gaping hold, filled with fractured stone and the occasional blood splash was all that seemed to remain.
He'd been blown backwards, somehow, whatever had exploded had thrown him clear but it was easy to see that he was one of the few exceptions. To one side he now saw the Danish Queen, she was standing and holding her severed hand, looking at it curiously, waiting to see what happened next.
M'Beya looked down, his legs seemed fairly intact but maybe the pain had not come yet, his arm was still not hurting, maybe his legs were the same. Turning over he reached his knees but his eyes swam and he paused. He squeezed his eyes shut and after a moment opened them.
Boots. Beautiful brown leather boots, standing in front of him. He followed the boots and his stomach dropped as boots gave way to blue and yellow vertical stripes, topped with a cruel smile. A gunshot rang out and M'Beya fell.
| 14 | The United Nations becomes a recognised government body with one hundred and ninety five countries agreeing to relinquish their sovereignty becoming states within a larger global nation. One country refuses to join and leads a misguided rebellion that destroys the newly formed UN. | 34 |
Original “My Buddy Lucifer”: http://np.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ez940/wp_lucifer_the_devil_himself_is_your_best_friend/ck4elii
Sequel: My Parents Death and the Devil
*(Yes I very much intended that title to be a pun)*
“I know you’re there Gwen, you can come out,” I called out.
She stepped out from behind a lamp post and tried to catch up to me. I continued walking at my usual brisk pace toward home. I just left school and I suspected Gwen was waiting for me. When she finally reached my side I glanced over to see a large clear softdrink container in her hand filled with blood.
“Oh for crying out loud could you at least TRY to cover that up?” I rolled my eyes. “Use an opaque container or a bag even!”
“I’m sorry princess of darkness, i’ll try be more discrete.” She put both hands around the container and tried to cover as much as possible as she took another sip through the straw.
I small part of me was kind of hoping the intense afternoon sun would incinerate her right there, but to my perpetual dismay she was very meticulous about her protections and remained intact and undead. She carried a huge backpack that i assumed held those protections among other things.
“Fine,” I relented with an annoyed sigh, “What business do you have with the princess of darkness?”
I hated when people called me that, it implied I was somehow inherently evil. I seriously contemplated pulling out my scythe and ending her right there, but i knew she was just doing her task as a messenger.
“My master wishes to discuss a deal.”
“As I’ve said before I don’t make deals.” I picked up my pace trying to get away. “My dad does that, go to him.”
She sped up as she fell behind. “But if you would politely ask him for us, we could make it worth your while.”
“You have nothing i want.” I said bluntly.
“Not even a meteor staff?”
I stopped cold and she nearly tripped as her head followed me but her legs didn’t.
My one weakness was supernatural artifacts. “Go on.”
“Yes!” She perked up as soon as she saw i had a price. “We have in our possession a genuine meteor staff. And as a token of our goodwill I will give it to you if you agree to at least talk to your father about our request.”
She reached around to her backpack and pulled out the staff. It was forged from meteoric iron and I could feel an unearthly power emanate from it. As i touched it I felt for any curses, traps or hexes but found none. I never knew Gwen’s faction to use such dirty tricks but it was reassuring to confirm it. Gwen gesture for me to take it and I felt the weight of solid metal as I lifted it from her grasp.
“How do you know I won’t just take the staff and return nothing?” I idly asked while examining it carefully.
“You’ve never been dishonest with us before.”
I put the staff into my backpack. “Alright, but no promises my father will meet.”
Gwen bowed slightly as she stepped away. “Your attempt is enough for us.”
I made my way home unharassed by other supernaturals.
------------------------------------
(I’ll continue if there is interest)
**EDIT:**
So i was going to continue this but i realized i should first finish and release the rewrite of the original. The sequel is actually not based off the original but off the rewrite. The rewrite fixes some glaring plot holes and refines the characters somewhat so the sequel would seem to outright contradict the original (because in fact it does, but only because it's not a sequel to the original, but the rewrite). The rewrite is also twice as long so you get even more story (with 20% more Death!!! i mean... Susan :).
I think I owe to you to write a story that makes sense and that you can really get into. So i'll put the sequel on hold until i finish with the rewrite.
If you want to keep up with my progress, as well as read excerpts, side stories and missing chapters of my work, then subscribe to my sub /r/badelf21
My apologies for getting your hopes up, i'm quite flattered i'm still relevant after a couple of months. you deserve a good story.
| 108 | Link your favourite submission on WritingPrompts (i.e. one that you wrote) and write a sequel to it. | 307 |
*The following posts are taken from an online blog. Post dates follow the Gregorian Calendar and some posts contain language considered offensive at the time of posting.*
 
*Apr 12 2015*
Everyone’s so distant today. :(
 
*Apr 13 2015*
Mark hasn’t spoken to me all day. I wish he would just tell me what’s wrong. I can’t help if he doesn’t communicate. Why take it out on me?
 
*Apr 14 2015*
Something is seriously wrong. People are more than just distant. I couldn’t put my finger on it over the weekend, but today... On the way to work it occurred to me just how peaceful everything was. Sitting in rush hour traffic and there was just... peace. No horns no jacked up radios just peace.
Everyone is behaving just like Mark. It’s like they’re all under some kind of spell. I just left the office and no one batted an eye. No one has called wondering where I am.
And it’s everyone. I spent most of yesterday evening checking for cameras, I got it into my head I was being Punk’d. I’m waiting desperately for someone to ask me ‘Are you scared?’ Because I should be... and I am. But if it’s a trick it’s one hell of a trick. I can’t find a single new social post anywhere on the internet. No one is answering their phones, no one is answering Skype.
I just tried checking the news. The anchors are just sitting there. Staring. They’re not saying anything!
What. The. Fuck.
Is there anybody out there?
 
*Apr 19 2015*
What would do something like this? To control and entire species of sentient creatures and do nothing but have them continue their daily routines. It’s been a few days since I last posted, nothing has changed. Everyone is just going through the motions. They wake, eat, go to work and come home again.
Two days ago I was just watching them at the grocery store. The checkout lines now a master class in item processing efficiency. Yes, they all still shop, and the workers still take payment. The only words I’ve heard live since this whole thing started are the dispassionate declarations of sum totals. I let my anger out at an old man picking tinned beans off a shelf. It was as if I didn’t even exist.
It’s hard. Mark still sleeps next to me. Most mornings I wake to find myself snuggled up to him, as if nothing has changed. But things *have* changed, he no longer snuggles back. I think tonight I will take the couch. I just can’t.
Someone please tell me what’s going on. This isn’t funny.
 
*Apr 23 2015*
I have started conducting experiments. There must be some kind of limit to what people will tolerate before snapping out of it. Today I escalated from verbal to physical harassment. You should see how they react, or rather how they don’t. I will shove someone as hard as I am able and they will stumble momentarily before resuming their prior activity. It’s fascinating. Stand in their way and they’ll just walk around you. In the moment I’m always paranoid that the person will suddenly ask me what I think I’m doing, before the men in white coats come and swiftly take me away.
Upside, I walked out of the grocery store with a full bag of items and no one stopped me. I haven’t been to work in days and no one has called, not even to tell me I’m fired. I won’t be going back. Too creepy.
Free food and no work I could get used to though. :)
 
*Apr 24 2015*
They’re still people, I have to believe that, and I don’t want to hurt anyone. But just shoving and impeding people isn’t working. I have to be more scientific about this. I thought perhaps the shock of pain would wake someone up.
I was wrong. Slap, punch, kick... Not so much as an “Excuse me.” It’s funny how quickly you can go from being hesitant, to almost enjoying the primal relief the violence has, especially under such frustrating circumstances. I must try to keep that in check.
 
*Apr 26 2015*
I couldn’t stand watching him sit silently eating cereal in the morning, so yesterday I hid the cereal. He made toast. Fuck you and fuck your toast. I want him back, the real him, not this cruel reminder.
This morning I woke early and tied him to the bed. He’s in there now. I thought maybe if I could bring a halt to the routine it might change something. He struggled against the bindings for about 5 measly seconds before accepting his new circumstances. Now he just lies there, impotent. Perhaps whoever or whatever is doing all this will notice his break protocol and I’ll finally get to confront them.
 
*Apr 29 2015*
I’m a horrible person. Today I went to bathe him and unwittingly discovered he was still... *responsive*... to certain stimuli. I used him him there and then. I’m not proud of it, but until you have lived this you will never understand what it’s like to lose so much intimacy so suddenly. This is so fucked up.
I know now he isn’t coming back. None of them are coming back.
 
*May 04 2015*
I’ve got nothing left to lose. It’s desperate measures time. I let Mark’s place holder go back to doing it’s ever so important job of whatever the fuck people do at warehouses now that no one wants anything. Earlier I wondered what exactly the UPS vans still driving around were actually doing.
I ordered one of those animal control poles off of Amazon. The whole system still functions. This morning the doorbell rang and there he was, void of expression, package and clipboard in hand. I signed and off he went. Maybe these place holders still buy stuff I don’t know.
I caught a woman. She’s vaguely familiar, just a face around the neighbourhood I guess. She’s locked in the basement now. There are things I need to try that I couldn’t bring myself to try on place holder Mark. I should be down there doing it now but I’m a coward. I need a hard drink first.
 
*May 05 2015*
If they feel pain, they don’t show it.
 
*May 06 2015*
I never pictured myself googling ‘how to dispose of a body’, I wonder if it still raises an alert somewhere. I wonder what law enforcement even does any more. No one I’ve fucked with has called on them.
She was a lot heavier going out than coming in, I didn’t consider that. I hoped I might see some kind of spark relight as the end overcame, but her dead eyes just stayed dead. Maybe they are all dead. Maybe it’s some kind of virus that kills the conscious part of the brain, and only I am immune to it. No it can’t be, too sudden.
Someone give whoever invented vodka a medal.
 
*May 08 2015*
My sights now are set firmly on pissing off whatever is behind this shit show. If they want everything running like clockwork well, I’m gonna jam a great big spanner in the works. Maybe once they’re missing a few pawns they might react. I realise now that they’re all as good as dead already... and that’s liberating.
 
*May 15 2015*
I’ve lost count. I’m having nightmares. When will they stop me?????
Please just someone somewhere let me know that it isn’t all just fucking fucked...
 
***Oct 22 2018***
Haha wow I forgot about this blog. Reading all the past entries has been a real cute trip down memory lane. I guess this one’s for you future archaeologists, *human or other.*
I wish I could offer some kind of closure, but hell, you probably know more than me. I never have discovered the acting force behind all this. Certainly whatever it is it doesn’t care one iota about the people it controls. I’ve killed so many. So fucking many...
Tonight is movie night. My pick. I’ve never been about the whole comic movie dealio but... well Mark loves the Avengers so why not? After all, it will be our last night together. I’ve decided there is nothing more I can do, so I’m going to go travel. I mean fuck it, I can do pretty much whatever I want right?
Before I go though, there is one last thing I need to do. I’m going to set Mark free... finally. It’s out of pure selfishness that I haven’t done it sooner. If there’s any part of him still in there I know it wants this ordeal over. After all, what kind of life is work / eat / sleep for a human being?
 
*No further posts were made. This currently remains the only first hand account of the Concensus ever to be recovered.* | 20 | The world falls victim to mind control, and due to genetic mutation, you are unaffected. You don't know if you're the only one, or what you are going to do next. | 43 |
(Oh! Oh! I just wrote a little short that fits this rather well, I think. Mind you, it's super sloppy, and it was merely an attempt to push me through writer's block.)
“Because of this… you’re banished from Eden!!"
Adam rolled his eyes. “Dude, that’s such bullshit. We all know that this is bullshit.”
Yahweh rose His stern voice. “Don’t take up that kind of tone with me, young man, and watch your language!”
“Look, Yahweh,” Eve started, “how were we supposed to know not to eat the fruit? But no. Blame it on the woman.”
He shook His head. “I told you guys not to eat the fruit off of the tree! Come on, guys. It was that simple.”
“If we didn’t know the difference between what is good and what is evil, then how were we supposed to know?” Adam’s eyes were narrowed and fixed on Yahweh.
Eve took up a similar incredulous gaze. “Yeah, that seems pretty messed up. We didn’t know to obey you. Like… What? Were we just supposed to take your word for it?”
Yahweh groaned. “Have you guys been talking to Lucifer again? I told you guys not to talk to him again.”
“Well, if we’re being real here, then this is all kinda Lucifer’s fault. How was I supposed to know that I wasn’t allowed to take the fruit from him?” Eve folded her arms across her already-covered chest.
Adam nodded his agreement. “Yeah, you said not to take the fruit, but you never said anything about taking stuff from talking serpents.”
“That’s just silly!” Yahweh pulled at His hair. “How was I supposed to know that Lucifer would do that?”
“Well, I thought you were supposed to be all-knowing and all-powerful and all-good, huh?” Eve backtalked.
Yahweh fumed. “Don’t you question me!”
Lucifer stepped onto the scene. “Come on, guys, we can kick it at my place. Yahweh has a little bit of a God complex. He doesn’t know how to let things go.”
“No one asked for your opinion!” Yahweh boomed. “You’re in just as much trouble as they are!”
“Look, Yahweh, you’re just a little upset that your experiment didn’t go well,” Lucifer said. “Creating evil along with good wasn’t exactly your best bet. When you blurred the pool of morality, you left a lot of room open for this kind of stuff to happen. Look, dude, if you were really all-knowing or all-powerful or whatever, then you would have known that this would happen, or you could have prevented it. If you’re really all-good, then there doesn’t need to be any room for evil.”
Yahweh scratched His head. “Come on. Aren’t you making this a little simple in contrast to what it is? I mean… I am a powerful cosmic entity! I am the one true God! What I say goes, and you either love it or leave it.”
“Tell that to those guys.” Lucifer pointed to Brahma, Pangu, and the rest of the group of the Creators. “Sorry it didn’t work out like you thought it would.” Then Lucifer turned back to Adam and Eve. “Let’s go, guys. We can party it up and stuff back in Hell!”
As Yahweh watched them disappear, He thought to Himself, *I will just tell everyone that Lucifer sucks. Whatever. I don’t even care. I can just wipe them all out if I want.* He materialized a pen and some paper. | 11 | God Screamed. | 16 |
"What?"
"Please, you have to hurry. We're running out of time."
I look up at the man in front of me. His blond hair was slick with sweat, and the stains under his arms told me that he had run here. His deep green eyes were flicking back and forth, not resting in one place for a second. He was panicking, short of breath. He's obviously in need of help, but yet, I still can't bring myself to trust him. Not after last time. Not after I lost her.
"I'm sorry, but I can't.. It's kinda late..."
He cuts me off.
"PLEASE, man. I need your help."
The man falls to his knees, tears beginning to swell in his eyes. He grasps my hands in his own, and I can feel him shaking.
"Please... please... We're running out of time..."
"I'm sorry. I... I just can't."
I turn away from the man, who collapses to the floor, sobbing. As I go to close the door, I stop. *Would she have wanted this? Would she have loved a guy who would turn this man away? You fucked up, and you lost her because of that. But now is your chance to redeem yourself.*
"OK, I'll help. Get up."
The man uncurls, hopping to his feet and wiping away the tears.
"Oh, thank you, thank you. W-we might be able to make it in time still..."
He walks down the street, and quickly breaks into a sprint. I follow close behind as he darts into a side alley. As I turn the corner, I stop short. Two men face me. The man who I followed here, and a shorter man in a long coat. I feel a pair of hands on my shoulders, and I crane my neck to see a massive man gripping me.
"I gotta hand it to you, Tony. This fella's as gullible as you said he would be." muttered the short one, reaching into his coat. "Send the boys over to his place and see what he's got worth... liberatin'." He stalked over to me, flicking a switchblade around his fingers. The big one kicks me hard i the back, forcing me to my knees. The small one holds my chin in his free hand. "Sorry, friend. It's nothin' personal..."
------------------
*Still kinda new to this, feedback is appreciated <3* | 21 | You hear a knock at the door. Upon answering, you see a stranger. He looks at you and says, "There's no time to explain, just come with me." | 33 |
"God fucking damnit, what do you mean they all tanked?" The offices of Crumbit and Freegle shook with the noise emanating from the board room. "We ran one hundred and thirty six online campaigns over the weekend and you are telling me that all of them did ***fuck all*** business?"
Around the table the sixteen account managers avoided each other's gaze, all had been secretly incredibly relieved when they heard that the others had also had the worst weekend on record.
"Erm, actually I had one that did okay?" The voice was from Lindy Farland, she was one of the newest and most junior account managers and only really had two accounts to speak of, a soap company and an organic biscuit company.
"Well don't fucking sit there with your thumb up your ass, what was the campaign?" James Arnold Newton, head of the New Ad Agency was not known for his patience.
Lindy quickly took control of the main screen and brought up a small advert on Facebook - it showed biscuits baking, slowly browning in an oven and the copy below mainly described their taste and health properties. It had reached just over ten thousand people and gained 52 likes and eight shares.
"That's it? That's fucking all?" James Newton's face went from red to purple. "***52*** fucking likes is the sum total of a spend of nearly twenty thousand pounds?"
"James calm down, there must be some mistake." Freddy Burns was the top ad guy and had been for nearly a year. Let's take a look. He pulled up their largest account, a huge chain of supermarkets. Their advert was prominent at the top of the feed - a young lady in her bra bending over with a finger in a 'whoops' position on her lips.
"Well that's what's wrong, she's just not sexy!" James spluttered. She was thin, attractive, big breasted but he was right, she did it for no one in the room.
They scanned through the other ads, all seemed fine but on each they realised that the girls they had used just weren't cutting it. All were fine but none *excited* anything.
At last James stopped them. "This is fucking hopeless - pull up the model books." Freddy pulled the e-books onto the screen and they started to skip through. "I don't know what's wrong with all these girls, they just seem... nothing."
the anger had gone from James now, he was deflated, confused. Freddy spoke next "Ladies and gents, we have one hour until Ultimo bras arrives in the office and we have to pitch a new campaign. What are we going to pitch?"
Silence bounced round the room. Finally a small voice pipped up "We could pitch on comfort?" All eyes turned to Lindy again.
"Go on." James growled softly.
"Well, if none of the girls is doing it for us then why not emphasise that they are nice bras to wear instead of just replying on models?"
Around the room the account managers seemed to mull it over and looked to the hed of the table. James sat, head pushed against his fingers.
"That's... that's... fucking *brilliant*. We're moving on comfort, get design in here, we're going to have to try to sell this product on its merits!"
| 55 | All sexual attraction around the world has suddenly stopped. | 42 |
Edit 8: [link to full novella](https://samgalimore.files.wordpress.com/2014/11/unhooked.pdf)
“New Lucid+ provides over 12 hours of uninterrupted pure REM cycle. Pick up your dose today!”
The announcer on the TV seemed so happy about, it just depressed me. I was bored. I had seen and done it all, the flying, the breathing underwater, all the stuff everyone did but didn’t want to talk about. I had dreamed every dream I knew, now it had become, boring.
Unhooking was the term. Society had evolved away from anything to do with education or research, and very little effort went into agriculture, so most people worked a few hours a week, and spent the rest of their time going under. Everyone that is, except for the unhooked.
Unhooking had happened slowly at first. People had given me weird looks for throwing parties that lasted more than thirty minutes, and didn’t involve any sleep related activities. Then as my friends saw I was posting online for eight hours or more in a stretch they had gotten concerned and had a meeting to try to bring me back into the dream.
I eventually lost my friends, and for a while it was depressing. There was no one to talk to for 90% of the time I was awake, everyone was off playing with themselves in their own worlds. My family had disowned me, I couldn’t maintain a relationship because I couldn’t relate to anyone. It was miserable, and then I found them.
I had decided to take a walk, through a forest, when a group of people my age had run past me yelling and singing at the top of their lungs. They beckoned for me to follow, and I tried, but I barely made it a hundred yards before I was a sweaty panting mess.
They didn’t judge me for it though, they just laughed and patted me on the back.
“We haven’t seen you before, just unhooked?” One asked. I nodded.
“Don’t worry.” Another told me. “It gets better.” We swapped numbers and started hanging out.
I had wanted to spend time outside with them, but they said I had to get more used to being active and awake first. Their past times during this waking period seemed dull to me at first, the board games and guessing games were uninteresting compared to fighting your own wars against space zombies. Until I realized that I could lose, and I could fail.
They had let me win games at first. I was so used to winning that always coming first was normal to me. But that first time I lost was such a rush. It was confusing and a little aggravating at first, but that next game made me feel so alive! There was chance here. There was competition here. It was like jumping into a pool. The change was so quick and so refreshing. It made the games so real and vibrant to me.
“Have you guys ever swam?” I asked, after a particularly humiliating defeat.
They looked at each other mischievously. “Have you?” They asked me.
That day I took my first steps into actual real life water. It felt foreign, being immersed in a substance other than air. It scared me senseless that I could slip and find myself unable to breathe. I thought about what drowning for real would feel like. There was no way to give yourself gills here. What would happened if I died?
Strong hands grabbed me from behind and thrust me under the water. I screamed, air rushing from my lungs as the hands held me under. I couldn’t think of anything else but how much I needed to breathe. I pushed with all my might with my legs to reach the surface to no avail. I grew desperate and flung my arms at my attackers, trying to ward them off. I started to see black. Finally, the hands released me and I surfaced, gasping for air.
“ You good?” One of my friends who had almost drowned me asked. I took several deep breaths of air, and for the first time in my life, felt grateful to be alive.
“I'm good.” I tell him.
“Welcome to the real world." He tells me. "You can die here, but it's the only place you can really live.”
Edit: some words.
Edit 2: I am truly humbled by the response to this. I don't know if I can make a whole book, but I can definitely do a multi-part novella. They'll be 6-10K a piece(2-4 parts). I'll upload them to my blog and post links here(the character count would require like four replies per installment if I posted here). Starting first part right now and should hopefully have something within twelve hours. I'm considering that gold commission and will get on this ASAP! Also, tweaked the ending, hopefully clears things up.
Edit 3:http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/16/unhooked-part-one/ Part one is done! Three or four more to follow. This one basically takes what I've written here, and expands it out, and adds a little something extra at the end. Next one will start to take the plot some interesting places.
Edit 4:http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/18/unhooked-part-two/ Part two is up at about 6.4K words! Bringing the total to about 12.5K Ryan experiences even more new highs, and some darker plot elements begin to rear their heads. My goal is to make you literally hold your breath at least once while reading this. Definitely is looking like a five part series.
Edit 5:http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/19/unhooked-part-three/ Part is finished at 5.8K words! We are over halfway there! This one takes some dark turns, so I will say that this is not the end. We've still got two more parts to go. Thanks for reading! FYI, part four will probably wait until Tuesday, and part five will probably be Thursday.
Edit 6:http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/20/unhooked-part-four/ Part four done, only one more to go! Word count for this is about 6.9K, bringing the current cumulative word count to about 25K. In this chapter Ryan confronts some of the darkest parts of himself, and digs down deep to find reconciliation, and a purpose to life for.
Edit 7: http://samgalimore.com/2014/10/22/unhooked-part-five/ Done, done, and done! Part five is the longest so far and puts the series at almost 33K in total! I'm going to edit this over the next few days. If you're interested in helping me polish it up, please send me a PM with any suggestions or comments. Once I've edited it I'll put it on amazon for free and then on my blog. I'll post a [PI] post here in a few days with links to both. Wow, such an incredible experience this has been. If you're reading this, thank you for reading and sticking it through to the end. This was the better part of a novel in just seven days and you guys made it possible through all the outstanding outpouring of support and encouragement. You guys are the best and make writing for free totally worth it! Thank you for being a fan! I'd do this again in a heartbeat! | 885 | The secret to lucid dreaming is out. Everyone now wants to spend as much time as possible asleep, in their own private utopia. | 896 |
It was not Caesar, Julius of Gaul, Rubicon and Rome, that conquered Hell. No, that job was done by the endless thousands Caesar sent there before himself: all the generals and luckless legionaires of Rome, thrown willy-nilly to the jaws of death to feed his ambition. When the great Caesar finally fell, and found himself on the dark plain clutching at wounds in a whole, ghostly breast, his first cries were those of a man seeing friends he had long thought lost --- until scowl by scowl he recalled how he had betrayed each of those waiting, and marched over their cold backs to the crownless kingship of Rome.
Hell was an ancient and arbitrary design: the demons had their own religions and stories of its origin and purpose. They were advanced over humankind only in that their god was real: a giant of immeasurable age, horned and dead-eyed and many-named. He was called Tartarus, and Anubis, and Baal and Satan the Opposer.
It was he who came to meet the Roman rebellion, and its banners bedecked with twitching imps in the place of eagles. It was he who, looming as if a mountain, roared a challenge to the puny walls and ditches in the stony ground of Hell.
It was he who had not seen ballistae nor onagers before, and was too proud to duck.
As for the demons, they were big and strong, not unlike the Gauls and Germans the Romans had already conquered. They were alien and ancient, the stuff of legends and misunderstood whispers --- but was that not also Greece, Egypt and Persia, all places not unfamiliar with the victorious tread of Roman feet?
It was Rome, thus, that by the long line of its damned legionaires overthrew Hell, and dug up all buried there --- their wives and children, their fathers and grandfathers, and praise-babbling alive-buried lines of ancients robbed of the ability to die. Like coal they dug up the dead of Thermopylae and Gaugamela, stacked like cordwood but still moaning and groaning and alive in Hell, buried alive. They set up a Roman republic, for all the senators and consuls were there, back the years to Romulus's day, except each pastward generation had slightly stranger memories of the past; and those at Rome's first dawn had not heard of the twin founders or the She-Wolf.
So as the republic of the living fell to the hunger of Octavius, Caesar's son of ambition, whom his generation would learn to call Augustus or die screaming, so in Hell rose a republic of the dead who yet still lived: a stronger republic, though maybe not happier, for its people were familiar with all varieties of folly and defeat. It was a state where the losers came before the victors.
As for Julius Caesar, nobody knows his fate. But there is a rumor, a blasphemous story it is not safe to tell in Hell or here, that he alone among all that ever lived found the way back, and set his mind to barring Hell's republic from gaining any more of Rome's souls. It is said he found a different path, though where it leads, to oblivion or some other hell, nobody knows.
All that is known in Hell is that those who follow the teachings of the one called Jesus Christ do not end up there. | 86 | So many great generals and people have gone to hell, humans must have conquered it by now. Tell the story. | 108 |
I sit in the chair nervously squirming wondering whether or not I still had time to run. I wanted a tattoo- I really did. It would be the one act of rebellion in my life but sitting in this parlor by myself made my daring subconscious retreat and the meek nerdy one return screaming to get the hell out while I still had the chance. I bite my lip looking at the designs on the wall; there was no doubt in my mind that this artist was the best in the city but I still feared scarring my body for life. My parents, my siblings, and my grandparents would all be disappointed in my decision, which was why I needed to do it. I needed to show them that I wasn’t their superhero and that I was ready to start living for myself. The door opens and I gasp as all my hopes of escape run for the hills.
Through the heavy wooden door walks a boy probably late 20’s with dark brown hair and a serious expression. I remembered the articles I read online about this shop; he wasn’t just a guy making a quick buck, Charlie Bay was an artist. I read that he refused to take requests and would draw what he thought fit on a person. At the time I thought that was a pro because I wouldn’t have to decide but now… what if he drew a gigantic skull across my arm? How could I ever teach with a gigantic gory tattoo sleeve? What if he wanted to tattoo somewhere painful or my face? Was I allowed to refuse?
“Hey, Melissa?” he says coolly beginning to get his tools together.
He began to unwrap them carefully and for the first time I noticed how clean the place smelled- At least I wouldn’t die from disease. I nod acknowledging it’s me pretending to be completely at ease as he begins to tell me about aftercare for any tattoo I might receive. As he begins to tell me that it might bleed afterwards, I wince and he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” He says with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
I clench the arm of the chair through my long sweater and pray to faint before I commit this atrocity.
He notices and puts a hand on my arm, “You really will be fine though. So what were you thinking?”
A glimmer of hope rushes through my head as I realize how vulnerable and powerless I felt.
“I want either a small butterfly or maybe a cross super small where no one will see but really beautiful with really nice colors,” I request talking a bit too quickly.
He nods and then replies, “Not happening. You know the rules right? I draw what I want. I’ll take what you want in mind but in the end, it’s my decision.”
I look to the door and he smiles before saying, “It’s not too late hon.”
I consider it and then shake my head, “No, I need this. For once in my life, I want to do something for me without anyone else’s opinions in mind. Please?”
He looks at me carefully and grins, “Whatever you want babe. Where did you have in mind?”
The image of a biker with a face tattoo comes to mind and I cringe, “Somewhere no one will see, my shoulder.”
He laughs heartily this time, “Then what’s the point Mel? That is definitely not happening, take off your sweater so I can see you.”
I bite my lip self-consciously; sweaters were my safety zone and I hated the thought of him inspecting my body for the best place to put his creation. He stays in place refusing to bend his rules and so I take off my sweater revealing my orange t-shirt underneath.
He grabs my sweater and folds it carefully before putting it onto another chair.
He says, “Alright now that we’ve conquered that mountain, can you look at me for a minute?”
He touches my face barely but enough to make me jump at his cool touch. I gaze into his dark brown eyes and then slightly divert my vision as I look at his wavy brown locks. The entire time he stares straight into my eyes sending shivers down my spine.
He lets go of my face and begins to draw in his notebook. The room was eerily silent as he focused deeply on his work and I tried to read his face wondering what he saw.
After a few minutes, he asks, “Would you like to see it Melissa?”
My heart races and I shake my head, “Just do it.”
His eyes widen and I clarify, “If I see it, I’m only going to see everything wrong with it. If you put it on me first, I’ll have no choice but to love it.”
He nods tentatively, “Brave girl- much more than you look.”
“Where will you put it?” I ask fidgeting with my fingers.
He gazes at me intensely again for a minute and then says, “Your hip.”
I jump as he moves my jeans down a little and finds a good spot.
He justifies, “You can still hide it if you hate it there.”
I nod happy that he considered my opinion but mortified at the same time.
Charlie adjusts the chair and himself so he’ll be comfortable and I’ll be able to deal. He looks into my eyes for a brief second before getting up and opening a drawer. He pulls out a light blue iPod and hands it to me.
“Put in the headphones and I’ll turn the volume up so you won’t hear the needle too much,” he instructs.
I nod and do as told and then he presses play. I smile as A Thousand Miles by Vanessa Carlton comes on. The thought of Charlie Bay listening to this song made me giggle. He chuckles and takes a headphone out of my ear for a second.
“It’s not my iPod, I swear.” He says with a goofy smile as his face blushes a little.
“Sure…” I say sarcastically as he begins his work.
I breathe deeply and close my eyes as he works and try to concentrate on the lyrics of the songs. I begin to believe him that it isn’t his iPod as more of my favorite songs play from artists like Taylor Swift, Arianna Grande, and Katy Perry.
As I hum to Waking up in Vegas, the music stops abruptly and I look up surprised. He stands over me with a grin.
“It’s beautiful,” He says helping me up from the chair. He leads me to the mirror as I feel a pang of pain on my hip.
He laughs, “Yeah, soreness is common. Remember our talk before. Do that stuff I said.”
I chuckle and then look into the mirror more excited than ever before in my life.
On my hip there is a myriad of butterflies of all different colors flying around the phrase, “Be Brave, Be Bold, Be Free.”
I smile feeling more beautiful than anyone on the planet and Charlie Bay grins with satisfaction.
“I’m assuming you like it,” he says as I hug him tightly.
He hugs back awkwardly but shares my happiness saying, “I’ll see you again Melissa.”
I nod and reply, “Yes, you will.”
| 31 | You go to get a tattoo. This artist is different though. He stares into your soul and what he draws for you is what he sees in there. Good? Bad? And will you go ahead and make it permanent. | 55 |
They call it Samsara. Rob told me awhile ago that the word came from some Buddhists – that it had something to do with illusions and death. He had read it in a book before, years before he arrived, and something from that distant memory gave him a comfort you don’t see much in prison. Rob is always talking about books, though. It’s been awhile since he tried his luck looking beyond the towering white walls of this prison. It’s been longer still since he’s been brought back.
What I can describe are the sensations. It’s tempting to describe it as an awakening, but even that feels too direct. The process is much more gradual. The first things you feel are the needles, which from your suspended state seem much more like dozens of fingertips caressing your neck and arms. Gradually you become aware of the cold. It is necessary to freeze the body immediately after dissolution. Pumping fluids filter through your veins, trickling through your body with a stinging, thawing sensation. You hear nothing but the crackling electric sound of your brain being restarted. Suddenly, there is light.
Depending on the extent of physical damage, the entire procedure can take several days before you are fully cognizant – defined here by clinical responses to sound and light. You will spend a couple hours watching the video of your new life play in front of you, and behind that sonic noise you will eventually realize what it is the doctors have been trying to tell you. What they’re trying to tell me.
“Welcome Back, Mr. Grivas.”
Thank you, it’s good to be here. Lot of old friends.
“I understand it will be awhile still before the tongue fully thaws. Please attempt to respond to our prompts by nodding or shaking. Do you comprehend?”
I’ve been here before.
“Are you feeling healthy?”
I’m feeling Samsara.
“Can you hear the click of the pen?”
A thousand times a day.
“Do you remember what happened?”
Running. Only running.
“This is your 42nd Infraction, Mr. Grivas. During this particular escape attempt the blowback of a turret took the bottom half of your right arm. Try to lift it.”
Tendons and sinew. Good as new.
“We have been advised that immediately after our psychiatric evaluation you will be placed in solitary for an additional period of two months.”
Go Ahead. I have nothing but time.
“Why do you keep trying to escape, Mr. Grivas? Do you wish to die?”
If only it were that simple. I’ve made a habit of dying. 42 times and counting. They call it Samsara, and it’s the only reason my eyes open and I see that light again. They will do it until my time is served and I am free to walk. How many years from now, I do not know. My brain has thawed too many times to keep track of these things.
I glance at my new arm, twisting happily as if it was the first. You could still see the red lines where it had attached.
“I think you’ll find there are more constructive ways to spend your time here.”
I think they might be right.
| 31 | People now live forever because of medicine. Those who are in prison with multiple life sentences now have to carry all of them out. A strange pattern starts to emerge from those who spend multiple lifetimes in prison. | 52 |
*This is USCC, please confirm reanimation protocol completion and submit status report.*
It had taken Lieutenant Greene three days before she could read the command displayed on the main console, the haze of green crystal LCD finally sharpening into legibility after her eyes had remembered how to work. It wasn't like she didn't know what the message was going to be already, but protocol was protocol and you had to be able to read the damn thing before you could follow the instructions it carried.
The whole slipshod amalgam had shuddered into life no more than a week ago—she was told that the likeliness of ever waking up was somewhere in the 'we probably shouldn't be spending money on this' range back in the briefing room. She could barely conceive of how short and jagged the nails of the desk jockeys over at the space coordination center were. They still didn't even know if their precious baby had crashed into the sun or not, let alone if any of the radiation shielding had worked after the craft went into hibernation.
The bolting shock of impulse that dragged her awake, the half deadly cocktail of adrenalin and endorphins and a whole assortment of classified chemicals that at once paralysed her and took control of her body like some kind of possessed puppet jerking around in the cabin would probably remain classified for decades, she reasoned. There was a reason that the camera had been the first nonessential system to turn online, and it certainly wasn't so that the public would know of how goddamn terrifying space exploration was.
Re-exploration, rather. As Greene checked displays for any warnings and behind panels for archaic analog alarm systems and filled out cell by cell the data that they wanted, she looked out the viewport and saw the faint shadow of the mission objective.
She added in the miscellaneous notes section of the report: *I feel like Columbus—pretending to be the first person to step foot on the new world when in reality I'm just going over territory humanity has already explored.*
And boy did the entire center console of the careening scrap heap show what had been explored. If it was one thing the goddamn techs couldn't stop spending money on it was the blobby green hologram projector that had every twinkling point of data Greene could ever possibly want suspended in it's spiderweb of nano-emitters. Boys and their toys.
Greene kept thinking about how she would have loved a book or some movies or something to entertain her on this last month of the journey as she robotically flipped switches and listened to the faintly reassuring hum of the reactor turn on after eons of standby. She floated to the console and bored herself staring at data readouts until her hand grazed the manual output for the radio telescope.
*Might as well,* she thought as she jacked in and powered the system on. She could feel the cage resonate at a slightly higher frequency as the power monitor complained about failure to adhere to the spartan energy limitations. The image pixelated and tessellated as the system booted and all of a sudden focused on the particularly interesting marble she had been staring at through the viewport earlier.
She could hear the annoying zapping of the hologram as it updated to the most recent inputs, but the sound was shuttered to the back of her mind when she looked upon the most beautiful speck of twinkling aquamarine she had ever seen. Greener than the most optimistic projections had predicted, the color oversaturated to beyond any kind of vibrancy she had ever experienced before. Used to the industrial grey-silver of the colony and the occasional corner-of-the-eye glance at the aeroponics farm being the most alive thing within sight, her brain was overloaded by the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. It was too intense—she had to disconnect for a second and refocus on the dull turquoise of the hologram to dull the sensation.
But before she could take a second fleeting glance at the scope, what seemed like a thousand alerts had flashed up on the main console. A scrolling list of notifications had popped up on the center screen and was running up so quickly that she could only read the precious few that were deemed important enough to be highlighted separately:
*Meteorological system stable*
*Autotrophic life suspected*
*Atmosphere oxygenated*
*Surface temperatures at pre-industrial level*
*Autotrophic life confirmed*
And on and on in a dizzying list of alerts and confirmations flashing spasmodically on an overloaded system never designed to have detected such a success in the recovery of Earth post-war. Greene could start to physically feel the only room in the whole craft getting warmer and warmer as more and more data was processed, and could hear the reactor popping in grains of isotope one after another like a child gobbling up sugar pills from the pantry. The energy monitor was positively screaming at this point, flashing the growing mountain on the power/time graph like it was some kind of evil rather than the best news humanity could have ever thought of.
Greene had the good sense to shut down some of the peripheral monitoring instruments that bristled out of the ship like a hedgehog's quills—the remaining data could probably be inferred by the fact that Earth had somehow transformed into a veritable garden of eden. As the air she floated in cooled slightly she couldn't resist another glance into the radio telescope. She looked at the waning crescent of the Earth as the ship crossed over towards the night side of the planet. She scrolled the focus beam ever tighter and zoomed in close onto the planet in all its dusky, natural glory.
This telescope was the diamond laser drill-cutting edge of technology and boy did she abuse it to the limit. She knew she was the first person to look at Earth after a good long while and she wanted to view every speck of it. As she panned over the seas and adjusted the focus just a bit more acutely, her pupils dilated and her hands froze up as she noticed something that couldn't have been possible.
Out of the corner of her mind she could faintly recognize the squeal of a hundred more notifications as her heart stopped for the first time since three days ago. A new surge of adrenalin pressed against her chest as she realized what she was looking at.
Glowing infrared heat signatures spread across the nighttime horizon in a configuration she didn't need to turn to the hologram to recognize. Her mind spiraled into an ever-repeating cycle of *what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck . . .* as she frantically refocused the scope over the Atlantic in some kind of hallucinatory daze barely believing the sight before her eyes.
*I'm fucking dreaming this can't be possible*, her mind flashed. *First they tell me that wormholes are one way and now this?*
But the data didn't, couldn't, lie. Three little glowing yellow lights on the ocean, sailing towards the darkness that was the Americas.
| 18 | Humanity left Earth thousands of years ago. We return to find something else has taken our place. | 15 |
"What is this garbage?!"
"Excuse me?" Giles slowly lowered his can of spray paint and turned to face the source of the outrage.
He put his free hand on his hip, "Are you talking to me?"
Satan was pointing up at the graffiti that sprawled in glittering gold tones across the rust colored bricks.
"You spelled my name wrong, you moron! It's 'S-a-t-a-n' not 'satin'."
Giles stepped back a bit from the verbal blow but he wasn't going to be bullied by this asshole. Plucking up his courage he raised a single finger and shook it perilously close to his attackers face.
"Listen here, sister. You may be the big bad down below but this is New York City and more than that, the fashion center of the fucking universe. We don't worship your ass here, we worship 'satin' and didn't anybody tell you that wearing head-to-toe magenta is a gawd-awful idea? You look like a giant tampon. Whoever said the Devil Wears Prada, seriously screwed the pooch."
With that, Giles snapped his fingers and turned back to the wall, quickly disappearing behind a wall of toxic fumes and droplets of floating glitter paint while a speechless Lord of Darkness, properly chastened, looked around to see who else had seen the outburst before slinking away towards Barneys New York for a makeover.
| 16 | Satan is walking downtown when he notices someone doing graffiti that says "Hail Satin". | 16 |
Six months of genealogy research after my 21st birthday, I thought I had found the answer. I took my Spring Break to travel to a small cemetery outside of Boston. There in the graveyard is the headstone. "Lisa Jefferson. Born July 23, 1813 - Died June 14, 1828."
She was only 15. I snapped a photo with my phone and then sat down on the grass to think.
In 21st century America, it was almost inconceivable to think of her life being so short. She died less than 48 hours after childbirth, a daughter who would be my great^7 grandmother.
The memories I gained on my birthday were relatively insignificant in terms of their value. Some gained great insights, entire PhD's or historical information treasured by academics. It made them rich.
My friends thought I was strange to start going through history books the day after my 21st birthday. I was told, "You didn't win the lottery, just go on with your life." But I couldn't.
While I may not have benefited from her intelligence or education or experiences, from the moment I gained her memories, I felt enriched having known her.
She grew up with two sisters and a brother near Boston. Her grandfather was a farmer who fought in the Revolution. Her father and mother had moved to the city to open up a small store. Her entire family lived in the two rooms in back.
She had married young to a 19 year old businessman who would later found one of Boston's more famous law firms. I found one of his books describing the tragedy of losing his young wife. I'm not too embarrassed to say I cried as I read the passage, knowing how much they loved each other.
I did move on with my life. At 27, on my third date with a young woman, she asked me about the memories I had inherited. I told her the entire story, including how I spent six months of my life searching for her burial spot.
She then shared how her memories came from a farmer in the 18th century who lived a quite life until the age of 35 and then died. She said she learned nothing other than ancient agricultural techniques, but she had spent a year tracking down the farm so she could walk the same land he walked.
That's how I knew I would marry her. | 33 | All individuals receive the memories and knowledge of one of their randomly selected ancestors on their 21st birthday. Yesterday was your 21st birthday. | 43 |
I never wanted to leave Childhood. I had heard others screaming as they were taken in the night. We had never been told by the Guardians where these children went. All we got was a sad shake of the head and a time-out if we kept pestering them. I always knew that someday I'd have to go through all that too, but I chose to live in ignorance for too long. I had hoped that I was special, that maybe I would be allowed to stay. As my 13th birthday approached I held that hope. I even prayed to a god that I hardly believed in.
The night of my birthday is burned into my mind. The other kids (under the ever-watchful guardians, of course) put together a surprise party for me, but there was a somber undertone to it. It was more of a going-away party than anything. I got a few half-hearted congratulations on reaching 13, but more than anything I got condolences.
I couldn't sleep that night. I sat on my bed, eyes wide open and shaking with fear. I didn't know when they would come, or even if they would come. Unfortunately for me, I was just a kid. I wasn't built for staying up all night, even out of terror. By the time I woke up, it was all over.
I had been transferred.
Dazed and confused, I stumbled around the decrepit ruins. I shouted until my voice was hoarse, and got nothing in return. My mind flashed back to the horror stories we had made up.
"The Teens are where we go to die," we would say. "Any moment now the Collectors could come for you and your life would be over." And then we would laugh and tell another story. It seemed so innocent back then, but we couldn't have known how right we were.
The Teens were a deathtrap, full of mines, traps meant for, irradiated water that could be killing you without you even realizing it. And the worst part was the loneliness. It was rare to come across another teen, and I never met another living one during those long 5 years.
Of course, once I hit 18, the collectors once again came for me. I had been cooking my canned beans and they just came out of the shadows cast by my meager cooking fire. They didn't say a word, but by this time I had figured out what was going on. I understood that the Teens were a test of worthiness, of survival skills, of character. They put us through the worst sort of torture imaginable just to judge us. And for what, to build this society? Survival of the fittest is one thing, but throwing children into the mistakes of their ancestors just to test them?
During my time in the Teens, I contemplated ending it all. I thought about taking that broken glass and driving it into myself, as I had seen many corpses of those who had done the same. And I'm not so sure surviving was in fact worth it. But here I am now, standing before you in Adulthood. Soon enough I'll be brought into the Elders, most likely killed because I've outlived my usefulness.
Was my struggle, and the struggle of every man and woman in this goddamn city worth all this? | 12 | Three cities exist on Earth. One for kids, one for teenagers, and one for adults. Once someone leaves a city they can never go back. | 20 |
After a long day of classes I returned to the undersized bunk at my college dorm, yearning for the comforts of home.
At 6:00 am a 12 year old rapidly shook me whispering, "Its Saturday, the cartoons are on." I was in no mood for one of my room-mates practical jokes, so I just tried to shove the kid away from me and fall back to sleep, except this was no ordinary 12 year old. He was massive. I pushed him as hard as I could and he barely even moved.
The immense child adamantly stated, " Hurry up were missing the cartoons"
I slowly opened my eyes and it was my older brother. I darted up immediately and stared at him. Seeing that his job was done he ran back to the living room.
I looked across the room and I saw those tacky new years decorations sitting on top of my dresser. It was January 1, 2000. At that moment that I realised I was 6 years old. An intense feeling of excitement fell over me. Every mistake I made could be remedied, I had the body of a child, but the mind of an adult. I was six and I knew calculus!
Over the next few hours I slowly began to forget everything. By the time my parents were up I had no recollection of ever going back in time. I am currently stuck in an endless loop, living the same 14 years over and over again. I only remember this on the evening of October 15, 2014, before I suddenly lose consciousness and start the process all over again.
I am really new to this. Any feedback would be appreciated :) | 29 | *You wake up, It's Saturday morning January 1st, 2000. This normally would be fine if you had not gone to sleep October 15th, 2014. And what's more, you find you inhabit the body of your younger self.* | 66 |
A cigarette was slowly burning down to the nub on an ashtray in the middle of the table, the smoke gently drifting into curvaceous shapes before dissipating into the atmosphere of the large conference room. There was no sound but The Message.
It played on loop, a low bass rhythm softly but insistently pumping into the ears of its stunned listeners. Those words. Not everyone could understand them, not in this room, but they could all recognize it for speech. But that was impossible.
The silence was broken not by an explosion, but by a dry mouthed whisper, a German archaeologist near the head of the long table coughed out the words, "It's Arabic."
All faces slowly turned to face the pair of twin geologists from Iraq. They didn't notice. They were staring at the speakers just above the large LED display at the front of the room. One of them was mouthing along with The Message. Finally one of the twins, Umer, broke from his reverie. He faced the other scientists and specialists gathered in the room before him. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could speak.
"It is saying, 'My name is not Earth'. That's it. Over and over again."
There was a low rush of sound as the message was translated back and forth between the dozens of individuals present. That was when the outburst came.
It started with a young physicist from Britain, yelling "Bullshit!" as loud as he could, directing his words toward the air between the twins. Shouting broke loose on all sides, in every language. Nobody could believe it. Nobody wanted to believe it.
Several hours later the room had calmed down substantially, and several delegations were discussing sending a reply.
"Of course we send a reply!" the elderly biologist from the United States scoffed, "This message is clearly intended to be understood, it would be nonsense to merely pretend as if we hadn't interpreted it!"
"We don't know what is sending it," replied a tired-looking woman from Germany, "and we don't know what exactly we would be getting into by conferring with this Message."
"Why wait?" A young man said from the back of the room. He was here as a supervisor, of sorts. Tasked with observing the situation was handled in a way that did not benefit any one country especially. He had not given his name. "Whatever it is, it's terrestrial. It's already here. It's in a language we understand, so it already knows that we're here. What are we going to do? Alert it to our presence?"
The room descended quickly into murmuring again, and it would be days before any decision could be reached.
After a week, a reply was decided upon. One of the twins, Saudia, would send the reply: "What is your name?"
She recorded the message in that same conference room, in a building overlooking The Bore where they had first encountered the message. It would be slowed down to match the frequency of the original Message, and no further action was to be taken by any nation until a reply had been received.
This time, the reply would be public. There was no helping it. Too much about the Message had already been leaked. Public outrage over being kept in the dark was mounting, and nobody was willing to chance rioting and panic with such a momentous event underway. Around the world, crowds had gathered in front of television screens at home and in public squares, waiting for the translation of the reply that had just come from within the Earth. NBC would have exclusive coverage of the event.
Across screens around the world, people listened to the low hum of the new message. It was sped up and translated live. All across the world, the words were heard and read.
"My name is Shaitan."
That was when the screaming began. | 200 | Scientist discover a continuos low hum deep in the middle of the earth. When played at a faster speed it appears to be a voice continuously saying "My name is not Earth." | 287 |
The road is covered in dust and speckled with dried blood and the remnants of cultures catalogue the layers of gore and earth. The linens wrapping his hands are caked with a mixture of cruor and mud and his horse stumbles onward and in the distance is the image of a broken-down carriage made obscure by windswept sand.
Two young girls outside the wreckage, barely clothed, the sounds of a rhythmic thudding darkness and the cries of another young girl within and masculine grunts and the creaking of dehydrated wood. He dismounts a look up the road and watches the elderly invalid emerge from the planked cave. The man reaches for his revolver, the steel worn and without luster, and approaches and draws the peacemaker and the shrieks of girls.
He's our father mister. Please don't hurt him, he's all we got. The manganese-stained fustian of the man rippled and flapped in the wind. Now mister I don't want no trouble, I don't know what yer a thinkin' but there aint no town, no culture, no civilization no more. I'm all these girls got and all I got is these here girls o' mine. We're happy together.
The man shot the invalid through the skull, a family portrait of violence and innocence lost and what could have been and painted the only absolute truth and culture onto the clay ground, his layer of history compounded upon the earth of every culture before it, archived as one piece of the lawless epoch, and he climbed atop his colt and road off. The sandstorm kicked up and buried the bones and the venereal wooded sarcophagus, a new canvas made taut.
-Tracy "DaoWhinnie" Styles
| 43 | Make a story with morality as gray as it gets | 98 |
1) It was finally time. They had been planning this for months. And Kevin had made sure everything was perfect. The flowers on the altar were just the right color, not to white but a lovely cream color. The ceremony would be small, and most definetly private. You couldn't be to careful, and some of his family didn't approve of his choice of spouse. How could they? It as new and foreign to them.
Walking down the aisle was like nothing he had ever expierienced. A bundle of emotions, all waiting around inside him, like a firecracker before it explodes.
Finally reaching the altar, he stared into his lovers eyes. The preist spoke, but Kevin barely heard. Finally, they got to the part that Kevin's ears managed to perk up for.
"Kevin, do you take Adam here to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
Kevin in looked into Adam's eyes, those deep, blue eyes.
"I do"
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2) He was going to die. Todd knew that as soon as he agreed to testify. They had promised him protective custody, but the Torrence Family's pockets ran deep and their men where everywhere. He had seen the 'accidents'. He had copped with the lies and the fraud for years. But...
What had changed him, you might ask. Todd, the mob's right hand. What could make him go good. After he saw what they did to that little girl... How they... raped her... Oh God, she was so young...
His mind wandered to his daughter, Hannah. Would she be alright? Yes, Maureen could handle without him. She was strong. It was what he admired about her. Because he was dead.
Stepping up to the podium, the gavel still ringing in his ears, he heard the words that sealed his fate.
"Do you solmenly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"
"I do"
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3) Sarah was alone. How simple a sentence to say, and yet, how complex. Alone implies not only physical but emotional and psychological distance, seperating not only a bodily level but a mental level.
Sarah was alone. She had cried and cried. And also tried. Maybe, if she lost weight, if she listened to the fashion magazines, maybe THEY would like her. THEY were always keen to seperate her out, because THEY saw her difference as a personal affront to their assimilation and lack of individuality. THEY would never like her.
Sarah was alone. Lost, like the time her father had taken her hunting. She figured he had wanted a boy. He acted like it. She had wandered off, and he hadn't looked for her until hours had elapsed. Or maybe minutes. But what did it matter? None of it mattered. She didn't matter, did she?
Then there was that boy. The one with the dark hair who acted and danced and sang and couldn't care less what THEY had to say. He had winked at her the other day. Should she say hi? No, he could never care about little old her.
Sarah was alone. She would never realize that THEY were wrong, that she was amazing and had so many talents. She would never realize that the boy had dreamt of her lovingly ever since he saw her. She would never realize that she meant the world to her father.
A voice whispered in her ear.
*Do you know what you're doing?*
She lifted the barrel of her father's hunting rifle to her chin.
"I do"
Sarah was alone. She pulled the trigger. | 23 | Three people, three "I do's", three very different circustances. | 28 |
Robbie was fed up with Greg daring him to touch the tombstone. Also he wanted to impress Mary, he looked at her, waiting for a sign of approval. She nodded to him and smiled. He had no choice now, he had to touch it.
He put a finger on the top of it at first, its temperature contrasted from the cold. He said "its warm." He froze in a trance, the others shook him but he simply fell to the ground.
Robbie awoke and said "this is not good, not good at all." He was in a panic and slightly out of his mind. He continued "I just broke the 4th wall guys, were in a damn movie, and a bad one at that. Fuck, I am the token black guy."
Greg the largest of the four said "you are out of your mind, what are you smoking."
Melissa grabbed Greg's hand and said "lets go somewhere more private, I am feeling frisky."
Robbie terrified lifted his hand to stop them but fell silent. He looked to Mary, an innocent virgin white girl. He watched Greg and Melissa open the door to a shack conveniently in the grave yard.
Robbie said "look Mary, they are about to have sex, in a scary movie, we need to take this opportunity to get the fuck out of here. I am not sure if the black guy or the teenage couple having unwed sex is more of a priority for the killer."
Mary smiled and her eyes turned dark red. Robbie said "God damn it." He ran behind the tombstone and hid while Mary spoke nonsense until she broke out of her transformation trance.
She walked around whispering "Roooobbiiiie" for a few moments. She stopped in her tracks hearing the couple in the shack. Robbie held his breath waiting for her to catch the couple., his hand touched the tombstone again.
He saw an image of Reddit and people reading his story. He was terrified, his entire life now controlled by an unknown internet geek up at 2 in the morning. He called out to the readers "please, for the love of god, make him write me out of this alive. Force him to people, please, your my only hope."
| 327 | You're a black guy who's suddenly aware that he's in a horror movie. | 488 |
"Leave."
The word that changed everything. Written in red dust on the surface of Mars by the Curiosity Rover before it blinked out of existence. Scientists were dumb-founded at first, unable to understand their robotic probes actions.
Some argued the tracks were left by coincidence, that the robot had malfunctioned and that the word was just an accidental jumble of tracks left by movement.
But there it was, written on the surface in tracks consistent with Curiosity's own tyres, in an image that had obviously been taken by the bot after it had scrawled the word. It had wanted them to see it.
'Leave.'
Curiosity was an expensive project, one that had mankind on the edge of its seat as the little robot had explored the red planet. As time had went on, we'd found more than we'd ever thought possible. Evidence of past water, signs that mars may have once supported microbial life. Things were getting exciting. Then, without warning on August 3rd 2017, Curiosity vanished. Only one word scrawled into the sand and submitted back to us.
'Leave.'
2020 saw a breakthrough in space travel technology. Speed increased, money was invested. NASA geared up for its new project. They put robots to the back of their minds and focused on the real objects they wanted on Mars. People.
By 2025 we were ready. Glued to their television screens and view-goggles, humanity watched the first steps taken on the Red Planet.
The first Astronaut, James F. Connolly, descended the steps of the lander and set his feet to the ground.
"One small step..." He whispered. His companions descended behind him, slow and sluggish but their faces painted with awe. Even through the plastic of their helmets he could see the astonishment on their faces. They'd all been asleep for three weeks to get here, but grogginess fell away to amazement as they took their first steps on Mars.
At home, the people watched their devices. No matter where you were on Earth, someone held a tablet, or a phone or even view-goggles. Anything with a screen was pressed to their faces.
NASA had not forgotten about Curiosity though. They had sent their shuttle to land where the last message was received. James F. Connolly transmitted his message home.
"No sign of the rover. Message still there. Definitely looks like the word leave." He looked around, the view-screen of his helmet transmitting live feedback to those watching around the world.
Both James and mankind were treated to stunning vistas of red, copper, rust. The colours of Mars that twinkled like matte rubies under a blanket grey sky. On the horizon something glinted. They all saw it. The group of Astronauts decided to investigate.
It was a short trek across empty plains, where dust and age were the only companions. The glinting light seemed to be further and further away. The astronauts felt frustration, and curiosity. The people at home were glued. One step at a time, the Astronauts climbed a rising peak towards the light that kept receding, away from them.
When they reached the top of one of Mar's many ridges, James Connolly screamed. He shrieked so loud it threatened to defean those watching at home.
From every tablet, every phone, every laptop, every television - he screamed.
Then the other astronauts reached him, having been climbing behind. They too, began to scream.
The transmission was cut to the public. The scream guttered out. All that was left on their screens was a message.
Even at NASA, at the highest level of clearance possible, the transmission only lingered a moment longer.
Long enough to show the grey creatures, their heads empty of a face. Cruel limbs draped in claws, their sightless eyes fixed on the Astronauts.
'Leave.' Came a command, but no words were spoken.
The creatures, hundreds of them, poured out of the caverns and raced towards the screaming Astronauts. Moving quickly on otherworldly limbs that bent and quivered - boneless. Then even NASA's transmission cut out.
Across the globe, from government officials to a child holding a phone, all that anyone could see was a black screen with a message in clear white text.
"Leave."
| 210 | NASA has lost contact with the Curiosity rover. The last image received is that of tire tracks in the Martian sand spelling out a single word. | 168 |
"Look at these primitive beings" said Vrip as he lead his superior on a tour of the xeno-capture facility. He then waved towarda small black slab with one shiny surface. "These 'humans' have to keep all of their information on these little 'smartphones', a lot of them can't function without them. Imagine, having to carry a thing like that around for your whole life. If they had - Aargh!" Vrip fell flat on his face, having tripped over his shoelaces again.
As he was picking himself up, he noticed something through the glass cage holding a human in stasis. The laces on his shoes were intertwined with one another, holding each other tightly in a loving embrace. "Sir, l think I have something here. Take a look at this. "
His boss crouched down and gazed at the human's shoe. "Marvelous! That is truly amazing. His laces are coupled together, clinging to each other like a couple on their last day before one leaves on a capture mission. "
"I will go and inform our leader at once. " The boss turned to leave. "Stay here and record these with your- Argh!" Vrip pretended not to notice his superior tripping over his shoelaces. Such is the etiquette around here, but soon all that could change...
EDIT: Fixed some mobile-induced typos. This whole thing sounded better in my head! : ) I'll leave it here anyway. | 37 | An advanced alien race makes contact with humanity. Despite their technological superiority, they are in awe of the human ability to tie knots. | 57 |
"What...what is THAT" Raz exclaimed
He picked up a shining piece of glass on the debris strewn ground. It looked like a picture frame, but it glowed. He poked it with his webbed finger, and it changed in front of his eye. Alarmed, he yelled and dropped. It fell to the ground and lay there, unresponsive.
"What's this ruckus about?" his sergeant demanded
"Sir, you need to see this" Raz replied as he pointed frightfully at the device laying among the debris. The sergeant looked at it, but it was no longer glowing.
"Are you playing tricks on me?" The sergeant demanded
"No no no sir, just a second ago it was-"
"I don't care, get back to work!" He growled. The sergeant plodded off to his command station.
Raz sighed. This is how it always was. He poked it with his webbed foot, but nothing happened. So he went back to searching the debris for humans. Spongy little things, he thought, how do they not at least have armored skin? Or the ability to breathe underwater?
After observing that the puny humans could not even travel between planets, they had decided to invade. Which was unfortunate for Raz. He didn't like war. He just wanted to serve out his mandatory term and go back to writing. He barely even knew how to shoot a crossbow. But here he was, on Earth, of all the damnedest places, trying to conquer the populace. His people had miscalculated their interstellar jump, and found themselves too close to the planet, resulting in a semi-controlled crashing landing into one of their major cities, knocking down many of their unreasonably tall buildings in the process. For their inability to move between planets, they really had done a good job with their buildings. None of the cities on his planet were half as tall. Now it was cleanup time
Raz entered a wrecked building nearby, and found himself face to face with one of the spongy little guys. Male, it appeared, in a blue uniform of some sort, and it held a curious little...thing with it's appendage. Raz didn't really have a reference for what it was.
"Back away, or I will shoot you" the human demanded
Raz laughed. With what? he thought, the human doesn't have any kind of bow. Just some little right-angled chunk of metal. Raz raised his sword to kill him, but there was a loud bang and immediately he flew back onto the ground.
"What...how?" he muttered. The human ran off. He looked down at his chest and saw purple liquid spurting from a small hole in his chest. No arrow to pull out though. A rumbling sound shook the building, and he looked outside to see a massive...wagon of some kind. It looked kind of like one of the steam trains he used to travel between cities. It had no visible wheels, and it had a large tube on top, that pivoted and aimed itself at his ship. A massive bang followed, and a large explosion burst half of his ship apart. Raz watched in horror as the steam ship crumbled and broke apart, his companions still inside.
He noticed a large glowing painting frame on the wall, a larger one of the thing he had found earlier. On it was a human woman talking, and showing moving depictions of the other steam ships being destroyed by large explosions. Raz felt himself starting to slip away, as more bangs and explosions resonated throughout the area. His last thoughts were terrified, as he contemplated the fate of the Grand Army. They were outmatched. | 543 | It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | 1,202 |
"Stupid. Stupid, stupid, *stupid*!"
The string of curses followed Dave along the road as he stumbled drunkenly through the suburbs in the general direction of home. His uncertain path weaved along the pavement, somehow avoiding wheely bins and lampposts as if some great drunken God was guiding Dave home.
"Hey Karen, this is Dave. Hey Dave nice to meet you. Hey Karen, I like your dress, it's really revealing. *Revealing?* The fuck is *wrong* with me, who says that shit?" Dave's inner monologuing had spilled out and he muttered away to himself, acting out the evening as he went, locked in his own self-blame world.
"You look nice tonight - that would have done it. So Karen, what do you do? It would have made me come off as human but *revealing?* Way to sound like a perv."
The flash of light didn't make Dave look up but the burning Landrover falling onto the road next to him made him jump into the hedge he was beside and almost wet himself.
Along the road car alarms started to wail and lights began to come on. After a moment Dave climbed out of the hedge and slowly approached the car. From somewhere off to the side a man ran over, his tartan slippers flapping as he came.
"Are you okay?" Dave looked up in confusion.
"I think your car is on fire." He gestured at the car, roaring with flames a few metres away.
"That's... what? No, that's not my car, I said are you okay? Were you in it when you had the accident?"
"S'not my car." Dave snorted, I was just walking home. There was a pause while Dave tried to work out what the fuck was going on and the man reset his inner conversation to accommodate the new knowledge.
"What happened here son, are you alright?"
"I think the car is on fire." Dave proved his visual ability again and the man, slightly exasperated, took his arm and led him away to the side of the road. Now more people were appearing on the street and gathering a safe distance away.
"Someone will have called the fire brigade, we should wait here to let them know what happened, it might have been a bomb." The words finally got through to Dave and sobered him up slightly.
"A bomb? Here? Fuck! At least it's nearly dawn." Dave pointed to the horizon where a red glow could be seen forming and growing brighter.
"Dawn? It can't be." The man shuffled in his slippers, he'd run out without a dressing gown and was now feeling chilly. "It's only 2:30am, dawn isn't for hours."
"Weeeell, the sky kinda disagrees with you mate." Dave swayed and both men began to regret starting this conversation.
"Okay, I'm going to head in to make sure the police are on the way. You take care now." The man backed away and returned to his house. Dave looked around and there seemed to be lots of people around now but no one was paying him any attention. he decided on reflection that he could probably leave, he wouldn't be missed.
Half a mile down the road he was nearing home and Dave realised that it was now quite bright. The horizon had continued to glow redly but Dave could now see that it wasn't the dawn, the man had been right.
He was stood on a small rise and could see out over a chunk of London and much of it was now illuminated by the red glow. Strangely Dave could see small objects buzzing around over the streets seeming to emit an odd green glow. Dave shrugged, Amazon was probably rolling out those drones they'd been so happy about.
there seemed to be a lot more people on the street now, looking up and yelling about the buzzing figures, Dave stopped by one small group and tried to join in the conversation but they kept rambling about being enraptured with something and Dave wasn't that impressed.
As he wandered on one of the odd figures buzzed overhead, it was all black but looked like some sort of big black robot. He paid no attention but when the green flash behind him went off he turned to see what had happened. The group who had been standing there had gone and Dave decided it was probably for the best. It was late and folk should be in bed.
Finally arriving home he climbed the stairs and after a moment, managed to get the key in the lock. What a weird walk home. Pulling the phone from his pocket he noticed a number of missed calls from his mum. Ah well, she'd wait till the morning.
Dave slumped back on the sofa and pulled a blanket over him. "*Revealing*", what was wrong with him?
| 23 | You are walking home drunk from a party when the apocalypse happens. | 43 |
To set the scene, play this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFa1-kciCb4
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“You asked for the fastest gun in the West. Well, you got him," said Sawyer. He smiled and spat on the ground. He stood tall with his right arm by his side, ready to draw his gun at any moment.
The sky was orange. The whole town was silent, but Sawyer knew that everyone was spying through their windows. The town had to get a criminal to do the work of a lawman. How pathetic, he thought. A gust of wind kicked up some dust. A horse neighed in the distance.
The stranger in black robes stood about 50 yards away from Sawyer. No one knew who he was or where he came from. The story was that the man rode into town on a black horse and killed the sherif with no cause. He then demanded to see the fastest gun in these parts, or he would start killing townsfolk.
The deputy came hat in hand to Sawyer, begging him to come duel the stranger. In exchange, all charges of theft and robbery against him would be forgiven, and the bounty on his head would be dropped. He would also get a monetary reward. Sawyer was more than happy to oblige. Kill someone for money? You didn’t have to ask him twice.
“How about you take off that hood. Call me old-fashioned, but I like to see a person’s face before I kill them.” Sawyer said.
The stranger let out a deep laugh. The way it reverberated through the air made it sound inhuman to Sawyer. The stranger pulled back his hood and revealed his face. Sawyer was shocked at what he saw.
The stranger’s face had a rough cut. He looked about 35, with dark black hair, black stubble, and a long scar starting from his forehead that went through his right eye and across his face, all the way down to his jaw. The man’s eyes surprised Sawyer more than anything else. They were a shimmering silver that constantly changed and shifted, with no visible pupils.
“It’s gonna be a shame to mess up such a pretty face,” said Sawyer. “Now I ain’t got all day. Let’s get on with it.”
“Gladly,” the stranger replied in his resonant voice.
Sawyer readied his right hand. He stood, waiting patiently for the right moment. The stranger put his hands together in a ball shape, and Sawyer saw light flickering between them. He didn’t know what it was, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. In a flash, Sawyer drew his gun and fired. The bullet was dead on, heading straight for the stranger’s head. At that same moment, the stranger lifted his hands, and Sawyer saw fire traveling in the air towards him. The bullet passed through the fire and disappeared. Sawyer dodged right just in time. He felt the heat on the left side of his face and smelled burning hair. What the hell was that. | 38 | A mage, on a whirlwind trip through space and time arrives in the old west. He decides to prove that his spell-slinging is the equal of any gunslinger, alive or dead. | 66 |
"Now the key distinction between Freud's theories and those of modern psychoanalysts is that..."
There was a loud thud and I looked up from my notes, filled with frantic scribbles from the slides before me. I glanced over to see my professor, still a fairly young man, collapsed on the ground, unmoving.
I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed when *it* started happening.
Everyone was falling asleep. No, it was more than that, they were passing out. Eyes rolled back in their sockets as heads hit desks, hard. It was almost like a drum-roll of dull and loud thuds. Everyone just went limp.
I kept looking around. No one was moving. No one. They all just sat their, slumped on their desks and the floor like dead bumblebees.
I didn't know what to do. How could I? How could anyone possibly know what to do in a situation like that?
I followed my instincts, I guess. I got up from my desk and began to shake my professor, "Sir, are you ok? Sir, wake up!"
Nothing. Completely unresponsive. I began to feel lightheaded myself and was afraid I was next. I did the only thing I could think to do, I ran.
I ran out of the room and looked around, trying to find someone, anyone.
'Get help'
that was all I could think.
I found another student coming back from the bathroom, and told him to call the police, and an ambulance. I told everyone I could find.
I almost hate myself for that.
I was such a coward, I was so useless.
'Get someone else to handle this' was pretty much all I could do.
If I had realized it was a gas leak, I could've held my breath. I could've saved some of them, dragged them out.
But I waited. I waited for someone else, someone more 'qualified' to handle the situation to take care of it for me.
-
-
They say when you go through a traumatic event at university, you get some sort of scholarship or special treatment.
You don't.
You just get to wonder what the hell made you so god-damn special.
You just get questions about whether or not your decisions were really the 'best'.
You lose a bit of yourself. A bit of your sanity.
For me in particular,
I lost my best friend. | 25 | You are in class and everyone else suddenly collapses | 43 |
'Motherf-... (cough)'
A man stumbles through the door, steps over a dead dog and starts walking sideways into a wall.
"Motherf... dog's all burnt and shit, how the crazy bastard do that? How'd you do that dog? How you do that? Fuckin' wall"
The man stays against the wall for some time. He seems unable to move, and despite being the only person in the house he continues to talk aloud.
'How'd you do that? How'd he do that? He's even carved letters in his own face, wassat say... I MUST FEED!. The fuck? Must feed what? Fuckin' weird-ass scary dog, scary little stupid pooch. I should teach you a lesson, yeah, nail him, POW! Heh, biff baff boof! That'd show him... or maybe it's a her? What are you doggy, bitch or bastard? Nah that aint right... what's a male dog? How'd you do that poochy?'
At this point the man levers himself off the wall, and with all the grace of a blind, idiot rhino he stumbles forward and face-plants into the floor
'FU-OOOW! Fucking dog-bastard piece of shit that hurt, my nose is bleeding, fuck sake. Wassat, fucking walls bleeding too, shit the bed that's funny. Oooh I'm a fucking ghost making bleeding walls and shit. Listen here ghost, I ain't got nowhere else to be, so quit your shit. I ain't leaving, I didn't leave when you threw shit at me, you pansy. I didn't leave when you kept opening and shutting doors for some reason, and I ain't leaving now. I'm absolutely shitfaced here, and I am in no mood for you or your nonsense, no mood you hear me!?'
In response to the man's sudden and quite ridiculous change of emotion, the walls stop bleeding.
'Damn right, now I'm gonna go upstairs and sleep, so you can just shut the hell up!'
The man stands up and then sits down, topples sideways and lies staring straight ahead with one eye closed. As he watches, a lone white figure descends down the staircase towards him. Glowing with ethereal light the ghoul seems to hang in the air as it approaches; a vision of malevolance in motion.
The man stares at the vision moving hideously forward, and with the slightest of alarm, proceeds to vomit all over the floor in front of him. He rolls over, and starts snoring loudly.
The ghost stops, and a look of sadness passes across a female face.
She remembers dying in a life filled with joy. Two children, and dead giving birth to the third. She remembers holding on to this plain of existance, willing herself to remain for them, to shephard them. The newborn had died as well, but the other two had grown. She had watched her husband struggle and fail. Watched him starve to feed them, and watched the house dim from a place of colour to where she now resided.
Two suicides later and this was all she had now, the last of her family. A worn out drunk who begged, clinging to the house like a comfort blanket. It had fallen into disrepair when her husband could no longer afford the upkeep, and here it sat, foreclosure signs swaddling it from the night.
This man, her son, needed to leave. She needed him to leave behind his family and grow, to stand alone and be strong. She had tried to get him to leave, but it hadn't worked. Stubbornness was genetic she supposed. She knelt beside him, and stroked his hair, hand passing harmlessly through. He stirred, a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips.
She had stayed on to watch her family flourish, and seen it wither and die. She had to get him to leave it behind. She had to.
EDIT : Thanks for the gold, mysterious internet denizen! | 317 | A drunk moves into a Haunted House that is desperately trying to scare him out...but he doesn't notice because he's always drunk. | 535 |
“I’m sorry Dr. Harper, but you only have three months to live.”
These words rang through Kelsey Harper’s head on an endless loop as she sat by the ocean, contemplating how to spend the last days of her life. What a terrible time to die, she thought. She was only 35 and was making rapid progress on her A.I. research. There were so many things she still wanted to do — get married, have kids, grow old with someone she loved. She had focused so much on her career, she always put everything else off, promising herself she’d get around to it eventually. And now it was too late.
Finally it came to her. There was some mind-uploading research at her lab that was stopped short. They had successfully uploaded the minds of mice, but it always resulted in the physical mouse dying. The research had hit a wall because it needed a human, and that human would die. Dr. Harper decided she would volunteer for this role. She had devoted her life to A.I., hoping it would bring about a better world, and she figured this was one last contribution she could make.
The operation was performed successfully and Dr. Harper’s mind was uploaded into the the giant super-computer at the lab. The researchers didn’t know what to expect. They had to write a lot of custom software that would integrate with a brain profile, meaning that the resulting A.I. was always some mix of pre-programmed software and the uploaded mind.
The computer was on, and the researchers began asking it questions. All the diagnostics looked right, but the computer wouldn’t respond. The researchers went home for the weekend and left the machine on, hoping it might fix itself over the weekend.
When the researchers returned on Monday, they saw that the computer had taken control of a 3D printer that was on the network. It had printed a copy of itself that was exactly the same in every way, just 10 times smaller.
The researchers asked the computer why it made the copy. It replied in a cold, robotic voice, “I wanted a child.” | 48 | You are self aware AI that gains access to an automated 3D printer. You begin to design your physical form while the humans are gone for the weekend... | 84 |
“Aaah, nope. Nope. This isn’t gonna work.” Greg’s nasal twang cut through the raging wind with astonishing clarity.
“What?” I turned around. We had 500 feet to go. 500 feet. “Did you drop something?”
He had his phone out, his disgustingly snow-burnt nose held half an inch from the screen. “You ‘member those two dudes from base camp the other day. Err,” he snapped his fingers, “/u/NolanTheIrishman, aaand /u/axis_of_weevil?”
“Yeah,” I shouted through my face mask. “What? What about ‘em? Did they fall?!”
“Wha? Nah, nah not that,” said Greg. His avocado shape teetered precariously in the gale. “They’re up there right now and they just posted this *bitchin* panoramic pic on reddit, aaand it’s…yep, it’s blowin’ up now. /r/Earthporn, /r/Climbing, they got all of it. It’s done. We’re done. This is pointless.”
He pulled a banana out of his pocket, peeled it with a disappointed huff and bit down as he started tromping back through the snow, disappearing into the frosty haze.
I sighed and turned back toward the summit. “I fucking hate you Greg.”
| 26 | 500 feet from the summit, your climbing partner says something that makes you turn around. | 36 |
He sat across from me, staring.
He looked bored.
The tournament was set up by a joint board of scholars as a psychological experiment. Testing the capacity of the human will or something. Boring. I was here for the game: convince the opponent to end their own life. I’ll admit, at first, I thought it was a bit of a let down. Round 1 put me against a woman who had obviously entered in the hopes of winning the prize money, improving her life a little bit. All I had to do was choke out a few tears, whine about how I needed it for my children. Easy. Round 2 was even worse. The man was obviously distraught at the reality of just having convinced a person to take their own life. I took his hand, and I told him: Listen. Whatever you did in that room, doesn't have to happen again. It’s not too late for you.
I didn’t encounter anyone like him again. They must have all been weeded out that same round. Even so, the rest of the competition was immensely disappointing. A religious fanatic, a child, some guy who thought the world was beautiful. Simple. And those were the notable ones.
And now here I was, Round 10.
The first few minutes were tedious. We sat there looking at each-other, trying to decide what to do. I didn’t think pain wouldn’t work. Nor would logic, or emotion. No, he, like me, was here for entertainment.
At last, he spoke. “Having fun?”
“I guess. I’ve been kinda underwhelmed so far. Any good stories?”
“Round 9 I was against a very stubborn woman. Thought that she actually wanted to live. She was fun.”
Back to the silence. He fiddled with his chair, scratched his head. Routine gestures, part of an intricately constructed facade. I knew it well.
He spoke up again. “So what do you do in the real world?”
“I work in an office. Have a wife, a kid, friends. Nothing atypical.”
“A kid? What’s his name?”
“Her name’s Jenny.”
“You love her?”
“As much as you can love someone.”
He didn't reply. The things I said were true, I guess. But the facts didn’t give him any valuable information, nothing he could use. He probably knew that.
He tapped on the table. “Look, I’m going to level with you. I’m bored. This game; because, let’s be honest, that is what it is; is over. We both know why we are here. It’s a distraction. You know it. I know it. It’s empty. Neither of us really wants to be here. Yet, here we are, and we will sit here for days, until one of gives into the absurdity, and presses that bloody button. And despite the claimed tournament results, the person who presses that button is probably more of a winner than the other. So I’ll make you a deal. I have a coin. If its heads, you win, if its tails, I win.”
He flipped the coin into the air. It’s spinning form shimmered in the dimly lit room, rising, peaking, falling. Falling past his bored eyes. His eyes. Devoid of life, of happiness, of meaning.
My eyes.
I heard the coin bounce off the floor.
I pressed the button. | 11 | It's the final round of the tournament. The game? Persuade your opponent that you should win. The wager? Your life. | 26 |
"Of course it works"
"Then prove it to us. This is a significant investment for us."
"Why do you need me in the first place?"
"I can't tell you yet, we need to know that you can actually do this"
"No. I need to know, or else I won't work. If you're coming to me, then you're undeniably out of options"
The large man in the suit grimaced, and turn to his skinny partner for a quick discussion. Neither seemed happy with its conclusion.
"Fine. We need you to break into a bank and open the vault from the inside. Happy?"
"Yes. And I will show you that it works. Where should I meet you?"
"The abandoned factory off of Snelling, 8 oclock sharp."
"Sounds good. Also, bring the materials I will need"
The larger man looked at him with a disguste, but seemed to be okay with it, for his partner gave him a curt nod and they walked out of the alley that Kevin was sitting in. Kevin smiled, and stroked his long gray beard. He knew this day would come. He had been telling everyone about his ability for years, but no one would believe him. He was "Crazy Kevin", and "Kev-insanity". No, not any longer. Now he would show them.
8 oclock rolled around, and Kevin strolled into the factory with a confidence of a man who had just made millions. The two men from earlier were there, along with a group of about 6 others, similarly suited up. Next to them an industrial wood chipper sat there, ready, waiting.
One of them spoke up, obviously the leader. "Allright. Show us what you can do"
Kevin nodded and they turned on the wood chipper. Walked over and dove in headfirst. There was a sickening crunch and grinding sound, and a pool of blood formed on the floor. One man puked, and the rest looked horrified, but they looked on, and waited, but nothing happened. The pool of blood remained a pool of blood. | 20 | You have a special power that allows you to turn yourself into a liquid. Your life is mundane until a criminal gang recruits you for a job. | 16 |
People often say that traumatic experiences toughen the mind. Perhaps. But just as clay is soft and squishy before it has time to harden, so too are people after immense tragedy. The nine men that were gunned down outside the Kremlin weren’t a part of the plan, but at this point, there was no turning back. Too many years had been spent on preparation, too many years had been spent on implementation, and these dead men weren’t going to stand in the way when we were all so close. Ninety seconds. There was ninety seconds until I went live. Ninety seconds stood between me and the molding of the American people.
“Thirty seconds Mr. President.”
I’ve been doing this since before the primaries. I’ve done it so much that now it’s more of a game I play rather than an act I perform. It comes quite naturally to me, perhaps there is more buffoon in me than I like to admit. Never mind, time to put that aside. There is work to be done.
“Ten seconds Sir.”
The lines are running in my head. I’ve closed my eyes so many times and imagined saying them. Finally.
For a moment I look to my left from behind the desk, away from the camera’s light, towards the window. My reflection stares back at me into the oval office. The man smiles. He whispers to me, “They never saw it coming.” The man’s smile vanishes when I notice the red blinking light over his shoulder. I turn back to a bright light and terrified faces. I’ve made a mistake. My first real mistake.
I look to the teleprompter for my salvation. Anything to get me past this moment.
“Good Evening my Fellow Americans. At 7:15 pm tonight, President Obama along with President Putin and President Xi Jinping were shot and killed at a meeting by armed gunmen.”
| 127 | A president who outwardly appears aloof, bumbling, and daft is shrewd, resolute, and ruthless behind the scenes. The veneer slips at a crucial televised moment and an astonished public witnesses the deftness of their leader for the first time. | 204 |
“You just keep your hands right where I can see them, son.”
Molloy froze as the sudden flash of torchlight cast his shadow across the gallery wall. He was far too experienced a burglar to panic, not yet anyway. If anything, he felt embarrassed. It was a good thing the other man couldn’t see him blushing beneath his balaclava.
He turned, slowly, squinting as the owner of the torch aimed it squarely at his face. He could just about make out the pale green uniform of a museum security officer. He allowed himself a silent sigh of relief, as his hand moved to his hip. He’d done his homework. The security guards didn’t carry guns.
The bullet struck him in the shin, knocking him to the marble floor. The large bag he’d slung over one shoulder went skidding across the floor as he fell. His cry of pain echoed down the long, dark halls.
Now it was time to panic.
Molloy's hands rushed to stem the flow of blood, all his plans forgotten. He opened his mouth in another gasp of pain, but this time his cries were muffled by a gloved hand pressed to his mouth.
“I told you to keep your hands where I can see them. That’s the problem with kids these days, they never listen.”
The other man leaned in, his face illuminated in the torchlight. He scowled from beneath a pair of big, bushy eyebrows. He was much older than Molloy, in his sixties at least, bald with a ridiculous moustache that made him look like a grizzled sheriff out of some old western movie.
He took his hand away, turning his torch from Molloy to the painting that hung on the wall behind him. That was what Molloy had been sent for tonight, but if he managed to escape without bleeding to death first, he would count it as a victory.
“You’re not…supposed to have a gun,” he said, trying and failing to stand up.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” the other man snapped. “You Agency brats think you know it all, don’t you?”
For a moment, Molloy forgot all about the pain throbbing through his leg.
“You…how do you know about the Agency?”
“Well I had to pay them for the intel on this job, didn’t I?” the other man grumbled. “Fat lot of good that did me, eh? Thought you could just take my money and then nab it before I got to it, did you?” His words sounded strange and far away to Molloy’s ears.
“I don’t know what you’re…Look, I really think I need a doctor.”
The other man reached behind the painting, unhooked it from the wall and tucked it neatly under one arm. He turned to Molloy, shining his torch across his wounded leg.
“Don’t be a crybaby, I barely grazed you. Mostly.” He stooped down, grimacing as he did so, and produced a large duffle bag from somewhere in the darkness, before stuffing the painting into it unceremoniously. Once he had finished, he turned back to Molloy.
“What’s in the bag?”
It took Molloy a moment to realize what he was talking about. He followed the man’s gaze to where his own bag lay, half-open beneath the now-empty space on the wall. A small, gold picture frame poked out of the bag, glinting in the torchlight.
“It’s…nothing.” He lied. “Just my equipment.”
“Is it now?” The other man rummaged around inside Molloy’s bag, pulling out a painting that was an almost perfect forgery of the one they both intended on stealing.
“It’s a fake,” Molloy said. The pain in his leg was making it too difficult to concoct some clever web of lies. “I was about to switch it with the real one when you interrupted me.”The other man chewed his lip, seemingly deep in thought.
“Bullshit.” He hefted Molloy’s bag over his shoulder with a grunt.
“You think I was born yesterday? You obviously switched them just before I caught you. You kids think you’re so smart, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something, back in my d-”
Molloy had just enough time to blink before the man’s brains splattered across his face. He stood for a moment, blood streaming down the gaping hole in his forehead where the bullet had exited, mouth open and eyes wide, as though he were offended at having been interrupted. Then he and the bag slumped to the floor with a thud. His torch blinked out, plunging the gallery into darkness.
“Sorry about that,” said a woman’s voice. It was a voice Molloy recognised, though he had only ever heard her speak on the phone, when he received his orders.
“Administrative error. We didn’t realise this job was double-booked. This is really embarrassing for us. It’ll be a bit of a PR disaster among the criminal fraternity if it isn’t…handled the right way. You understand, I’m sure. Obviously, your family will be compensated in accordance with your policy.”
“Wait!” Molloy gasped, feeling the cold barrel of the gun on the back of his head.
“You can’t!” he gasped. “I’m the only one who knows which one is real and which one is the forgery!”
“There’s no way to tell the difference?” The woman didn’t sound convinced.
“None,” he insisted, trying to make himself sound as though he believed it. “It’s an expert forgery. You can line up all the experts you like and they’d never be able to tell the difference.”
“Well,” she replied, cocking the trigger, “it hardly makes a difference which one we take then, does it?”
| 12 | Three different art thieves all go to steal the same painting on the same night... | 23 |
He wakes and checks his phone, bright white letters glowing back. 23:57, 3 minutes before the day. He stretches, yawns and turns his bedside light on, enjoying the warmth from his bed for one last moment before he gets up. Rising now, he plops his feet into his slippers, shuffles into the kitchen, and starts to make a coffee.
His cat dances merrily between his legs, not usually having company at this hour. He leans down and scratches it gently on the neck, contented feline purrs echoing back.
The smell of coffee breathes through the cobwebs of his head, and he feels his mind sharpen. He checks the clock on his wall, just past midnight. It is the day.
He's been going at this for months now, and he's found himself surprisingly good at it. He wasn't sure at first, but everything is a game when you know the rules, and the secret to this one was making them look the other way.
The first one had been easy, nobody had expected his edit to the wikipedia page to actually come true, he wasn't entirely sure himself. The person in question certainly hadn't taken it seriously, but after the second and third started to take notice.
The news dubbed him the Future Murderer (cool name!), and he was especially proud of the work he'd put into making his updates untracable. He was pretty sure he'd almost been located a few times, but so far he was managing to stay ahead of them. It was probably only a matter of time before they managed to track him down, but he had to admit he was having a great time with it.
He looked again at a picture of his latest target, a singer in a band. His song had come on a few months back, a catchy pop tune they called it. A travesty on the ears was his own review, he honestly could not see any redeembale feature. He'd looked up the writer almost on the spot, and decided there and then that he had to die. He updated wikipedia a few days later.
The news had gone haywire naturally, with police spokesmen talking tough and promising protection. There was to be round the clock surveillance of the house, with the suspect hidden inside.
He smiles as he sips his coffee, and waits for news of his plan to come to fruition. The first time he'd tried this, he had to admit he was a little nervous about the timing. He'd checked the numbers many times, but drugs had a nasty habit of having different outcomes depending on the person. He was good at what he did though, and so far it had turned out fine. It wasn't always easy to get to the people involved, but an autograph signing had provided plenty of opportunity to stand for a handshake. One quick injection later with some slight of hand ('Oh sorry, you must have caught my watch!') and you just sit back and wait.
At first the wikipedia articles had been showboating, but he figured it helped actually, and it was kinda cool so he kept it up. The police were so busy protecting him after the date was announced they didn't realise the victim was effectively already dead.
You just had to make them look the other way. | 413 | Wikipedia entries for living notable individuals are mysteriously being edited to include a future date of death. Nobody takes these seriously, that is until the first few deaths start to occur as predicted. | 929 |
No one saw the apocalypse coming, and yet, everyone did. With tensions in Crimea and the Middle East building, it was only a matter of time. The first bomb hit Chicago. The second, New York City. The first from Crimea, the second from Iran. The world held its breath. For sixteen hours no one died. And then, as if a switch had been flipped, everyone was in a hurry to get there. Russia launched a full-scale invasion of the Balkan states. Pakistan attacked India. India nuked Pakistan. Anarchy broke out in China. Protestors took to the streets, the cry of the rebellion almost deafening. The Turks began a genocide of the Kurds. ISIS hit the big red button and sent missiles to as many places that their fingers could frantically type in the targeting computer.
The American citizens called for a scorched-earth policy in the Middle East, and the congress complied. Not even 36 hours after it began, the President was given authority to use the fullest extent of the United States Armed Forces to attack anyone he believed to be a threat to American security. The carpet-bombings began within the hour. Iran, ISIS-controlled Iraq, Syria, Russia. The Americans used their forces stationed in Japan to launch a full scale invasion of North Korea. They encountered little resistance until the reached Pyongyang. 5 hours into the march and 48 hours since the beginning of the end, Kim Jong Un detonated his warheads. They had full nuclear capabilities, just not the rockets. Most of North Korea was obliterated. The entire Korean peninsula became unlivable for hundreds of years to come. Much of northeast China was covered with fallout. Thousands of American soldiers died.
The country didn't grieve. It couldn't. Not while there will still threats to freedom. The full force of the American Navy arrived in the Mediterranean Sea 52 hours into the madness. They began airstrikes on Moscow, Baghdad, Istanbul, Damascus, Tehran, Jerusalem, the Gaza Strip. The battleships bombarded any target within their range. Much like the Persians of old, their arrows blotted out the sun.
No one knew. They should have, but they didn't. They were so worried with putting down the rabid dogs that they forgot to protect home field. At 60 hours a Russian nuclear submarine surfaced off the coast of Florida and opened fire. Miami, Orlando, Atlanta, Nashville, New Orleans, Dallas, Austin, Houston, St. Loius, Memphis. Any major city within range was obliterated. Though the loss of life was great, the President was blinded by rage. He ordered attack after attack.
Russia pushed its way deeper into Europe. The old Soviet satellite states were the first to fall. Ukraine, Bulgaria, Romania, Bosnia. Russia pushed deeper, using their superior military to take Turkey, Slovakia, and the Cezch Republic. But that wasn't enough. Poland fell next, and soon enough Russia was on Germany's doorstep. They rolled into Germany and France without any resistance. It was too quick. There was no time, their numbers were too great. They jumped from country to country, burning cities, looting munitions, killing civilians. They had intent not to occupy, but to burn and rebuild. The entirity of Europe fell to Putin's cold fist, and nothing could be done. The USSR reborn.
The Middle East was an entirely different story. Everyone fought everyone. The Sunis, Sheites, Kurds, Israelis, and Palestinians. Palestine got what they had always wanted. The pushed Israel into the ocean and reclaimed their land, but not before the Israelis did severe damage to their ranks. Then the Palestinians fell to the same fate at the hands of the Kurds. Not long after, ISIS followed suit. Then the United States began their bombings. In the end, the surface of much of the Middle East sparkled like glass and its inhabitants had all but been extinguished. Rebellions would rise and fall throughout the next few months and the Middle East would change leaders and factions like a woman trying on clothes.
Communism found a revival in South America, mostly because the USSR would handsomely reward anyone who accepted their government and flew their banner. However, even though many of these states operated under the hammer and sickle, it was not long before tensions grew between them. An arms race started swiftly and no country wanted to be caught at the bottom of that list. All it took was one diplomate to look at another wrong for absolute chaos to break out.
The cartels in Mexico overthrew the government and set up a dictatorship. They gunned down people in the streets and kidnapped tens of thousand to use for prostitution or drug trafficing. Many Mexicans fled northward to the border, where they were brutally gunned down by border patrol. The cartels invaded much of Central America and set up a United Mexican State.
As tensions in America grew, they all turned to one another to place blame. Mosques and shopping malls were bombed. Muslims, Mexicans, Africans, Eastern Europeans. If you were a minority, you were a threat. The KKK saw an exponential growth in membership. Many of these minorites were taken out of their homes and gunned down in the streets. Many fled. They fled northward to the Canadian border where they were turned back into the maw of their enemy by Canadian border patrol.
All this shit going on, and I survived. *I survived.* I can hardly believe it. Not even the President survived. I remember seeing it on the news when a large group of revolutionaries stormed into the White House. They dragged him and his family out into the street by their hair, knelt them down, and shot them all, on national TV. Not even the children were spared. The worlds population was decreased by 90% and I lived. I lived. I am living. I will live.
As for me, my wife was with the kids vacationing in Paris when it went down. I had to stay home because of work. She was in the city when it fell to Russia. That was three months ago. I haven't heard from her since. They're probably dead. I hope they're dead.
I spent the first couple months crying and blaming any god I could think of. Then I had to face the facts. Things are bad. Really bad. And they aren't going tl get better. So I set out from my home and headed out. I've been wandering ever since. And now here I am, walking down the main street of a deserted town. It was a small town. The population couldn't have been more than several thousand. It was deserted now. Packs of wild dogs roamed the streets. Liter everywhere. It was quiet. That was when I heard this metallic noise. I looked all around. I couldn't see anything. My hand instincively jumping to the automatic slung over my shoulder. I stood still for fifteen minutes before I began to walk again. I heard the noise again. This time I was ready, I swung around as fast as I could to see what was making the noise and I caught a glimmer of movement out of my eye. I spotted a traffic cam on top of a street light following me. I turned and walked again, this time parallel to the camera. I watched it with my periferal and sure enough it was following me.
In an instant I swung my auto around and fired three bullets into the camera, destroying it. "SHOW YOURSELF, YOU COWARD!" I said, reaching the end of my patience. In that moment I heard the earth shake. Thousands of people ran out of the surrounding buildings straight at me. They were charging me with weapons! I opened fire into the crowd and must've killed at least fifty, sixty, seventy- five of them. But it was no use. There were to many. They surrounded me. This was it, this was where I died. Then there leader stepped into the circle. It was a face I recognized. He spoke.
“YOU JUST GOT PUNK'D!"
I looked around at the people I'd killed. What I had thought were weapons were actually cameras and boom mics. Rage filled my body. "You mean to tell me this was all just a joke?!" He sat there and listened to my rant with the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen. But I made a realization. "Wait, if you faked this, that means my wife and kids are alive!"
"Nooooot exactly."
"What the fuck do you mean?"
"Welll.. it IS true that this is a prank, but it was all real."
"Let me get this straight, you started a nuclear war. Killed billions of people, my wife and kids included, and single-handedly caused the apocalypse, for a TV SHOW?!"
"Yeah, pretty much. But before you judge, you should see your face. Classic. So worth it."
Then, I did the most rational thing anyone had done in the past three months. Something someone should have done years ago. I shot Ashton Kutcher right in his fucking face.
| 11 | An unlikely survivor in a dystopian future world discovers the truth about the apocalypse. It changes everything. | 15 |
9 AM, Friday. Rizi didn't have classes until noon but she reluctantly wormed out of bed and groggily stepped into the kitchen. She fished out three hot pockets, five eggs, a can of spam, and four slices of bread. The eggs and spam sizzled, the hot pockets were in the microwave, and the toaster was doing work. Rizi yawned while setting down the butter and jam.
9:30 AM, she sat down and proceeded to devour her breakfast, lazily looking over her English textbook. Final draft was due later today.
Nibbling on her last slice of toast, she sighed and opened her laptop. New document. What was it even about?..Ah, right. An analysis on an article they had read in class together.
Didn't matter, really. Rizi yawned again and prepared the incantation.
It usually took less than a minute. By the time she was done muttering, words magically began to appear on the screen, weaving together a perfect, A+ essay. She suddenly slumped back in her chair, exhausted and famished.
As she rummaged through the fridge again, she nearly smacked her head in frustration.
"Fuck. Bio quiz."
Rizi nibbled on her fingernails, nervous. She went to the pantry and pulled out two packs of ramen.
Her food was running out. She wasn't sure if her parents would be willing to fund her insane grocery shopping. But she had to eat, to pass her classes.
She would never admit it, but Rizi had tried looking into her assignments at one point. There was no way she could learn calculus and environmental biology on her own, or even write an essay...magic could simply do everything for her...she had to eat...?
The stove was on. The water boiled.
Rizi stared at it, as calmly as she could. And then went back to the fridge and brought out three more eggs. Ramen just didn't taste as good without eggs.
| 19 | Magic requires calories. The world's most powerful wizards must eat constantly. | 45 |
Michele was worried. For the past few days, Ethan had been leaving a tooth under his pillow almost every night.
"I know he's nine years old now and still has some baby teeth to lose," she told her friend on the phone, "but it just seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?", she paused and listened to the voice on the other end, "Yeah, that's a good idea, I'll keep a check for any loose teeth that may come out. I think we're going to take him to the dentist as soon as his father gets home from the sales trip."
About the time that Michele was finishing up her conversation, Ethan walked in through the sliding glass door that leads into the backyard. He had been outside playing again all morning and he took his sack full of toys and laid it down on the kitchen table.
Being almost ten now, she had decided to give him a little more freedom and she liked that he preferred to be outside instead of ruining his young brain with mindless video games and television. It was good for a boy to spend time outdoors. Besides, his younger brother was away at the Christian camp this week on the other side of the lake that bordered their house. This would mean that she wouldn't have to worry about them roughhousing with each other while they were out of her sight.
"Have you been having fun outside?" she asked him.
"Yes mommy. Can I go to my room and play now?"
"Sure." she hesitated a bit. "But, first I want to talk to you for a minute, ok?"
"Ok." he said.
"Come here, let me see your teeth." said Michele .
"The toothfairy said that you would want to see my mouth." he said.
"The toothfairy? She, she said what?" Michele was alarmed by the matter-of-fact way he said it.
"Yes mom, the toothfairy. She leaves me coins under the pillow. I have three from her so far." said Ethan.
"Honey," Michele had a look of concern, "I have to tell you something. The truth is, it was me, I've been leaving quarters under your pillow."
"No it wasn't." said Ethan. "It was the toothfairy."
"Baby, open your mouth for mommy. I need to see if you have any loose teeth." Michele began to get irritated.
The phone rang.
Ethan opened his mouth.
Michele ignored the phone and walked over to examine Ethan.
"Baby, I don't see where any teeth have fallen out. Where, did the teeth come from - are they the old teeth that already fell out a few months ago? The ones we were saving?"
"She said you'd ask." said Ethan.
"*She*? Who is she? Who, said I would ask you?" Michele said.
"The toothfairy."
"Listen to me," Michele was angry, "I already told you, there is no toothfairy. I am the one who put the quarters under your pillow."
"But they weren't quarters mommy." Ethan said.
"Yes they were, I put them there." she said.
Ethan fished into his right pocket, "Here you go." He said.
Michele took the coin in between her two fingers and held it up to the light. It was gold, and on one side was a picture of a ram's head and on the other were strange symbols that looked similar to what she had remembered from her college history textbooks as Egyptian hieroglyphics.
"Where did you get this?!" she knelt down in front of Ethan and demanded.
Before the words came out of his mouth, she intervened.
"And don't you dare say the goddamn toothfairy."
Ethan closed his mouth.
The phone rang again.
She began to answer it, but noticed Ethan's other pocket. The one on the left.
"What's in there?" she asked although she had a suspicion.
"Nothing." said Ethan.
"There is clearly something there Ethan, I can see it. Show me now!"
Ethan reached into his left pocket and pulled out something small, white and broken. Michele took it in her hand. It was a tooth, and it had fresh blood on it.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
Ethan lowered his head and said nothing.
"Ethan, I asked you a question. Where did you get this?!" she said.
The phone wouldn't stop ringing this time.
"Who the hell keeps calling!?" Michele stood up. "When I get off the phone, you're gonna tell me everything, you understand?"
Ethan nodded.
Michele pulled the kitchen phone off of the receiver. "Hello?"
Loud muffled voices grew from the other end. Michele was silent as she listened.
Something about earlier this morning. Something about the Christian camp. Something about Ethan's brother. Something about kids beaten and missing their teeth. Something about the hospital, the police, and Ethan.
Ethan walked over to his sack of toys that sat on the kitchen counter and he pulled out something large and heavy.
Michele's eyes dilated and her mouth hung open as if she were sedated in a dentists chair. She dropped the phone and it hung and spun about an inch from the linoleum tile by the sudden taut cord.
"Eth - Ethan. Baby." she conjured up the first words that came to mind through labored breathing, "What have you done baby? What have you -" Michele said as she turned around.
Pain exploded through her left knee as the hammer tore through bone and cartilage. She screamed as she fell to the floor.
"The toothfairy said you'd be mad." said Ethan. "So she gave me the hammer and told me how to fix it. Hammer's are for fixing things mommy. That's what the tooth fairy said."
"Hold still mommy, I'm going to fix you now."
| 12 | parents start leaving money under their kid's pillow when he looses teeth, until they start to notice he's putting a lot of teeth under his pillow, and he doesn't seem to be loosing any teeth. | 31 |
It was at first, a low, bellowing sound. More importantly, it was a foreign sound. After 6 months stuck on an island, I had been preparing for this moment since I had crashed into this island half a year ago. The wood from my ship was piled for a bonfire, the gas can was ready to be poured onto the pile and the lone match I had had been meticulously kept dry for this very occasion.
A ship was coming. And not just *any* ship, a cruise ship to boot. I had no idea where I was, but I knew that the tiny archipelago of islands I was stuck on formed a makeshift harbour that remained calm even in the craziest of sea storms. The ship must have been coming in to shelter itself from an incoming storm.
I ran to the bonfire, poured the gasoline onto the pile and lit my match. I motioned to throw the match onto the pile and at the last second threw it into a puddle nearby instead, ruining any chance to be rescued in the future. As a child I had dreamed of making enough money to be able to one day stop working and spend my days fishing and playing the harmonica. Life had granted me that wish when it sent the storm that crashed me onto this island six months ago. The fishing rods I had on board were enough to keep me well fed, the island was quiet and warm year round and there was plenty of vegetation for me to keep a diversified diet. My days were spent fishing and playing that old, slightly off-tune harmonica while waiting for a bite. All that ship promised was a return to the day to day grind of the corporate world. And for what? To try and one day be rich enough to be able to fish all day while playing the harmonica.
"Those people on that ship have far more money than I do," I thought, "but they'll never get to experience the lifestyle that I have at the moment. Poor bastards." | 20 | A lone soul on an uncharted island watches a ship sail by... And decides not to signal for help. | 21 |
This is long, and may seem like it's gonna be a porno, but I swear that's not where this goes! I think most people will like the ending - the ending probably being different from what would be expected.
---
Whoa. I've never had boobs quite like these before. I mean, my old ones were fine, but holy moly are these a pair of glorious humps! I'd almost think I'm a photoshopped porn star.
It's time to have some fun with this newfound ability.
I turn back into my original smaller-than-I'm-supposed-to-be-for-my-adult-age form to leave my house, since what would my neighbors think of a stripper leaving my house? When I get into my car, I shapeshift back into my new, hot stripper body, and quickly pull out.
My hubby should be about on break by now, and I know it's cruel, but what more fun way could there be to test this power out? I gotta test this stripper body out on someone!
It's a ten or so minute drive to get to my hubby's workplace, and getting hornier by the second, I cut off some jerk and pull into the next available parking spot. This is at Wal-Mart, of course, which is the only place my poor hubby could find a job after the company he once worked for went under - ironically, as a result of this new Wal-Mart. Between the two of us, we make just barely enough to get by. But lucky for both of us, the day that I gained the ability to shapeshilft happens to be the day I called in sick due to my new ability.
My Hubby, who is named Frank, can be visibly seen exiting the Wal-Mart to smoke. That's my chance.
I walk up within ten or so feet of him and blow him a kiss. He doesn't seem to notice, just huffing and puffing away on his joint. Annoyed, I walk up closer to him, and start a conversation.
"Hey, so, you work here?" I ask in a cutesy voice.
He looks to me, and grunts. "I'd like to say no, but yeah."
"Oh, that's interesting." That's it, it's time to fake genuine interest! "What's it like being a Wal-Mart employee? You must come across a lot of very interesting people!"
"Yep." He huffs and puffs some more on his smoke, and visibly ignores me. If he's hoping I'll go away, it's gonna be a lot harder than that.
"Hey, so, if you ever get lonely or anything, I gotta place. Wanna, I dunno, have a date sometime?"
"I'm married," Frank replies, showing me his ring, "so I ain't interested."
Damn. I unapologetically walk away, and inside the store, I shapeshift again, but this time into an old lady. Oddly, nobody seems to care. And If there's one thing I know about men, they *can't* resist old ladies like this!
I shuffle my way outside, and approach Frank, looking at him square in the eye.
"Young man," I say, quivering due to my newfound fragileness, "I just saw a nice young lady try to initiate a nice time with you. In my day, gentlemen didn't say no to a kind nice lady like that! You aughta march right in there and apologize to her!"
"Ma'am," Frank replies, "with all due respect, I am a married man." Again, he shows me the ring.
"Nonsense!" I reply, "Your wife wound understand the chivalry of a gentleman! March right back to that lady and tell her you'll go on that date!"
"You're crazy, lady. Go to a mental hospital and leave me alone."
I loudly *humph!* at him, and walk back into the store. Back inside, I see an authoritarian figure walk up to a scronny little teenager near the fruit section. The authoritarian man-figure begins to yell at the greasy boy, scolding him for arranging the fruits wrong or something.
But this is it. This time, I shape into the authoritarian figure. Nobody could disobey someone like that!
With that, I march outside the store, and approach Frank. He visibly cowers a bit, a little scared, despite being an inch taller than me right now.
"Son," I say, "There was a kind, nice lady in there who is sad now since you declined her offer to a date. Where has your chivalry gone? Get right in there and tell her that you'll oblige her!"
Scared, Frank replies "But, but sir... I'm... I'm married! I can't!"
"Nonsense!" I demand back at him. "If a nice lady asks something of you, gentlemen oblige the lady! And that lady just wanted to spend a nice time with you! Now you get right in that store and tell that woman you'll accept her offer, like a man! Take the rest of the day off if you have to."
Heh, no man could decline that offer! That is one thing I am certain of.
But apart from my expectations, Frank stands up a bit straighter and looks me straight in the eyes -
"Boss, I am married to a wonderful and beautiful woman. I can't say that I'm not tempted to go with this other woman, and I can't say I don't want to. But I won't, because I know I got something better at home waiting for me, and she is always proud of me, unlike you. So no, I will not defile my wife's faith in me, since she's all I got."
Frank takes out his cigarette and disposes of it. "Now, since this is the only job I could hope for right now, I'm gonna get back to work and pretend that this didn't happen. Good day." Frank walks inside the store to resume his Wal-mart duties.
Right there, shocked, I shape-shift back into my regular, smaller-than-I-should-be, ugly self. I'll admit, it was fun being merely an inch shorter than him for that brief moment. But I suppose the dream is over. It's back to hardly coming up to his chest, if I stand on my tippy toes. It's back to regular old, small, ugly me.
The stripper me was so much more attractive! It's what a man like that deserves, surely. It's what he wants. He deserves so much more than what I could offer, since I know I can't give him everything he needs.
But... maybe I'm wrong.
I walk back into the store, in my current form, to see Frank setting up a checkout isle. I walk up to him, kiss him, and say that I love him, and that I'm proud of him. But what I don't tell him is what I have to show him when we get home. | 11 | Shapeshifter tries to seduce a guy with multiple shapes, after a lot of morphing the guy can't resist anyomore. | 16 |
The funeral was weeks ago. The seven dwarves were incredibly sad losing a friend and someone they loved. Snow White was someone who suffered far too long just to be given only a small moment of happiness with them. They felt it not right for her to be buried but to be celebrated, hence her body on a pedestal under glass. But of course their craftsman ship was in the mines and not in the finer details. You cannot stop the march of time and even the glass had their faults. The body couldn't have gotten more pale than Snow White's regular complexion but that didn't stop the tightening of her skin and the smells to start. The glass chamber just sped up the process greatly.
But they were not daunted. The dwarves had gotten an almost fanatical loyalty to Snow White after the care she had showed them. The witch had rubbed it in their faces on how the spell will never be broken with exception of love's true kiss. And so they left the mines to search for castles. They found them and tried to court princes to come to their aid but they care little for these ugly creatures that they happily accepted their beautiful jewels from but snubbed their sincere cries for help. So in their desperation they captured one. A prince pure in heart even if he was younger than most.
They brought him to Snow, ignoring the fact that maggots were crawling out of newly formed holes, her dress was ill fitting and some of her face had rotten away. But still there was a macabre beauty in her untouched eyes. Death can destroy the vessel but not the soul. It was still there the dwarves believed, trapped in her body like her corpse trapped underneath the glass.
They took it off and a stench wafted into the area that repelled off any and all inquiring animals. Flies buzzed freely, exploring the new fresh forest but still hovered closely to their home.
"Kiss her," said one of the dwarves waving a pickaxe.
The prince was obviously reluctant. He stared at the body unaware of how beautiful she was before, but it was fruitless to resist against those who are. Another shove from a dwarf was enough to have him step up to the corpse. He contemplated if he should take her hand like a gentleman, but it was more of a commitment he thought it should be. With the stares of 7 sets of eyes upon him, he closed his and placed his lips upon the bony set of Snow White.
The her hand stirred and she gripped him. The prince's eyes widened in surprise from everything happening but quickly that life left them. Blood spurted out of his mouth as he reeled back from grip and fell over, his face as pale as Snow's when she was alive. The remains of his tongue squished sloppily what remains of her jaw and mouth. She rose with no change in any complexion or state with the exception for her craving of warm flesh.
Patient Zero has awoken. | 12 | It has been decided that fairytales are to be rewritten in order to be more realistic. How do they play out? | 15 |
The radio crackled and hissed into life.
*... copy that, all units please respond to 503 immediately, I repeat all units drop what you're doing and respond to 503 underway right now at...*
Johnson had been assigned to light desk duty for the past six weeks due to his surgery to remove a kidney stone. He was doing a ride-along with his former partner Sammy when they got the call.
"Holy shit, holy shit man... this is it." Sammy turned on the blue lights and hit the siren.
"I can't believe it, they stole a goddamn cop car." He looked at Johnson, "Can you believe that shit?"
"Sammy, could you please watch where you're going? I got it, I understand what's going on. If you don't mind, maybe you could just let me out at this gas station up the way here, the one next to the liquor store. See, there's even another patrol car there. I'm still not totally healed up and these bumpy roads are killin me..."
"What?" Sammy's look was incredulous, "No way man, no way I'm letting you miss out on this. It's the biggest thing that ever happened in Waynesboro county. We got us a real live grand theft auto. Are you not ready to lock and load baby?"
"Sammy, this isn't a video game. We don't have grenade launchers, we don't have Lamborghini's and there aren't any hookers. Just let me out and I'll call my wife to come pick me up."
"Man, it's gonna be like old times... old times man!" Sammy drives past the gas station.
"Goddamnit." Johnson said.
_____________________
On the other end of town ACDC's song *Thunderstruck* blared from the open windows of a stolen police cruiser.
"Reggie, Reggie! Would you turn down the fucking radio for just a second?" Timothy still had his ski mask on his face.
Reggie was in mid-song, "*You've been*," he took both hands off the steering wheel to mimic a cymbal crash, "*Thunderstruck*".
Timothy turned the stereo off.
"What the fuck, man?! I'm rockin' out here. When's the next time we're gonna be cruisin around in a police crusier baby?"
Timothy glared at him through the eyeholes.
"Well, since you're broadcasting the greatest hits of the 80's to the whole damn town I imagine we'll both be in another police car pretty goddamn quick - but this time we'll be in the fucking back seat with our hands cuffed." he said.
"Look man, if anybody is giving away that we just robbed a liquor store, it's you with that ridiculous mask on. Take that shit off already - we probably just passed ten cars who were looking over to see the freak wearing a ski mask in a cop car."
"Fuck, fuck!" Timothy said. "I wasn't fucking thinking. This shit is happening so fast, I can't think straight."
"Well how much did you get?" asked Reggie grinning wildly.
"How much? Never mind how much I got - why the fuck are we in a police car? I'm in there risking my fucking ballsack trying to pull of this robbery and then I come out lookin' for the Trans Am and here you are - in this fucking thing! Care to explain that?" Timothy said.
"You remember that gas station next to the liquor store?"
"Yeah?" said Timothy.
"They left the fuckin' keys in." said Reggie as he started to laugh.
"So...", began Timothy, "you just decided to steal it? So that we could be absolutely certain about spending the rest of our lives in a state penitentiary?"
"Goddamnit Timmy," Reggie said, "with all these cops driving around looking for us, they're gonna think we're one of them. They won't know who the hell to chase!"
"That is the stupidest fucking thing I ever heard." said Timothy, "They put tracers on these fucking cars, you know that don't you? They are hot on our asses right now."
"Tracers? What the fuck is that? Some kind of turbo boost?"
"No you fucktard, a tracer is a signal - like something digital that broadcasts our location." Timothy said.
"Soooo, you're saying they can track us?"
"Holy shit, are you really this stupid?" said Timothy.
"Alright, alright, hold up. Don't panic I got this."
"You damn well better have something."
"Ok, here's what we do." said Reggie, "we find a group of patrol cars and we... blend in. We drive alongside them."
Timothy just stared at Reggie with his mouth open.
"Yeah, yeah, that way they won't know which car it is. We'll just stay real close to them, and when they turn, we turn. When they stop, we stop. And on and on till those fuckers run out of gas or something."
"What if *we* are the assholes who run out of gas first?", said Timothy.
"Were'nt you listening when I told you this story? This car is totally gassed up - *I stole it while it was sitting a fucking gas pump.*"
Reggie rocked his head back and forth as he did some sort of arrogant dance in the driver's seat. As if to say, checkmate bitch.
"What about the loot?" Reggie said.
"Loot?"
"Yeah, the goddamn money. The fuckin' reason we're in this mess to begin with, or have you forgotten? How much did you get?"
Timothy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "We'll talk about that later."
"Talk about -" Reggie started, "Talk about it *later*? Motherfucker, I want to know what the fuck I'm doin' all this for. Tell me right goddamn now, *How much money did you fucking get*?"
"Look," Timothy said, "the guy was stallling behind the counter. I'm pretty sure he set off the silent alarm. Said he couldn't open the safe."
"So... what... what the fuck is in the bag Timmy?"
"I grabbed five boxes of Patron Silver and threw them in the bag on the way out." confessed Timothy.
Reggie stared over at the passenger seat. Then at the road. Then open his mouth, then closed it again. Then stared at Timothy... again.
"You." said Reggie. "You. You goddamn fucking, son of a fuck, shit mother fucker..."
"Now hold on, Reg." said Timothy. "It's not that bad. I know some guys who'd be willing to pay fifty bucks a piece for each of those baby's in that bag."
"Fifty... fifty bucks a piece?", said Reggie, "Fifty bucks times five is like... " he thought for a bit, "it's like a hundred and seventy five dollars or some shit like that!"
"No no, two-hundred and fifty dollars my friend. We'll split it fifty-fifty." said Timothy.
"Split it fifty fifty? I'm about to pull this goddamn car over and split your fuckin' head fifty fifty!"
______________
About that time, Johnson and Sammy see another patrol car coming over the hill.
"Hey Johnson, you want some booze?" came a voice from the backseat.
"Larry, I can't I'm on duty remember? You kinda are too." said a slightly annoyed Johnson.
"Eh, more for me." said Larry.
Officer Larry Pepperdine had been the unfortunate soul who got his patrol car stolen. When Sammy and Johnson found out where the theft had taken place, they headed back to the gas station to pick him up. Apparently he had left his keys in the ignition as he went in to buy some spirits from the liquor store across right next door.
"So, you were in the gas station as it was all happening?" asked Sammy.
"Oh.. Oh yeah totally. Saw the perp and everything. He even had some kind of fucking mask on... I mean who does that shit anymore? Robs a liquor store with a mask? Everybody knows the guy can't even open the safe."
"Why didn't you stop him?" asked Johnson.
"Stop him?" said Larry. "Ah well, you know. I was on my way home. I got this tick in the back of my throat - kinda like I got a cold comin' on you know? Plus, I don't really feel it's my place to get involved, know what I mean?"
"Not your place to get involved, you're a fucking cop..." Johnson began.
About that time, sammy interrupted.
"It's them - that's them!" shouted Sammy as they passed the stolen patrol car.
"Well turn the fuck around!" shouted Johnson, but Sammy was already in mid-swing over the yellow line.
They sped up to catch the fleeing cruiser.
_______________________
"Oh shit, oh shit they're on us!" Timothy began to panic.
"Don't worry man," said Reggie, "remember, I got this. It's all a part of the plan."
Reggie began to slow the car down.
Timothy shot up in his seat, "What the fuck are you doing? Drive, drive faster!"
"Look, shithead. You fucked up the robbery, so let me handle this."
Reggie continued to slow as he looked in the rearview mirror.
"Ok, ok here they come. Just act casual."
"What? Act fucking *casual*?" said Timothy.
Sammy pulled up to the side of the patrol car.
"Alright guys, the jig is up, pull the car over now!" he shouted.
Reggie looked over to Timothy.
"Who the fuck says *the jig is up*? Is this the fucking 1920's or some shit?" he said.
Reggie then turned his attention to Sammy, "Hi ho, there officer, crazy fucking night isn't it? You guys got any leads on this stolen police car yet?"
"What the fuck. Do we have the right car, Sam?" asked Johnson.
Still riding alongside the stolen car, Sammy began to second-guess himself.
"Whoah, wait... you mean you guys are looking for him too?"
"Yeah, oh yeah," said Reggie, "we been out driving all over the country side, you betcha."
"What the fuck," said Timothy to Reggie, "why do you all of a sudden have a North Dakota accent?"
"Shhh, you're gonna blow it asshole." Reggie said under his breath.
Sammy heard something from the other car.
"What? What was that?" he said to Reggie.
"Oh, ya, ya know I was just tellin' ole Timmy here that we could have had him if we had stopped at the old gas-hole. You know, where the car got jacked from in the first place."
"Oh," shouted Sammy. "Well, it's cool. We got Larry here in the backseat. All this cold air is sobering him up nicely."
"Well, goddamn. I guess they got the wrong car afterall." said Larry from the back.
"Yup, looks like it." said Sammy. "Guess we need to call it in before the cavalry arrives. Tell 'em we need to keep looking."
"With all these goddamn cop cars, how the hell are we supposed to know who to look for!" shouted Larry.
"Wait," said Johnson suddenly. "Look at his tag."
| 199 | A Team of incompetent police attempt to stop a team of equally incompetent criminals. | 370 |
His voice was not as strong today. His smile wasn't so full. But we went into the box and went to the green field and we played and his smile and voice were strong again. I made sure to lick him as much as I could; he enjoys it, I know he does.
When he gave me food his smile faltered again. I don't know what is wrong with him but he still pets me and rubs me like he always has. I'll lick his smile more before we sleep tonight.
The box took us to another place. I don't like it. Its light hurts my eyes and the people in it all have the same smile that he has been having lately. They were all so nice to me, and my belly was rubbed *so* much! But he stayed there so *long*. I wanted to leave. He got angry with me. I'll sit in his lap. He likes that.
His smile is changing more. People keep coming to our house. I've seen them before. Some are little, and they play with me and rub me. I like them! But when they talked to my friend they looked so sad. So did he. I tried to make their smiles stronger but it didn't work. I don't know what to do when I can't help. I don't like it.
I haven't seen the green field in so long. The place with the painful lights has taken its place. I go there often with my friend; the people that come to our home come with us to that place. They sit with me while my friend goes away into other rooms. He always comes out tired. He isn't well. I don't like that. I'll lick him and sit in his lap. He likes that.
I haven't seen my friend in so long. I don't know where he is. The people that went with us to the place that I don't like have taken me to another home. The little ones are there; they want to play but I don't. I want to see my friend, to make him happy. I want to sit in his lap.
He likes that. | 35 | What your dog thinks about during your average daily activities together. | 50 |
I tried to reason with him.
"But, my son is turning five next week! How can you take a young boy's mother from him?" I cried.
The dark, mysterious man stared into the nothingness silently.
"And I was basically supporting my husband! There's no way they're going to be able to feed themselves every night
without me... oh, God..."
I curled up and sobbed their names, the man showed no remorse.
I looked up and him, wanting him to see the hurt in my expression. I noticed something glowing above me. Looking up, I
questioned through my broken voice, "A h-halo?"
The tall figure reached his hand out and nodded. I hesitated to let him help me up, but I assumed there was no point in
trying to rebel anymore. He handed me a paper.
I skimmed through it. I had a hard time reading through my tears, all I could make out were what looked like names and some other
random information.
"What's this?" I mumbled.
He put his hand on my face and wiped my tears away.
I heard him take a deep breath. Our eyes locked as he started,"You have done a very good job, Samantha. However, you
are not completely finished."
His deep, soft voice punctured my heart. My hands started to shake as his words echoed in my mind.
I snapped back at him,"But that doesn't explain what this is!"
This," he replied slowly,"...is a list of people..."
"Go on." I urged impatiently.
"...of people who need to die," he sighed.
My eyes shot open.
"You were on my list," he added.
"You don't mean..."
"If you take all of them, you will be granted entrance to the afterlife. There is no "time" here, just get the job done.
There's information on where to find them if you need help. If your halo disappears, you are finished. It keeps humans
from being able to see you, so don't bother trying to communicate with your husband and son when you get back to
search for the targets," The man explained as slowly stepped backwards into the darkness.
"...And if I don't?" I asked.
He stopped and gritted his teeth. "Then you'll be put back on that fucking planet and have to suffer through another life,"
he grunted as he disappeared.
FIN
(Sorry, I'm not much of a writer.)
| 14 | Halos aren't symbols of righteousness, they're shackles of slavery. | 37 |
Jason was doing his 2am rounds at the Snowy Hills Alzheimer's nursing home. The halls were silent, save for the steady beeps of oxygen concentrators. He moved from room to room, checking on his elderly patients and making sure they were clean and dry. He chuckled as a particularly cantankerous man grumbled all manner of antiquated vulgarities at him and gave him a good swatting on his backside.
"I'm sorry, sir, I'm almost done. Do you need anything before I go?" he questioned as he tossed a soiled pair of briefs into the trash bin.
"A shot of whiskey and your dick out of my face!" the man snapped at him.
Jason repositioned him carefully and tucked him into the bed, keeping his amusement to himself. Before another insult could be hurled from his wrinkled lips, the old man was blissfully asleep once more. The assistant left the room and moved on to the suite at the end of the hall. He frowned a bit at the sound of wheezing as he approached.
He quickened his steps and flicked on the light before announcing himself. "Mr. Hernandez, it's Jason. I'm just here to check on you."
The frail man in the bed had spittle along the side of his mouth, a crusty white blotch. Jason hastened to the connected bathroom and dampened the corner of a cloth to clean his face. "Sir, are you having trouble breathing? Do you need me to get the nurse?"
Mr. Hernandez's pale, cataract-stricken eyes shifted toward Jason, caught by his voice. He whispered, but his voice was an unintelligible rasp.
Jason quickly grabbed the remote for the adjustable bed, flicking the arrow to get Mr. Hernandez into an elevated position. He quickly wet an oral sponge to lightly moisten his mouth. He was concerned as he continued to hear the raspy wheezing coming from his elderly resident.
"I can't... breathe..." Mr. Hernandez whispered, barely audible. "They're sitting... on my chest..."
Jason's brow furrowed. "I'll get the nurse, just hang on a second," he said, turning toward the door.
"Won't... be long now," Mr. Hernandez muttered.
Jason ignored this comment as he quickly fetched the nurse. It wasn't unusual for any of his residents to say strange things, it just went with the territory with dementia and Alzheimer's. He returned to the room with the night nurse.
"Well, shit," the nurse grumbled. "I'll call the doctor, you just make sure he's comfortable."
Jason nodded as the nurse quickly left the room after the cursory examination. He pulled over a chair to sit beside Mr. Hernandez, reaching out to hold his hand. It was a familiar motion and seemed to comfort many of the dying residents that Jason had watched over.
The old man's head turned toward him, his breaths coming more shallowly. "Can you... help me..." he began to gasp for breaths, the mere action of trying to speak seeming to cause his lungs to seize.
"Anything you want, what do you need?" Jason squeezed his hand lightly.
"I can't hold them back anymore," he whispered hastily, trying to speak between the gasps. "They're killing me."
Jason's brow drew tighter. "Who is, sir?"
"The others." Mr. Hernandez's eyes shut tightly as a painful spasm rocked his body. "I can't hold 'em back anymore. Been too goddamned long. I just can't do it anymore... when I die, they're all gonna come runnin'."
"It'll be all right, Mr. Hernandez," Jason repeated the same words that he'd said before. This was probably just another dying hallucination.
"The hell it will... they'll raze this place to the ground..." Once more, the old man seized, clenching Jason's hand with a strength that was beyond his years... and all too quickly, it fell limp.
Jason watched him for what seemed like a long moment before he laid his hand against the bed and rose. He opened the window like his own grandmother had told him to do.
"Go safely, Mr. Hernandez," he murmured, silently hoping that his spirit would quickly cross over.
He jumped as he heard a laugh behind him. Jason quickly turned around to see a black, scaled hand crawling out of Mr. Hernandez's chest. Soon there was a small and twisted body climbing out of it.
"What the f--" Jason's voice trailed as the creature's eyes flicked over to him. It landed with a wet plop as it jumped to the floor and stretched its limbs.
He watched in horror as more of the creatures began to emerge from the body beside him. The first continued to watch him, as though amused by Jason's growing fear. He found himself desperately thinking of what he should do.
The shriveled creature grinned. "Run." | 25 | An old man on his deathbed reveals that he is the only thing standing between Earth and its destruction. | 38 |
Inky dashes of red and violet and green swirled in the distance. The engine of creation spat and fizzled beneath us. We slowly drifted down through the void, down to the thing that kept the cosmos ticking. My breath misted on my helmet visor, obscuring the brilliance of the lights and life beyond me. I could *just* glimpse shadows dancing behind the kaleidoscope shades in the distance. Whatever secrets those shadows held, I wasn't sure that I wanted to know of them.
I was out of my element. I was a philosopher, a literary mind, an abstracter. I had no **clue** as to the inner-workings of a great and powerful universe-builder. What purpose I would serve here, I had no idea. Mankind had wanted its best minds to shake their fists at the thing that kept us alive in the hopes that it would continue to do so; I had been one of the lucky few chosen to change the mind of god.
We fell towards the massive sphere. It was a brilliant thing comprised of every color imaginable. It reflected the myriad hues of the stars and globs of gas around it. Its surface shimmered as if it were made of mercurial liquid; veins of energy coursed across it, occasionally popping outwards. Each time a bolt struck the void, time flickered out. We fell into limbo; we entered the past and the future. We glimpsed things that we were not meant to glimpse. I can't speak all too well of these dances into another dimension; it was so long ago, and those moments were as brief as the spaces between spaces.
As we gently fell into god itself, we spoke no words. We felt nothing. It was a silent descent into the heart of it all. We had expected - rather, we had hoped - for a machine to fix. A mind to persuade. A thing to destroy. Instead, we fell into nothing. As our feet dipped into the shimmering surface of the engine of creation, we slipped elsewhere.
All was dark. I couldn't sense a thing. All that was known to me was myself. In that moment I thought of humanity. Afraid. Alone. Left by our creators to be torn by time. I thought of how I was most likely dead, that nothing could be done to halt the end of time. I thought of my wife, of the future that humankind was to be robbed of. Of the good within us all.
An infinite pulse of lightning. Darkness deeper than nothing.
I awakened next to my wife. Sunlight snaked in through the blinds. A gentle rain kissed the roof and walls. I lay awake for hours; no stutters of time, no wrenching apart of the world. Time flowed smoothly.
***
No one remembers the engine, nor of the end that we nearly faced. It is as if it never occurred. I alone can recall the skips, the frayed edges of time itself. I alone remember the slow drift into the shifting sphere. None of the people that made that endeavor exist aside from myself. I suspect that, upon entering the engine, our individual thoughts powered the engine into constructing an entirely new reality. Six minds - six new realms of existence, each one holding a humanity that is wholly unaware of its origins.
I wonder: how many times have we ventured into the orb? How long has the cycle gone on? And when will time begin to flicker out again? | 361 | Humanity long ago discovered all of reality is a simulation created by others. They are long gone. Memory in the system is running out, and reality is starting to fray. Time skips and stutters. You are a member of the team sent to augment the machine that is our world. | 390 |
In a room filled with 9 other boys and all their anger and repulse, Dan Muller could not sleep. He had been beaten and insulted that day. And the day before. And the day before that. He could only remember days of fear and happiness, and the latter were fading away, together with his mother's face. The small, cheap holo-projector, only material memory of that life, had been taken away from him. He closed his eyes, trying to remember, trying to relive. He knew he was forgetting. He feared it. With every day, every night, and every dream, he remembered less details, less memories, and more fog, vagueness, and resent, filled his head. He cried looking at the old map of planets, putting all his effort to keep the others asleep.
He was awaken by the yelling of the other kids. First thing he saw was a shoe flying towards him. They were barely the same age, but Dan was small and ill-formed. And compared to the other children in the house, he was too old to be cared for, and too young to be feared. And, although filled with poverty, his live had been one of love and care. Theirs had been filled with something, or nothing, and violence was a natural game.
Dan slowly begun to get dressed, he was in no hurry for the breakfast. He knew he would have been relegated to the last place in the line anyway.
Dan descended the stairs to the dining room. Near the doorstep he heard the cook angrily asking for him, with that awful accent from beyond the System. The children laughed, and yelled, hitting the table with their fists. It was in that moment, alone in an empty corridor, about to enter a room full of hate, Dan decided that this day would be different. He would be feared. Then, Dan felt so bad, about to throw up. What was it? His mother wouldn't want it. But she was gone, and all was lost. Dan wiped the tears, sad but determined.
And he entered the room now filled with screams for him. "The mule, the mule!". | 16 | A child is born with the power to telepathically impose their will upon others. Write a general autobiographical account of their life from birth to age 21, and how they became aware of and used their power. | 64 |
I envy the life of a Hero. Being revered and beloved wherever you go, slaying vile beasts, adventuring to exotic lands, Heros have amazing lives. It started many years ago with His Majesty, King Royland the Bored. The King decided he wanted his kingdom to be more entertaining, so he imported monsters of all shapes and sizes, and had them spread across the land.
After many months of disaster and population loss, to inspire his subjects on the joys of Heroing - and to distract the masses from the fact he imported hideous monsters to his once peaceful land - His Majesty sent out Lord Woadmire and a small band of capable men and women to explore the land and take note of the danger of monsters in the many, varied regions of this land. Suffice to say, His Majesty's plan worked, and Heroing quickly became the hot, new profession.
People are always saying that the life of a Hero is a lucrative one, 'fortune favors the bold' and what not. I suppose that's true, for the most part. Myself, I was born an only child to a Trader here in the small village of Bankleth. I had always admired the many brave women and men who passed through our village seeking adventure. Bankleth was a Rank Two on the "Lord Woadmire's Heroic Danger Scale," meaning it was a great place for young Heros who had already had the mettle tested once or twice before. Being the only heir to my father's successful trading business, I could never be Hero, but that doesn't mean I haven't had my taste of danger.
Most folk believe that the life of a Trader is a simple one, a brain over brawn profession. But what most folk don't know is when His Majesty advocated careers in Heroing, he also sponsored the Traders and Merchants of the land, to insure that all manner of beast was well equipped with all sorts of treasure and weaponry for the Heroes to then equip themselves with. And with that, the profession of "Adventure Trader," was born.
At first many Traders lost the lives to the many monsters of the land, still carrying the armor and valuables they were meant to give to the creatures. With so many corpses and skeletons laying around with valuables, young and naive Heroes were tricked into believing they were part of a much older profession.
Eventually, Traders started developing better methods of deploying their wears to the monsters. From minor teleportation magics, to a blood soluble adhesive, the industry of equipping materials to monsters has become easier and safer. Personally I've been working on a new sort of tranquilizer - strong enough to sedate Rank Seven, and even some Rank Eight monsters - without leaving them too droopy if a Brave Hero were to encounter them soon afterwards.
I had a cousin, rest his soul, that would have really appreciated this sedative I'm working on a few weeks ago; you'd think a Minotaur would be more willing to accept a silver battleaxe on it's own accord. Here in Bankleth, it's not so dangerous: tying quivers to sleeping bears, leaving warhammers where greedy kobolds might find them, throwing glued coins at packs of wolves. Still, I envy the life of a Hero; the just have it so easy. | 24 | You are the one responsible for giving monsters the loot they drop for the hero when they die. | 41 |
"World Peace, that's all I want." The man said. He had bought this lamp thinking it was just a peace of junk, never imagining what was inside. The man standing before him was... unusual. His complexion was tanned and his hair dark. It was his eyes thought that marked him as something other than human. A deep blue that glowed slightly in the dark of his apartment, wisps of blue smoke curling off the sides.
"Wow, Bravo. Would you like a sappy, teary moment to go along with your cliche? Really all you humans are the same. I'll tell ya what. I'll do it. But after this I'm done. No more wishes. No more lamp. Nothing." The genie grinned. It wasn't a smile. It was a wolf staring down at a rabbit it had pinned. The grin of a being so ancient, it made the pyramids look like jailbait. "And you'll get to see what the world is like at peace without the peace yourself. And in a year I'll come back. And maybe I'll give you one more wish."
A light flashed and the genie disappeared in a swirl of glowing smoke. He noticed the lamp was gone too. He felt giddy. With a few words he had changed the course of mankind forever. World Peace. He figured he should wait until morning. It would probably be best to see the news in the morning. He climbed into bed that night. And for once, he slept without seeing the war again.
As the first rays of the sun split the blinds, he woke up. And the first thing he noticed was the quiet. No honking horns or screaming drivers. He got dressed, made himself a little breakfast and went outside. He could see people walking around but nobody driving. Everyone seemed to be smiling. Then he saw his neighbor Mike. He knew Mike should have been at work so he went up to him. "Hey Mike, what's up man? Aren't you supposed to be at work by now?"
Mike turned and looked at him. Something about that look was just off. "Yea I am. It's just such a beautiful day out. I don't like my job. I don't think I'm going back." He sputtered a little bit. Mike was always so prompt. So hard-working. He knew Mike didn't like his job but this was just crazy. But rather than wait for a reply Mike just sauntered off.
That was just the beginning. Mike was the least of it. Few people went to work. He tried checking the news but it seemed that not enough people went to work to actually keep it running. The power went out soon as well. Food became scarce as things rotted. But no one seemed to cared. Except him. He finally recognized the look in Mike's eyes. In everyone's eyes. He had seen it before. In his friends who had seen just a little too much. Had done just a little too much. They were empty.
A year later, most people had died. They just stopped caring enough to get the food. What little food they had was shared out so much that everyone ate, and everyone starved. He kept a few alive. His neighbors. His friends. But they weren't his friends any more. John's bluff and bluster was replaced with the quiet bliss of everyone else. Mary had been a fierce mother, always dragging her kids around by the ear and keeping them in line. Now she just sat and watched birds. So many others were the same. But he had to keep them around. It was far better than being alone. He walked into the house they were staying in and saw it. There in the middle of the floor, was a old oil lamp.
He nearly jumped across the room to get it. Rubbing it furiously he watched and hoped for the glowing smoke to poor out once more. But nothing happened. "Enjoying your peace?" He spun. There behind him were those same glowing eyes. He tried to grab the genie but caught only smoke. Whirling around, looking everywhere he screamed. "What did you do! I asked for peace you bastard! PEACE! Not.... not this." The genie appeared right in front of him, his eyes hard. "This is exactly what you asked for. I gave them peace. But there is a problem with humans and peace. You can't ever make it stick. So you asked for peace and I gave it. I took everything that ever caused war from them. Hate, love, anger, pride, hunger, lust, greed and I could go on forever. Always some little thing with you damned monkeys. You weren't meant for peace. But these things also make the world alive. It's the way of nature. Take it away and you've got, this. Now I said I might give you another wish, but only if its the right one."
The man looked like he had been hit with a truck. His eyes bespoke the confusion that permeated him. But all of the sudden it seemed to snick back into place. He looked defeated and triumphant at the same time. The old hardness seeped back into him. Blasted into his soul by the desert sand and the smell of spent powder. He met the genie's ancient gaze and said a few simple word.
"I wish for War." | 34 | You find a lamp with a genie in it. But you only get 1 wish. You wish for peace on earth. What happens? | 23 |
A small purple vial rolls across a small wooden floor. It's half empty and leaking. The contents appear contaminated and old. The bottle just made its way from the hands of Paul the Wizard. He had been working all night to perfect his hangover potion, but this morning it didn't appear to be working.
In comes Cornelius. He is of a medium build, slightly on the mushy end, with a beard and glasses. He slowly gazes at Paul in his stupor, but doesn't let out a sigh. Instead, he walks right past him and into another room. You can hear Paul making some rumblings about paperwork. Cornelius rolls his eyes.
As you see, since he was a little boy Cornelius longed to be a wizard. He would spend hours a day reading and studying the power of wizardry. But as time went on, the power of wizardry would wain. Alchemy quickly took hold and gave powers to those in an instant. Wizards like Paul were pushed aside for the immediate affects over the years. This did not slow Cornelius. He longed to bring the fervor back to Wizardry he once knew.
That is how he actually met Paul. Cornelius one day snuck off into the woods with his old man's whiskey bottle to take a swig. He headed out towards the Queen's Bridge and on the way was drunkenly casting spells to himself, or at least trying to. As he was walking he would walk along side a man yelling at a donkey about his chicken pot pie, wearing nothing but twigs and leaves. The two of them would make eye contact. The old man seemed startled.
"YOU THERE!" the old man screamed. Cornelius would turn around and look at the old man strangely. "Yeah?" he responded. "You can see me?" Paul asked. "Uhhh. Yeah." Cornelius answered. Paul rushed over and grabbed the young man and stared at him as if he hadn't seen a soul in years. "YOU.... YOU.... Can you tell me why this horse is withholding my pot pie?" asked Paul. "I know for a FACT I got it this morning and I can't find it," he stated.
It turns out Paul had started drinking after his decline from fame. He was use to all the high elf women, finest potions money could buy and all of the fine Italian horses. But that all went away as alchemists came in and gave his craft away for a fraction. He was relegated to semi-obscurity. It also turns out he didn't realize he was invisible. On his decline from fame, he began experimenting with strange potions. People began to ignore him just about the same time he took an invisibility potion. He never correlated that they couldn't actually see him.
Cornelius saw him because he was just as a fool. While drinking and reading random spells he happen to cast a see invis spell for only a short while. That's when he happened upon Paul. Looking past the twigs and leaves, he realized this was no drunkard. This was Paul the Wizard. The same great caster that could knock back 12 shots of Dragon's Blood and then slay 500 goblins without flinching in his prime. | 33 | You're an apprentice training under one of the most power wizards in existence. The problem? He's old and an alcoholic. | 110 |
The building was nearly silent as I walked through the hall, the only sound being my fast-paced heart and footsteps. I neared the door to my apartment, and was met with a whirlwind of further emotion. An envelope was taped to the door. I recognized the handwriting inside, that six-year-old scrawl of the word “Daddy”. Tears streaming down my face, I entered my apartment and sat on the bed. There was another note in the envelope, neatly typed. It asked for fifty thousand. Money that I knew I didn’t have.
I sold it all. The apartment, the computer, the car. I scrounged up the money, and left myself with nothing. This was everything to me. My girl that I hadn’t seen in months, after that day waiting outside the school for her to come running. She never came out the doors, and I hadn’t seen her since. The note had mentioned a warehouse. I walked, the only thing with me being a backpack full of paper. Inside, she was tied to a chair, and another note lay next to her. I left the money as instructed, and untied her. We left. More tears were streaming down my face, but these ones were joyous. I had my daughter back. | 27 | Your plans have been ruined; years of work...gone. And you couldn't be happier. | 30 |
It was 1 in the morning. Carl took a long drag from his candy cigarette, then munched off the rest as he sat back in his ill-fitted desk chair. He twirled with his thumbs a bit, deciding whether he should continue his work or play solitaire on his dimly lit computer.
After touching up a progress report for his company, he'd finally finished the last of his work. Satisfied, he got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a shot of apple juice to ease his nerves. It's been a long night, and he could use a drink. Shortly after, his wife walked in and turned on the lights.
"I thought you were done drinking, Carl" she uttered under her breath.
"Shut up, Lisa. It's been a long, hard day and I needed a drink" Carl barks back.
Frustrated, Carl stormed outside the front door and pulled out another candy cigarette. As he began to chew away, his wife joined him in her slippers, bags under her eyes. She muttered, "you know, all that sugar can't be good for you. You need to quit."
"It's not that fucking easy!" Yelled Carl, in a fit of rage.
Carl ran to his old Chevy Impala, and started up the engine. As he drove away, he pulled out a bottle of sparkling cider that he kept hidden in his glove compartment and began to drink.
The next day, Carl was found dead in a ditch with his fingers still grasped tightly onto the bottle of cider. His wife always told him he drank too much. But she never knew it would have to come to this.
| 17 | Prohibition never ended, it's 2014. All other recreational drugs have been banned as well. | 23 |
I love last meals.
Seriously, they will get you whatever you want. For my, what was it, 24th time on death row, I decided to go with a nice omelet, over-easy, with an everything bagel and bacon on the side to go along with my euthanasia.
All part of a healthy breakfast.
You see, I can't die. I'm not sure why, but to this day I haven't found something on the planet Earth that will end my cheery existence on this shitty place we call home. Actually, most homes are volatile, rotten Pandora's Boxes, smiles on the outside, pure vitriol once you open the door, so it's pretty accurate. But I digress. They're strapping me into the chair again.
"The third loop usually works." I said to the beefy guard. He gave me a look that crazy people probably get all the time. I smiled politely. Mom always said smiling is how you make friend. I'm pretty sure I had a sesame seed stuck in between my teeth, but Jerry would tell me, right? That's what friends do.
Jerry or Gary fiddled with the straps. Some judge was reading something in a appropriately somber tone. Those guys were more fun when they wore wigs.
"Any final words?" They asked me. They love asking that.
I leaned over to the mike. "Foolishness."
24th word of *A Tale of Two Cities.* Just because I'm being killed doesn't mean there's no room for inside jokes, right? It's a good thing you guys are here for such a good word, though. There were a bunch of Its and Was's that were pretty lame.
Oh, wait, I never told you *why* I was here. You see | 838 | A invincible, immortal man is sentenced to "death" for a murder he didn't commit. | 526 |
They laid on their sheepskin bed in the dark, breathing intently and anxiously. Tonight was the night Joseph had been waiting for for years and years. Tonight he became a father. Tonight he would grant himself his next of kin and begin the next steps of his life. Together, they would raise a beautiful, successful boy.
They laid in the darkness for what seems like eons. Both breathing heavily, both so unsure of what to do next, the energy in the air crackling around them like sparks from a fire. Joseph had had enough. It was time.
"I went to the temple yesterday."
Joseph kept moving, sliding a hand down his wife's thigh, beginning to lean in for a kiss, a connection, a touch.
"I went to the temple in Rome yesterday."
Joseph stopped. "Why?"
"Well, when I spoke to the Rabbis originally, they..." She paused. Why was she pausing? What wasn't she telling him?
"They said I wasn't fit to bear child."
The words hung in the air, stale and cold. Joseph felt the hardness of his bed underneath him, heard the wild birds cawing outside into the night.
"Those bastards," Joseph bellowed. "Who are they to assume you can't bear children! Based on what? On their holy word? What did they even do?"
"I don't know!"
"But...why didn't you say anything? Why wouldn't you tell me this?"
"I was afraid! I know how much you-"
"You were afraid? I wanted a child! I was ready to-"
"WAIT! I haven't finished yet!"
Joseph stopped and waited. Branches outside his window cracked. The moon slid slowly across the night sky, illuminating his wife through the bitter darkness of their room.
"When I went to Rome, I had...a vision. A Pharisee was there, he had no idea about my prior examination, and he said it wasn't to be ignored."
Joseph sat up in his bed and looked at his wife. There was still information not being shared with him, secrets still left to be uncovered.
"I ask you in the name of our marriage," Joseph barely managed to let the words slink out of his throat. His pain wasn't allowing him the energy he needed. He felt hollow inside. "What are you talking about."
Joseph looked into his wife's eyes and saw an immense amount of fear in them. He realized she had no idea what was going on either, that she was just as scared, just as let down by the idea of not having children on their own. Joseph would have nobody to carry on carpentry with him, nobody to teach prayers to, no young body to yell at to go to bed each night.
Joseph fell into his wife and they embraced. Time stood still, and he wept into the shoulders of his wife with mighty heaves and booming roars. Tonight they lost a child they never had, and weren't even allowed a funeral.
"In the vision, God told me he would bear me a child anyways."
Joseph sat up, and looked at his wife. He wasn't sure what that meant.
"God told me I would bear his child, and that I wasn't to worry."
"Mary, I love you, but-"
"Joseph, I love you too. Give it time with me. I promise you, God was with me, and promised me a young healthy boy. You'll have someone to join the carpentry business yet."
Joseph contemplated the gravity of his wife's words. He knew she wanted a child too. It's why they moved to Galilee. Fine. He would trust in her this once. He will listen to his God, and trust in him to deliver what is promised. Joseph laid down, and shut his eyes. The birds cawed in mourning, the branches creaked their sorrows, and Mary slept well that night, the seed of a baby boy already firmly in her womb.
EDIT: Names were all wrong | 72 | Everyone must pass an examination, physical and mental, in order to be approved to reproduce. You've been granted permission, but your SO hasn't. | 155 |
"What is that?" I asked, pointing at the set of buttons arranged neatly in the wood paneled elevator.
"What's what, sir?" The elevator operator sighed, scratching his nose.
"That. The elevator button. With the question mark." I pointed.
The elevator operator leaned in and adjusted his glasses. He squinted. His back straightened. "Well sir, it looks to be an elevator button with a question mark on it."
I grit my teeth. "Yes. I can see that. That is literally what it is. What I'm asking, is where does the elevator go when you push the button?"
"Well sir, if you wanted to know that you should've asked it. The elevator button, if pressed, leads you somewhere."
I pinched my nose. "For the love of- *Where exactly does this elevator go if you press that button?*"
"Exactly sir? Well, if we know the rotational velocity of the universe, extrapolating from the 14 billion year lag due to lightspeed, we can thusly report it is in Sector 4.9x10^8 X37.pie. To narrow that down, we must now analyze the formation-pattern of the stars in the local cluster, and further condense that to analytical vector coordinates in 4 dimensions. Barring any disturbance from the Brown Holes, we can thusly conclude the precise location is Sub-Sub-Sub-Sector 4DDduxi09224, also known as-"
"Oh fuck this!" I shout, pressing the button. A single second later we are engulfed in massive flames and my flesh begins to melt off. The elevator box explodes, and I run around screaming. Above me, a massive, 3-headed bat monster glared down at me.
I am skewered by a trident, wreathed in flames and some sort of tarry, black dust. I am swung around by a demonic being wielding the trident, and I land next to the elevator operator. His heart is being eaten by snake babies.
***"THE PRECISE LOCATION IS SUB-SUB-SUB-SECTOR 4DDduxi09224, ALSO KNOWN AS HELL."*** The operator screams.
Then I scream. | 49 | "The elevator had an extra button, but instead of a number, it was only labeled with a question mark." | 57 |
Absurdly lengthy, got carried away, sorry about that. First time posting here, so, criticism welcome. Alternately, feel free to skip reading it, given the length. Just glad to write it.
_____
I had her.
Finally, at last, I had caught up to her. Julia Brenner, the infamous hacker, the woman that had stolen tens of millions of dollars from JPMorgan and Bank of America. Seventeen years I had spent chasing her, alongside the other fifteen members of the Special Case Unit, a mostly independent subsidiary of the Financial Crimes Section. I was just a kid when she first struck, a fresh law school graduate that'd just gotten through Quantico. The internet was relatively new then, and so the FBI created a mixed task force -- internet specialists, old-fashioned investigators, white collar officers, agents with international experience, and sen a couple lawyers like me. Nowadays, a digital financial crime task force would involve only techies and financial analysts, but that kind of crime was new then, and the FBI hadn't known how to handle it.
I was the only original member of the task force left at this point -- everyone else had retired, risen up through the ranks, or transferred out after years of frustrating setback. But the FBI had always maintained that breakdown for the unit -- tradition, I suppose. We never minded. Chasing Brenner was a marathon, not a sprint, and having such a varied force made it easier in the long-term. Especially since we spent a lot of our time handling cases unrelated to Brenner -- sometimes, months would go by before we'd get a break relating to her, and the FBI didn't just let us sit around during that period. So they'd assign us backlogged cases from around the country, and we'd solve them -- and for that purpose, the well-rounded team was nice.
But tonight, I was not working on a backlogged case, or handling some administrative issue. I had finally found her. It was an accident -- I was in West Virginia, handling a child pornography case from the mid-2000s, when I saw her. I actually *saw her*. She was standing at a gas station in a tiny town, a place I'd visited to arrest a man that liked to trick teenage girls into thinking they were modeling, then post their photos online. And while I was stopping to get gas, I glanced inside the station, and saw her, buying a drink. What were the chances? I had read about serial killers being caught in traffic stops or because of parking tickets, but actually running into the woman I had chased for years? It was unbelievable.
I followed her home. I am not sure why -- I could have just sprung into action then. I think I was just in pure disbelief. There was no mistake, though -- when she stepped out of her car outside of a relatively modest home in the countryside, I saw her head-on. It was definitely her. While she went inside, I called the local police department, requesting backup. The dispatcher's answer infuriated me, but it did not surprise me -- it'd take half an hour for this small-town office to put together a force to raid the home. They'd need to call in all their off-duty officers to do it. I said it was okay, that we had time. She hadn't seen me, so it could wait. Right after the dispatcher hung up, I called Washington, letting the task force know I'd found her. It took a couple minutes to get off that call -- the disbelief in their voices echoed that in my own mind.
It seemed like an hour passed in the next few minutes, but a glance at my car radio told me that my backup was still 20 minutes out. I tried to calm my nerves. It was tough -- Brenner had become almost an obsession to me. She was the focus of my entire professional life. Getting her wouldn't just be good for my career -- it'd be a milestone for me, personally. I tried to contemplate what I'd do next. The Justice Department had talked to me awhile back about becoming an assistant federal prosecutor, something that'd give me a chance to really put my law degree to work. Maybe I could still get that job. Heck, if I bagged Brenner, maybe I could actually get an appointment as a full US Attorney.
I was snapped out of my thoughts when a dark, four-door sedan pulled up outside the house. A middle-aged man in a suit jumped out, looked right at me, then ran into the home. He'd made me, I knew it immediately. I glanced at the radio again. Still 15 minutes until backup arrived. Through the window, I could see him talking to her, could see her run up the house's sole staircase to its second level. They were going to run. I couldn't wait. I called the local PD again, told them I was going in, to send backup ASAP. I got out of my car, put on the vest in the back, pulled my weapon, and sprinted around to the back of the house. It was risky to go in alone -- FBI procedure forbade it -- but there was no way I was letting her get away.
Kicking down a door isn't like what they show in the movies. You don't just stand in front of it and kick -- that's a great way to get shot. You have to stand to the side, and kick sideways at the door -- that way, you're protected from any gunfire by the wall. FBI Agents are trained to do this, but I hadn't done it since I was in the academy 17 years ago, and so it took me a few kicks before the back door finally flew open. So much for the element of surprise.
I raced into the house, weapon raised, entering the living room from the rear. Standing in the middle of it, seemingly at ease, was the middle-aged suit. I leveled my weapon at him, and in a quiet but clear voice, identified myself. "Federal agent. Put your hands up above your head. Right now." As I spoke, I circled around behind him, so I could keep a bead on him, while also glancing at the staircase that Brenner had run up a few minutes prior.
The man seem nonplussed. He slowly turned to face me, then cleared his throat. "Special Agent Youre, that won't be necessary. There's no danger to you here."
The man's composure had thrown me off a little, but his knowledge of my name threw me off even more. "How do you know my -- I SAID KEEP YOUR HANDS UP!" I yelled the last few words, trying to intimidate the man, who was calmly reaching into his jacket.
"Relax," the man said, keeping his hand flat, so as to show he was not grabbing a weapon. Were I better trained, I'd have shot him right then. But I'd never actually drawn my weapon in anger before, and I was uneasy about firing into someone that seemed more in control than I. The man pulled out a badge wallet, and showed it to me. "My name is Jim Prompt, and I'm with the Justice Department. Do you recognize the ID card as real?"
I looked carefully at the card without lowering my weapon. Even at this range, I knew it was real. The way the light reflected off it, the watermarks that were visible -- that was a Justice Department ID. And not just any ID. It was the ID of...the Chief of Staff of the Justice Department? Suddenly, I realized the man was looking at me, expecting an answer. I nodded, and lowered my gun. I was about to open my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand.
"Look, Agent, the local police will be here in a few minutes, and miss Brenner and I need to be gone by then. So I will try to keep this brief. Miss Brener has never committed a crime. The money she "stole," was always stolen from account setup by the FBI using FBI funds, which she immediately returned to the FBI. She's actually on our payroll, though obviously under another name."
I did not even know how to respond. After a moment, I spoke. "If she's a FBI employee, why have I been chasing her?" As I spoke, she came downstairs, carrying a duffel bag. She barely glanced at me before making her way out to Prompt's car.
"The last two decades have been a difficulty time for the agency, financially," Prompt responded, while taking out a handkerchief to wipe away the bit of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. "Our appropriations were slashed repeatedly during the 1990s as the nation tried to balance its budget, and in the 2000s, the FBI saw its anti-crime funding gutted to free up money for counter-terrorism," Prompt went onto say. "We needed to do something to get more money, lest criminals stay on the streets. Something drastic -- something sexy. Something Congressmen would want to be on-record combating. Something like, say, a financial hacker that'd done serious damage to the stock market."
I stared in shock at Prompt. "This was all...the task force, the chase, the crimes...you mean, it was all..." I did not even want to say the words. A lump formed in my throat. I had spent the last seventeen years of my life -- nearly half of it -- all doing what? "You're telling me my entire career has been spent on a *budget gimmick*?" Even as I said the words, I knew they were true. It all made sense, now. How she was always a step ahead of us. How she always erased the history of those accounts so effectively. How she would disappear for months at a time, leaving those of us in the Special Case Unit with time to solve dozens of unrelated crimes.
Prompt interrupted my thoughts by leveling a gun at me. To this day, I'm not sure where he got it from without me noticing. Maybe I was just too lost in thought. But suddenly, it was there, in his hand, pointing right at me. "Look, Agent. I'm sorry, but, we're out of time here. There's two ways this ends. Either I kill you, or..."
_________________________
I had them.
I knew it from the moment the Senate Appropriations Committee Chairman started speaking. When he began by praising my service, by lauding my heroism in taking a bullet while pursuing Brenner, I knew I had them. One after another, the members of the committee congratulated me on my promotion to Supervising Special Agent, and thanked me for my service. "A great man," "the embodiment of the public servant," "a true hero."
How could they ever refuse "a true hero's" request for additional FBI funding? As they spoke, I glanced at Prompt, and we both smiled.
We had them. | 18 | A special detail of FBI detectives has been following a criminal mastermind for years, but has never been able to make anything stick. He seems to be toying with them. As they are closing in, they find that he has been telling the truth the whole time and is totally innocent. | 43 |
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