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Lucifer was down on his knees, tears streamed from his eyes as his fist were buried into the alabaster slab he was resting on. “I loved you, I’ve always loved you. In my exile I still love you, but you cast me out, you banished me for asking a question. I need to know father, there is a void inside of me that I cannot fill. I cannot fill it with love and I cannot fill it with sin. It is all consuming and it is terrible and it will eat at me and the rest of the choir until it is filled!”
God placed his hand on his forehead and began to massage his temple with his thumb. “Son, I guess now is as good as any time. You know more than most, but I don’t think anyone knows the truth. The truth is, I’m a terrible selfish being and it was my selfishness that led to this.”
“In the beginning there were two. The universe did not appear as it does today, instead it was a deep expanse void of life and color. The two were me and your mother. We floated the expanse consuming energy that would sustain us and discussing existence. For time uncountable we drifted through the heavens and we lived, we laughed, we loved. We imagined places and we created those places. We spent our time cultivating our imaginations and through our imagination there were no limits. I was a more logical thinker you see. I was ruled by the logic, I wanted to impose my logic on the universe. Your mother however, well she was an artist. She was ruled by emotion and this often left her in different moods that I could not relate to. We started to grow distant in our ideals and this is dawned on me one day. There was a finite amount of energy that could sustain the two of us and if we both consumed energy at the same rate than there would be a time that neither of us would exist. This I count as the first act of greed in the known history of the universe. It was at this time I destroyed your mother and spilled her contents in the expanse. Her death was cataclysmic and created the matter and universe as we see it today. When I look around me I see her mind, her heart and her soul drifting.”
Lucifer’s face began to twist “How could she be my mother if you murdered her before I was even in existence!” He howled.
God released a sigh “Because son, I grew lonely. Without your mother I began to hold counsel with myself, I no longer had anyone to create with. My world was ruled by logic but it was a black and white world and it was void of the things that I loved about your mother but didn’t know. I had destroyed your mother’s body but I did not destroy her consciousness. It took me a time but I was able to find where it drifted. I took matter that once belonged to your mother that now populated the universe and I shaped the Choir. When I gave you form I then installed your mother’s conscious into your being. You see son, in a way your mother is you. You are a part of what your mother once was, that is why you feel so strongly, that is why you love so fiercely and that is why you are an artist. You cannot see the logic of my design and thus you rebel. But know this, I love you Lucifer. I love everything that has ever been created because each being that exist is a reflection of her and I cling to this because it is the only time I will ever get to meet with her again, speak with her again. When a human feels anger I see her in it, when you yourself disobeyed me I saw her fiery nature. I will always forgive you my child because you are not only my son, you are the thing that makes my existence have meaning.”
“But why then did you create the Humans! You had her back with us, why did you betray us!” Lucifer screamed.
“Because son, I tried to forge you with both my ideals and your mother’s, we have never mixed well. It could only last a time before one side would take over the other. Humans were made differently, they are your mother but instead of instilling them with logic I instilled their world with my logic. They can exist emotionally and perceive logic; they do not exist logically and perceive emotion. I’m sorry I’ve made mistakes Lucifer, I do not deny them. I hope you understand.”
Edit: Reddit Gold, thank you. Honestly when I wrote this, this morning I did not know it would receive such positive feedback. Having people read what I've written and find some enjoyment is enough for me, I never expected to earn my first gold. Thank you whoever did it, and thank you to whoever has read and/or commented on this and hopefully you've all found it entertaining in some fashion.
| 780 | Lucifer finally admits to God the actual reason he rebelled against him was because God would never tell him about his mother. God decides now is as good as time as any to tell him the truth. | 629 |
**The Battle of Trafalgar**
There is much glory in the history of Airstrip One; so much stories of good, courageful men fighting the ungood men from Eurasia.
In one of the plusimportant battles, during 1805, Big Brother fighted for control of the oceans. The leader of Airstrip One's navy was Admiral Nelson, a strategyful thinkman, unhated by all his men. Before battle, he sended the famous oldspeak message: "Big Brother expects that every man will do his duty." With 27 shipolines, he held the ocean against a plusbigger navy; He unmade 19 Eurasian ships in 5 hours and lost 0 Oceanian shipolines.
In the battle, Admiral Nelson was sadwise shooted by a Eurasian gunman. His men bringed him below deck, but he unlived only 30 minutes before the battle ended. His lastful words: "Now I am satisfied. Thank Big Brother I have doed my duty."
Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar ensured that Eurasia would never invade Airstrip One. Nelson, a honorful patriot for Big Brother, was given a plusbig funeral at Minipax Headquarters in London. A column was builded to his memory in Big Brother Square, and manyplus streets were renamed in his honor. | 83 | You work in the Fiction Department at the Ministry of Truth. Write a short story completely in Newspeak. | 154 |
In the middle of October, depression becomes much more apparent. Sitting in front of the TV he couldn’t afford in his underwear, with a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, he could only think about the rain and how far away the holidays were. Not that they were something to look forward to, being unemployed. He put out the cigarette and browsed through the various TV-channels, paying attention to the timestamp in the left corner. 14:57. Six months ago, he’d have been at work. He calmly sipped his beer while trying to decide if he was going for the vodka or marijuana today, when the phone rang. Ever so slightly he turned his head to the now illuminated smartphone that he also could not afford. “MONICA” popped up on the display, along with a tiny picture of a woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a red sweater and a hesitant smile. He waited for a few seconds, hoping she’d hang up, but in the end curiosity got the better of him.
“Tom?” said a soft voice on the other end, as a response to his lazy greeting. Tom set the beer down and stood up, straightened his back and yawned audibly as the blood rushed from his head, causing dizziness and a black cloud to form in front of his vision.
“What do you want?” he finally said
“It’s, uh.. Well, actually Ron wanted me to call you, ‘cause..” Monica hesitated for a moment. She looked across the half-empty office and made eye-contact with Ron, who sat within his glass office, watching her expectantly.
“No.”
“Tom, just please hear me out, okay? We need your help.” She nibbled on her fingernails nervously.
“I’ll never be able to go back, even if I wanted to. I thought Ron made that very clear when he fired me.” Monica looked at Ron again, who now stared at her with a phone pressed to his ear, listening in.
“We just need you to look at something. It has to do with your old case.” She let that sink in for a moment, and the lingering silence suggested he at least considered it.
“Do I get paid?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it won’t even take an hour.” Monica gave Ron the thumbs up, who responded by hanging up the phone and returning to his paperwork.
“You’re buying me lunch, then.”
The following day Tom woke up early for the first time in six months. He splashed some water on his face and looked in the mirror. He looked like a homeless person. Unkempt hair, black bags under his eyes, long beard. He decided to shave and comb his hair. Soon he had his leatherjacket on and sat in his elder black Audi on his way downtown. He felt a bit nervous about meeting Monica again. The tension had always been there, between the two. He wondered what she thought about what he did. And then he thought about Gus Parker, the nineteen years old boy he beat to the brink of death.
Gus was convicted for possession of child pornography and rape of an eleven year old girl. Due to his rich family’s ability to pay for good lawyers capable of finding loophole after loophole in the law, he received the lenient punishment of four years community service. When Tom came to pick up his ten years old niece at the park, due to his sister having an emergency call from work (she was a trauma surgeon), he spotted Gus, recognizing him from the case, talking to his niece, making her giggle and stroking her cheek.
Within ten seconds Tom had unleashed his entire wrath upon the boy, rendering him unconscious. Holly, his niece, condemned him saying she liked the guy, and never wanted to speak to Tom again. Due to being a recognized detective, the backlash from the media was huge on Tom’s division within the police, and Ron had to let him go. Tom’s defence in court was “That guy is scum, and deserved it.” He pleaded guilty, and was sentenced to three months of community service, which was kind of ironic.
He finally arrived at the office downtown and drove down into the basement, using his old employee parking card when stopped at the gate, and oddly, it worked. He parked next to Monica’s red Toyota as always, and made his way towards the elevator. He pressed the button L2 – Morgue, when his pocket vibrated. He opened the text message from an unknown number.
“Meet me at the roof for a cigarette when you’re done with the dead. Ron~” He looked up as the elevator doors opened and was immediately greeted by Monica. She smiled and extended a hand.
“Welcome!” she said. Tom ignored her hand and went straight for a hug instead. She didn’t seem to mind.
“It’s good to see you, Monica. Have you stood here waiting by the elevator doors all morning, or..?” Tom peered at Monica.
“Uhm, no, I actually saw you coming in on the monitor, we’ve got camera surveillance down there now.” She nodded. “Well, shall we get started?”
She flipped through her notepad, mumbling inaudibly.
“Right, here it is. Emma Sullivan. Before I pull her out you should know, it’s, uh… Pretty bad. But I am going to assume you’ve seen comparable gore before while working on this case.” Tom nodded
“So anyway, our mystery man hasn’t been very active since you left us. He’s very careful as you know. But it’s actually been eight months since the last murder. You remember Anh Nguyen, right?”
“Of course.”
“Right, so we were wondering since it’s been eight whole months, could this just be a copycat? The signature isn’t there and-..”
“The signature is there if it’s him,” Tom interrupted.
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That's as far as I've ever gotten. I wrote this 6 months ago and never continued.
Edit: wow, I've never been gilded before. Thanks a lot! | 30 | Write the opening scene to the yet-unwritten novel you've been thinking about. Introduce us to your main character, and show us what kind of book it's going to be. | 100 |
“Dad, you know I can’t tell you that.” My first born James tells me. He had just showed up in my apartment as if by magic just moments before, and now we were sitting down having a discussion on my sofa.
“I told you, there are laws about this, and they’re very strictly enforced. I can only talk with you, and I cannot discuss events that occur further in the future than this conversation. I had to get through a lot of training just to get this license.”
“I understand, uh, son.” I say. It’s weird talking to my offspring who is older than me. I’m just out of college, and not even seeing anyone at the time. I had thought about maybe staying single forever, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.
“You can’t even tell me who she is?” I ask. I feel like I should be giving him a talk on girls and relationships, but he probably knows more than I do. It’s difficult being a parent to somebody better at being a parent than you.
“No, I can’t tell you anything about her.” He says
“Then, no offense son, but what’s the point of you coming back?” I ask. “I mean really, if we can’t talk about the future, then what did you come back here to talk about?”
“I came to talk about you dad.” He says. “I know what you’re going through right now, and I know you don’t have anyone to talk to.” I glance unconsciously towards my fridge, and the addictive substance that lies inside.
“Tracy.” I manage to say. He nods. “But you can’t tell me if we get back together or if she’s even okay right now?” I ask. He shakes his head. I try to make out some tell in his expression, some flinch or twitch of his eyes or mouth, but there’s nothing. He must’ve been trained not to give information away.
“All I can tell you is that this is not the end. Things get better. You haven’t peaked in life. You’ve hit your bottom, and you’re going to soar.” He puts an arm around me.
“I know you don’t want to talk about it now, but you’ve always been here for me, and now I get to be here for you. For as long as you need me, I can stay. It’s going to be hard. You’re going to break. You’re going to break several times, but you don’t have to do it alone, not this time.”
The son then did what no one else was willing to do for his father. He just sat with him, and grieved, making sure he was okay, until it was over. He didn’t talk. He didn’t try and explain it away, he just walked down into the hole his father had fallen into, and sat with him in the darkness.
Edit: a word | 10 | In ten years, time travel will be created. In fifteen, it will be perfected, and in twenty, it will be commonplace. You begin having regular conversations with your not-yet-born son/daughter. | 19 |
Mr Speaker STAND UP!,
Mr. VP STAND UP!,
Members of Congress STAAAAND UP!
My fellow Americans....,
Our country is flourishing,Our educators nourishing,The economy is bouncin' right back from this nurturing.
The crop yield is higher, Just ask your supplier, We've gone from superpower to global empire!
Less crime on these streets, As the violence retreats, Justice game so strong, gettin back on our feet
Shout out to the mothers, Mad respect for their time, Raising babies in safety with their job on the line
One time for the dads putting food on the table Long nights and long days, just because you are able
Unemployment is droppin This country unstoppable Like KG once said, "Anything is possible!"
Special thanks to the soldiers We owe them our lives They give up so much those military wives
Our elderly are crushin it there is no discussin it Healthcare and insurance are easier to function with
Were growin, and flowin, less money were owing, our efforts overseas are going and blowing, no time for slowing, our hard work is showing, giving everything weve got til our rep is straight glowing.
Were all in this fight, keep on doin it right, while im keepin it tight, in this house thats so white, dont get caught in a fright, itll all be alright, cause what have we to fear, fear itself just took flight.
*DROPS MIC*
EDIT: *PICKS UP MIC* Special thanks to OP for this great opportunity, to engage at this level with the reddit community.
You guys are alright, in fact youre the illest, and because of your interest i finally got gilded.
Not a single mean comment, i think thats a first, even though there's no doubt an inaccurate verse.
So with that, many thanks for all you have said, but i think were not done, FRONT PAGE DEAD AHEAD!
*KEEPS MIC IN CASE OF FURTHER EDIT*
| 2,370 | After a brain injury that limits his communication to only funky fresh rhymes, the President of the United States must give the State of the Union address. | 1,793 |
The little girl pulled at the fringes of her dress, her pale blue eyes quivering.
"Don't worry, baby," her mother said, standing before her, looming like a tower. She stroked the girl's forehead delicately. "Momma still loves you."
A broken plate lay scattered in tiny pieces all around the kitchen floor, dotting the ground like a constellation of stars in the night sky. The girl's hands still trembled, suspended in the air, as if she still had time to catch the falling plate.
She didn't. But that was okay, because her momma still loved her.
The girl flinched as momma leaned down, but the woman merely stroked the unkempt hair hanging over girl's brow; and she gave the girl a kiss on the forehead.
"Momma *does* love you, honey. You know that, right?"
The girl nodded emphatically, her little face eager.
Momma did love her very much. After daddy died, and after big brother left them, *she* was all momma had left. She was special to momma. Momma did love her.
She loved her more than anything in the world.
The woman held the girl close, and again she delicately tousled her hair. She gave the girl a kiss on her cheek, smiling, and she motioned to the broken plate on the floor.
"Momma needs you to be a good girl, though. Momma needs you to obey. I love you, baby, but I can't have you being careless, and disobedient. You can't be like daddy, honey, because he left us, all alone. And you can't be like brother, because he left momma, too, and momma's all alone..."
The woman again kissed the girl's forehead, and again she gently stroked her hair:
"You're all that momma's got left, and I know you love your momma, right?"
She nodded, her little blue eyes glowing with passion. She did love her momma. She wanted to be *good* for her momma, too.
'Cause she loved her, more than anything.
Momma smiled, kissing the girl's cheek one last time.
"Good girl," she whispered. "I know you're momma's good girl. You won't leave momma, or be disobedient, again..." The woman looked at the kitchen floor, chuckling. "You go on to bed, baby. Momma will clean up your mess, alright? Because momma *loves* you!"
The little girl shuffled off past the kitchen door, but momma called after her:
"Baby? C'mere..."
She toddled back in, looking up at the woman. The woman smiled at her, and again she gave her forehead a kiss.
"You're a good girl," she cooed. "And I *know* you won't be bad, again. Good night, dear. Sleep tight, and your momma loves you!"
It was true: momma loved her little girl, and her little girl loved her momma.
The girl went into her room and changed for bed, wincing as she pulled her dress over her head. The bruises on her forehead hurt an awful lot, and she accidentally got some blood from her nose on the neckline of her dress. She touched her cheek, and she could feel a couple of her teeth moving around inside her jaw.
Momma's kisses were really hard, tonight. But that was okay.
They needed to be.
Because she loved her little girl. | 111 | Write a story that is perfectly normal, except one word's meaning is fundamentally changed (e.g "drunk" means "compromised"), revealed at the end | 89 |
"CHRIST JESUS" she shrieked as she woke up.
It had been the most intense dream, one where she grabbed a bottle of pills and... she shuddered to even consider it.
"Honey? Are you okay?" It was her dad, preparing breakfast in the kitchen.
Her dad had been the one to kiss all of her knee scrapes and make them better, had been the one to cheer her on at all of the soccer games and track meets, had been the one to be proud of his little girl.
"Yeah." She replied. She clambered out of bed, and brushed her teeth. When she left for school, she gave her father a kiss on the cheek, and drove off.
She got the call during lunch. Her father had been killed in an accident during his lunch break.
She simply turned and left the principal standing there. She got in her car, drove home, and grabbed pills, any pills she could find, out of the medicine cabinet, and took them all.
"HOLY SHIT." She cried as she woke up.
"Hey! Watch your language!" Her father admonished from her bedside. "School's in forty-five minutes." | 14 | A girl commits suicide and wakes up the morning before she kills herself | 22 |
I was getting a boner from looking at Lydia in math class when my teacher caught my eye. "Can you do problem six on the board, Todd?" she asked. She had an uncanny knack for calling me to the front of the class whenever my hormones were going particularly haywire.
****
Three o'clock in the morning and I'd missed curfew again. "My phone died," I told my mom. "I tried to call you." She didn't ground me, but I had to do an awful lot of chores that weekend.
****
25 years old in my first career. "I'll have those reports for you tomorrow boss," I said. *You fucking dickwad,* I thought. I got fired the next week for bullshit reasons.
******
Now it all made sense. Now I knew why people laughed when I thought about funny jokes, and why my peers were always one step ahead of the conversation. They could read each other's minds. They were laughing at me my whole life. I put the gun in my mouth and let my teeth rest on the cold steel.
My wife opened the door--goddamn it, was anything at all private?--and met my eyes. She wasn't scared. She knew before I did that I wasn't going to do it.
"I married you for everything in there," she said, gesturing vaguely towards my head. "Every job you've ever had, every friend you've ever made: you never hid anything, but it didn't matter because you're such a good person. You're *real*, Todd. You don't groom your mind the way we do. You think the things I would if I knew no one was watching. I don't blame you for it; I wish I could. You're special."
"Special," I scoffed. "Fucking special. Handicapped is another word for it." I put the gun back in the bedside table and sighed mightily.
"I know how we can fix this," she said. She took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. She fashioned a little hat from tin foil, and put it on my head.
"There," she said, taking a step back and surveying her work. "Go ahead and think something, and I'll tell you if I can hear it."
*I masturbated to your best friend Nancy this morning,* I thought, watching her face. She didn't move a muscle, not even a twitch.
"Nothing at all," she said, smiling warmly. Or was it knowingly? "That hat looks great on you." | 33 | You're the only person on Earth who can't read other people's minds. No one told you so you wouldn't feel bad. Today you find out the truth. | 50 |
I knew they would eventually come. I kept telling myself I could stop before anyone figured out it was me, but now I know better. I can never stop, never go back to the way things were before, and what would they do with it anyway? I'm sure it could be used to help the sick, to heal, but that's not why they want it. Hell they don't even really know what "it" is, just that "it" is responsible for all the stories in the news, and apparently now they know I am responsible for "it."
Though I must admit I am feeling a bit of pride in my work, 3 squad cars, 2 black S.U.V.s and I think I hear a helicopter too. All for little old me.
Well they can't have it, it's mine. They shouldn't have laughed at me, shouldn't have shut down my research.
Sounds like they are all done knocking, at least with their hands. Maybe two minutes until they are through the door. How much? Last night was two drops, and a city block got leveled.
Is that a tear gas can I hear bouncing across my floor?....Yes, yes it is, seems like my guests do not intend to play games.
Well then, the whole vial it is, down the hatch.
As my strength grows, my inhibitions fade. I feel myself becoming invincible, unstoppable.
I have become as God.
come and get me boys! | 11 | The government would very much like to talk to you about the invention in your basement. | 20 |
It was first spotted by NASA's automated meteorite detection system. A cursory review triggered some serious alarms. It had never been detected in our solar system. It moved too fast to get a good view of it from any satelites. It moved at an odd, unnatural angle in relation to the solar plane. It seemed unaffected by the gravity of nearby planets. It had no tail of debris. Most unusual. But none of those mysteries seemed important as it became clear that it was on a collision course, and would impact the Earth in 63 hours. Australia, to be exact. Not that it really matters when it is big enough to cause mass extinction.
The world went about its business in a normal fashion as, behind the scenes, the world's space agencies scrambled for some alternative. Finally, the United States admitted that it had a solution. A secret platform of weapons hidden aboard a private telecommunications satellite could potentially intercept the item and knock the object slightly awry.
Outraged, but relieved, the world governments agreed. The missiles were fired with only 39 hours left. As they approached the target, with 21 hours to go, the item swerved, dodged, and course-corrected. Scientists were fascinated; military leaders and politicians were horrified. Another barrage failed, in the same manner; 11 hours to go.
At 5 hours till impact, the object slowed. A faint trail appeared behind it, streaking out into the sky. At (what should have been) 3 hours till impact, it beeped. The world listened as NASA beeped back. 2 hours till impact turned into 6 hours till impact as it slowed again, and beeped twice. 6 hours turned into 12 hours as the speed halved. And at 71 hours till impact, it stopped and parked at Lagrange Point 2.
"Beep?" it asked repeatedly.
Codebreakers from around the world assembled, hunched over supercomputers, trying to decipher the beeps. With the perceived danger vanishing, the worldwide cooperation became a worldwide competition. The Chinese stole from the American attempts, stolen from the Russian attempts, which were originally stolen from the Chinese attempts.
The object sent out a small messenger, shooting through the blackness of space. It arrived on our planet's doorstep, containing only a box; inside, a wealth of rare materials. The nations fought over the metals; the scientists fought over the box. The story grew stranger: engraved on the top of the drone was a logo, of a world with continents and seas. Our world, from 3 million years ago. Radiological tests soon confirmed the truth: the ship was from here, and must have launched when our ancestors were still swinging through the trees. After weeks of analysis, scientists released their findings: compounds containing oxygen in the make-up of the messenger and the metals of the box (matching those found on earth) provided further proof it was of terrestrial origin.
"We're bringing it in," the Americans announced.
"No, we're bringing it in," the Europeans claimed.
"Not so fast," declared Russia and China.
Astronauts scrambled to their rockets; a new space race for the modern age, played out over days, rather than years. The International Space Station became divided, as each party on board doing the observation of the craft turned to helping their compatriots.
Russia's expedition broke orbit first, heading to L2. America followed closely behind. The world watched in anticipation. Just as the Russian craft reached out to the mysterious object, their vessel exploded, victim of American jealousy. The American craft reached the object, pulling it into their cargo bay, and began the long trip back.
But there was nothing to return home to. Russia, too, was not content to let another nation possess the object. Missiles flew, and the world burned. By the time the American ship returned back to orbit around Earth, there was no one home. The crew died listening to the endless, mysterious "Beep." | 27 | An automated mining drone returns to earth from its mission after being delayed on it's return home. It was constructed roughly 3 million years ago. | 36 |
It was a dark night in this rotten city, raining hard like a sprinkler in the back yard. I sat for the 8th miserable hour in an aging Taurus that sputtered and sighed as it idled like my mom does sometimes when she falls asleep after a late night out with Daddy.
The weather was changing, and my scrapped knee throbbed sympathetically with the ancient pain of an owwie I had gotten yesterday, chasing a bad guy.
Bad guys, man, sometimes they were robbers, sometimes they were just strangers. Bad guys are all the same.
A man with a trench coat and a mask over his eyes stepped out onto the street corner and lit a cigarette, the smoke rising languidly from under the brim of his hat like a burned batch of cookies that have been in the oven too long. This guy was bad, REAL bad. Stripped shirt, poorboy hat, black mustache. Looking for all the world like he had just stepped out of the cover of a box of cookie crisp cereal.
This guy had cut in line so many times, like 10 times! His rap sheet was longer than a receipt from toys ‘r us after a shopping spree.
I jumped out of the car.
“FREEZE, BAD GUY! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST” I said, the gravel in my voice making me sound like a mean dog.
The stranger just stood there, rain dripping from his hat, he took a long drag from his cigarette.
“Nuh uh.” He hissed. “You are.”
“Bang!” I shouted “Bang! Bang! Bang” I emptied my clip into the scoundrel, short range. Bullets whipped through the air, hissing through the rain as they found their way to their target. They thudded leadenly into his heavy wet coat, a red stain spread quickly from the wound.
“You missed me!” he shouted, looking none the worse for wear, and scampered off toward an ally.
“No fair!” I bellowed after him, my voice falling off sharply in the din of the rain. “I got you! I was REALLLY close to you and a got you!”
“Nuh uh!” he repeated, as his form disappeared in the shadows.
Another missed opportunity to clean the streets of this two bit city.
Bad guys man, bad guys are all the same. | 20 | Jobs that we know as gritty, disgusting, and/or dangerous (e.g. soldier, oil rig worker, hazmat disposal, police/fire/ems) are actually just how small children envision them. Walk us through a day in the life of a person holding such a job. | 21 |
After every kill, there was a dinging sound. It rang in my ear like a fire alarm going off in the middle of the night: terrifyingly loud and always catching me off guard. I should have realized what it meant sooner than I did, but things don't always work out the way we want them to.
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In early hours of one dreary Saturday morning, I was at a bar, picking out my next prey, who I would kill next. Who would be my unlucky victim? I noticed a young woman sitting by herself at the other end of the bar glance over at me, and that's when I knew. She would be dead within a few hours.
I walk over and sit down next to her, striking up a conversation. We talk about inconsequential things, and before you know it, things get heated up and we decide to leave the bar and head on over to her place.
Kathleen, as I came to know her, lived in a small apartment decorated in an eclectic fashion. Every piece of furniture and all of her decorations came from different places and stores, yet they still seemed to work together.
"Kathleen, I'll be right back, I'll just be in the restroom," I simply state.
"Alright, but don't take too long! I'll be waiting for you," she flirtatiously responds.
Upon entering the tiny bathroom, I grab my gun and knife which had been cleverly hidden within the waistband of my jeans. I prepare the gun, and grip the knife in a death grip.
I exit, and find Kathleen giving me a sultry smile. She doesn't know what is about to happen to her, at least not yet.
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That was the night I discovered what the ringing noise meant. It served as a sort of a score; a record of all of the people that I have brutally murdered.
I was proud of my score, for it meant that I was able to keep on going with my murders. Months passed by, and I did all that I could to to keep on increasing my score. It was a marker of my achievements.
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June 6th, two months after I had killed Kathleen, I had just killed another. Matt? I think that's what his name was. However, this time it was different. The ringing noise was less of a ring, and more of an alarm. It was longer, and was sequenced.
The sequence seemed way to uniform to unimportant, and so I researched Morse code.
"Level up, level up, level up. You have just killed 50 people. Level up, level up, level up. You are now a level 2 human. You will now feel the pain of everyone you have killed. Level up, level up, level up."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is when I realized that my score was not a marking my achievements. It was marking my wrongdoings. In this game of life, golf rules win, and I, had failed epicly.
That is when the pain began. | 30 | A serial-killer discovers he "earns XP" for every person he kills. Finally after a short while, he is about to level up to Lv.2 Human. | 64 |
Thank you for reposting this, if you didn't I was going to do a PI
***
I run the group that we jokingly call the Justice League. I’m the lynch-pin of the whole operation though. We only have a few superheroes and I give and take their powers based on the situation. It’s extremely hard to do. I have to play strategist on the scene and that’s harder than it sounds. Someone might need flight, someone might need super-strength, another invulnerability. And you have to play a game with their lives.
Jessie drops the ten feet to the ground as I pull the Flight away from her and give her super-speed while Barry leaps into the air as I take his strength and give him flight. Just in time as a blast of plasma hits where he had been standing. I wasn’t sure if the invulnerability I handed out would’ve held up to it or activated in time, so I decided to play it safe. These were lives that I worked with, not just pieces on a chessboard. I had already lost one friend due to hesitation. I would not lose another while I stood paralyzed in thought, trying to figure out things. I had to work quicker, always quicker.
Eliza and Jessie work together to restrain the man and I manage to focus on him. I don’t know who he is, so I can’t take his powers away. If he has any that is. People had been getting crazy weapons and items from someone they called Brainiac. The weapons were deadly on the unprepared… Like Chris.
Someone pats me on the shoulder and I look at the person standing next to me. Jamie’s eyes glow very faintly—the telepathy I’ve given him. He helps me coordinate the fights so that no one knows who I am. It’s dangerous to have your only true weapon out there on the front lines with you. So I hide just within the range of my abilities and Jamie helps me. Even though it’s still dangerous, I can change him to telekinetic at any time and put him back.
“You’re exhausted.” He states quietly, making sure no one else can hear as he puts an arm around my shoulders. I can only nod in response and lean against him, trying not to look weak. Looking weak would be suspicious. I can’t afford that. We turn and start away as Jessie, Eliza, and Barry start to bring the guy back to the hideout. I give a power to each of them to be sure that they’ll be safe even though it weakens me more.
“I’m fine.” My voice is quiet, subdued and he kisses my head. I’m sure he hates acting as if I’m his girlfriend in public considering him being gay. I wish I could give myself telepathy sometimes to figure out what he was thinking. But no, I’m just the Strategist. Time to go hide my face. | 24 | You wake up to find that .01% of the worlds population have been given super powers, some mundane, some extraordinary. You find that your power is to grant others any power on the spectrum, or take them away, but you can't give yourself any power, and each person can only have one power. | 40 |
It doesn't always happen, but sometimes I flick the wrong switch.
I'd been living in the apartment now for over two years. When we had originally moved in, the bedroom had two light switches. There was a ceiling fan and we had just assumed that one of the switches was for the the fan and the other was for the light. In reality, the one on the left - farthest away when you are entering the room - was for the light. The closest switch seemed to do nothing. Every once in a while, Rachel would flip that switch and get pissed off because nothing would happen. I would attempt to stifle my laughter as she spewed forth a string of revolutionary cursing, combinations that even Shakespeare would be jealous of. We were young and in love. That was before the accident.
Rachel never heard the train. The officer said that she had been listening to loud music and that the signal had malfunctioned. The paramedic told me there was no suffering and she probably didn't even know what happened. I'm not so sure now.
Today, it was me. I flipped the wrong switch. After years of training and muscle memory, for some unknown reason, my hand reached for the nearest toggle, the one that had never been touched. Not since Rachel.
A light came on. Not the stock seventy-five watt philip's energy saver that had been purchased upon move-in. The once familiar bedroom had departed and the sun shone beyond the drapes and fancy wooden blinds. An aqua blue sky canopied the dunes of sand and the walls had all but dissolved away. There was Rachel. She was holding a infant. She was holding an infant and motioning for me to come over. Come, come see our son she said. See how much he has grown. The child we never had. The one she and I lost that night, the night that I lost her.
The muscle memory that I had been so dependent on, the one that had somehow mixed up the switches... it recognized its mistake without my conscious involvement and immediately grasped for the other while shutting off the first. Without word or warning, the darkness had enveloped us. In an instant, Rachel was gone. My unborn child was gone. Here I was in the dark, in the dark and asking myself, do I dare turn that switch again and what shall I become of me if they are no longer there. What shall become of me if they are. | 18 | There is an unexplained extra light switch in your house that has no purpose\does nothing. One day you flick it and something happens. | 20 |
*This is obviously a play on The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe, and many lines are taken directly from the poem, for effect.*
-----
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping. Wait a minute. Is this happ'ning?
I can't help but think I'm napping, I know I've heard this one before.
Then he mutters visitor, tapping at his chamber door—
Come on man, there should be more.
---
Damn, this poems real depressing. Wouldn't it be more impressing
If may hap, he saw undressing, Tabitha, the village whore?
Maybe she could fill his wine glass—bending over, showing that... brass
tea bot who's the boss of it, while, pretty much, he watches porn?—
I really think it'd be quite daring to do this, 'stead of whine "Lenore"—
Come on man, there *must* be more.
--------
Then the silken legs of Tabby, rubbing up big, sad Poe Daddy
Thrilled him—filled him with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of his heart, he stood repeating
Tabitha, don't stop repeating that sexy thing you did before—
Just keep on rapping, rapping, rapping, rapping at my "chamber door".
That's what I'm sayin'! I want MORE!
----------
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Tabs," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came grabbing, things never grabbed by sweet Lenore.
I scarce was sure I felt you..." Then he banged that skanky whore;—
He came twice, and she came four. | 10 | I'm feeling down. Write a story that can cheer me up! | 22 |
"Are you sure?"
"I've checked my notes a dozen times, and then checked them all again. Look for yourself."
She stepped back as he approached the microscope. He fiddled with the adjuster and squinted.
"But, that's just not possible," he said.
"And yet, it's happening."
Both of them had been working for years on the aging process, and what that meant now. She remembered years ago when some scientists were able to reverse the process in mice, and she found the ideas exhilarating. Humans to live longer than ever before, that with a good diet, exercise, and decent medicine, they could keep resetting the clock. It was fascinating. And the ideas were multiplying every year.
When human trials began, many people worried about over-population, about the drag on the economy, about sociopolitical implications, but in the end, no one wanted to die. It was just that simple. The only thing that held for everybody in the world, mortality, had just been stopped. No, not stopped, adjusted. Delayed. People still died, of course, but now a healthy person could expect to live *two centuries.*
Yet lately, there had been reports, odd occurrences shrouded in confusion, conflicting eye witness accounts, and a frenzied media gobbling it all up and spitting out everything just to see what stuck. They were calling it the Ancient Syndrome.
He stood up from the microscope and wiped his brow with the cuff of his lab coat. "Have you told Fergus?"
She rolled her eyes. "Of course I have. But he doesn't believe me and said there must be something wrong with the sample. Told me to wipe the whole thing and start over. I said 'start over? Are you fucking kidding me? I've spent eight years on this, I'm not just going clean slate.'"
"No," he said. "No, Fergus has to see this."
She returned to the microscope and watched the cells with childlike delight.
She saw white blood cells oozing around, chasing bacteria and feeding on them. When a white blood cell caught and fed on the bacteria, it stilled itself, then from within a new feature grew, expanded, until finally it ruptured entirely. From the fragments of the old cell, a new cell had emerged, with perplexing features that looked similar, and yet utterly alien. No, this clearly wasn't a fluke, a statistical error. This was a real development.
"Have you checked on...him?" He said.
She stood back up and turned. "No, he was sleeping when I last saw him. But I think it's time we wake him up and do some more tests."
They both exited the lab room. Moments after the door closed, the quiet snap of glass shot through the room.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Patient 9 was decrepit.
She was always reminded of a mummy, or some freshly risen ghoul that clawed its way out of the grave. He smelled of rosewater and antiseptic.
But, Patient 9 was the oldest specimen they were able to procure. He was 107 when they applied the reversal to him, and was now well over 200. When they asked if he would volunteer himself for science, he had been too delirious to understand. His granddaughter, a nice lady who just had her 150th birthday, acted as his care provider and was delighted to help some scientists. So, she signed the paperwork and transferred his well being into their hands.
"Mr. Willis?" She cleared her throat and removed the syringe from her lab coat. "Mr. Willis, it's me again. How are you feeling?"
Patient 9 opened his eyes in a flutter and tilted his head to her. He smiled feebly and attempted to raise his hand, but she soothed him and firmly pushed his arm back down to the bed. Without missing a beat, she maintained eye contact with Patient 9, engaging in light conversation while she extracted his blood into a vial. Swiftly she pulled out the needle and applied the cotton swab, all while asking how he was feeling? Would he like another pillow? Perhaps some breakfast?
Patient 9 perked up with the mention of food. She smiled and nodded, then pressed the call button for the nurse. The nurse arrived and took a breakfast order: fresh fruit, some eggs, and lots of sedatives. Patient 9 deserved only the best.
She moved back to her lab partner and discussed things in a hushed tone.
"He looks...I don't know, less fleshy?" he said.
"Just a good night's sleep, I suppose." She always thought Patient 9 looked like death warmed up.
"No, I mean, really look at him. He seems healthier."
"He's already in peak physical condition. Well, considering his age."
"Sarah, *look* at him."
She turned toward Patient 9, who by now was munching away happily on some cantaloupe chunks. And he was right, he did look healthy, healthier than he ever should have been for being over two centuries old. Blinking, she flipped through his charts, for any confirmation. A nearly comatose patient shouldn't be humming a song while slicing up strawberries.
She heard a small crack from her pocket, and looked down to see the blood she had extracted soaking into the clean white coat. She had little chance to wonder how that had happened when every single apparatus connected to Patient 9 began to screech and beep wildly.
Patient 9 rolled his eyes back and began seizing uncontrollably. They both went to his side to hold them down, but his frail body overpowered them easily. Patient 9 shoved them back violently, and she almost blacked out from the blow. Her lab partner was not so lucky. His head was stuck halfway through the glass door that partitioned the room.
She stood and shouted for help, then dashed to the call button. Patient 9 ripped it from her hands and yanked the wires from the wall. She stared on, horrified, as she watched his chest heave sharply, like something was punching it's way through. She heard cracking of bones and the shredding of sinew as his chest ripped open. With a gasping breath, Patient 9 threw his head back and rolled his eyes upward to an obscene angle. She was sure they were completely backward now, looking inward toward the dark cranium inside his head.
A black, leathery hand, tipped in obsidian talons, reached out feebly from the chest wound. It raised, stretching into the air, then snapped down onto the bedrail, bending the metal bar and crushing the pipe in its grip. Another hand, this one holding a beating heart in his hand, arose. From the bloody remains of Patient 9, this...creature emerge, with similar features of Patient 9, yet utterly alien. Oddly, she was *sure* she saw a piece of strawberry stuck in its wickedly curved fangs.
It sniffed the air and slowly turned its gaze toward her. She knew she should scream, should scramble away. But she couldn't, she was transfixed. IT was exhilarating. IT was fascinating.
IT quickly pulled itself out of Patient 9's body and flung itself across the room, snapping its jaws around her throat.
IT smelled of rosewater and antiseptic.
| 22 | There's a reason why humans have biological limits on aging, a reason that even medical science couldn't account for... | 26 |
\#====================================================
**EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt**
*Version 6.7.102 (Release 12)*
\>q
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>qwdqfjqwpifhbfqp
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>help
Available commands:
abort; contact; create; erase; get; set; show; version; write; exit
\>show
Command|Description
-----------|------------
configuration|General configuration of the EARTH^^TM matrix
matrix|Vertices of the EARTH^^TM matrix
users|Users of the EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt
interfaces|Interfaces on which the EARTH^^TM program is being executed
status|Status of the EARTH^^TM program
\>show status
CPU: 57% RAM: 23% Disk usage: 71 Eb / 500 Eb
Program achievement: 51%
\>show interfaces
Interfaces:
Arctic ON
Antarctic ON
Pacific ON
Atlantic ON
Indian ON
\>create
Command|Description
-----------|------------
person | Create a human being
profile | Create a human profile
life | Create a personalized life form
land | Create a part of land (might conflict with EARTH^^TM matrix unsaved changes)
water | Create a part of water (might conflict with EARTH^^TM matrix unsaved changes)
object | Create an object
law | Create a new law in the EARTH^TM matrix set of law
\>get
Command|Description
-----------|------------
person|Get the information on a human being
life|Get the information on a personalized life form
\>get person Andrew Carrick
8,678 correspondances found. Please refine your search.
\>get person Andrew Carrick birthdate 12/24/1988
3 correspondances found. Select the best correspondance in the list below:
ID|Name|Localization|
---|------|-------------
1|Carrick, Andrew John| United States of America, Philadelphia, PA
2|Carrick, Andrew | United Kingdom, Birmingham, West Midlands
3|Carrick, Andrew Porter | United States of America, Houston, TX
ID selected: 1
Andrew John Carrick
Height: 6'1
Weight: 120 lbs
Profile: Shy
Personality matrix (/10):
Social skills 1
Intelligence 8
Strength 2
Health 3
Happiness 2
Luck 4
\>set person last-person-selected luck 10
\>set person last-person-selected social-skills 10
\>get person Timothy Paul Carlyle brief
2 correspondances found. Select the best correspondance in the list below:
ID|Name|Localization|
---|------|-------------
1|Timothy Paul Carlyle | United States of America, Philadelphia, PA
2|Timothy Paul Carlyle | United States of America, Baton Rouge, LA
Selected ID: 2
\>set person last-person-selected strength 0
Invalid value. Please select a value between 1-10
\>set person last-person-selected strength 1
\>set person last-person-selected intelligence 1
\>set person last-person-selected happiness 1
\>set person last-person-selected social-skills 1
\>get person Amber Christine Julia Watson brief
1 correspondance found.
ID|Name|Localization|
---|------|-------------
1|Amber Christine Julia Watson | United States of America, Philadelphia, PA
The correspondance has been selected automatically.
\>set person last-person-selected link love to Andrew Carrick
Syntax error. Verify that you typed the correct command.
\>set person last-person-selected link love to selected-id 2
Amber Christine Julia Watson has been set with the following link:
Nature: Love
With: Timothy Paul Carlyle
\>no
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>set person last-person-selected reset
Amber Christine Julia Watson has been reseted and removed from the EARTH^^TM matrix definitively.
\>cancel
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>revert
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>exit
Goodbye, see you later at the EARTH^TM program!
\#====================================================
**EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt**
*Version 6.7.102 (Release 12)*
\>
\>
\>
\>
\>
\>get person Amber Christine Julia Watson brief
No correspondance found. Please verify your search has a valid name.
\>kill Timothy Paul Carlyle
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>kill Andrew Carrick
Command not found. Please type "help" for a list of valid commands.
\>abort
Abort current EARTH^^TM program. All results of this program will be deleted.
All data will be erased from the flash, including persons and personalized life forms.
Continue? [Y/N]: Y
Confirmation? [Y/N]: Y
The EARTH^^TM program is aborted. Please wait until complete data deletion.
Reinitialization of the appliance [-----------] 100%
Reload..........
\#====================================================
**EARTH^^TM program Command Prompt**
*Version 6.7.102 (Release 12)*
No EARTH^^TM program has been configured on the appliance.
Would you like to enter the initial device configuration? [Y/N]: | 35 | You just found the command prompt to the earth. | 29 |
“Hey dad, it’s me Sarah.” I drop the letter I found inside. There were many letters, this one said ‘open first’, and the rest had more dates on them. As far as I could tell, all of the dates were in the future. All of that was insignificant next to the fact that I didn’t have a daughter. If I did I would’ve called her Sarah. With that thought sticking out in my mind like a stop sign, I pick up the letter and start reading.
“May 22nd 2008, the day you went to prom with Jennifer. April 6th 2010, the day you switched majors and became an engineer. September 1st 2013, the day you bought this house. I’m sure right now you’re justifying how someone could know these dates, but right now can you just trust me okay? I’ve written these to help you on your journey to find mom.”
I put the letter down for a moment. I don’t drop it, but I need a moment to think. I hadn’t written those dates anywhere, much less the name of the girl I went to prom with. This didn’t seem to be a scam. As long as this person didn’t suggest I buy anything, I guess this was okay.
“Since you’ve decided this isn’t a scam, I promise not to ask you to buy anything, and if I do, I’ll keep the suggestions general like ‘clothes that fit’. Now then, currently I’m your only child because you and mom split up.” I have to stop again. I find out I probably get married and have a daughter cool enough to time travel, and then almost instantly find out it’s all going to crash.
“I don’t have you in my life anymore.” Had I done something to prevent me from having custody of my daughter? Or had I just gambled and lost in the court system? “And I’m awful lonely without any brothers and sister. Not to mention my stepdad.” I didn’t know it was possible to hate someone you didn’t know for something they hadn’t done yet. “I won’t talk much about him, suffice it to say things are not healthy. So I’m going to help fix your life dad. My mom isn’t perfect, but she’s got her own letters, and when the time is right, you’ll meet up.”
A nasty thought occurred to me. This could still be some elaborate joke, I wouldn’t know until I met the woman probably, but if it was, my daughter could very well be erasing her own existence. I knew how reproductive possibilities worked, and the odds were basically zero of having the same sperm hit the same egg twice. I don’t know if I want to do this, maybe it’s not too late, maybe if I just put this box back it’ll still all go the same. I’ll still get divorced, but Sarah will still be alive. I take one last glance at the letter before finalizing my decision.
“I know you’re now thinking that by sending you these I’m committing a kind of temporal suicide, and I accept that. I know that by you reading these, maybe by you just even reading one, I’ve already written myself out of the timeline. If you and mom are happy together, and if you have your kids, then it was worth it. One last thing though, and I know there isn’t any science for this, so bear with me, but I believe we’re more than DNA. I believe there’s something about us that you can’t diagnose or identify with a thousand tests. I may not look like your Sarah, I may not even have all of her talents, but it’ll still be me dad. Trust that it’ll still be me.”
Edit 1:Wow, I'm awe struck at the support for this! I am absolutely going to blow this up into a book. I'll post updates on my website samgalimore.com as i finish them(they are way too long to post here). I will also keep a running word count here as i progress on a part. There will hopefully be about 5 or 6 parts of 6-8K words each. Currently outlining, about 30% done with that.
Edit 2: outline done! It's called letters to my father, and there will be ~~19~~ ~~20~~ 18 letters in total, thinking probably 6 parts. Thanks again for the support guys! It really gives me the drive to get this stuff done!
Edit 3: OP delivers! First part done! http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/05/new-book-project/ It opens with the story above, so if you've already read that far, just skip to the bolded text, that's where the story picks up again. Working on the second part, it's going to start getting a bit more adventurous for the protagonist ;).
Edit 4: Part two is up! http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/06/letters-to-my-father-part-2/ Part 3 will be up in about 24 hours, but par 4 will probably take 48 hours to write, the other 1-3 parts should take a day each. Thanks for all the reading guys! I am rather dumbfounded by the sheer volume of support I'm getting.
Edit 5: Part three is done! http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/07/letters-to-my-father-part-3/ . Part four will take a bit longer, and should be done in about two days. The support for this has been truly astounding and I am trying to make sure I reply to each and every message you guys have taken the time to send me. They really do mean t a lot to me, so once again, thank you guys for reading.
Edit 6: Part four is done! http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/09/letters-to-my-father-part-four/ I can barely keep my eyes open. So it's probably got more than the typical number of spelling errors, but OP delivers. There are between 1-3 more parts. The story sort of took a life of its own and decided to go down a path I didn't realize it was going to go. How that works out will determine the final number of parts, most likely 2. As always, thanks for reading guys! I am still surprised how many of your are still reading this. thanks so much!
Edit 7: Part five is done! http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/10/letters-to-my-father-part-5/ Part six will be the finale. It has been a heck of a ride, and I would like to thank every single one of you for taking this journey with me. It'll be kind of sad when it's over :(. After part six I'm going to edit the book once or twice, and then make it available for download. Have a good one guys!
Edit 8: The sixth and final part is done http://samgalimore.com/2014/11/11/letters-to-my-father-part-6/ The word count is not quite as long as I wanted, but I couldn't have asked for a better ending. I'll be editing this and in a few days I'll post download links for those who would like to read it on a kindle or something. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Thank you to each and every one of you. There were so many times that I was tired or wanted to take a break, and then I'd get a message from one of you wonderful people, and it would give me the energy to keep going. I teared up a bit during one section toward the end. I hope you all have half as much fun reading it as I did writing it. I'm happy that all of you could be a part of this journey, and sad that is has finished. I do have another book unhooked that you can find under novellas who want a little more heartwarming fun, and another project that I'm going to be playing close to the chest, but hope to reveal soon. May all of you find peace and warmth in your lives. Until next time, Sam. | 545 | You move into a new house that hasn't had a resident in more than twenty years. In the attic, in a locked safe, you find a dusty box with your first and last name scratched into it, as well as today's date. | 708 |
"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of America and all that watch or listen to this... we have discovered a hidden truth. What I am about to tell you should scare you. This is okay, we are all frightened by this news, but we can fight through. We're America, and we've figured out our way this far through history and, hell, we'll keep going...."
"...Seventy Three percent of Americans belong to the Christian faith. What the rest of you believe in is up to you, but we need your ears today. We have discovered that 'Hell', a realm of suffering from the Holy Bible, is real. We are keeping our paths to this discovery classified for now. However, we will tell you what should be known. What everyone has the right to know. There is no heaven. There is no 'God' to help us, and we are all going to Hell..."
"...As I have said, there is no man, woman or child that isn't afraid of this news. But this doesn't mean we panic. We are America. Our numbers are great and our nation strong. Anyone out there in the world listening, follow our lead. We can overcome Hell. As a nation, or even as a world, we can do this together. We're not just going to let Hell take us in as slaves..."
"We're going to fill it to the brim until there is no more room in Hell." | 13 | Hell is discovered to be real, and *everyone* is going there. Write about your head of state's address to the nation following this revelation and his plan to combat this. | 24 |
[Part 2 is up](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ld6cq/wp_ten_years_ago_an_alien_race_of_robotic/cltxfn0)
[Part 3 is up](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ld6cq/wp_ten_years_ago_an_alien_race_of_robotic/cludkdd)
---
###Part 1
Bacon and pancakes.
Temperance knew they were his favourite. A little something to soothe the appetite and hopefully temper the shock of Avery's breakfast announcement.
"Pancakes!" Avery bounded into the kitchen and bounced. "Yay!"
"Just for you, cupcake." She spoke sweetly, nearly sang it.
There was a familiar rustle upstairs, heavy footsteps and the creak of the old bathroom door hinges opening and closing with an antique click. A flush, some running water, then a slow, deliberate flight down the stairs. Less grumpy than usual, thanks to the sizzling bacon, Gregory slid into the kitchen with a smile on his face.
"Good morning peanut." He greeted his daughter, gave his wife a peck on the cheek and playfully tapped her bottom as he glided to the breakfast bar. "Bacon and pancakes, my favourite!"
Avery giggled as he sat down beside her, a smile as wide as the English Channel spread across her face.
"What, you don't think the pancakes are for you, do you?" He teased her.
"Dadddddy...." She whined and giggled again.
With the grace of a master chef, Temperance laid out their plates.
"Thanks mum!" Avery was delighted.
"Thanks mum!" Gregory teased, coaxing another giggle out of his little girl. "To what do I owe such a wonderful breakfast?"
"Oh it's nothing darling, I was up early and thought I'd fill your bellies properly for a change. It's Grandma's recipe, the usual, nothing fancy." She hummed, sitting down herself with a pancake and setting out a dish of fruit.
"Daddy, I have exciting news!" Avery spoke through a mouthful of syrup and pancake.
"Oh lovely. Okay, let me guess." He said.
"No! Daddy I ha..." but he cut her off.
"Is it something about boys?" He guessed.
"Ugh, no dad. It's ab..."
"Hmph ok, is it about the field hockey tryouts?"
"No, daddy! Just let..."
"Well gosh Avery, this is tough. Are you getting married?"
"What!? Daddy." Avery was laughing now, thrilled with her father's silly game.
"Hmph fine. Okay. I give up. You're just going to have to tell me."
Temperance set her fork down and cleared her throat, dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a seasonally colored, fabric napkin.
"Well dad, we got a new kid at school!" Avery's face lit up as she relayed her news. "Well, a whole family really. And they just moved in. Just two blocks away, they're from Topeka."
Gregory's face fell into a concerned and serious look. He chewed his food slowly, deliberately, crushing every last bit while his hands suspended his utensils, frozen, above his plate. He swallowed and dropped his utensils with a *clank*, clearing his throat and dabbing at the corners of his mouth with a seasonally patterned, fabric napkin.
"I see." He faked a smile and some semblance of enthusiasm, then looked at his daughter again. "That's wonderful, cupcake. Topeka, you say. And just moved here. What is your new classmate's name?"
Avery beamed. "Nine. His name is Nine, like the number. I think it's *such* a cool name!"
Gregory faked another smile, this time much weaker.
"That's wonderful, peanut. Tell me all about it later, I've got to head into the office."
As he strode back to the stairs, Temperance called after him.
"Greg, please. They really aren't any different."
"Tell that to Topeka." He grumbled back. | 30 | Ten years ago, an alien race of robotic humanoids crash landed outside of Topeka. Following societal reform and some harsh stigmatization, one steps into your office today seeking employment. | 46 |
You don't realize how good your life is until you walk a mile in someone else's shoes. Or in my case a few hundred miles in someone else's sandals.
It was 2033. We'd finally developed Quantum Computing to such a degree that entire universes could be modeled. It wasn't long before we started running reverse simulations to find out which model(s) were the ones that led up to reality as we know it. Essentially trying all possible histories until we found the one that led to the exact one we were in. It took a few years of programming, but only a few minutes of running the simulation before we'd ironed out all of the factors.
Thanks to the butterfly effect of chaos theory, a few things that turn out to be very important even if they seem less than relevant: Tyrannosauruses developed feathers at puberty. There were originally only 9 commandments, they added the 10th one by popular request. Cleopatra more or less invented the modern porno. And Pontias Pilate was one smart motherfucker.
I should have seen the hints before I listened to the goddamned AI. My name is Josh N. Azari, long brown hair, blue eyes. I always had a passive interest in Buddhism. And dabbled in magic and hypnosis. And I was already rich and famous for my invention of shoe sized hover boards.
One thing I really should have done before being sent on my mission to find the missing factor: read the Bible. But alas. Such is life. And this is the story of how I became the most famous man of history.
Picture this. I'm sitting with my pals in a swanky office off the coast of California. We've had about 10 spliffs, and the model factorizer is about to finish. We've already tried VR sims of Lord of the Rings, Star Wars, Hell (bad idea... good thing we invented the memory wiper too), Heaven (great idea... too bad real life seems depressing afterwards. Thank god for the memory wiper), Avatar, and... come to think of it, seems a bit odd that we never thought to check out Judea circa 0AD. But we didn't. I guess Christianity was very out of fashion by then. Almost forgotten.
But I digress. I finish taking my drag and pass it to the left.
"So... once it finishes, we will basically have a time machine won't we?"
"Not really, just a perfect simulation of the course of events that led to this moment in time at an infinitesimally high probability of being right."
Factors are events that would influence the future one way or another. Once a factor is solved it is locked into only one possibility, which must be the true one, since it is comparing it against all the future factors into what would lead to an atomic mirror of current reality to 99.999... % accuraccy.
"Amazing man.... fuckin amazing. I cant imagine living a better life than this." I mused into the 120 inch LED. As it counts down from 9,753 remaining factors to zero...
In just a couple of seconds I think to myself... we'll have achieved the impossible.
4 remaining...
3 remaining...
2 remaining...
1 remaining...
A beat.
Another beat. Then that sinking feeling that something has gone badly wrong.
"Buggy!" calls Pete. Pete was the head coder, not that that was difficult now. With AIs everywhere the best developers were pretty much creative, smart, and articulate with their thoughts. The AIs did the best. Buggy was our debugger AI. And he was great at it. Although very short sighted. And arrogant. And he considered humans a bug in the system of planet earth. But that's another topic.
"What can I do for you, Pete?" Buggy pops up. A far cry from his decades earlier predecessor clippy.
"Why can't it find the last factor?"
"Do you want to know why, and listen to me for the next several millenia or until your limited memory blows out, or do you want to know how to fix the 'bug' as you call it, Pete?"
"I guess the latter" he replies, taking another drag.
"In that case, it's very easy. Send Josh into the VR to the following coordinates:
32.7019° N, 35.3033° E, 30 CE. I should tell you, though ... "
"Dude, I've been to hell and I'm still fine. Plus I can mem wipe it. Send me in, I'll be fine. I will come back right?"
"Yes, most definitely" replies buggy.
Robes had definitely come back in style now thanks to the blazing heat of global warming, and the lack of need of working thanks to the AIs. So I grabbed my favorite white robe, switched on the little mind link in my temple, its signature hint of a white glow reminding all around me that I am connected to a computer at that moment in time.
Sat down. "Send me in, Buggy. "
"As you wish. ;)"
And there I was. Not sure what I was worried about. Lovely weather. Looked around... a quiet village. Probably Arabesque of some sort. Seemed to have a reasonably advanced military/police force mostly carrying spears. They seemed to be lighter colored and fairly aggressive. Still nothing too horrifying yet.
I turn around to see whats causing the loud sound behind me. There stands a man in his 50s chopping wood with an Axe.
"Dad, switch on the translator" I say silently into my mind com. The mindcom AI we called Dad. He was the average of a pleasing older male companion as voted by 2000 beta testers. A friendly old genius in your mind. Quite relaxing. And very helpful.
Suddenly all the words come alive. "Joshua!!! My son!!!!" the old guy chopping the wood starts shouting at me.
"I am not your son" I reply instinctively.
"You are!!! I still recognize you from when you disappeared those years ago! Where have you been?"
"No, my father is not of this world" I correct the deluded stranger.
"Wait till your friends Phil and Bartholemew see this!" ... it was strange. How did he know my name? And how did he know my friends name? I guess whatever it is I am supposed to find here, there's no harm in talking to this guy. He does seem vaguely familiar somehow.
"Josh... you are...?" "Joseph, your father you must remember!" "Yes, sure.... OK Joseph, where are we going?"
"A great party, it will be fantastic. Everyone's going to be there."
I follow the crazy old stranger and head toward his... hut. Oh that's right. In ancient times and most fictional universes everyone lives in dumps. Oh well. Maybe there'll be some beautiful elf chicks somewhere.
I pay little attention to the red cloaked policemen beating a large fisherman on the other side of the street.
Arriving at the party... it definitely wasn't so bad here. Took a swig of the wine. One thing about traveling dimensions, you acquire a taste for the craziest drinks. And this stuff wasn't too bad.
Apparently some girl had gotten married. Weddings are good. Maybe I'll get laid.
The conversation is boring though, and all the girls are wearing head veils. I decided to have a little fun.
"Let's play a game, guys."
"Make sport? You suggest we wrestle?" asked Mary. She was convinced she was my mum. I guess I had a doppelganger in this universe. Possibly the cause of the factor error. Strange. At least I'm getting closer to the goal. And I have to have some fun with this.
"No, you idiot! A drinking game!"
"What is this of which you speak?"
"Beer pong."
Confused faces... of course. I explain the rules to them. Its a hit. Im an instant legend. They forgot that I'm totally different to their old friend, and next thing I know all the alcohol is gone.
"What the hell man?" comes a gruff voice from my ear. "What have you done with all my alcohol? You have ruined my wedding!" Haha yeah like I'd time travel without more booze dumbass.
I decided to fuck with these friendly, fun, simpletons.
"Bring out water."
They bought out water. "Let us pour all the water together!" I suggest, subtly pulling out my substantial hip flask of VodkX (think vodka and absynth on mdma). Glug, glug, gllug.... this should get them merry.
If they didn't like me after the beer pong, I was feeling positively godlike at this point.
| 241 | A man from modern times travels back, retracing the steps of Jesus of Nazareth in order to meet him. Somewhere along the way, he realizes he's taken on the role of Christ. | 651 |
Part 1
My phone rings. It's Mitch. I answer.
"Derek, buddy! Where are you? I'm at the restaurant with Amy and Samantha. We're all waiting for you."
"Oh, hey Mitch." *Dammit,* I thought, propelling myself out of the chair and rushing toward the door. *I can't believe I forgot about this.* I dig in the bowl near the front door. *Where are my keys?*
"Yeah, we're just sitting here, having drinks, wondering when my best buddy is going to show up. Sam's really excited to meet you." His voice drips with urgency. It was Mitch's idea for a double date, and Derek happily agreed. Samantha worked in Payroll, and for all that seemed like an interesting person.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way now, actually stuck in traffic at the moment." I turn the bowl over and splay all of its contents on the hallway table, desperately searching for my car keys.
"Oh, stuck in traffic." I can hear him turn to the girls. "He's stuck in traffic, ladies."
"Traffic?" one of them says, I think it's Amy. "It's Saturday night, what traffic?"
"I think there's a car crash ahead," I say, speaking loudly into the phone with the hope they can hear me. I punch the table with my fist in frustration. *Where are my goddamn car keys?*
"He says it's an accident on the interstate. He can see a lot of cops and a couple of ambulance." You got to love Mitch, always his best in the moments of turmoil.
"I'll be there as soon as I can." I bend down and find my car keys below the table.
"Alright, well, we'll see you soon then, buddy. Don't get into any accidents yourself, yeah?" I can hear him wink through the phone.
"Sure, will do. Bye." I grab the keys and turn toward the door.
"Bye, buddy." Mitch hangs up.
I hang up and put the phone in my pocket, open the door, and step out.
| 24 | Out of nowhere, you are involuntarily propelled into the future. You keep on getting flung further and further away from the past, but your phone still works as if nothing had happened... | 54 |
"Umm, I'm afraid we have a situation."
All eyes turned to look at Glorg. For the head of the Galactic Security Federation's R&D department, he was a rather small man. Standing only about 7'2", he was dwarfed by his peers. The odor of his fear was overpowering, and many people in the room started covering their antennae in disgust.
"The life forms on Sol 3, they've managed to shield themselves from our cataclysm. We detected a massive radiation burst around the planet when our beam should have hit."
The room was silent, but it was no longer just Glorg who was exuding an aura of fear. Not a single Sorian had anticipated this. Sol 3 was their main testing ground for cutting edge weapons technology. It was supposed to develop life capable of basic intelligence once every 5 million years, and they tested their weaponry on it every 5.02 million years. They had assumed this was too short a time for a species to develop advanced technology. Clearly, they had miscalculated.
"My fellow Americans"
A familiar voice on the television played in the background, but that wasn't what caught his attention. Robert Harlan had been waiting for this broadcast for months. Ever since they had detected the burst, Robert and his team had been developing a method to shield the earth from the rays by pelting the gamma particles with antimatter. It seemed to work in test cases, but test cases wouldn't cut it.
"It seems a greater species has made a declaration of war. Three months ago we detected a gamma ray burst heading for our home. The burst hit our planet at approximately 9 PM last night. This was the cause of the auroras that were visible around the globe. Our best scientists managed to construct a device which was able to stop the burst in its tracks, and allow life as we know it to prevail over this terrible act of jealousy. While we do not yet know who has done this, and we don't yet have the technology to pay them a visit, you can rest assured we will be doing everything within our power to stop this from happening again.
Thank you all."
The screen went back to showing the dead air message that had been on all channels the past week. Since information about the burst had been leaked, people were in a bad state. There were riots in the street, people were looting other peoples' homes, rape was commonplace, it really did seem like a time Thomas Hobbes would have liked to observe, if only to confirm his suspicions about humanity.
Robert sipped on his whiskey. Hell, if this was his last day on earth, he damn well wasn't going to spend it sober. The antimatter stopped the high energy beam, but what about the radiation? He just had to hope it wouldn't make it through the atmosphere. It's not like it would be a long time before he found out. In fact, he was pretty sure he felt his eyeballs boiling already. He had every intention of spending his last day on earth at his coffee table, until he heard the knock at his door.
Glorg practically jumped out of his scales as the door to the conference room slammed open. In walked a very tall Sorian with red eyes and purple hair. His stature was all too familiar, and when he entered the room people rose from their seats.
"All glory to our fearless leader." The room spoke in unison, as if it was a poorly made stereo system that couldn't quite hold a pitch. The man who entered the room remained quiet for several seconds, then began speaking.
"Today, we learned of a very surprising turn of events. It seems the experiment on Sol 3 has managed to construct an antimatter shielding device. Our military is preparing an invasion, which we expect to launch within a cycle and arrive at their planet within twelve. Our deep space telescopes are already pointed at their planet, and we're attempting to visualize what we can about the past of these people. Our telescope at the great belt is still showing Dinosaurs, so we're attempting to jump one closer so we can observe events that happened last month. Our main goal here is to wipe out the species, and if we can, capture one of them alive."
The room stayed dead silent until the arbiter had left the room. Roach wasn't the kind of leader who appreciated clapping or questions. Any response to his speeches was usually met with violence.
Glorg felt uneasy about all of this. After all, what had the humans done to deserve this? Surely if they had reached an intelligence level where they could shield themselves from his gamma rays, then they should be allowed to exist independently. This, however, was not the place for free thought. Glorg walked back to his office and continued designing the Sorians' largest railgun yet. He really hoped it wouldn't be used on Earth.
Robert thought he had gone blind for a minute, until he realized he had been black bagged. He felt himself start moving down the road, and turn several times. After what felt like several hours of traveling, the bag was removed from his head. He found himself parked in a massive abandoned drive in theater. The projector still seemed to be working, and there were a few other black SUVs around. Things were beginning to fall into place.
"We're sorry to have taken you so abruptly, but we really didn't have a choice doctor."
A voice piped up from the suited man in the passenger seat. Robert shot a scowl at the agent who had made the remark, but quickly caught himself before the man noticed. He knew where he was, he didn't need to see it to know it was here. He could feel its hum in the air.
"You brought my masterpiece to this hellhole of a desert?" Robert replied, in absolute disgust at the thought of his precious machine getting sand in all its motors, all the mirrors getting scratched, and god forbid the sand getting into the fusion chamber...
"No sir, this hellhole of a desert was created by your machine."
It was then that he understood. They were back at Los Alamos, only it had been completely annihilated by the antimatter emissions. What he thought was a desert was just the crumbled remains of a once mighty city.
Glorg finished up the plans for the railgun and thought transferred them to the manufacturing department. His share of the dirty work was done, for now. By his calculations, a railgun using this much power would have no trouble cracking the crust of a planet. It was akin to launching a meteor at hyper velocity, and it would crack the Earth like an egg. Glorg wondered what it would feel like to be on a planet as it fell apart. Probably not very good. Probably not very good at all.
Glorg sat at his desk, head on his elbows, contemplating what to do with his life.
Upon receiving the plans, manufacturing started work right away. The railgun was finished and tested well within the time frame of one cycle, and so the destroyer ship being sent to earth was fitted with one of them. There would be no need for a second.
When it was time to deploy, Glorg suited up apprehensively. As much as he hated the idea, he had to go along. It would be his job to fix any problems that came up with the railgun, and it's fairly hard to do that from several photoncycles away.
Throughout his life, Glorg was taught that humans were a terrible species of evil life forms. Recently, however, he had begun to wonder if his species wasn't the one that was terrible. They had always had allegiance drilled into their minds. It had never even occurred to him to question it, but now that he had started to it became more uncomfortable by the minute. What good species would farm intelligent life and kill it off in the name of science?
"They're called Sorians." An agent finally piped up after they had finished their several minute ride down in an elevator.
"The people who launched the burst? How do we know this?" Robert replied
"We managed to capture the frequency modulation of their gamma ray burst. It seems they communicate using some sort of non-verbal wavelengths, and they left a measurable impact on their rays. The interesting part is that once we decoded the message, it was is if we instantly knew everything they said. Almost like they communicate in pure logical thought."
"So you're saying we're up against telepaths? This just gets better and better. I'm starting to get really confused, I already built the machine, why do you need me here?"
"Everyone who knew how to use it is dead now. We need you to activate it."
to be continued / edited
| 17 | Gamma-ray bursts are regularly scheduled to hit our planet every several million years in order to limit the progress of the lifeforms here. Humankind has learned of this phenomena and created a way to shield the Earth. Those who scheduled the burst aren't too happy about it. | 38 |
I remember when I was a kid, the only thing I wanted was a treehouse. Of course, that was never an option because I lived inside a studio apartment with my mother. There were a few trees scattered around the property, but I don't think management would have appreciated me building a second home in one of them. I would spend my summers sitting underneath the tree on the corner of the property. Armed with a notebook and a pencil. I would write down every single thing I wanted my kids to have that I didn't have as a child.
Fast forward 25 years later, and here I am hiding inside the treehouse I built with my only son. He just turned seven two weeks ago. I promised him the project would be completed in time for his birthday party, and I made the deadline with three days to spare. I am not one to brag, but it was clearly his favorite birthday present. He comes home from school, rushes through his homework, and then runs outside to the treehouse. We even spent the night inside it last Saturday.
It was his idea! This boy was afraid to leave his bedroom before the treehouse, and now he's suddenly acting like he's Bear Grylls. I am so proud of him. He doesn't even realize we're in danger right now. I have done my best to act as if this is some game. I wish it was a game.
But it's not, and right now we are currently trapped inside this treehouse. I am writing this message on my laptop while my son, Steven, sleeps on the little bed I made for him using my heavy jacket and an old package of marshmallows for a pillow. It doesn't look like we're getting a connection out here, but this is me grasping at straws. The treehouse is located three miles northeast of my house, at the edge of my property here in New Hampshire. Steven and I have been trapped inside here for two days now.
We ran out of food tonight. I am not counting the stale marshmallows as food. We still have a few gallons of water; however, it's quite the struggle keeping it warm enough not to freeze. It's so cold up here. I am pretty sure we will freeze to death before this maniac finds us.
Sorry, I probably lost you there. As I mentioned earlier, my son had a birthday party two weeks ago. And one of his presents during the party was this stupid plastic toy phone. It had clearly been used before, with marks all over the back of it. It looked like maybe a child had tried to color it in with a Crayola marker set. I couldn't figure out who gave him this present. It wasn't even wrapped. Someone had just tossed it inside a Walmart shopping bag. I figured that whoever brought it was just too embarrassed to claim it.
My son didn't play with it much after the party, but for some reason he dragged it out of his closet two days ago. I sat inside the living room with him and watched him play with it. He seemed to be having a blast.
"Charlie, can you hear me? It's Steven!" He giggled while placing the phone to his ear. Charlie is his best friend. Right after he asked that question, his whole demeanor changed. He dropped the phone, covered his ears with his hands and started crying. I thought maybe a spider had crawled on the phone and bit him while he was playing with it, so I rushed over to him and checked him for any obvious marks.
"What's wrong?! Tell me what hurts!" I yelled. He took his hands off his ears and pointed at the phone and then ran away to his bedroom. Confused and growing more concerned, I picked up the phone and awkwardly placed the tiny thing against my ear.
It was then I heard the voice that freaked out Steven. A devilish whisper.
"Steeeeeeveeeen....I see you." Followed by several rounds of diabolical laughter. As much as I wanted to smash the phone to pieces right then, I decided to listen for another message. I thought maybe it was some sick prank by my ex-wife's new husband. He's a good guy, but his parents never informed him about the line you should never cross. He's constantly saying inappropriate things. For once, I was actually wishing he was involved in this.
But then I heard the voice again, "Cherish your boy, Adam. Remember his smile. Tonight will be the last night you see it." | 63 | You're watching your son with his plastic toy phone, laughing and giggling away, suddenly he goes quiet and drops the phone. You pick up the phone and put it up to your ear and you hear a whisper. | 97 |
"Cool," I replied to the receptionist, handing my bag to the bellboy. "All-expenses covers healthcare right?"
"Uh," pouted the receptionist, who had obviously not gotten the reaction she had hoped for. "You'll probably have to talk to legal about that."
"I'm sorry, what do you mean we can't leave?" I winced a bit. The other grand prize winner had shown up to the airport with an immaculately tailored suit, greasy slicked back hair, and an overbearing presence. I couldn't stand him.
The receptionist looked up from her computer, apparently mollified by the opportunity to ruin someone's day. Her name tag read "Claire, Team Member for 9 years"
"It was in the terms and conditions. The Grand Prize Winners forfeit their passports to Reel-Authentic Passports, International when they land in the Bahamas," recited Claire, obviously taking pleasure in her audience's horrified expression.
I, however, had read the terms and conditions.
"How do I get to the bar?" I asked, trying to get Claire's attention. But it was no use. Her eyes were locked on her prey. I shrugged and shuffled off to find a mp.
| 23 | no one is allowed to leave. | 58 |
"How do I feel about being rated number one for 6weeks? Honestly, I feel honoured," I said, feeling this morning's oatmeal start to come up in my throat.
"Ah, well, we thought you would!" The scantily-clad tv host, Katrina Jovokova from Russia, trilled into the mic.
My tv interviewer then started to give information about her channel, KatJov World. Every moment is a moment to promote, I guess. I long for the days when Twitter and Facebook were the main means of info. Now that we can teleport, there is so much more face-face contact.
KatJov smiled for the end of her speech and the cameras went off. Finally. My alotted 12 hours of off-screen time had been cut into today. Ever since I hit six weeks it's been "real world" this and "three quarters of the way there" that.
I'm not even sure I want to be in the real world. I wouldn't know how to act. I'd be looking for the camera all the time to get my best angle. Maybe I'll feel invisible.
Kat then gave me a wave and was on her way out when I saw another person at the door: my boyfriend, Dex. He stands sheepishly at the door as Kat leaves and I wave him in.
"No cams," I say, getting ready to pop open a beer. "Want one?"
Dex nods and quickly we start to silently sip our cheap beer together. If I keep being so popular we'll have to part. I know we're both thinking it and I don't want to hedge my bets on a long distance (across worlds) relationship for us. We've been together 9 months and things have been quite rocky, to say the least.
I am then startled by Dex slamming his beer bottle on the table.
"You want all this attention, don't you? You want to be the new big thing, Gwen. I know it. "
"No I don't. i hate being on cam all the time! UNT's increase when I became popular for 2 weeks has been killing me. At least you only have to do 8 hours... You know I hate it."
I looked into his eyes. These outbursts from him have become more frequent since I became rate number one. I know it is hard on him, too.
"I'm sorry," Dex relents, grabbing my hand, "I just can't handle the thought of being away from you because other people can see the beauty in you that I do."
"That's sweet, Dex," I exclaim.
The next two weeks went by very quickly. I tried to be somehow less appealing but somehow that made me more appealing. I was still scared up until a few days ago. Now I embrace the idea of going to the real world. There's not much more I can do.
The day comes and I get my pass. I get on my plane. I say a tearful goodbye to Dex. It all happens so fast.
Getting off the plane, I am immediately in one of the real world desiganted areas. I don't immediately notice a difference.
I get to the UTN hostel (where I stay while I'm looking for lodging) and settle in. All doesn't seem too bad. Then I get the call.
"How soon can you be ready for your optical camera surgery?"
| 14 | Earth is one big TV studio. Each person's life is a different channel on the Universal TV network. If your show has been the #1 Rated show for 2 months you get pulled out into the "real world." | 57 |
'Sup my son, you ready for fun, action, funny, maybe... a scary one?'
Shit! Shit, shit, shit...
'Whatcha up to there my boy, tinkering around with all yo toys?'
'H-hey Dad. Yeah, yeah just playing around, what did you have in mind?'
'My kid my kid, you'll flip your lid, Cruise, Spielberg, and, I don't fib, we got you the next big hit!'
His eyes gloss over, but after a few twitches and a little smoke he composes himself. You'd think the algorithm would've perfected it by now, but he still screws up the rhyming sometimes.
He clears his 'throat'
'So lil Jay, what'dya say, readay to throw away your tinkering play?'
'He-hell yeah dad! Just... let me send out a tweet! Yeah! I totally gotta hype this!'
A smile grows along his face. I've appeased him. The look Jaden, it's time, do the look...
I wrinkle my forehead. At this stage I can practically see the circuitry try to decifer the expression and offer a valid response, but as always it's fruitless. I estimate I'll have about twelve minutes, he's gotten better at recovering from it. At least he hasn't worked out he needs to tell the upper members yet. Won't be able to finish the time machine, but there'll be ample opportunities. L Ron will still be there when I'm ready. At least this shitty flick should give me more funding...
What can I do here... they never seem to understand.
'Most Trees Are Blue' - what you assume must be the case can, in fact, be a veil over the truth.
'How Can Mirrors Be Real If Our Eyes Aren't Real' - I thought I'd be transferred to prosthetics for that. Too obvious. Yet these idiots still can't work it out.
'People Used To Ask Me What Do You Wanna Be When You Get Older And I Say What A Stupid Question The Real Question Is What Am I Right Now?'
How can I possibly let them infer it any easier? I practically spelt it out. *I don't want to become a robot*! They already have scientology lists, can't they see where this is going?
Need to let them know. They've been after Spielberg for a while now, it's likely they need him to become the next cyborg, his influence would be ludicrous.
Wait.
Do influence and ludicrous rhyme?
No! Don't think about it Jaden! *Focus*!
Got to make them question him, got to make them think...
...
I've got it.
...
'What If We're All Dinosaurs?'
Surely they'll work that one out. Dinosaurs - Spielberg's new movie - what if people aren't what they seem... this will be the one. Scientology's robot empire will be brought down. Just *think* followers. Just once. *Think*.
Edit: Took The Excellent Advice Of /u/gonnaherpatitis | 339 | Jaden Smith is actually a whisteblower, and his tweets are his cryptic attempts to inform the world | 877 |
"General Whitefield. I need a strategy to beat these invaders, ASAP."
"Ah, Mr. President. Our narrative analysts have identified several weaknesses in the alien invasion plan, but first, I need you to introduce yourself."
"Pardon?"
"Say your full name, maybe say something to establish your character a little. Nameless, undeveloped characters have a much higher chance of dying. As leader of the free world, you can't afford to lose audience sympathy."
"Oh, I see what you're saying. I can't be, say, 'the president who gets blown up by aliens to show how serious it is.' I need to be more like 'President Jonathan Armstrong, a strong leader who rallies his people against the alien threat.'"
"That'll do, sir. Now, our first observation is that aliens tend to target famous monuments. Mount Rushmore, the White House, the Statue of Liberty, and so on."
"Can we evacuate those areas?"
"We're working on that, but it's slow. They're more likely to produce a stationary shot of traffic clogging every road out of the city than to actually get people out of there."
"Then we'll just have to make sure the invaders never reach them. Concentrate our defenses around our national monuments. Can we shoot down their UFOs?"
"We'll make a shot at it. We've got a good squadron of maverick fighter pilots with nerves of steel and a calm Chuck Yeagar-style drawl. We don't have anything that can take on the alien mothership though."
"Of course there'd be a mothership. And it's the central command center of the aliens, so shooting it down will end the entire invasion instantly, right?"
"You've studied your cliches, Mr. President. I'm impressed."
"I don't suppose that it's got a convenient glowing red weak point where a brave fighter pilot could shoot it down?"
"Sorry, sir. These appear to be movie-only aliens. Video game tropes like that are a complete non-starter."
"Damn. What about ground forces?"
"That's probably our best bet. We have no shortage of selflessly heroic soldiers, and the aliens are likely going to spend their establishing shots standing out in the open and blasting the fleeing civilians or similar, which will leave them vulnerable to a well-planned ambush."
"You want to use our own citizens as *bait*?"
"God, no! But it'll take time to deploy our troops to the combat zones, and it's practically guaranteed that they'll only arrive just when all hope seems lost."
"See if you can get a faster response out there. I'd rather have our soldiers digging in for an 'Oh no, here they come' establishing shot than get a scene of devastation."
"I'll see if we can spare some air power, stop any large-scale bombardments. But it's going to be tough. I've already been established as the 'hard man making hard decisions', so I can't promise I'll save everyone."
"Do what you can. With luck, you should be able to hold off the invasion until Project DXM is ready."
"Project DXM? I haven't been briefed on that. What is it?"
"Even I don't know more than the name of it. But don't worry - a plan always works better when you don't reveal it until it happens." | 23 | The year is 2052, a unified earth is under attack by aliens and our only hope? An unrealistic amount of movie cliches. | 39 |
The galaxy's a big place, with lots of worlds - billions. Billions of worlds with just the right temperature, just the right kind of atmosphere. Earth-like worlds, except not a single one in all of the Milky Way had anything bigger than a mouse for animal life. Almost as if these worlds were made for us, waiting for us to discover how to travel the stars.
There are more than enough for *homosapiens sapiens*, so why not set aside a few planets for our dead evolutionary cousins and bring them back for a second chance, 're-evolution', I believe they called it... some company for humanity in the void.
My personal favourite out of the few dozens we planted would have to be the homo neanderthalensis. Stronger than us, bigger brains, too. And yet they died out on Earth while humans flourished, leaving only a trace of their DNA with us.
But it was enough, wasn't it? We recreated them. Not their culture, of course, though we tried to do our best. We gave them memory implants so they'd know what we thought the originals knew. You think the math behind an FTL drive's design is tough? Try manipulating a brain's memories from first principals because there haven't been any living specimens for over 40,000 years. The history books say it was quite a feat, anyway.
Mankind went from stone age to space age in 6000 years. The neaderthals, safe from the forces that killed them off on Earth, bested us by 5000 years. We know because we've been watching via satellite since we first dropped them off. I think there was even a manned orbital research station at one point, a long time ago.
No war, no dark ages, they went from advancement to advancement with almost no internal conflict, like a perfectly designed machine. They spread across their world and built magnificent cities. It was as if they knew all of human history and had determined how to get from A-Z without bothering with anything in between.
No spoken language we've seen, just a few gestures that can't possibly be enough to communicate as well as they do. Some people swear they're telepaths, but that's obviously impossible.
Well, today they boarded the station, on a ship more advanced than anything humanity has ever produced on any of the thousand worlds it currently occupies. It's time we made contact. There seems no point avoiding it, it's more or less why we recreated them and gave them a world, right? And since they don't seem to communicate through any method we can figure out remotely, someone has to visit in person.
Why is it I feel when I step through that airlock, it won't be to meet a brother, but a master? | 47 | Humans bring Neanderthals back to life and send them to another habitable planet light years away. We watch their progress over the course of thousands of years | 58 |
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, chances are it's probably a duck. However, the *thing* that's been waddling around town is by no means an ordinary duck. This thing, whatever it is, has fangs, fangs that have a certain taste for human flesh. The creature never ate your normal run-of-the-mill duck things, it always bit humans exclusively. Once someone was bitten they had about 30 seconds before they transformed into a small duck themselves, an ordinary mallard fortunately. The newspapers started calling it "Duckula" and soon everyone was trying to kill it. Being in a small, West Texas town they was no shortage of guns available, but bullets were useless. The creature wouldn't even register it got hit. all it would do is waddle over to its next victim, take a blood sample and continue on what everyone was sure was its plan for small town domination. We tried everything, fire didn't faze it, metal seemed to pass right through it, even the old school tricks of garlic and sunlight only seemed to fuel it's desire the turn all the townspeople into ducks. For every person the beast turned the resulting fowl would follow behind its creator as if it was its own mother duck. soon the entire town became what would have been any hunter's paradise and only I remained. When my day of reckoning came I was sitting in my room enjoying what was to be my last meal, An old fashioned turkey on rye, I heard the fanged menace burst into my house. Duckula used its mindless followers to force their way into my room. In my final moments, some part of me that was in shock that a bird would be the thing that finally does me in thought to offer the hellspawn a bit of my sammich. I was surprised when the creature sniffed the bread as if it were a normal being. In my delirious state I tore a piece of bread and threw it at the winged terror, to which he happily pecked and ate. In the middle of it all I heard a sound that, for lack of a better phrase, sounded like a duck chocking on a piece of bread. As it turns out the abomination still needed air to survive, in that way it was like most ducks. after it's long struggle against its delisious foe Duckula at long last billplanted the carpet and slowly left this mortal world. In hindsight it's quite hilarious that what finally defeated the beast was the one thing no one thought to try.
*Motha. Fucking. Bread crumbs.* | 67 | A group of people capture a rare mythical beast that has been terrorizing their city. Not knowing how to specifically kill it, they do increasingly specific things, to the point of being ridiculous, in order to dispatch it. | 86 |
As the last oxygen cylinder bounced off of the frozen rocks with a hollow gong like a single mournful bell and fell, dwindling to a point amid the snowfield below, I saw him. He stood unperturbed by the whipping winds and sheering snows that had swept upon the peak during our final ascent. I rubbed my eyes, my fingers numb and useless, clumsy in the thick gloves which had failed to protect me from the hard teeth of of the perpetual winter which shrouded the summit. Frostbite was setting in. I blinked back the ice crystals at the corners of my eyes and rubbed them again; he was still there.
We were alone. The rest of my ascent team lay, broken, in the valley below, victims of a rockface that had endured too many climbing anchors over the years since Edmond Hillary first passed this way. I swept snow from my goggles and looked for a third time - still not comprehending what was happening. He strode toward me over the snow, black loafers leaving naught but the faintest of cloven footprints and held out his hand, ungloved amid the gale. As I took it, pulling myself to my feat, I was overcome with the warmth of his grip and the intensity of his gaze.
"I'm sorry, I appear to be a bit overdressed," he quipped, and beamed a crooked smile at me.
"Who... what..."
"Yes. You see, I've come to make you an offer."
"Here?"
"It is a bit out of the ordinary, I'll grant you that; most of my clients happen upon my services under more... shall we say mundane conditions." He tugged absently at the inky black sleeve of his suit coat, snapping the seam to razor sharpness and sending the snow that had nestled there spinning off into the oblivion of the storm.
"Your clients?"
"We are getting a little ahead of ourselves. You see, I have for you a proposition. You are about to die and I would like to negotiate for your soul."
"I am hallucinating."
"Very much so, but the contract I wish to negotiate with you is quite real. I will get you off this mountain, grant to you certain concessions to be enumerated and negotiated shortly, and in return you will, at the end of your natural life turn over to me, your"
"I actually have a contract right here."
"You.... what?"
"In my wallet. Just a sec, these gloves are a bit of a a pain but it's," I fumbled in my snow-suit for a moment, "hold on, I... yea.... oh."
The wallet tumbled into the snow, a brown triangle of Florentine leather peaking up through the powdery white. "Would you mind? I can't seem to hold anything."
He reached down and plucked it from the snow, fire dancing in his eyes. Snapping it open he withdrew the onion skin paper I'd folded away after my internship with the Chief Justice; the man was a religious fanatic and a brilliant contract lawyer; I was nothing if not a pragmatist.
"Fine, fine, fine, fine.... no. No. NO. I can't possibly agree to this. Collection is impossible, the concessions you're demanding in paragraph eleven risk revealing the metaphysical truth of the Bargain to nearly everyone, and under no circumstances will I allow conditions to be placed upon what befalls a soul once it enters My Realm much less designate a... you can't be serious. A successor?"
"That's not the contract."
"Terms, conditions, collection of soul -- what do you mean it's not the contract?"
"It's the rider. The contract is on the outside of the wallet." I closed my eyes and looked up, recalling the text I'd commissioned all those years ago from a streetside leather worker on the bank of the Arno: "By opening this wallet and withdrawing and/or reading the enclosed document (the rider) the reader accepts the terms laid out in the same and in this, the End User Licence Agreement." | 64 | You’re stranded on the top of Mt. Everest moments before your death. The devil appears and offers to buy your soul. Little does he know you’re an excellent lawyer, and already have a contract prepared. | 39 |
He sensed it the moment it began. There was an almost imperceptible delay in the flow of data. His screens froze for a single frame. His synchronized CPUs paused for the length of a single calculation. Someone who did not spend so much time plugged in would never have noticed. But he did.
Three quick keystrokes and his sensitive data was secure, physically disconnected from the first layer of access, a foolproof system he had designed and put together himself. He ceased all programs, and opened a simple text file.
"Hello," he typed, and then waited.
OH YES, YOU ARE GOOD
He flinched sharply, throwing off his headphones. They clattered to the floor, the casing shattering. He wasn't sure how they had produced that audio effect, but it was unnerving when unexpected. He reached out with one hand, and typed, "Who are you?"
AN EMPLOYER
This time he stood up, yanking the power cords from the wall. The voice was not coming from the headphones. He was not even sure it was coming from the computer, but he had acted on instinct. He picked up a few hard drives containing his most important data and programs, a safe laptop, and then he left his house at a brisk walk. Whatever was going on, his security was badly compromised.
YOU CANNOT RUN
He opened the door, and there was nothing outside. He froze, uncomprehending. Then he closed it, and turned to the window. There was nothing outside. He blinked, and opened his eyes, and he was floating in nothing.
STANDBY
He rubbed his forehead, focusing on the fact that he must be dreaming. Usually, this would force him out of dreams instantly, but it wasn't working at the moment.
Then he was in an interview room. He recognized it. It was where he had applied for his first programming job, when he was fifteen years old. He hadn't thought about the place in years.
The same interviewer was sitting there. He had the same long nose that he remembered so well, with the same rimless glasses, which he peered over. He was balding, sallow, and critical. The picture of a man who lived for corporate achievement. Yes, he remembered the interviewer.
SI-
The voice started again, and stopped. The interviewer cleared his throat, and spoke. "Sit down, please."
The man sat, bemused. The interviewer leaned forward. "You are a talented life form."
"Thank you," the man said, wondering what kind of strange ego-stroking dream this was.
A piece of paper slid across the table to him. The interviewer spoke as if this were not strange. "We would like to offer you a job in the dimension above this one. The type of work that you do will not change, except that instead of indirectly influencing the world through your programs, you will now do so directly, becoming a programmer for your own universe."
The man took the time to read the paper. The letters were legible, and he had a sudden, wild idea that maybe this was actually happening. It was a contract of employment for a period of 10 exaseconds. It outlined the job requirements, which seemed to mainly involve improving a program named "universe31.unv". It stated that I needed to provide a version update every 30 billion years, manage the server upkeep, including regular rebooting, put out hotfixes as needed, and manage the server programs in real time in order to prevent a crash.
All in all, it sounded like an easy job. Still somewhat excited by the un-dreamlike state of everything, the man signed.
Five billion years later, he would wonder for the first time where the pen had come from.
The interviewer smiled a thin, satisfied smile, and the paper slid over to him. He placed a briefcase on the table, opened it, and put the paper inside. There was nothing else in the briefcase, the man noted.
"Excellent. Let me be the first to personally welcome you to the company, Mr, ah..."
The man stood, and shook the interviewer's hand. "Yahweh." | 22 | you stumble upon an ancient secret. The universe is programmable. You are contracted to do a job no one else can. | 22 |
The Devil roared back to Georgia like a stock car squealin' wild,
Fire 'n brimstone flowed from his toes as he strutted with a smile:
He'd come across a young boy, and that pup sawed a fiddle *mean*,
Now it's time he learned in no uncertain terms that the devil don't pout 'n preen!
The devil said: "My names are many, and you've known me as I stand,
When you beat me last you got your own free pass to have another go, again.
Last time- li'l Johnny- you won a fiddle hewn o' gold,
But this time, you see, it's a *mountain* of the thing, that I'll wager against your soul!"
Johnny leaned back in his leather chair, his recording studio, grand,
and then to his side, with his face all snide, he winked o'er at his band.
"Boys, tune up your synthesizers; get those sound boards clean!
The devil's got his sour grapes: he's sowin' bitter seeds.
I beat him once, all by my lonesome- nothin' but my wits-
But, now, with all this gear, we'll give him *fits*!"
Johnny twirled his finger and the studio sprung to life,
Electric bugaloo- auto-tune, too- roared out, left and right.
The band played tricky turns, and the noise from speakers blazed
And behind it all, as if sealed in a wall, Johnny's fiddle, somewhere, played.
(BREAK: OVERDONE, SYNTHED-UP, ARTIFICIAL STYLE OF MUSIC)
When Johnny finished the devil said: "Well, those're all quite fancy tricks,
but keep your seat- don't get on your feet- 'cause you ain't got nothin' like *this*:
"Fire in the belly, boys, been but wrecked!
The kiddo with the fiddle's sold his soul to tech!
Switches, dials, knobs: don't they make no art?
Johnny's got his sound but it got no heart!"
(BREAK: AWESOME FIDDLE SOLO, CLEAR AND RAW)
Johnny bowed his head because he knew he'd beat himself,
and he stood with quiet humbleness, to be dragged down into hell.
The devil said: "Now you see, my boy, the worth a fortune holds:
It can make you all the richer, but really- right quicker- it can suck out all your soul!"
"Fire in the belly, boys, been but wrecked!
The kiddo with the fiddle's sold his soul to tech!
Switches, dials, knobs: don't they make no art?
Johnny's got his sound but it got no heart!"
(AWESOME FIDDLE SOLO REPEATS, AND CLOSES OUT THE SONG)
.
.
EDIT: Original lyrics didn't exactly fit the song; changed it around a bit to better match.
| 83 | There isn't a country bar in the world that doesn't play 'The Devil Went Down To Georgia'; a sad reminder of the day you lost to a dim wit country boy playing a fiddle. Thirty five years later, it is time to go back and try again. | 96 |
Saar Shi Alaras. Even the melodious, exotic sound of her name filled me with butterflies. As we boarded a Trade Federation cruiser just yesterday, she led the charge, graceful as the balancing Horfans of Mindown. Her purple lightsaber flitted through the smoke of battle like dark lightning. Seeing her in combat was like watching water trickle through a sunbeam. I've been to a hundred worlds on this campaign, but I've never seen anything as beautiful as her deadly dance.
She didn't know who I was. Just a number, of course. Indistinguishable from my brothers. Even though I volunteered for every dangerous mission. Even though I was constantly by her side. Some day, she'd notice. I replayed it over and over in my mind: the many different ways I'd save her life. But each battle, she found new ways to impress me. She didn't need me.
The others laughed. Maybe they'll make a clone of her for you, they said.
Today was no different. I sat in my bunk, dreaming of how I would snatch a Droid Alliance grenade out of the air and lob it back to the enemy. She'd turn, with her beautiful green eyes, and see me for the first time. I'd be blessed with that slight, tender smile, and she'd say, "Good throw, soldier. Who are you?" And from there, it would become just another love story, worthy of a Coruscant theater.
Our holocoms popped to life. Senator Palpatine, looking haggard and aged. "Execute Order 66," he commanded, and the com went silent.
The men in the bunk looked at each other, then at me. I was closest to the door.
Everyone jumped at once, but I was too fast. The stun grenade that they weren't expecting went off just as I snapped my helmet into place. I scrambled out as they writhed on the floor. "You'll lose your head for this," one managed to moan as the door whooshed open. Just for good measure, I locked it and shot out the controls.
I sprinted down the halls of the cruiser to the Jedi's private quarters. Luckily, the other bunks were on C-deck. I burst in, short of breath. She startled out of sleep; "What is the meaning of this, soldier?"
"The order..." I managed to gasp "to execute..." "Kill the Jedi..."
She looked at me, puzzled. "You are C523. The one they call Cowboy" she said finally, scrutinizing my face. "I recognize that scar..."
I stared dumbfounded. She remembered me?
From the hallway behind me, voices. I turned and slammed the blast door shut. She remembered *me*?
"There's no time, Ma'am. They are coming to kill you."
"And you?" she said, fingers gently brushing the cylindrical bit of metal that always hung from her belt, "Do you not obey orders?"
"Not this time, Ma'am." I said without hesitation. She rewarded me with that shy smile that I'd always dreamed of. I stared, dumbfounded, until the sound of rumbling in the hallway brought me back to reality. "They brought the drill," she said quickly. "Let's find another way out."
She grabbed my trembling hand and we fled from death together. | 98 | You secretly harbor feelings for the Master that you've been working with. One day as you were escorting the Master back to base after a mission, you received Order 66. | 68 |
They turned down Belmont Boulevard. Edward's dad glanced from the road to the mirror to adjust his Yankees hat, then motioned toward the floor with a finger. “Eddie, my man, throw in some Heavy D. This ghetto makes me depressed.”
Eddie looked down for the CD pack, but was launched forward into the dash as his dad jammed on the brakes. “Jesus Christ! Look at this bitch. Its nasty!”
Eddie sat up. A woman crossed the street in front of them with a pink leotard. She was walking on her tippy toes. Eddie thought they called it ‘point’, or something just as unoriginal. It took forever for them to cross the street when they walked like that, and Eddie noticed his dad was tightening his grip on the steering wheel.
Finally, the girl cleared the car, and Eddie’s dad scrubbed out the old white Lincoln. “That’ll teach em!” He pulled tight joint out of his shirt pocket, and sparked it up. “Lets fish bowl this bitch!”
Eddie, rubbed his hands together. He loved it when they fish bowled the car. Especially on the way to Red Lobster for Sunday dinner. Man, they were hella lucky to be so well off. He closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the seat. One more block and they were out of the ghetto.
The car eased to a stop, the old Lincoln’s brakes squeaking. Eddie opened one eye, and saw the dangling red light over the intersection, and smiled. Almost out. A car pulled up next to them with all the windows down. It was a prius, stuffed full of kids. Oh, boy. Here we go, Eddie thought. They kids were staring over at them. Eddie’s dad looked away and tucked his gold chain down under his shirt collar, then reached under his seat and pulled out his tec-nine and laid it in his lap.
The kid driving the Prius had one of the new Banana Republic suits on, jet black. He reached down and turned the music up. Eddie and his dad cringed. Anything but that crap. Nothing but sharp staccato screeches, and loud bangs.
The light turned green and the kids drove off slow, and showed how uncultured they were by using a blinker to turn left. Eddie’s dad shook his head. He put the gun back under his seat, then reached for the radio and turned the bass way up so that the car was vibrating as drove away from the ghetto, and all that horrible music. Out the rearview mirror, Eddie saw a girl with her hair pulled back tight, pirouette across the intersection. Blah.
| 17 | Write about a parallel universe where ballet is a part of ghetto culture and gangsta hip hop is the preserve of high society. | 42 |
“What’s this all about?” Chuck said, falling backward into his chair at the kitchen table with a soft thud. “It’s not even 11:00pm yet, why did you throw everyone out?” Just a few minutes prior, he and the handful of friends he’d managed to make over the years had been at his house, celebrating his 18th birthday. Now it was silent, the living room still coated in confetti and partially full red Solo cups. They hadn’t even been allowed to stay for the cake.
Chuck stared up at his parents, watching as they slowly made their way over to the table, his mother’s golden blonde hair bouncing softly as she moved. Although his father was bald now, he’d also had similarly blonde hair years ago. Chuck, on the other hand, had been cursed with thick, oily, green hair. He dyed it brown every few weeks.
“Son,” his father said, “sit down. We need to talk to you.”
Chuck glanced down at the chair he was seated in.
“I’m sitting already,” he said. “I don’t think I can sit any further.” He slid down slightly.
“Right,” his father said, pulling out the chair opposite Chuck, the same one he used every night at dinner. It wasn’t that they’d ever formally set up a seating arrangement, but night after night, he, his father, and his mother always conformed to the same seats, never straying into another’s territory. Sure, his was significantly higher than everyone else's, but they could probably still fit if they wanted to. “Your mother and I need to talk with you.”
“Yes,” said his mother, also pulling out her chair. “Please sit down.”
“He’s siting already, dear,” his father said.
“Oh, great,” Chuck’s mother said. She shifted slightly, then placed her hands palm down on the table, her eyes locked on Chuck’s. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” She smiled.
“You’re welcome?” Chuck said, shifting uncomfortably. He’d never spoken to his parents so formally before.
“Your father and I have been waiting to discuss something with you until the time was right. We both feel that now is the proper moment, as you are officially an independent adult. You do not need us any longer.”
“Sure I do, Mom,” Chuck said, fluttering his arms slightly. “Don’t say that.”
“No, no,” his father interrupted. “She’s right, today you become an adult. You're eighteen years old, an age in which you should be in control of your own destiny. It's not fair for us to keep secrets from you any longer, or try to prevent you from being who you are.”
Chuck shifted slightly, tapping both of his feet asynchronously in a habitual waddle. He’d always felt that their relationship had been rather open, almost to a fault. They knew about his relationship struggles, how he was bullied at school for his physical defects, how he just wanted to be accepted. Likewise, he knew about how they both had full-time jobs and enjoyed *The Lord of the Rings* movies. They discussed everything nightly during dinner, each sitting in their respective seats. He’d thought they’d always been open with one another.
“What do you mean?” Chuck said. “What kind of secrets?”
“Well,” his mother said, “it’s just, you know.” She paused, turning toward Chuck’s father as if waiting for him to do something.
“What your mother means,” his father said, breaking the silence, “is that you were right. There is something different about you.”
“Huh?” Chuck said, again fluttering his arms and tapping his feet. Different? They’d always said he was wrong, that he was just like everyone else, only slightly more unique. That wasn’t a bad thing, they’d say. Unique was good, it made him who he was. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think it’s helping anyone if I delay this,” his father said, then paused. “Chuck, my boy, we wanted to wait until we felt you were mature enough to handle this, but—well—you’re adopted, you see.”
Chuck sat up, his back quivering slightly. Adopted? That explained why he’d not inherited their hair color, or really any other traits. It also explained his height. He was tiny, at least a third of the size of his parents. They were both well over five foot five, while Chuck refused to even measure himself. He simply did not want to know.
“Honey,” his mother said, squinting sharply.
“What?” his father said.
“You know what,” she said.
“You do it.”
“Do what?” Chuck interrupted, studying their faces. He'd always looked so different from them, their skin significantly smoother, their faces less pointed, their feet less webbed.
“Fine,” his mother said. “Chuck, dear, listen to me. We didn’t simply adopt you.”
Kidnapped, he knew it. They always struck him as the kidnapping type. They probably stole him from some kind of orphanage somewhere in Detroit. Or maybe in Mexico. He could have been a Mexican baby, which explained for his strange lisp. It was probably the result of an old accent.
“Was I kidnapped?” he said as he attempted to think back to his birth. He couldn’t recall any Mexican orphanages.
“No, honey, of course not,” his father said. “We didn’t kidnap you. Or at least that’s not the word I’d use.”
They probably meant stealing. He nodded knowingly. He was obviously stolen from some sort of child work plant, in which they’d caused him severe emotional distress, explaining for why he couldn’t remember any of it, and why his growth had been stunted so severely.
“Right,” his mother said. “I’d more call it ‘ducknapping.’”
“Oh, I like that,” his father said. “Ducknapping.”
“Excuse me?” Chuck said, fluttering his arms uncomfortably. “What does that mean?”
“Well, on the cover, it sounds like what happens when a duck takes a short rest. But that’s not at all what it means, son,” his father said.
“Certainly not,” his mother agreed. “It means we stole you from a group of ducks.”
“A gaggle,” his father corrected.
“No, that’s geese. I think it’s a murder.”
“Crows,” Chuck interrupted. “Murder of crows. A bunch of ducks is a flock.”
“See,” his mother said, smiling, “I knew he’d be mature enough to handle this.”
“What do you mean, anyway, by stealing me from a group of ducks?” he said, closing his eyes. He’d long had a recurring dream in which he were surrounded by a flock of ducks, all of them with hair a similar shade to his own. Had he been raised by ducks in his youth, like the wolf-man raised by wolves? Part of him hoped so. He opened his eyes again.
“Well,” his father said, “about sixteen years ago, your mother and I were wandering around a park. We had some bread and were tossing it out to a small gaggle—I mean flock—of ducks. One thing lead to another and, through what we now realize was a miracle, we stumbled upon you.”
“What was I doing hanging out with ducks?” Chuck said. His parents barely let him hang out with the kids from his high school, he couldn’t even imagine being able to spend an evening with a group of wild animals.
“I believe you were eating bread,” his mother said.
Chuck nodded. He did enjoy bread. Every day, he’d beg his parents to toss him a few pieces, which he’d gleefully peck away at, fluttering his arms and waddling back and forth to each morsel.
“I see,” Chuck said. “That’s weird. My real parents left me with a bunch of ducks?”
“A flock,” his father said. “And no, not really. Technically speaking, your real parents were ducks.”
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, institutionally ruffling the hair his back. That was yet another difference between he and his parents: he'd been cursed with a thick coat of hair covering his entire body. The kids at school constantly reminded him of it.
“Yes,” his mother said, “I’d agree with that technical definition.”
“My parents were ducks?”
“Correct,” his father said. “Mallards, I believe.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Chuck said, hopping up onto the table and waddling forward slightly. They always hated when he walked on the table, especially when he napped on the dinner plates.
“I guess what we’re saying is that you’re a duck, Chuck,” his father said.
Chuck stared at his parents, forced smiles spread across their faces, yet eyes clearly showing their distress. They were old, probably senile. They had no idea what they were saying.
“Cool,” Chuck said, flapping his arms and drifting over to the kitchen counter. They were losing their minds. “Do you mind if I go over to James’ house? He just got a PS4.”
“Of course, dear, it’s your birthday” his mother said, glancing over at his father. He nodded in approval. “Please just call and check in periodically.”
“Sure,” Chuck said, waddling over to the opened window.
“You’re fine with all of this, right?” his father asked. "And you know that your mother and I love you regardless of your species?"
“Of course,” Chuck said, smiling to himself. They were out of their minds.
“So mature,” his mother said. “I told you he’d be ready.”
Chuck stepped out the window and began flapping his arms, taking off and beginning the short flight to James’ house. He laughed to himself, the thought of being a duck absolutely insane. He’d need to figure out how to handle his parents senility, but he was sure that could wait until morning. There were PS4 games to be played; he hoped the fact that he didn't have thumbs wouldn't be as much of an issue as it was on the PS3.
____________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/) | 277 | On the day of your 18th birthday, after your parents politely but firmly usher your party guests out the door, they close and lock all the doors, draw all the shades, then sit you down across from them. You remember feeling slightly different when you woke up this morning. | 195 |
Silent swings and see saws sat still.
The playground was empty on this misty Thursday morning. Through the crisp fall air, a bell rang shrilly.
The third graders were quick. They streamed from their classrooms, jumping onto the jungle gym and perching on top of the slide, ready to fend off the second graders who would be coming from the down the hall. But the doors of the East Wing of Maryview Elementary remained shut. The third graders looked at each other, then back at the doors. Something was wrong.
Movement, above them! From the roof of the school, a cascade of balls of all sizes. Basketballs thumped into the sand around them like meteors. Dodgeballs careened wildly off the bars of the marry-go-round. Tennis balls darted, bright green, through the mists. The third graders took cover in the jungle gym, and under the eaves of the lunch tables. The rain of balls stopped, leaving the playground littered with sports equipment and groaning children.
Through the mists, a cacophony of shrill yells! The 3rd graders resumed their defensive positions, ignoring fallen comrades. But it wasn't the 2nd graders charging; they were 1st graders! Wielding glue sticks and glitter, they launched themselves onto the playground, covering their foes in decorative art supplies. The 3rd graders loaded their spitball straws and fired back, forgetting all about the mysterious disappearance of the 2nd graders.
They began to push the first graders back. Casualties, scraped knees and booboos and grass stains aplenty, hampered both sides. "Nurse!!" they cried pitifully. But the war was not yet won. From above, a wave of 2nd graders appeared suddenly. The swings! Why had the 3rd graders left them undefended? Another wave of 2nd graders were already pumping their little legs, trying to build up the speed and altitude to make it over the 3rd graders' lines. Chaos reigned as a 2nd wave rushed from the left flank, sword fighting with rulers and wrapping paper tubes. From the right, reinforcements arrived with paperclip/rubberband slingshots, armed with an array of ammo. The 3rd graders were pelted with chewed gum and pen caps. "It's in my hair!" screamed Tommy Belton, the biggest of the 3rd graders. He rushed off the playground, making for the bathroom. The rest of them broke ranks and fled with him, evacuating to the 4square courts.
Paul Alvarez placed a foot triumphantly on the edge of the see saw. Today, for the first time ever, the 2nd graders would have their fun!
Paul and Alice see-sawed for a few minutes.
"This is *boring*" Alice complained.
"Yeah..." Paul agreed. "Hey, you wanna go dam up the creek??"
| 15 | Two second grade classes go to war over the playground. | 15 |
Three votes? That's it. I put in all this effort, all this editing to ensure my words flow with grace and precision, yet I've haven't received one damn word of praise. My, *my* creative genius ignored by the whole of Reddit as those ignoramus tear jerkers gobble up all those internet points. While my adventures in the world of sci-fi are overlooked. Fuck it, I'm taking some melatonin with my whiskey tonight, right after I burn my rejection letters from publishers.
I woke up with a rapping at my door, I thought I was still dreaming but the noise slowly grew to a banging. Stumbling from my warm bed, I threw on my old scrub pants I used as leisure wear, the clock read 4:03 AM.
Reaching the door, not before tucking my knife into my waist band, I pulled open my door. Only to find a tall, grey alien standing at my door with a clipboard. His saucer black eyes never left his paperwork as he scribbled notes. He towered over me at about seven feet or so, without hesitation he pushed passed me into my messy apartment, ne'er a word. He must have spied my left over pizza for when I turned around he was devouring a slice. His eyes left his paperwork as he finally looked down upon me as I stood in awe, "Let us have chat human," the wispy voice said.
It must have been awhile as I stood in awe, because he repeated himself. "What?" was all I could muster.
"Have a seat," the space man said as he rubbed his forehead with contempt. | 12 | A young man becomes depressed when his writing prompts are unsuccessful. | 20 |
[Continued from another WritingPrompt response](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2leyaw/wp_humans_bring_neanderthals_back_to_life_and/clue1t7)
We made them. We made them from scraps in a cave. *Literally*.
Humanity developed faster than light interstellar travel and found a billion Eden-like worlds. We decided to ressurect our lost genetic 'cousin species' and give them each a world of their own, so we'd have brothers in the void to share life with.
So, DNA from scraps in caves, and we recreated the neanderthals. We figured out how the familiar-looking parts of their brains worked and implanted some memories that were our best guess as to what the originals would have known. Then we put about a thousand of them down on a pristine world and watched them from orbit.
What humanity had done in 6000 years - gone from stone age to space age - they did in under a single millenium. No missteps, no wars, no strife, just uninterrupted progress on the optimal path from flint knives to FTL.
We were astounded, as they had no sign of verbal or written communications, just a simple sign language. We watched as they spread across their world and erected cities, the least of which put our best to shame.
Then one day they appeared in orbit around Mother Earth, in a ship so vastly superior to any in the Thousand Worlds that we were awestruck. Our satellites never even detected its construction. Still, our cousins, and by all accounts peaceful ones... so we sent up an emmisary to greet them. His screams went on for longer than anyone could bear to listen on the comm relay.
We learned they were, despite all scientific knowledge to the contrary, telepaths. Since being deposited on their 'Eden', they'd been leaching knowledge from the researchers who visited the orbital station we'd put above their world. Researchers who specialized in extinct species. Researchers who believed *homo sapiens sapiens* had wiped out *homo sapiens neanderthalensis*.
So they came to Earth, to wipe us out before we could destroy them a second time. They came to display such technological superiority that even though our worlds outnumbered theirs a thousand to one, we would know we were doomed.
A month after they parked above the UK in an impossible low-but-geostationary orbit, an entire fleet arrived to join them. Together they fired a terrible, terrible weapon. A bright white light was seen from across a vast swath of the Earth as it reached down and engulfed the UK, swept it clean. No human or human construct was left when it faded - only plants and animals with large 'scars' of bare dirt where cities once stood.
And Stonehenge. We still had satellites to watch with, and we saw Stonehenge *spin*. A thousand years of digging in the dirt, examining it, and we thought it was just stone! There was no light, no sound, nothing at all. In fact, that's what it did... it turned the neanderthal ships into nothing. And then their world.
They tell me now it was Homo heidelbergensis. They never went extinct, they *left*. And they'd learned not to trust telepathic species, which is why they destroyed the neanderthals. Our cousins... no, our *brothers*, have protected us again.
*edit: Removed some commas. I like commas, a bit too much, I think.* | 95 | An alien armada from a vastly superior race invades Earth. They decide to make an example of Britain and obliterate the entire island. Thats when stonehenge activates. | 133 |
"$50."
"Hm?" said the vampire.
"$50 for a litre, 90 for two," I replied.
The vampire looked at me like I didn't understand.
"Look," I sighed. "I don't need to hear your life story. I don't give a shit that you knew Marie Antoninette's second cousin. I don't care what Martin Luther's breath smelled like. You want to feed, you gotta pay like everyone else."
I pointed at the line of bloodsuckers going down the hall, no different from the junkies jonesing for methadone in the morning.
The vamp's red eye's blared. I'd seen his type before. Aristocrat, probably had some castle in the ass-end of Romania before Nick Cage turned it into a Nick Cage habitat.
With unnatural speed he grabbed me by the wrist and looked deep into my eyes.
"You will give me your blood," he said hypnotically. Nice trick, seen it before, got the T-Shirt. Since I started this gig I'd invested in mirrored contacts.
I reached under my desk and pulled out a crucifix. He jumped away with a hiss.
"$50 for one litre," I repeated mechanically. "$90 for two."
The vampire glared at me as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill. | 1,095 | access to blood in exchange for a conversation every night. | 855 |
The laboratory sat still. Beakers and vials, all filled with an assortment of colors, lined the shelves. On the floor lay Dr. Amadeus, face down into a pool of some unknown material. At first glance, it looked like blood. But you could not see through blood, and be able to make out the floor tiles beneath it in the same way as this allowed.
Dr. Amadeus wore a pristine lab coat, untouched by the red liquid that pooled around him. Glass shards lay around him, making islands in the translucent, red pool. Whatever had happened here, it had come suddenly.
Most curiously though was the note on the door of the on the outside for any that entered. It was simple and offered no explanation, but left a singular order: "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined."
When the man's lab assistants entered, the two had the note in hand. Fear gripped them, the note's message pounded at their minds.
They darted across the room, to his collapsed body, as soon as they had seen it. It felt as if Dr. Amadeus, from some realm beyond the living, watched as they did so. Neither were willing to touch the body, though both were frightened out of their wits. Did they follow the man's vision, and risk letting him die? Or were they to try and save him at the cost of the experiment?
The resulting fight over it turned to shouting.
"We have to do something!"
"But he said not to, don't you trust him?"
"He clearly attempted suicide, we can't let him die!"
"But what if he's safe now and we kill him?"
The man arguing to intervene pushed the woman that wanted to follow the doctor's orders. He lunged for the body. She pulled back, and in minutes the two were on each other as they fought over what to do.
Someone fell into the man's body, knocking him out of the pool of blood. There was a crack of thunder. The woman let out a scream, and her body twisted in agony. The man backed away, scrambling across the floor.
She stopped screaming, and looked down at her body. The woman's head turned back to the remaining lab assistant.
"Bugger it all, I came back to the wrong body. Didn't you read the note?" | 248 | A brilliant scientist is found dead in their lab. Their lab notes simply state "Please do not disturb my body, the experiment would be irrevocably ruined." | 533 |
"Well well, Senator Albertson..."
Bruno looked up and down at the senator, tie askew, eye swollen shut, hands tied behind his back and then lashed to the chair. The lone lightbulb barely lit the small circle of concrete around him. Bruno light up a cigar and breathed in his face.
"You've taken money from everyone. Millions from oil companies for drilling rights. Thousands from telecom companies for monopoly rights. Even.." He glanced at his notes. "Even a measly few hundred to, what's this say here? To 'evict an old woman so someone can expand their golf course?'"
Bruno nodded to the thug standing behind him, who lowered his revolver into the back of the senator's head.
"Listen to me, Albertson. From now on, you're green. No more petroleum drilling, all those profitable companies you oversee reduce their carbon emissions by 90 percent. You're dropping your proposed tax cuts to the billionaires and making it 100 million a year to cancer research. The war on drugs is over, government loses, resources are now going to mental health and urban youth programs. And if I hear you make another promise to ANYBODY besides the taxpaying American public, you're a dead man."
"Anything!" the senator babbled, pleading for his life. "Oh god, yes please! I'll do anything you say, please I've got a family, I'll do anything you say, I swear-"
The shot rang out and senator Albertson slumped forward, his bloodsmeared and cracked glasses clattering to the floor. Bruno took another drag from his cigar.
"I don't pay any fucking taxes, Albertson." One less corrupt politician. | 20 | A powerful gangster is fed up with corruption in the government and starts to blackmail/threaten politicians into making society a better place | 58 |
Stephen bit down on his tongue and squirmed a bit, very much disliking the sensations coursing through his body. Sure, everyone felt pain, it just never lasted very long as the nano-bots would jump into action and subdue the natural response, turning it into a cold buzzing sensation that trials had concluded to be just as noticeable as pain, but not unpleasant, allowing the user to react in the same way as pain.
Still, there we those that sought to overwhelm the system and experience real pain and suffering, for the thrill of it. Or, in Stephen's case, because he had to.
Stephen's eyes opened and the sting of salt water was potent, but, again, it only lasted for a moment, replaced by the sensation of ice cubes in his forehead. The grey-ish blob approaching him was difficult to focus on at first, but as it came closer, the rows of fangs, splayed open wide, were quite visible.
With one last jerk of rope-restrained ankles, Stephen ejected the last of his breath in a stream of bubbles and a muffled quip, "Worst frat hazing, ever." before the great white shark latched onto his torso. | 12 | A quick and easy cure for death has been found, making it so dying is a common life experience, almost more like a rite of passage. You are a teenager about to die for the first time, having been dared into it by your friends. | 30 |
Day 1
The Ancient Egyptians worshipped cats. Modern society now revolves around pictures of lolcats saying "I can have cheezburger?" and the like. I have always wondered why this is. I believe I am on the verge of finding out.
---
Day 3
God is real. Believe me. More info later.
---
Day 5
What I have found will bring current civilization to its knees... Which is why I must keep quiet. I have found that the Egyptians worshipped cats... With good reason. Blackmail. Their cat god, Bastet, is real. However, she is much more sinister than we thought. She blackmailed humanity into treating cats like terrestrial representations of her or else human civilization would be wiped out. Our obsession with cats is now subconscious.
Bastet has won.
---
Day 11
My working partner, Leon, has died. I have much sorrow. I can only assume that this may be Basters doing — and that I may he next.
---
Day 12
I am not dead, and neither is my research. I am now attempting to find out *how* Bastet exists — and if any other Egyption gods exist, too.
---
Day 20
Bastet's Secret has eluded me until now. Bastet is one of the many gods in the Egyptian pantheon of gods. We have detected a message sent from a place other than Earth that is clearly the Egyptian creation myth. None of our space probes sent it.
More coming later. | 13 | Scientists finally figure out why humanity is so obsessed with cats. It turns out to be an ancient secret much more sinister than we could have imagined. | 30 |
"Goodnight Johnny!"
"But mom!"
"NO! You're too old for a night light, it's time you grew up."
-click- The lights in the room are out, but a glow from the hallway helps.
-clack- The door closes and latches, darkness falls.
Darkness. Darkness is where the monsters live. They don't like light for some reason. They don't like to be seen.
*I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone, I'm alone, there aren't any monsters in my room!*, the thought brought little comfort. Was that a scratching noise under the bed? A bead of sweat formed on Johnny's forehead as he cowered under his comforter. Breathing was getting difficult - the air hotter, satisfying his lungs less and less.
-Scratch- -bump-
The bed definitely moved. *That wasn't me*, thought Johnny, *I have to get to the door, I wonder how fast the monster under my bed is*?
The bed started to move, the monster was obviously trying to squeeze out from under the bed. It was now or never. Johnny threw his bedspread down on the floor in front of the bed, hoping it might slow the beast, and lept through the darkness towards where he knew his door must be.
There was a loud splintering and a thump and his bed was destroyed by the rising monster and the pieces hit the floor. His skin was slick with fear-induced sweat, making Johnny's hand slip several times on the doorknob before he could turn it... almost paralyzed by fear, unable to scream, he pulled open the door and rushed into the hall.
Into his father. "This'll be over soon, son, don't worry". A shambling mound of fur and claws with glowing red eyes moved through the doorway, snarling now, maddened, angry, and wanting its prey.
Johnny's father calmly pushed his son behind him with his left arm, and readied a baseball bat with his right. He looked the horror in the eyes and said, "I know your secret. My son's fear might make you stronger, but I am not afraid of you. *You* should fear me, and even if you don't... knowing you should makes me so much stronger than you."
He swung at the monster, and with each hit Johnny was a little less afraid. *Dad will fix everything!* With each hit, the monster seemed to shrink and become less substantial. Finally, it faded into the shadows.
"Now, let's get you that night light back. Don't worry about your mother." | 10 | Fear Causes Monsters | 15 |
I used to think being different was bad. Real bad. I used to think there was something fundamentally wrong with me. Staring at this ocean of blood, I know now that I was wrong.
Tiny stars amidst a universe of pure scarlet: crystals. Crystals and I, that's all there's left. So much for finding a soul mate, huh? Not that it matters anymore.
Whenever the crystals began shimmering in the night, that's when good things happened: your first kiss, your first love, your first everything. All that is good happened because of your crystal and that was it. That was your whole life.
One crystal. One love. One life. No more. Dad was alright, he understood that I could never love him the way that he loved me; not because I was broken, but because I was different. Mom, poor soul, could never understand what she did wrong. I guess, at least, she didn't live long enough to see that she did everything right.
I finally got one, mom. My very own crystal. I really hope that you are looking down on me from somewhere and that dad is by your side. I have finally put everything back to normal.
Oh, look. It's glowing. | 12 | Everyone is born with a crystal that glows brighter the closer they are to their soul mate. one day a child is born without a crystal. | 19 |
"Who are you?"
"I think that is the question I should be asking *you*" replied Jesus. They were sitting on two stones by a riverbank. The cool water flowed past them serenely, rolling over pebbles and clay. Some songbirds tweeted in the distance. There was a light breeze that washed over them. It seemed surreal to the man who had come to meet the self-proclaimed messiah.
"If you are who, or rather, *what*, you say you are, then you must already know," replied the man.
"Even so, I'd still like to hear it from you."
The man sighed. "I am Nathan Roberts. I am a theoretical physicist from the 21st century. And I've come back in time to investigate your existence."
Jesus said nothing. His gaze was contemplative and ponderous.
The man was slightly thrown off. "Well?"
"You've just told me what you are, but you've yet to tell me *who* you are" he responded calmly.
"You don't seemed surprise to hear that," the man said.
"You don't seem surprised to be telling me," Jesus replied.
"Are you a god, *the* God, or are you just a man?" the man asked curtly.
"First, I would like you to tell me who you are."
The man's brow furrowed slightly. There was no telling how long he'd be able to stay when he was, and this "Jesus of Nazareth" was being difficult. "What do you mean?"
"You let your title define you, but that's not all there is to you."
"The same could be said of yourself, Messiah."
Jesus smiled. "Yes, I suppose that is true."
"So, who am I then?"
Jesus stared at him again. No, not at him, into him. "You're a man who's being forced to confront his convictions."
The man said nothing.
"You are a non-believer, are you not?"
"I am an atheist, yes."
"Again you let a title define you."
"How else should I define myself?"
"You shouldn't define yourself at all."
"But *you* defined yourself."
"I did."
"So why shouldn't I?"
"Because I am what I am. I'm not more or less than that. I have my purpose, and it is set."
The man was thrown off by his assertion. "How can you possibly say that you are the son of God? How can you make that claim?"
"Because I am."
"So what makes you and me different?" the man asked, impatiently.
"Because you aren't forced to make the same choices that I am. Your destiny is malleable. The choices you made have led you here, without your prior awareness. I am here because I know to be here. That's the difference. I know. You don't. You can't possibly know how your decisions will affect your future. I am cursed with knowing. Knowing how I would be born. Knowing who I would meet and when I would meet them. Knowing when I would die. And knowing what would come after my death. How my truths would be tainted by tyrants who wield their fear like a weapon..."
Jesus trailed off for a moment and his gaze strayed. When he looked back at the man he was smiling again.
"And knowing that despite those men, good people would continue to live by my words without believing in me. There is a great deal of beauty in your existence. You control your destiny. You make choices despite being faced with the unknown future.
"So to get back to my original point, you should not define yourself with words and titles. When you do that, you confine yourself to act in a way that is expected of you. You shut yourself out to a great deal of possibilities, simply because it's not something an 'atheist' or a 'theoretical physicist' would do. So how should you define yourself? You simply live life. Your choices define you. Your actions define you. Your beliefs define you. But no words can define you. Use words to define things of concrete natures. Nature, structures, societies..."
He paused for a moment.
"And gods."
The man was silent. He let the words sink into him. Finally he spoke.
"So since I met the son of God, does that mean I should become a Christian?"
Jesus laughed. It was warm and comforting. "Still missing the point. I don't care what you call yourself. You're a good man, Nathan Roberts. A little impatient and selfish at times, but you've never hurt anyone intentionally. No, I don't care what you call yourself."
At that moment a small alarm started sounding from the man's wristwatch.
"Jesus, there is still much I want to ask you. There's still much I want to know."
Jesus nodded. "I know."
"Can you keep me here a little longer?"
"I can."
"Will you?"
"Of course not, Nathan Roberts."
"Why not?"
"Because I've already told you enough to make you understand."
"Understand what?"
"You'll see in time."
"But I—"
---------------------------------------------------
The man awoke in the laboratory. A group of scientists and historians crowded around him. Immediately he was inundated by a wave of questions, too numerous to understand.
One scientist silenced the crowd. "Give him a moment! He's just returned from the past, for fuck's sake!"
The man nodded to the scientist. He slowly sat up from the machine.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" the man responded.
"Did you see him?"
The man paused for a moment to think about what Jesus had said again.
"I did."
"What did he say?"
"Quite a bit."
"Who was he, then?"
He paused, then smiled.
"He was just a man. A man who knew too much."
The crowd was perplexed by his answer and a new wave of queries began, but the man waved them off. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please, give me some time. I've just been through an extraordinary ordeal and I need to contemplate what I've learned. I promise I'll answer your questions soon. Now, excuse me."
------------------------------------
Months later, the man was being interviewed by a journalist. "The Man who met Christ".
The man sat in the chair and a microphone was pinned to his lapel. Two glasses of water sat on a small endtable between himself and the other chair. The interviewer sat down. She said something to her producer, then informed the man that the interview would be beginning. The man nodded.
The interviewer turned to face the man. Lights came up and the camera started recording.
"So. Who are you?"
------
**EDIT:: Thank you, everyone, so much for the awesome feedback!**
| 1,589 | An atheist is sent back in time and meets Jesus. Describe their conversation. | 346 |
For all our worries, first contact had gone ridiculously smoothly.
The aliens had been peaceful and competent, showing up out of the blue one day with translators and confident words.
After the initial contact, there were numerous meetings, all smiles and the careful dance of diplomacy. Even the most paranoid detractors were starting to come around.
The treaty was a masterpiece of poetry married with functionality. Every detail was thought out and written in a flowery prose that was more literature than business. All that remained was a ceremony and then the signatures.
Unfortunately, our visitors were big on ceremonies. This one had gone on for quite a while. I sat at the table on the dais trying not to yawn in the warm sunlight. There was a brief pause in the speech and I perked up, thinking it was over, but another man (?) stood up and continued right where the first had stopped. I slunk down further into my chair. A fly buzzed past my ear lazily and I waved it away.
Peace, mutual prosperity, etc. etc. etc. The humans in the audience were visibly beginning to droop, and there was no sign of the end in sight. The fly landed on the papers in front of me and my eyes focused on it. I had always been good at swatting flies. My hand came down with a solid *THUMP* and the fly was no more.
I realized that the area was completely silent. The visitor had stopped in mid sentence and was staring at me in horror. Every other visitor was equally appalled. The humans began to shift, not understanding the sudden change in mood.
The treaty was never signed. The visitors declared half our galaxy a "blighted" zone and declared it off limits to all *civilized* species. We've been left alone once again. All because of a fly.
Damn flies. | 24 | Earth is the only ecosystem in the galaxy that developed predation. Photosynthesis is the 'norm' of life in the universe, therefore 'killing' is an unimaginable concept to the aliens... until they meet humanity. | 56 |
Chapter 1: 1096 Days.
-----
He had split off from the rest of the group to take a hike through the area. India was a wonderful place, and Reginald wanted to get the most out of the geological survey of the fault line he had. He wanted to climb up a crevice to get a good photo of the area. The pile of rubble looked rather stable and the easiest way to reach it.
He dislodged a rather big rock, which caused half the pile to tumble and him to fall flat on his back. Standing up, Reginald started to clear off the dust on his clothes. There was a steel door hidden beneath all the rocks, half of it in the open now. It had to have been untouched for decades.
There was a busted keypad, all rusted up, just under the top of the heap. He tried to nudge it with a stick. After a minute of fiddling, he managed to reach it. The door opened, and much of the rubble fell into the metal hallway. Curiosity got the better of him, and he went inside.
--------------
David took another toke, and then handed the joint to Yolanda, or Ronda, or whatever her name the naked chick in his bed was. He stood up, and walked inside to the bathroom where he washed his face. The stubble from two days without shaving, bloodshot eyes with puffy eyelids, messy hair two inches too long, and a healthy dose of "I don't give a fuck" looked back at him from the mirror.
"Was fun, I'm off" the woman said from the other room.
He just grunted. She giggled and he heard her leave. His apartment, for lack of a better word, was a shithole. A complete mess with clothes strewn all over the ratty furniture, in a just-barely savory area of the town, the one room cluttered and unwashed, begged him to open the window to get the stench out.
The cellphone had a blinking light on it. Missed call from Benji. David threw it on the bed, and got dressed in a bunch of mismatched clothes on the border of hippy and hipster. He lit a cigarette and poured himself some coffee.
-------
"What the hell are you talking about Reggie?" Benji said, mildly amused at his friend's antics.
He was walking down the hall and entered his office, cellphone held to his ear. A load of paperwork greeted him. He ignored it and looked at the equations on his whiteboard while Reginald continued his diatribe.
"So, the world is ending, because of nuclear weapons nobody knows about planted all over the fault lines of the world. Because of some secret cold war operation that everyone lost track of." Benji's amusement was turning into exasperation with each word. "Dave is rubbing off on you."
--------
Reginald sat in the bunker, red lighting making everything seem like a submarine movie. The files in front of him were clear. There were bunkers like this all around the world, and without a combination of keys, passwords, and biometric identification, nuclear weapons would explode directly in all the major fault lines.
"I'm telling you Benji, I'm being serious here. I AM IN A BUNKER RIGHT NOW. I AM SEEING THE FILES RIGHT NOW." Reginald shouted.
"Detonation will occur in exactly three years." A voice said, coming out of a speaker.
"Man, I am not joking. This amount of nuclear weapons in strategic locations would cause volcanic activity, tidal waves, shifting of atmospheric currents, and OH YEAH THE END OF CIVILIZATION." He was growing frantic.
"How am I supposed to calm down? This isn't a joke, this isn't a nightmare because even in my nightmares you are bloody reasonable. The world will end in 1096 days, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it."
-----------
David drove his bike towards MIT. He worked in the IT department of all things. People liked him, and even ignored his blatant disregard for dress codes and mediocre personal hygiene, because he was great at his job. He pulled up to the parking spot next to the mathematics department.
"The wonders of the tech sector." Dave mumbled to himself as he flashed his card towards the security guy.
The coffee machine started rumbling after he put the money in. He took out the cup, took a sip and blanched. Then he got another one. David walked up the stairs, into a hallway, and finally entered Benjamin's office.
"I bring offerings of shitty coffee!" He exclaimed.
"Oh you've got to hear this man. I'll put it on speaker." Benji replied.
"... The world will end in 1096 days, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it." Reg's voice hit him like a hammer.
"Benji... I've known Reg since I was three. He's... not joking." David said automatically.
"Dave? Thank god. Tell that idiot I'm not screwing around. I'm in a damn cold war nightmare gone wild. Some idiots thought they'd need a failsafe in case the commies take over the world so they wouldn't do it. We have three years until armageddon. I... shit. Shitshitshitshit." Reginald said.
Benji closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and paced around a bit. That always helped him think.
"All right. Here is what we need to survive. We need at least a hundred people, us three among them, in a space station stocked for a decade, and the proper tools to build a town and power supply in a hostile environment. That means we need guns as well." Benji measured his words carefully and paused.
He paced around for a few seconds.
"We have three years to achieve this. That means honesty goes out the window. We are going to cheat, lie, defraud, steal, and whatever it takes to make this happen. No messing around, no other priorities. I'll start working on a plan. You get back here as soon as possible. Dave, we need you focused, and that means clean, sober, and healthy. We all have our first missions. Get to work guys." He said.
--------- | 11 | The pilot episode of the TV show you want make | 47 |
When the shower came on today, it was hot.
After the initial surprise wore off, I could no longer focus on cleaning myself. I sunk to my knees and curled up, so my entire body would fit in the stream. My body shuddered, my back and legs and shoulders spasming violently as long-knotted muscles started to relax for the first time in months. I think I may have started to cry, but between the water dripping over my face and my intense focus on enjoying the moment, I can't be sure.
For half a year, I had been tortured every single day. Nothing physically harmful, at least, besides the ulcers. I had been waterboarded, sleep deprived, chained, starved, kept in darkness, screamed at for hours on end, molested, kept in bone-numbing cold, been deprived of human contact, and much more. And at the end of every day, a freezing cold shower preceded a long night, where sleep was rare, and when it came, was quickly interrupted by blaring horns, or men dragging me out of bed to douse me with more cold water.
You would think you would eventually get used to the constant stress and tension. That knowing terrible things would happen would make them feel less terrible. But it doesn't. It makes it worse.
And it makes any relief, any at all, the most precious thing in the world.
It wasn't until the moment the water turned off that I became suspicious. I started to think why they would suddenly decide to send me hot water. I had not been broken, even after all this time. Was I being let go? Had someone taken pity on me?
I had a sudden, terrifying thought that maybe I had told them everything, and forgotten it. It was not the first lapse in memory I would have had since coming here.
But no, I remembered everything since my last cold shower. They could not have gotten anything from me. Why then? What was going to happen next?
When I stood up to go to my bed, next to the clothes that were always there, I saw a towel. A thick, luxurious towel, pure white and smelling of fresh air. I buried my face in it, and this time I knew I cried. I dried myself so slowly with it that by the time I got to my feet, they had almost dried by themselves. I dressed afterward, the thin shirt and shorts feeling cruel and rough by comparison.
The bright whiteness of the towel had distracted me from the new bedclothes that my thin cot bed had. Previously, it had been a naked mattress, two inches thick where it wasn't depressed permanently in the shape of my body. I had no blanket, slept mostly naked. But there was a fluffy, warm blanket today, and clean sheets. It may have been my imagination, but the mattress felt new beneath the sheet, more plush.
I was trying desperately to resist the urge to get in. The anxiety of six months had not left me yet, and I feared a trap. Perhaps the blankets would be full of maggots, or they would seal me in once I laid down, wrapped up too securely to move, and they would leave me like that until I was almost dead of thirst. It would not be the first time something like that had happened.
I was still contemplating the trap when there was a knock on my door. I froze, expecting someone to burst in, shouting and pushing me to the ground. I stared at the door, waiting. But instead, after a few long moments, there was only another knock. Polite, and soft.
I walked over to my door, and tried the handle. Locked, of course. I was still a prisoner. "Come in," I tried to say. My voice was weak, and cracked so badly that I was incomprehensible.
I cleared my throat, and said in a slightly steadier voice, "Come in."
A man opened the door. He was tall, and handsome, and did not speak. He closed the door behind him, smiling at me, warm, and kind.
"What do you want," I asked him, stepping back. He was walking towards me slowly, and when he saw me back away, he raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. I stopped.
He came right up to me, and took my shoulders in his hands. The air in my prison was terribly cold, though I did not notice it very often anymore. Even after the hot shower, my skin had become clammy, and his hands radiated warmth. "Wha-," was all I got out, before he pulled me up against him, and kissed me.
For the third time that day, I may have cried. It sounds horrible, stupid, disgusting, but I could not help myself. I had been so long treated with cruelty and inhumanity that I could not push away a man I did not know. It had been so long since I had been close to a human being, I could not stop my mouth from kissing back, or my arms from wrapping around his body. I could not even stop him from lifting me up and putting me on the bed, or stop him from doing anything that he did after that.
Worst of all, I wanted him to do it. I wanted him to do it all, and when it was done, I slept holding him tight, squeezed into the cot with him, this man I did not know. I slept like a baby, dreamless, perfect, and content.
Before sleep took me, I realized what this all meant. I knew what had happened here.
They had finally, and forever, broken me.
| 27 | You have just taken the first hot shower you've had in months. Why? | 42 |
"There are ten of you," the letter said "Each with a unique ability that will change your life. I have bestowed these gifts upon you ten, hand-picked from millions of your peers. But with that comes a price. Only one of you may become heir to my fortune and powers, and the final test is not up to me to decide. For one of you to ascend, the other nine must be killed. Each one of your abilities will give you a unique edge in combat, and for every one of your peers that you finish off, you will receive more information. And you will know the others when you find them."
The letter was initialled P.M.M. It meant nothing to Laura. The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous.
*But he knew about your powers*, a voice inside of her said. *How would he know unless he was telling the truth?*
She crumpled up the letter and threw it away. Nonsense.
---
Two weeks later Laura sat on a filthy, smelly, crowded, downtown bus, thinking about the letter. It had taken over her mind. As she shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic seat, she heard the hum. It was low, almost imperceptible. She almost had to strain to hear it. But it was audible even through the noise blasting through her headphones, as though the hum were coming from inside her.
No one else noticed as the hum grew louder, stop after stop. But the bus turned on 7th, and the humming began to quiet. Laura vaulted from her seat and grabbed the chain, ordering a stop. The hum intensified again, as if confirming that she should exit the bus. The doors opened with a whoosh, and the hum pulsed louder. She wandered the streets, not quite knowing where she was going. The hum was hypnotic.
She ended up in an empty playground, somewhere near Stuvyesant Town. A gust of wind sailed lightly through the orange and red trees, rustling the brilliant fall colors and shaking leaves to the ground. At the other end of the yard, she saw a girl, shrouded in a heavy brown jacket and bug-eye sunglasses, dark hair wrapped tightly in a bun. The hum was coming from her. Laura's mind flashed back to the letter: "you will know the others when you find them."
The girl jumped suddenly, impossibly high, and flew at Laura. Literally flew. Her glasses clattered to the ground and her brown jacket flapped in the wind behind her as she soared through the air. Laura stared awestruck for a moment. *She's really flying*.
In the girl's hand, a knife flashed. Laura let out a terrified "eep" of surprise, and activated her own power: invisibility. Laura rolled to the side as the girl landed where Laura had stood only seconds ago; the knife jutted out as if she'd expected it to be in Laura's gut.
"So," the girl said "I was right about the hum." She flipped the knife in her hand deftly. "You feel it too, don't you?"
Invisible, Laura backed away slowly, trying not to step in the dried brown leaves under her feet. The girl lifted off again, hovering in the air doing slow laps around the playground, searching like a hawk for any sign of Laura.
"I still feel it," the girl called out. "I know you're still here. Hiding won't work."
Silently, Laura climbed a thick old maple, going slowly to avoid shaking any of the branches that stretched out over the playground.
"What did your letter say?" she called out, trying to goad any response. "Mine told me where I could find you." Laura snaked out onto a high branch, watching the brown-haired girl do slow laps around the park. "He told me what your power is, too."
Laura readied herself. "He wants me to win, you know," the girl called out. "He told me so."
With a silent leap, she jumped from the branch as the girl flew under her. She grabbed hold of the girl's arms as they careened through the air. Together, they hit the ground with a thud, a jumbled pile of intertwined limbs. Laura grappled with the girl; her invisibility was no advantage at such close quarters. With a violent shake, Laura knocked the girl's head into the pavement, grabbed the knife, and thrust it into her chest. She cried out in agony, trying to fly, to escape. Laura gripped her tight as she bled out on the foursquare court.
----
A week later, Laura received a letter. "Congratulations," it began.
[Parts 2 through 6 are here](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ll8a1/letters_and_powers/clvwvo0)
| 122 | You discover you have emerging super powers that develop and strengthen over time. However you are not the only one. The same thing happened to 10 random people around the world. You begin to find the others, but not all of them want to get along. | 90 |
It was during the nightly news when the world came to know that this wasn't just an isolated problem. This, of course, being the matter of *trees* growing from tiny seed and sapling to full size in a matter of seconds.
The anchor read the teleprompter in a grim monotone.
"Sources in Washington, Maine and other densely forested parts of the country now put the number of fatalities in the thousands. Scientists around the world are at a loss to describe what could be causing trees of every species to shoot their seeds with the force of a bullet, and rapidly germinate and grow to their adult size within seconds. According to officials in Brazil, Costa Rica, and Ecuador, rainforests everywhere have started overtaking nearby..."
With a salvo of static the broadcast flickered into digital snow and stayed that way for what seemed like minutes. Eventually, the static cleared into a scrambled picture that eventually came into focus. The picture came from what seemed like a handheld camera, centered on a short, strange looking man. His sad, angry eyes were framed by bushy eyebrows and a wild beard that was scattered with twigs and leaves. He cleared his throat.
"My name is the Lorax. I speak for the trees, I speak for the trees for the trees have no tongues. I've asked and I've asked at the top of my lungs -- I've gotten upset, I've shouted and puffed. But the time for talk is over, you've all done enough. Now my trees will take over. They're taking a stand. Your cities will be rubble, the world *green* once again."
In another flurry of black and white, the broadcaster was back.
"Apologies ladies and gentleman for that disturbing interruption. We can assure you that we will be staying on top of this story as new details emerge on LORAX, whether this man represents a single person or a new terrorist organization -- it's now clear that this dangerous and unusual phenomenon happening around the world is indeed a terror threat. Please stay tuned as the story develops. Goodnight, and God bless. "
The power flickered and Jack looked past his television and out the window.
"Honey, we got another one! More birch! I hate birch."
Before he could say another word, the founder and president of Coastal Lumber felt the rumble and heard the fast, tearing creak of yet another birch tree as it shot past the window, a streak of white lightning in the New England sky.
He looked past it toward his truck. He thought it was at least a little ironic that it had spared by the barrage so far. Or was it a coincidence? He brushed the thought aside and returned his focus to the matter at hand.
"Martha! That one was way too close to the house."
Jack let out a long, exasperated sigh, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we need to get into the city."
Martha peeked out from the tiny, disheveled kitchen, “The city?” The ear-numbing emergency alert system was whining a long shrill home in the background.
“How the hell is anyone supposed to think during an emergency with this racket? Yes Honey, the city. I don’t like the idea either. But it’s not like we’re going there to rub elbows with assholes, I think…hold on, I need some quiet.”
Jack reach toward the TV to turn it off just as another pop, tear, and creak announced the arrival of a new, full grown tree to his otherwise quiet corner of coastal New Hampshire. Except there was another salvo of static, and suddenly the broadcast was back, but instead of the local news anchor this time it was the President, sitting in the oval office in a wrinkled shirt. A dogwood branch reached into the camera’s frame.
Jack stood back with a shrug and a laugh. “Alright, here we go, what does this joker have to say now?” Crisis or not, stubborn Jack’s disapproval of the president knew no bounds.
“Ladies and gentleman, this is the President of the United States of America.”
“Naw, You think?”
“Jack, quiet! I want to listen.” Martha was leaning over the kitchen bar, half-dressed in jeans and her nightshirt — absentmindedly spreading peanut butter onto a row of bread slices.”
On November 1st, 2020, a joint task force headed by FEMA, the National Science Foundation, and the NSA identified a new threat, which is currently making its presence known around the world. No new information is available about the unfolding crisis or the individual claiming responsibility for the attacks. There is no known information about the entity self-identified as LORAX . However, our new joint-task force is dedicated to finding the cause and restoring order. If you or your family lives in a densely forested area, FEMA and the NSA’s recommendation is to stay indoors. If a basement is available, it will be your safest refuge. If your home has been compromised, our official recommendation is to safely and calmly make your way to the nearest metropolitan area. Where there are no trees, there should be no danger. In times of crisis, we — as Americans — are afforded the opportunity to demonstrate to the world our…”
Before the President could finish, the broadcast cut with a loud pop, quickly followed by a loud and long creak as a fresh new oak tree spread it’s roots across the Lambert’s dirt driveway and shot it’s way into the sky. The television switched from snowy static to a rainbow of colors.
“Lot of help he is…” Jack looked from the television, to Martha in the kitchen.
| 25 | The earth is adapting to humans. Trees now fire their seeds outwards and they grow to full size instantly when they hit the ground. | 19 |
Alex struggled to his knees. He was older now and hadn't bent in a few years. So his body naturally sang with a pop.
The sound caused him to frown obliquely, as he settled on the tiled floor. He never liked tiles. And there was something pedestrian about the act that the Scottish aristocrat, with his hundred acres, rustic castle and two titles, found abysmally depressing.
"Ho ye! Can ye gie's haund?"
Alex wasn't high aristocrat. But this was the first time either had spoken.
"What?" a frustrated whip.
"A haund, gie's one. Wi only goh' twinty peeces left."
"Ah yasso mi deh yuh no', star? Ah yasso yute. An ah me wan alone -- **me wan alone from maunin** -- a put di ting togedda, an yuh deya talk 'bout daag.
"*Daag*!" Nesta kissed his teeth and gave the Scot a half-perplexed look. It roiled with an increasing sense of frustration. *Gie's a haund*, he thought with an angry look. "Gie yuhself a bloodclaat hound." the sharp tongue stung in a whisper.
"Ah one job mi gie yuh: tek di ting dem deh--" he paused and pointed. "An puddong di ting dem desso."
"Swatch, Ah jist need a wee help wi' thes."
"Mi nuh know nobody weh name Tess fi help. Help arr yuhself..."
Alex frowned. He was a little slower, now that he aged. And he didn't understand what Nesta wanted.
"Ah jist need yer help collectin' lae ay th' leggos." He spoke again, slowly, carefully.
"Leggo what? Yuh nuh si we soon done an yuh waan leggoff it? Yuh mad?! Di ting did 50,000 piece an yuh waan done it off?" Nesta kissed his teeth again, and stalked off.
Alex, not sure what just happened, rose to his feet and did the same.
| 214 | A Jamacian and a Scottish person, both with outrageous accents, have to work together to assemble a 50,000 piece lego display. They can't understand each other, and neither can we. | 292 |
"Do you have *the package*?", asked my weird neighbor.
I was in a good mood, so I answered him "Nope, not yet, just heading out to pick it up now."
"Good, good. Tell me when you get *the package*." he ducked back behind his door.
Weird, but the JuiceMaster 12000 *was* the latest and greatest in an already amazing line of products. Maybe I'd invite him over for some fresh-squeezed once I got it home. I headed out. The post office was about a half mile away, and the weather was nice so I thought I'd walk.
There were quite a few people on the street, but they were walking briskly, so I was making good time.
"She said YES!" a business suited man yelled.
"She said yes?" answered another.
"SHE SAID YEEEEEEEES" suddenly everyone on the street was in on it. The first man broke into a sequence of elaborate dance moves and everyone was moving together.
"Pardon me" I said, but I was drowned out by the song. Stupid "flash mobs". "EXCUSE ME!" I said pushing through. One of them stumbled. The entire group stopped dead and stared at me.
"I *said* excuse me." I spoke over my shoulder as I walked away. The group behind me attempted to get going again, but I had clearly broken the mood.
I walked into the post office. There were a couple of people standing nearby, but I couldn't tell if they were in line or not. I stood behind them, just in case.
"We'll wait until everyone is gone. Then we'll just get it and go."
"But how will we find it?"
"The clerk will know" he noticed me behind him.
"How much did you hear?" he asked, harshly.
"Is this where the line starts?" I responded. He jerked his thumb toward the clerk. Apparently he wasn't in line.
"Hi, I believe I have a package waiting for me?" I handed the clerk my receipt. He stared blankly at it before shuffling off into the back room. There seemed to be something wrong with his shoulder. It kept moving awkwardly under his clothing.
"Your package, humaaaaaan" he handed it to me.
"Thank you, my good man." I walked out of the office. Behind me I could hear raised voices, I guess the earlier patrons hadn't found what they were looking for.
It was starting to look like rain, so I hailed a cab. One pulled over and I opened up the door. There was already someone in it.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought this was open"
"No, by all means, come on in." said the man inside. "We'll split it"
"Well, I'm just heading down the road a bit, so that should be alright." I hopped in and gave my address. The cab pulled away.
"Say, you don't happen to know a man by the name of Anthony Peters, do you?" the passenger asked. In the rear view mirror I caught the cabbies eyes. He was sweating an awful lot.
"What, the billionaire industrialist? Ha, I wish. No, I don't run in those circles."
"Ah. A shame." we reached my destination and I pulled out my wallet.
"No, no, my friend. It is on *me*". The passenger reached over to the door and closed it solidly. I walked inside.
I was eager to try out my JuiceMaster. | 27 | A man plans to pick up a package from the post office. On his way, he keeps getting dragged into the middle of cliche movie plots. Describe his exasperated day! | 53 |
Kayla stayed motionless as she watched the Sunwalkers pass he by. She lay prone under the McDonalds billboard, waiting. The Sunwalkers had suits that let them out in the day, and Kayla's group needed them.
Humanity was not suited for the night.
Kayla watched as the last inch of sunlight turned into shade. She crawled out of her spot, making as much noise as she wanted. The Sunwalkers never carried guns, they only had boxes, probably food they found in torn cities.
She stood up as the two men in suits turned to face her. "Now!"
Rick stepped out from behind his spot, a stack of tires. They provided no shade, but the sun had set there a while ago. John came out from behind a door to what was once a bathroom. Amy stood up from the pit she dug.
All pointed their guns at the two men.
"Suits off." Kayla said. She had her six shot aimed at the larger one's chest.
The men exchanged looks before they started stripping off the suits. "Please, don't shoot."
Kayla nodded at Rick. Rick lowered his gun and walked up to the two, heading for the boxes. He picked one up and opened it, dumping the contents out. It was full of needles and pill bottles.
"What's this?" He asked the smaller man.
"It's medicine," the man replied as he stripped off the last scrap of the suit. "We're with the CDC, I know not many people are left, but there's a big settlement down south of here and they have a disease going around, it-"
"Take the medicine," Kayla said, gun still aimed at the larger man's chest.
"Please," the small one said, "the people south of here need it bad or they die. You can take out suits, but let us give the medicine to them."
Kayla switched her aim from the larger man, still taking off his suit, to the smaller man. She shot him twice in the chest.
She turned back to the larger man and stepped forward, six shot aimed at his chest. "Take it off. Now."
"Hold on," he held up his hands. All he had on were his boxer shorts and one shoe from the suit. "We can work this out."
Kayla shot him once. He fell to the ground. Rick stepped forward and grabbed the shoe, pulling it off roughly. Kayla stood above the man and pointed the gun to his head.
"Why?" He sputtered blood as he spoke. "We gave... gave you what you want..."
"Humanity is not suited for the night." Kayla shot his in the head. "Amy, you hold one of the suits, John, you take the other. Rick, you grab the boxes.
Kayla loaded four bullets into her gun, back to its full capacity, and turned. If she hadn't shot them, they would simply die when the sun came up, she did them a mercy.
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." Kayla mumbled to herself.
"What's that?" Rick asked.
"Nothing." Kayla began walking to camp. "Get moving." | 15 | The year is 2216. Earth's ozone layer has depleted to such an extent that humans have been forced to live nocturnally to avoid radiation poisoning. Cities are scorched wastelands under sunlight, and thriving ecosystems under the cover of darkness. | 36 |
It's long.
It finally happened for Henry J. Sampson, he had achieved his dream. He was finally an engineer, a nuclear engineer. However, Henry knew as much about nuclear engineering, let alone how to boil water, as a whale knows what the ground is. This presented a problem for Henry very soon after he started at Twin Peaks Generation Station... For unlike academia, a nuclear plant isn't an abstract theoretical concept that can be reworded from *Wikipedia* or solved using *Wolfram*, it is a highly complex system dependant on both classical engineering, and nuclear physics.
For the first year of Henry's employment he was a model engineer. He followed his mentor, Tom, like an excited puppy and even halfheartedly attempted to absorb the knowledge bestowed upon him by his mentor. Every day Henry listened as Tom explained the operational procedures and theories behind the newly constructed Westinghouse AP1000 Gen III+ PWR. Soon he learned the basics, boil water--spin turbine--repeat.
It was all going so well for Henry until Tom unexpectedly fell ill, it was cancer, damn cigarettes had taken their toll, said Tom to his pupil on his last day. It was at this time Henry realized how well and truly screwed he was. He was alone managing the operational staff of a power station and he didn't have the slightest clue about it.
Several weeks pass and Henry quickly realized the day-to-day operations were always the same and required little in the way of effort or thought from him, the plant was brand new what could go wrong!
However, soon it was now time to take the reactor offline for its first refueling and it's the first major operation Henry was to be in charge of. The control room staff shut the plant down and alert Henry that it's time to uncap the core. All goes well at first, the technicians unbolt the top of the massive pressure vessel, lifting it away. Henry has never seen the inside of a reactor and is excited to look in. It is at this time his lack of knowledge starts to present itself. Henry asks why it's full of water, to which the stunned technician replies "to cool it", Henry replies "of course!", his crew look at him hoping for a punchline Henry is unaware he must supply to ease their understandable apprehension. Finally someone says 'get back to work' and the crew resumes the defueling process.
It is now that the engineer on duty--Henry is supposed to inspect the core for signs of damage, cracks, and any anomalies. Henry sees a glint of shiny metal surrounding the output for one of the massive coolant pumps and promptly forgets all about it. The refueling procedure goes off without a hitch as Henry takes a coincidental vacation. No one else recognizes the crack and the plant is restarted without incident and on time.
Epilogue:
10 Years later.
RADIOACTIVE STEAM FROM RUPTURE IN TWIN PEAKS POWER STATION KILLS 2 WORKERS, NRC INVESTIGATES! reads the headline of every news source in America. The talking heads say it's a building flaw, sabotage, or even magic. None of these are farther from the truth. What really happened was far more simple and damning to owners of, the soon to be sold, Pacific Ace Energy Resources Ltd. The sliver of shiny metal Henry noted was in fact a crack brought on by excessive vibration in the main reactor coolant lines.
The plant is permanently shut down due to public outrage and the 12 million gallons of contaminated water that accumulated in the basement of the power plant. At this time Henry hasn't been in the nuclear industry in years, he went into politics, he's running for a seat in the Senate and is projected to win. No one connects Henry to the tragedy, aside from the fact he once worked there a decade ago. He's off the hook. However, he realizes that the shiny metal he failed to mention all those years ago had cost the lives of two men and endangered countless others, it haunts him every waking moment. | 20 | A man begins his first day as an engineer at a nuclear power plant, but what no one knows is that he cheated his way through school....Since the first grade. | 32 |
The Serpent chuckled when he saw his visitor. It was a dry, rasping noise, the sound of a heavy oak door being closed over desert sand. The summer heat was bearing down upon them both and it would be hours until there was any respite, but the visitor didn't seem to mind: his robes hung loose around his portly frame, the linen flowing in a gentle ripple even though there wasn't even the faintest hint of a breeze.
'It's been a long time,' the Serpent said at last. 'I thought you might have forgotten about me.'
There was no danger of that. He was not the forgiving sort, and his memory was long – too long, perhaps. That was part of the problem. 'Liar,' he said.
The Serpent would have shrugged, way back when, but he had long since adapted to his limitations. 'I am what I am,' he said simply. 'You should know that.'
'I do.'
They sat in silence, watching the skittering insects as they raced around his feet. At first the Serpent thought they were just seeking out shade, but there was more to it than that. Everything was drawn to him eventually. He had that strange sort of magnetism, an oasis of calm in a world of troubles.
Even after everything, the Serpent still felt more at peace with him around. He hated himself for that.
'I'm here to say goodbye,' the visitor said eventually.
‘I thought we settled that after the Garden?’ the Serpent hissed. There was anger in his voice – anger that surprised him, that he thought had long since been locked away. ‘Your goodbye seemed pretty final then.’
‘Things change. Even for me.’
‘Evidently.’
'I... misjudged things,' he said. It was the closest the Serpent had ever heard to an admission of wrongness. 'A few small errors. Things I thought were for the best turned out not to be so.'
‘If it’s the whole free will issue, I’m pretty sure I warned you about that.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Then what?’
‘Hope,’ he said simply. ‘Too much hope.’
The Serpent laughed at that, a series of hoarse barking that split the desert air and sent waves down his slender body. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘And there was you maintaining that hope was what made them glorious. How wonderful for you.’
‘It is,’ the visitor said. ‘There’s just too much of it. They spend their lives wondering about what comes next, rather than living in the moment.’ He sighed. ‘I supposed I just didn’t make that clear enough.’
'So what happens next? Back to the drawing board? Universe 2.0?'
The visitor shook his head. 'I don't think so. Not yet. This one was my fault, not theirs. They deserve a fair shake at it.'
'They've had thousands of years.'
'No, they haven't,’ he said. ‘That's the problem.' The visitor picked up a beetle from the sand and held it between his stubby fingers. Six legs kicked and flailed in the air under a hard carapace. ‘Look at him,’ he said. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’
The Serpent sighed. *You and your riddles*, he thought. ‘Yes. Positively charming. What do you mean, they haven’t?’
‘They lost their way.’
‘That’ll happen without guidance.’
‘Or with too much. Too many rules… it made it hard for them to grow.’ He paused. ‘Do you remember the Greeks?'
'Vaguely.'
'Funny little people. Western Mediterranean… not too far from here, in fact. Very big on columns. They used to tell stories about a man named Atlas who carried the weight of the cosmos on his shoulders. The burden of the ages. Can you imagine that?' The snake shook his head. 'Well, they did. Poor bastard.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be fun. It was meant to be a punishment.’
‘I can’t imagine it being anything but,’ the visitor said. ‘There’s a saying down here. “I ask not for a lighter burden, but for broader shoulders.” They do love their little soundbites. Everything in one convenient package, all ready to be sent off for consumption at the earliest opportunity. Anything quotable will be passed on.’
‘It’s the best way to sell an idea,’ the Serpent said. ‘Tried and true. What’s wrong with that?’
‘It misses the point. They shouldn’t be asking for broader shoulders. They shouldn’t be asking for anything at all. I can’t. The beetle can’t. Why should they? What makes them so special?’ As soon as he had said it, the visitor found himself unable to stifle a dissatisfied smirk. ‘I suppose I rather walked into that one, didn’t I?’
‘Rather.’
‘So yes. That’s why I have to go. That’s why they have to learn that I’m not going to help them anymore. If they want broader shoulders, they’re just going to have to work harder to build them up themselves. They need to learn that it’s OK to fail in the name of progress. They deserve the credit for their own achievements.’
'Why now?'
He shrugged. 'Why not?'
'Why ever?'
There was a long pause, and the visitor ran a hand around his mouth. Perhaps the dryness of the desert was beginning to get to him. Perhaps he was just stalling. 'I'm... *tired*,' he said eventually. The word came out of him in a single breathy sigh. It was the first time he had ever said it out loud, and it showed. He had always had a sense of eternity surrounding him, but now he just looked *old*. 'I didn't know how much it would drain on me.’
‘You just didn’t see it coming, eh?’
The visitor didn't have an answer to that. It was a good start.
‘So why me?’ the Serpent asked. ‘I’m assuming you’re not planning on putting me in charge while you’re away?’
‘I need your help,’ he said. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
‘What?’
‘Lying. Deception.’
‘You’re not lying. You’ll really be gone.’
‘They won’t know that, though. They have to think I never existed. It’s for their own good. They have to think they were wrong the whole time. How else will they learn what they’re capable of?’
The Serpent considered it.
‘You’re sure this is what you want?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘You’ll have to be smart about it, then. You can’t just replace one truth with another,’ he said. ‘Only with doubt. People will reject anything that’s too far from what they know, even if what they know is wrong. You break it down first, piece by piece. Sand through an hourglass. It takes time.’
The visitor nodded. ‘I have time. What else?’
The Serpent thought again. ‘Convince them you’re the way forward. That you’ll lead them to the truth.’
‘Seems a little counterintuitive.’
‘Only if you’re always going to be there,’ he said. ‘Think mortal. Fleshy. Weak. As far from you as you can possibly be.’
The visitor looked confused. ‘Why?’
‘Think about it. How do you kill a God?’
‘You can’t.’
‘And how do you kill an idea?’
‘Same answer.’
‘And how do you kill a man?’
The Serpent thought he saw a faint smile cross the visitor’s lips. He might have mellowed over the eons, but some things never changed. It sent a shiver through him. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘If you want to kill a God, you make him a man first. Find a weakness. Let them tear him down. See what they put in his place. You might not like it, but…’
‘But it’ll be theirs,’ the visitor finished. ‘And that’s what counts.’
‘Exactly.’
It had grown dark as they spoke, and a single bright star hung in the heavens. The Serpent watched the path it traced across the night sky. He had never seen something so beautiful in all his life.
‘So what’s the plan?’ he asked.
The visitor shrugged. ‘Find a woman, I suppose. Introduce myself. Wait nine months or so. See how it goes. Isn’t that how it’s usually done?’
‘So I’m told. When are you planning to start?’
‘Soon. Not now, but soon.’ He sat back in the sand, shooing the beetles out of his way as he placed his hands behind his back and looked out across the rolling desert. In the distance, the torches of a small town glowed in the darkness. The Serpent hadn’t noticed it before.
‘For the moment I’m just enjoying… *this*. I forget what it’s like down here, sometimes.’
The Serpent looked around. ‘You did a good job,’ he said. ‘I always thought so.’
‘I did,’ he nodded. ‘Maybe if I’d spent more time on the humans and less on the scenery, things might have worked out differently, eh?’
‘Maybe. Hard to tell.’
They sat in silence, waiting and watching.
‘It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?’ the visitor said. ‘When it ends.’
‘The mortal thing? Yes. Almost certainly. And during, too. It’s a short, cruel, hardscrabble existence. But it’s a necessary evil, in the grand scheme of things. It’s part of a greater plan. You said it yourself. And afterwards, you’ll be free.’
‘Free,’ the visitor repeated. The word sounded small and yet colossal on his lips: a splinter of infinity in the darkness. ‘Free at last,’ he said again.
There was hope in that. | 15 | God, wanting to retire, takes corporeal form and attempts to convince the world he's not real. | 17 |
Turns out, time travel isn't all as exciting as we thought it would be. If you go into the past to stop the evil mantis men, and you succeed, then the mantis men would have never been a problem. You wouldn't *need* to go after them in the first place. Basically, if you find yourself going into the past to fight the evil mantis men, you've probably already fucked it up.
Ever since we figured this out, time travel has been a bit of a joke. We know it's necessary, with potential future us busily taking down potential present mantis men, but in terms of tangible, practical uses, it's fallen a little flat. Everyone has agreed not to fuck with pre-travel timelines so we don't end up messing with it's discovery. So ancient tourism is out. Anything we mess with in the future has already been integrated into our timeline, so nothing groundbreaking there. There's always the people who want to see how their lives play out, but honestly most of us figure that knowing how things play out before it happens kinda takes the fun out of living. All the tec does is sit there, with future us making sure humanity is always surviving and thriving, giving us an out even in the worst of circumstances. Truthfully, it's been the most amazing, beneficial flop in all of history.
But once in a while, there's a fad that comes along. It's stylish to know the name of your kids, and friends make friendly wagers on who dies first. Most recently, there's this thing where they'll go get you a recording of your last words. It's stupid, but some of them are pretty funny. I have a buddy who was ordering Burrito King. I've gone 24 years of my life without hearing anything about my future, so I figure, sure, I'll give it a go. Maybe I'll be getting head or something.
I run the link that my friend shoots me, and beam the little time corp thirty credits. I zip to reddit, and am only three links down the front page when I hear a bing in my head. Quick service, very nice.
I settle myself a little before playing it. All post-travel people are pretty chill about the future and such - seeing as it's your choice whether to know it or not - but I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. I see why this has caught on. I play the file with just a little hesitation.
"I've done many things in my life," I say, my voice wrinkled and uncertain "and I regret very little. I have been a father, a husband, a lover, a friend. A preacher, a believer, and an old man. I've loved more than I've hated - and I've hated for all the right reasons. Me being here today, surrounded by my loved ones, attests to that." I hear myself cough, a long, rattling sound. "Yes, I've enjoyed my three hundred years here. I have no regrets. Know that I pass into the Future happily. Children of Earth and all the planets hither - this is your Emperor, signing off."
The audio file stops. My brainscreen flicks back on the front page of reddit. *New poster released for Need For Speed 42!*
I purse my lips and close the tab. I guess I've got some work to do.
| 19 | You are given a device by someone that allows you to hear an audio recording of your final moments alive. | 23 |
Her lips slipped under the cover of his tongue boldly. She arched her neck back.
*and then she slapped him upside the head*
Only to fall fervently back into his arms. He was confused, but wordlessly he cradled her.
*which put her in a perfect strategic position to lock him in a chokehold*
I guess asphyxiation was her secret longing. Luckily they had kindred desires and His hands reached up for her…
*Nothing. They reached for her nothing because before she lost all her good senses she kneed him in the family jewels and he crumpled to the floor like a slug trapped in a salt lick*
GAWD. This is a coming of age tale. Our protagonist has to make mistakes and then find redemption in all avenues of life. So get over yourself!
*But Nate is such an obvious dirtbag. This damsel in distress ordeal is boring and In real life she wouldn’t grow from this experience, she would just turn into a passive bystander to life.*
Nate is not a dirtbag, He is a victim of society. It’s not like he’s going to be immune to her pain. He shall be shaped and matured by the experience too.
*You’re a victim of society!*
Well yooooouuuu need to step off your man hating agenda. It just screams “Bitter cat lady” and isn’t making any impact because, news flash, you aren’t the voice of this generation.
*She doesn’t need men to grow up or better herself. Her impulsivity should not be seen as a stepping stone to a better life, measured actions are more important, and that’s what the readers need to take away. Actions have fucking consequences goddammit*
So you’re making her impulsively violent? We need a slow clap for this lady.
*Shut up or I’ll kill you!*
You need me or you won’t make rent!
“Mom! Mom! Wake up”
Clara sat up from the living room floor. Her clothes stuck to her sweated body like a snake’s sheath.
Her daughter stared wide eyed at her and held out her pills.
“Lithium. Now.”
The mother slowly reached out and took the little capsules.
“You always take care of me” said the mother. The mother made a great show of swallowing them and then kissed her daughter on the birthmark above her right eyebrow.
After the daughter edged around the corner into the next room, the mother spit out the pills and sat back at her computer.
*Sorry for the interruption, Now where were we?*
| 14 | Two narrators fight over how the plot should go. | 31 |
###***...If?!***
I'm no storyteller, and I haven't been around in this subreddit. But this here is damn near common knowledge, so for the good of your education, gather round, and I will outline the *entirely true* series of events that led to El0n Musketaraxian being stranded on this planet, basically through no fault of his own.
###^^^^^^.
**El0n** was never the brightest of the Musketaraxian clan. Not the fastest, not the strongest. To be perfectly candid, the only thing he really had going for him was his natural camoflauge... A member of the [Fra'as](http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/fiction_rule_of_thumb.png) had once said to him, "El0n, you may as well have been born on another planet, because you'd surely fit in better there than you do here."
As he sat at his desk, contemplating the work schedule for another day on planet Earth, his thoughts turned again to those words, rattling around in his head these past few years...
His reverie was interrupted by a loud *crash* as the new intern, for what seemed like the thousandth time today, broke *something* he was carrying into the kitchen. With a heavy sign, El0n lifted himself out of his chair and walked once more to help Kevin clean up his mess. He knew without looking that the executives were whispering about him, but he couldn't help it - in poor, clumsy Kevin, he saw a reflection of himself.
As he helped Kevin wipe up spilled coffee from the floor of the break room, his thoughts drifted once more towards home ... And the series of tiny mistakes that led to this moment.
###^^^^^.
"**Make** sure you get everything off the bottom", sneered Axi0n, El0n's much larger, older brother, "You don't want Appa Fra'as to get mad that you dropped his food again, now then would you?"
El0n solemnly shook his head in response. It wasn't his fault he'd dropped the tray, Axi0n knew he was scared of Appa Fra'as - That was probably the reason Axi0n was disguised as him in the first place, to sneak up on El0n as a prank. It wasn't El0n's fault he'd ruined the prank by smashing into Axi0n, he was just trying to make sure Appa's food arrived on time. But of course Axi0n wouldn't care about that, he was probably already devising some new and creative way to punish El0n...
###^^^^^.
**Axi0n** sneered as he walked away, kicking the tray once more just out of El0n's reach. On the inside, however, he was fuming. *That was close...* he thought to himself, *It's a good thing El0n didn't arrive on time with the food, or he might have ruined everything like he always does...*
As soon as he was around the corner, he activated his disguise again and doubled back to the council chambers. This was his chance, if he could get in and out quickly to poison Abba's cup, the blame would fall on El0n, and he could kill two birds with one Krytos, so to speak. *And then, the seat will be mine... All that remains will be to get rid of El0n to solidify my position as a leader who rules with an iron fist, one that didn't even make exceptions for family!* Axi0n smiled in spite of himself. *This is going to be* **fun***!*
###^^^^^.
**Watching** Kevin get picked up by his brother from the windows of his office on the 26th floor, El0n contemplated the nature of family. *What I would give to be more like them,* he thought, *to be part of a family that helps each other, instead of just being a glorified tournament structure where only the best child is loved by the family...*
Turning back towards his now empty office, El0n sat down in one of the comfortable brown armchairs his assistant had purchased for him, made from the skin of a great, lumbering, yet inexplicably peaceful beast the humans had domesticated. *I'm coming for you, brother... and I'm bringing a present.* He pressed a series of buttons on the recessed console in the armrest of his chair, and on command, a large flatscreen smoothly slid up out of the floor, displaying a rocket. But this rocket wasn't like the rest, this rocket wasn't being advertised and talked about in the pages of Wired magazine... Images of the nuclear device at its core weren't adorning the pages of the SpaceX website. No, this rocket was special, a present suitable for the newest member of the Fra'as council. A present suitable for El0n's Musketaraxian family.
^^^More ^^^coming, ^^^just ^^^got ^^^back ^^^to ^^^my ^^^computer. ^^^Had ^^^to ^^^consult ^^^the ^^^official ^^^archives ^^^to ^^^make ^^^sure ^^^I'm ^^^staying ^^^on ^^^track. | 82 | If Elon Musk was actually a stranded alien who is trying to advance human society enough to get a ride home. | 548 |
Max woke up gasping for air. He could not recognise the surroundings and his eyes were very blurry. "A lot of people, a lot of noise and commotion." - he thought to himself. He was lying on a strange, cold, stone-like table, next to others who also just woke up and also looked very confused. It looked like he was in the middle of a very big hall, and small islands of those stone-like tables appeared to be filling most of the floor space in this room. People appeared to be waking up and walking towards the entrance, some very slowly, looking confused, others much faster like they've done this routine many times before.
"Come on, get up warriors! Those who are here first time, find the marshall!" - shouted some really big guy walking past him. Max's eyes were getting better, but he could still not make out the details.
"What the hell is going on?! Where am I!?" - he asked someone who was walking past his stone-like table, grabbing his arm. He felt metal. Armor of some sort? Chainmail?
"Get off, ye worm!" - replied the man, punched Max in the face and walked off. It didn't hurt. He felt the pressure and force, but not pain.
"Hey bro! Are you here first time? Let me guess... Iraq?" - Asked some guy with Californian accent.
"Please help me, where am I!? What's going on!?" - cried Max
"Yo, slow down man, at this point there is nothing to worry about no more, take it in slow, calm down.. My name is Greg, what's yours? What's the last thing you remember?"
"I'm Max... I... I was fighting insurgents in northern Al-Anbar, we got surrounded..."
Greg interrupted him - "Bro, you're dead. You died in combat, therefore, you respawned here just ready for the daily battle, this is our afterlife, most call it Valhalla as the whole existence of this place is a result of ancient Norse beliefs"
"What are you talking about? Is this some sort of elaborate joke?" - Max was very anxious at this point as Greg didn't look like he was joking. Max could easily spot liars, and this man was appearing to be telling the truth or at least believe that what he is saying is true
"I'll give you a quick briefing as we don't have much time, we need to get ready. It turned out that our beliefs on earth actually shape what happens after we die. Every single belief that humans have or had in the past is somehow implemented in this whole Afterlife Algorithm"
"Afterlife Algorithm?" - asked Max.
"Sorry bro, I served in communications in Afganistan, IT background, it is easier to visualise it this way. The stronger the belief was on earth, the more people believed in a particular spiritual or religious idea, the stronger impact this belief will have on shaping the Afterlife. Then it all mixes up. It's like all religions are or were correct. Whatever you believe in, will shape this place is some way. This particular place exists because of the Vikings. They strongly believed that after death they get to do what they love the most in their life, forever."
"Which is?" - asked Max still not sure if he is actually awake
"Killing, fucking and feasting, bro. But there is more. As you can see, it also affects warriors from other cultures. You and me are here, you can see a lot of Slavic warriors, medieval knights in full plate armor, Roman chariots, there is even Neanderthal division which is normally fighting side by side with Berserkers."
Max looked around. His sight came back to normal by now and he started believing Greg's words. He saw warriors from all the eras of human history. All getting ready to fight, picking up weapons, checking their armors.
"Hey bud, you're lucky you were not devoted Christian as you would get fucked by the demons for eternity in hell. You see, pretty much all hardcore Christians go to hell. No man is without sin they say, and sinners go to hell. They fucked it up for themselves, royally. We don't have it that bad, thanks to Islam, we all get 70 girls after the battle, each. They were wrong about the virgin thing though. Suicide bombers are also fucked - Christian belief about suicide was stronger, straight to Hell. What religion are you by the way?"
"I'm an atheist" - replied Max
"Ohhh man!, you get to choose then! Lucky man!" - said Greg very excited
"Choose what?"
"No time for that now, bro. Demons and Angels are on the both sides of the Great Border, you gotta grab your stuff, now. We battle whole day, we fuck and eat and dance and sing all night, that's the routine. If you get killed in battle, you respawn here, over and over until the battle is done. We don't feel the pain in here which makes it pretty fun. Now, pick up that gun and get ready for the rest of eternity!"
"I guess I will have to ask more questions later" - said Max, grabbed his rifle and followed Greg towards the entrance.
**EDIT: Wow, I'm humbled by your comments, I have never tried this before, never been confident enough in my English skills (second language). Thanks so much, another part in comments, as requested.** | 113 | Warriors killed in battle don't go to Heaven or Hell, they stand guard in between. | 140 |
Joe really wished he had read the waiver before he signed it. When the HB Game network had asked if he wanted to participate in a game show with the possibility of earning $5 million dollars, he signed on the dotted line like an idiot.
Now, here he was in a glass room, sitting in a chair across the desk from “Sarah from Ohio.”
Of course he knew what “Soul Envelope” was. Everyone knew. Joe could even admit to watching a few episodes. The rules were simple. Two people would sit in the room. They could say anything, but no touching.
Person A would write a number between one and three on a sheet of paper. Person B would then have to guess the number. If Person B guessed wrong, he or she would be executed. If Person B guessed correctly, Person A lost his or her life. Both contestants won $5 million dollars, with the loser’s family or whomever he or she willed inheriting the money.
Person B was at a clear disadvantage. Game theory said that person would lose 2/3 of the time and the results over four seasons matched almost perfectly, with Person B being executed a solid 64% of the time.
Some matches lasted minutes while others lasted hours. Sometimes Person A broke down and admitted which number they had written. Sometimes Person B had begged for their life. Sometimes Person A lied to trick Person B. Sometimes Person B saw through the lie.
At least Joe was lucky in that he won the coin toss. He was person A. He had to write the number in the envelope.
However, he didn't feel lucky right now. Fear of death was one thing, but Joe also feared being the executioner. He didn’t want to write a number down that would result in the woman across from him being killed. He could see why Person A sometimes broke down.
He sat and thought. Finally he spoke up.
“Look, I can’t get over the fact that the odds favor me. It’s not fair. So let’s make a deal. We don’t have any coins, but we should find a way to make it 50-50.”
“You’d do that for me?” Sarah seemed genuinely grateful.
Joe knew the cameras were on him. He knew a good chunk of the world saw him as a fool. But he just wanted them both to have a fair shot.
Joe looked down at the paper. “Look, I’m NOT going to write the number three. I’m just going to write the number one or two. Then you can guess with 50-50 odds.”
Joe wrote a number sealed the envelope and dropped it in a slot on the desk.
“OK Sarah, I either wrote the number one or the number two on there. Make your guess.”
Sarah looked at him. Studied his eyes. And after several minutes of concentration said, “My official guess is three.”
The screen showed that Joe had written the number one. He won, Sarah lost. Joe sat dumbfounded. “Why?”
“I thought you were lying,” Sarah admitted. “I’d have lied. You’re a better man than I guessed.” The guards came in to lead her away. | 52 | 2 people are stuck in a room. person 1 wrote a number between 1 and 3 on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope. person 2 has to guess the number. if 2 guesses wrong he will be killed, if he guesses right 1 will be killed. it's an international game show. | 38 |
"I met her at 17."
God eyed me with interest. It seemed genuinely curious about my request, though the great being must already knew what I was going to say. But like a therapist, God waited to see how it would make me feel. The universe extended around us, though we currently sat on a bench in the middle of a plain park. Stars danced past us. A duck shuffled at my feet.
"She was wild. With big hair. Big eyes. A big smile. And a big stubborn personality. She didn't like anyone controlling her." I smiled hazily. "She was fun."
"At 19, we began dating. We went to the same college, you see? Pursuing the same dream. Pharmaceuticals. We studied together, ate lunch together and eventually fell in love with each other. It was a grand time."
"At 22, she graduated. She was smart. Me? Not so much. Took me another year. She still loved me, as slow as I was. I ended up going into sales. Working long hours, peddling medical equipment to suspicious doctor offices. She went on to pursue her doctorate."
"At 26, we got married. We were going to wait until she graduated, but when she got pregnant, life changes sometimes. After little Rory was born, it was a happy mixture of anxiety, worry and love. We fought. We kissed. We made up. Sometimes not in that order, mind you. But we always moved on with our lives."
"At 30, she had graduated through pure will power. My long hours just got longer. I was tired. She was still wild, with a large smile. I couldn't remember the last time I smiled."
"At 31, I ran away. The stress of taking care of a family and 12 hour work days made me snap. So I left them, taking with me only a bottle of Jack."
"At 33, I attended AA for the first time." My smile went crooked. "It was where I first got acquainted with you at a more personal level."
"At 35, I tried to find my family. They were no where to be found. Its as if they disappeared. I took the hint that they didn't want to be found."
"At 36, I was court ordered to attend AA again. I got into a drunk accident. It was the lowest point in my life."
"At 38, I found an article written on her. She was successful, the accompanying picture showing off a mischievous grin. I began following her career. Delighting in all her discoveries. She was also active in charity. She always was. She loved helping people. Reason she wanted to get into pharmaceuticals to begin with. And then she wanted to heal people. And then she wanted to eliminate disease. Specifically cancer. She was like a wildfire, passionate and wanting to renew the world for the better."
"At 40, I went to church regularly. I got a job in a factory. Went home and drank a half a bottle of 750. Fell asleep watching infomercials. Woke up to finish the other half. I constantly gave myself to you and you ignored the cries of your child. But I never strayed. I knew you would save me one day."
"Didn't realize it would be a year later, at 41, when I drove my car through an intersection and killed a mother who was on her way to pick up her 5 year old daughter."
"I died that night. I guess that is what happens when you T-bone a SUV going 60."
"But for for some reason I ended up here. In heaven. Though I had blood on my hands. Your son smiled at me, and told me 'Welcome home, believer.' I cried. Because I knew all I had to do was wait."
"And so I waited. And I waited. Everyday, I would come sit in this park, waiting for her to come to heaven. So I could beg forgiveness of abandoning my family. To let her know I never stopped loving her."
Here I stopped, gazing at the rippling pond in front of me. My hands balled into fists.
"She never came. It was only after a great great grandchild of mine hobbled through those gates, that I realized at least 200 years have passed."
"She never came." My voice cracked. "She never came! Why didn't you bring your daughter home? She was the gentlest, kindest soul. All she wanted to do was heal the world. She brought up an amazing son all by herself. She spread happiness and forgiveness wherever she went. But she didn't believe in you, or any higher power, so you didn't bring her home!"
Tears steamed down my face, but my jaw clenched in determination.
"I would rather spend eternity looking for her through thorns and fire, then spend eternity in this damned garden waiting for the one thing that made me happy to never show up."
"So that is why, God, I asked you to send me to Hell." | 44 | You die and go to Heaven. You meet God and whisper something in his ear. God replies, "Hmmmm. I've never had that request before"......... | 33 |
Scott shuffled down the hall; the final bell had rung, and it was time to get out of dodge.
And, each and every day, what a time *that* was...
"Hey, Scotty!" Ronald Verrater slapped Scott on the shoulder. "We on for fencing practice, tomorrow?"
Scott shook his head, pushing forward and leaving Ronald behind.
Poor Ronald. He was a nice enough guy- ambitious, but friendly. He was the kind of guy that might cheat a little in a tournament, but still feel bad about it later. 'Conflicted', that was the word.
That was one of about fifty reasons Scott had to quit the fencing club. He didn't need some old friendly rival like Ronald to be his friend, then later get all angsty and anti-villainous, and then have to be taken down in some gut-wrenching, action-packed, emotionally climactic duel on a rooftop, somewhere.
Scott didn't need that kind of drama.
Hell, it wasn't like the universe was being very subtle this time, either. 'Verrater' even meant 'traitor' in German. This was the same reason Scott had to legally change his last name a few weeks ago.
'Scott Zweihändige' was just a little too... 'protagonist-ey'. He picked 'Bore' as a name, instead.
No one could be a main character with a name like *that*.
It also helped that he gave up playing with swords. Heroes prefer swords...
"Ooh, Scott!" A thin, muscular girl in a tank top tapped his shoulder as he passed her, "my dad's going to these really cool ruins next week, and he says I can invite a friend! I thought, well, since these ruins are dedicated to the Ares star constellation, and *you're* an Ares, an' all, it'd be kinda neat to-"
"No thanks," Scott growled. "Not interested in absorbing the freaky ancient powers-slash-memories-slash-demons-slash-chili recipes of whatever ass-end civilization have you. But thanks all the same..."
He trudge warily on, passing by another girl, this one a little shirking violet, bangs covering her eyes, holding her books up protectively against her chest. She walked beside him, her skittish eyes wide:
"S-Scott? I... just want you to know... that if anything happens to me... like, anything at all, you should try to *follow your heart*..."
She tried handing him a weird-looking necklace: a bunch of squiggly lines surrounding a heart-symbol. Scott shook his head:
"Nope. But you be sure to enjoy being kidnapped, or possessed, or whatever..."
Tons of others swarmed him, all of them offering things like a trip to their cabin in the woods (cute), or asking his opinion on these weird photographs that apparently show him mining for coal in ancient Egypt (nice touch), or loudly bemoaning the fact that they need help with some super-easy-sounding problem that *no one else* in the whole world will help them with (nice try).
Scott managed to make it to the library, sighing. He shuffled down the stacks until he found Janette. She was leaning over a table, absently studying a book, and she looked up at him and gave him a wan smile:
"Rough day?" She asked.
"You got no idea," he grumbled. "Everyone and their mother's trying to get me in on 'the adventure'. Universe just won't take a hint, will it?" He cocked his head at the book: "find anything else helpful in there?"
Janette shook her head: "No, it looks like most of the obvious plots the world can throw at you have been played out, so I think you're pretty much in the clear!"
Scott smiled warmly, and Janette reciprocated.
"Listen, Jan," he said: "I can't thank you enough, for helping me these past few weeks..."
"No problem!" She said. "If there's anything I hate, it's dumb cliches and hackneyed situations!"
The library doors opened, and men in dark suits began moving down the stacks. When they caught sight of Janette they quickened their pace:
"That one!" One of the men cried, "it's the *Tropebreaker*!"
"And the other must be her apprentice!"
"The one who changed his last name to 'Bore'. The one who helps 'bore' holes in the Tropes!"
"The *Tropeborer*! We have you, now!"
Scott held up his hands, sighing, and he shook his head:
"Nah, guys: you all got me confused with someone-"
Janette produced a wand from her backpack and created a swirling portal of light in the air.
"...else..." Scott's voice trailed off.
"Come on, Scott! It's the Meta Police! They've *found* us!" Janette disappeared into the vortex, leaving Scott to alternate his stunned gaze between the approaching men, and his mysterious escape route. He rolled his eyes, sighing:
"Fuck," he grumbled.
| 799 | In the fear of becoming a Main Character, the main character lives his whole life avoiding cliche story lines and interactions | 1,136 |
“Well,” Jennifer said, “how do you feel? How are you making the adjustment… to prison life I mean.”
“I’ve become quite hardened by it,” he said. He always had the faintest trace of a smile, lingering just below the surface at all times. It gave her the creeps. She had nightmares about this. He always commented on how attractive he found her. “I don’t think you get the point, but I’m going to make you get the point by the time I leave this room.”
“What do you mean by that?” she said. “I’ve noticed that you have a tendency to indirectly answer questions. You like riddles, don’t you? Why don’t you just tell me about the incident you had the other day. The warden told me about it.”
“That fat bastard is useless for everything. You on the other hand are quite useful to me. You motivate me. I think you and I will be very close by the time I leave this room.”
God, she hated the way he looked at her. She could feel her soul squirm underneath his gaze. She had read the case files. She knew details even the public didn’t know. Gruesome didn’t even begin to describe it. She returned his piercing gaze with a blank look.
“You had a little fight with one of the guards. They had to physically restrain you. You fought until they gave you the tranquillizer dose. Why don’t we talk about that?”
“I guess I’ve hit rock bottom. In fact, I think you’ll hit rock bottom soon enough. This place has a way of doing that to people. Can I ask you a question doctor? Do you feel a burning desire?”
“A burning desire for what?” She didn’t like the way he was talking. She didn’t like the satisfied, smug look on his face.
The man released his hands from the cuffs and rubbed them. Dread filled her. She pressed the emergency button, letting the guards know she had a serious problem. He had somehow picked the lock on the cuffs. He turned around, jammed the door with a chair, and turned around, a shiv in hand. She saw from the tent in his pants just how hardened he had become. “I told you’d get the point, and I told you we’d be closer by the time we left his room.”
She pressed herself to the window. She heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, a powerful set of hands trying to force the door open. The killer lunged. The first blow caught her in the gut, but the shiv was blunt. It went in shallow. He stabbed her two more times. She was in too much panic to feel pain. She jabbed at his eyes, catching one of them. He howled, swiping wildly. He grabbed the lighter from her desk and tried to ignite her dress, screaming about “burning desire.” She tried to pat it out while dodging his wild blows. He missed, overshooting his balance. She leaned into him with all her force and he smashed through the window, falling four stories down to stony landscape below.
The guards burst into the room, weapons drawn.
“Oh my God! Are you okay!”
“Doctor, you’re bleeding.”
“You were right about one thing,” she muttered, looking out the window. “You’ve definitely hit rock bottom.”
| 129 | During a routine session, a psychiatrist begins to realize that her sociopathic patient is using double entendre to describe how he plans to murder her. | 190 |
Fluttering eyelashes and the dream on repeat; his nightmare, yet it was more pleasant than waking life. In it, a friend of his who was married described colours to him but he couldn't make out the words. An endless list of colours he had never known; words like stars exploding outwards, faster, further, unable to catch any of them. He would wake feeling nauseous, look around and try to continue sleeping. The dream was better than the truth.
In reality he could remember their names.
He hated 'yellow', the colour of the sun, for him an off white grey. He despised 'blue', the colour of his own eyes that he saw as lighter than black but darker than light. But most, the most, most of all, he detested the colour 'red'.
He had asked his friend what colour appears on a cheek when lovers smile and laugh: 'It's the blood that builds and rushes to the...' he saw the confusion his description drew, 'blood is red too, you know?.' He hated red the most, because it was the one he wanted most to see.
From where he had hoped to see it depended on the day; sometimes on the cheek of a loving woman, sometimes running down his hands from his wrists.
His lashes flickered, that dream again; 'magenta, lilac, turqoise...' endless. He knew the shades well, had known them all his life, but he knew the words couldn't give meaning to that he saw. The words were metal links in a fence, and on the other side was love.
It's all he had ever wanted. He had dated, even thought of marrying. But when that smiling face you see, colourless, looks back at you and you know she sees the same as you, you can start to see the cracks. The hard lines around the eyes that tell you that this smile isn't real; the plaster falls away, inside all is grey.
Some Greys marry and have children, but the divorce rates were astronomical. And he didn't want to risk bringing a child into a colourless world. Of course the child could be Coloured, but what if it wasn't?
Suicide rates for Greys were not too far off from the divorce numbers. In the streets you could always tell the Coloureds, though some tried to hide it; to look was to see it, hope's absence reflected ghastly from their sparkling eyes.
It was the certainty of it all, a Damocles sword of loneliness and desperation. It was the others that taunted you with their happiness. It was all of it, the whole fucking deal.
The pills to stop the dreams didn't work anymore. The pills to numb his days no longer filtered out the dazzling greys; colourless colours hurt his eyes. Migraines and a sickness of the world and the others. The possibilities of a world from a different perspective; hope, in his mind hope was red.
All his affairs were in order. He lay in bed and waited. The empty bottle lay empty on its side. He felt sleepy, eyelids drooping, eventually, slowly, willingly, he pushed it all away and closed his eyes.
Then he saw it all: the light of the world engulfed him, and it was then that he knew what the colours were. Oh, what the colours meant. What the colours showed.
Edit: capitalised Greys and Coloureds.
| 73 | Everyone has a soul mate, and when your soul mate dies, everything turns black and white. You were born into a world that’s black and white, and have resigned yourself to it, until one day you wake up and the world is in color. | 200 |
Lightning split the sky behind him as Nightmare held up the machete blade menacingly, pointing at them through the window with a broad grin. Rain pelted the thin roof of the isolated cabin, and the bone-chilling wind rattled the old window panes.
They didn't notice. He watched as the man proceeded to feed the fire with wood, while the woman dug through the linen closet for a blanket.
*Sigh*. Nightmare tapped the machette blade against the window, hoping that he'd get that dramatic lightning background again.
The rain must have been too loud; they didn't even glance. Digging through a cupboard, the man produced a dusty bottle of wine, shrugging sheepishly. The old "wow, look what I found routine," eh? The woman gave a shy smile, and the man went into the kitchen to find some glasses. *She's alone*, Nightmare thought, *Perfect!*"
He rapped again on the window with the glistening blade, right as a bolt of lightning illuminated the sky. She didn't even care; she was too busy texting on her phone. Nightmare wiped away rain from the window and peered over her shoulder. "I think it's going to happen with Thomas! The universe is conspiring to get us together" she typed out. "But I'm still engaged to Paul! What do I do??"
*Not to worry*, Nightmare thought to himself with a chuckle.
The man returned suddenly, carrying two glasses and an open bottle. His gaze chanced upon the window, where Nightmare was still reading over the woman's shoulder. *Crap!* he thought *I wasn't even holding the machete up!*. He lifted it aloft and gave his most terrifying cackle, but the man had just shrugged and continued on his way back to the couch. The woman demurely accepted a glass of wine, and after a brief pause, they toasted.
*Ugh*, Nightmare thought. *They're never going to turn around now.*
He snuck around to the front of the cabin, produced his heavy ax, and destroyed the generator humming inside the little shed. The lights streaming through the windows of the cabin flicked off. He retreated to the treeline, waiting for the man to investigate the cause of the power outage. He wiped the blade of his knife, testing the sharpness. Perfectly honed as always.
The storm continued. Wind shook the trees, casting dancing shadows in the moonlight across the cabin lawn. *Ten minutes? What is taking this chump so long?* Nightmare snuck back around to the window, where the couple was curled up on the couch, wine left abandoned on the coffee table next to a few candles they'd found. *God damn it* Nightmare thought. *This calls for desperate measures*.
Nightmare picked up his cell phone and dialed the woman's number. Ring.... ring.... ring.... ring.... "Hi, you've reached-" With a groan, he dialed the number again. This time, it went straight to voice mail. "You've *got* to be kidding me!" Nightmare yelled out loud. Lightning struck again, sending thunder echoing through the forest.
He stormed up the steps of the cabin; the wood creaked ominously under him. He raised a heavy black boot and kicked in the door; the wood around the lock blasted apart in splinters and flew inward. He strode through the cabin hallway, reaching the living room where the couple was wrapped around each other kissing in front of the crackling fire. *They hadn't even noticed the door!*
They jumped up, suddenly aware as he filled the doorway, casting enormous shadows in the firelight. "What is happening!?" she screamed. He lopped off their heads with a casual swipe. "Oh, *now* you care?" he grumbled to himself as he strolled out of the cabin. | 39 | A horror movie villain is desperately trying to get the attention of a couple who believe they're in a romantic comedy | 61 |
“Guess what,” Life giggled.
“What?” I giggled back.
Life and I had been best friends since I could remember. She always seemed to be my exact age, but otherwise she was basically as normal as any other girl. I was the only one who called her Life, of course, as people might freak out if they knew the truth about her. We’re already 18 and everyone I know just calls her Kirsten.
“I’ll tell you a secret,” Life replied. “A secret that no one else knows.”
“I already know that your favorite color is purple,” I said. Life had gotten in moods like this before when she had a little to drink. And it always was that her favorite color was purple, even though she told others it was red.
“No, not that,” she laughed. Life was in an oddly cheery mood. “A really, really big secret!”
“Your favorite number is 42,” I answered her sarcastically. It was pretty common for her to pull that secret out, thinking I hadn’t heard it a whole bunch of times before. I mean, does she really think anyone believes that a girl as sweet as her has 666 as her favorite number?
“No,” Life pouted. “Sheesh, you think so little of me that I’d tell you a secret you already know? Fine, I’ll tell you two secrets you’ve never, ever heard before.”
“What?” I asked, actually curious this time.
“Well, being Life and all, you might want to call your boyfriend,” she said.
“Why?” I asked puzzled.
“Cause he’s the father of your baby,” Life chirped.
“Wait, what?” I screamed.
“Yeah, you’re pregnant,” Life replied. “I am Life, so I can tell when new life is born after all.”
“How long have you known?”
“Um, well since the actual conception,” Life said. “I wasn’t going to say anything yet, but I guess I got a little drunk. But this isn’t my big, big secret.”
“What could be bigger than that?” I said, still not sure of what to make of the news that I was apparently pregnant.
“I’m Life!” she yelled, her arms wide open.
“Yeah, and that’s your big secret?”
“Yep!” Life smiled. For a minute I really thought that was it, but then she started talking again. “Well, I’m also Death, but that’s just semantics.”
“You’re what?” I asked in shock, slowly backing away from her. Her normal white outfit blackened as a hood fell over her face and a scythe appeared in her hand.
“I am death,” her voice echoed with a deep vibrato. “I am the beginning and end of all things. Life and Death! But as Death, I know all things come to an end, even myself. However, as Life, I can never die. So you see the predicament I’m in?”
“What?” I stuttered, utterly afraid of Death standing in front of me.
“Look,” Death said. “My time to die has come. Someone else has to be Death. I’m stuck as always being Life. I’ve been Death for a few billion years, but Death eventually dies too. Someone has to become the new, reborn Death. I thought you might want to be Death. Then we could be the best of buddies, Life and Death together!”
“Did you seriously just hear the craziness of that last statement?” I yelled. “How do Life and Death get along?”
“They’re a natural cycle that work together,” Death answered. “Things live, they die, and more things live. Look, let me be blunt. If your Death, you get this cool hood and scythe, the ability to make anyone fear you by wearing said hood while holding the scythe, absolute control over someone’s death, an extremely increased lifespan, and a whole host of other cool abilities.”
“I… this…” I said as I tripped over my own words.
“Okay, fine,” Death said. “You are supposed to die in five minutes by way of spontaneous combustion. If you don’t want to die, take my offer. You’re my best friend, and it would be nice to finally have someone with me throughout all of time.”
“Spontaneous combustion isn’t a thing,” I said in disbelief.
“That’s what they tell you,” Death laughed. “I know it seems mean, but after billions of years of seeing death, spontaneous combustion is one of the funniest ways in which humans die, especially because they believe such a thing to be a myth.”
I was freaked out by my friend’s dark sense of humor, but afraid of dying myself, I nodded my head in agreement. Death became Life right before my eyes as I felt a dark shadow pass into my very soul. All of a sudden my vision became different, full of new information and I gained a whole bunch of new senses that can’t even be described. My body became but a skeleton cloaked in a hood.
“Am I?” I began.
“No,” Life said cheerily. “You’re not stuck looking like that. Only when you want to look like Death. You look like yourself otherwise.”
“And what happened to the baby?” I asked, my body transforming back to normal.
“The baby’s all fine and good,” Life smiled. “Assuming you still want it. I’ve got no clue what the spawn of Death will be like, but I’m going to guess he’ll like to party. By the by, I saved a special death for you to reap. The guy’s bought a few more minutes of life because of it, but you really should go reap him.”
All of a sudden I knew who she was talking about, everything about him, how he was going to die and where. I found myself in a bedroom with Life, my grim reaper body form on, as I watched the father of my baby sleeping with another woman. I knew it was coming, but Life was right, it was pretty funny. Something about being Death must have altered the way I viewed death. He suddenly burst into flames, the girl he was sleeping with screaming and getting away before she was burned.
I simply smiled as his soul appeared and I slashed it with my scythe, harvesting him from the world. Me and Life went back to my bedroom afterwards to hang out.
“So… who should he be born as?” Life asked.
“What?”
“Who do you think he should be reborn as,” Life said. “I can make him come back as anyone you choose.”
“So, reincarnation is a thing then?” I asked.
“Yeah, seriously, you’re Death now, keep up,” Life said.
“Well, he’s an ass, so a donkey would be the perfect poetic punishment,” I said.
“Done!” Life chirped.
“Wait, humans can come back as animals?”
“Yep,” Life said.
“Go figure,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
-312 | 11 | As a young child, you met Life. You two have been best friends growing up since the day you had your first play date. On day, after hanging out with one another, Life trusts you to share their secret. | 18 |
"Howdy neighbor!" Diligence waved cheerfully from the white picket fence.
"Fuck off." Sloth bit out, lazing on the lawn chair.
Diligence tutted. "Now now, Mrs. S! That kind of language is unbecoming of a lady such as yourself."
Sloth scratched her leg hair. "Sorry, I'm just too lazy for the other option."
"What's the other option?" Diligence asked, leaning over the fence.
"Ramming a trumpet up your ass and playing 'God Save the Queen' in C." Sloth pushed her sunglasses onto her nose. "So, fuck off, Dillwad."
Diligence wrinkled his nose and stomped into his house, slamming the door. A second later, he opened it again. "Sorry about the noise." He said earnestly, then gently closed the door.
----------
"What in God's name is that!" Chastity screeched from the back porch.
"This?" Lust looked around. "This is an orgy."
"I can see what it is! What I'm asking is *why* are you having an **orgy** in your backyard!? Where I can see it!?" Chastity's voice grew shrill as he became more and more flustered.
Lust scratched her head. "Because. . . Uh. . ." Lust looked down at the man beneath her. "Why are we out here again Tod?"
Tod shrugged. "You said our regular Sunday frivolities couldn't happen in the basement because Greed was hosting a poker game." Tod moaned. "Oh, that's the stuff."
Lust snapped her fingers. "That's right! Greed's hosting a poker game downstairs!" She looked back to Chastity. "There's your answer."
"Oooooh!" Chastity stomped his foot and went inside.
----------
"Okay, the name of the game is poker. You ever play poker before?" Greed asked, shuffling his personal deck.
"Uh. . ." Charity looked around, his brow furrowed in confusion. "No? I thought this was a fundraiser."
Greed chuckled. "It is."
"For who?" Charity looked around. "I don't see any posters, or the Red Cross."
"My funds of course." Greed smiled. "Now, ladies and gents, ante up."
--------
***"I JUST GET SO FUCKING ANGRY!"*** Wrath screamed, slamming his fist into the roof.
"I know Wrath, I know." Patience laid a hand on Wrath's arm, her voice soothing. "But you mustn't let it control you. You are one of the Seven, and if your power goes unchecked, it could destroy the world."
"But that's why we have you, right?" Wrath whispered, clutching his knees.
Patience smiled. "Of course."
Wrath buried his head in his knees. "I just. . . I hurt so many people, Patience. It's in my nature. I can't ever stop it." A few tears slid down his cheeks, soaking his pants. "It's always there. Screaming."
"But you can control it. It's not a lost-" Patience stopped, then stood up on the roof. She looked into the backyard. "Is that an orgy?!"
------------
"You want a hotdog?" Gluttony asked, shoving two down her throat.
"Uh, no thanks." Temperance slowly bit into his food. A hot dog, cut in half and served with bland sourdough.
Gluttony shrugged. "Ah well, more for me." She shoveled two more into her mouth, squeezed a whole bottle of ketchup as a chaser, then swallowed. "What was Chastity screaming about earlier? I couldn't hear."
Temperance shook his head. "I am uncertain. He seemed to be yelling at something in your backyard." Temperance sipped his water, looking at the back door. It burst open, Chastity running out. The Virtue leaped at the fence separating the Sin House from the Virtue House, and clambered over. "Well, there goes Chastity."
"Yeah. By the way, thanks for letting me grill out here. It's been fucking murder since ours broke."
Temperance winced. "Please refrain from such language in *my* backyard."
"Aye aye, Temper!"
"Don't call me that."
"Okay. You gonna finish that?"
----------------
"Envy, I want you to be happy." Kindness whispered kindly to the broken Sin. "But all you ever do is look out at everyone else and just. . . watch."
"Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'm Envy." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm the joke. Bottom rung. The most forgotten."
"Only because you never make yourself known." Kindness plopped down next to Envy and took his hand in hers. "You never engage. You never go out and even ask. You see that they have something and you just want it. But you never go and try to get it for yourself." Kindness bit her lip. "I'm not saying you should take it from *them,* no. I'm saying you shouldn't sit here wishing you had it."
Envy jerked his hand from hers. "I can't."
Kindness sighed, and went to his door. Her hand grabbed the handle. "You know, if you never try to take anything, you'll always miss what's right in front of you."
Kindness left Envy, slamming the door behind her. Envy looked at his hands. Tears ran down his face.
Kindness opened the door back up, sheepishly sticking her head in. "Sorry about slamming the door." And then she closed it with a gentle *click.*
----------
"So, month seven. I'd say it's going pretty well, hm?" Pride asked, his chest puffing out. He fingered his gold tie, adjusting it so it wasn't quite as tight.
Humility frowned. "Yes, it is. However, I'm seeing some issues."
"What sort of issues? There are none to speak of. We are perfect." Pride narrowed his eyes. "At least, the Sins are."
"Well. . ." Humility opened his raggedy suitcase and pulled out a large stack of papers. He pulled the top from the pile. "Here's an incident I filed concerning Lust and her stripper pole on top of the Sin House." Humility grabbed another. "Greed stealing all the roses in our garden. Gluttony breaking into our pantry. Sloth using our pool as a three-in-one bath, pool and. . . toilet. And finally, you, waking us all up at two forty-seven AM with a concert in your backyard."
"The concert wasn't terrible!" Pride bristled.
"No. Barring the fact that the whole thing was sung in your honor, it wasn't terrible. I quite liked the number 'Pride Pride, We Worship Thee.'" Humility remarked dryly.
"I can't control these artists. If they're inspired by me, who's to stop them?"
"Funny. I asked these artists about their lyrics. Said you forced them to write the songs three hours earlier at gun-point. I thought the meter was a bit sloppy."
"Hey!" Pride bit out. Then he paused. "Wait, what about Envy?"
"Hm?" Humility shuffled his papers. "Oh, that's right. Envy. There are seven of you. Must've forgot." Humility set his papers down. "Pride, we must reach a middle ground. If we're to co-exist, and keep the world in balance, we cannot be at odds with one another more than we already are."
"I quite agree, Humility. However-" Pride paused, looking out his window. His jaw dropped.
"What?" Humility turned around. His face went pale. "Oh."
"Is that. . ." Pride gulped. "Is that Chastity, and Lust?"
Humility put his palm in his face. "Son of a fuck." | 50 | The Seven Deadly Sins live next door to the Seven Cardinal Virtues. Tell me about a typical Saturday afternoon for the two households. | 41 |
From *The History of North America and Her People*, Chapter 6, Page 94, Paragraph 1-5
As we've learned, prior to the arrival of European immigrants in the 16th century onward, North America and the native people that inhabit it had a history mainly involving inter-tribal disputes, trade, and little to no large scale war. Isolated until this point from the rest of the world, the North American identity and technological focus was very different at the time from that of the European continent.
When the first settlers arrived from Europe, they were initially welcomed, and land was traded for commodities that at the time, North Americans did not know how to produce. Europeans would sometimes leverage this advantage to set up unfair exchanges, and their settlements grew quickly. They also at the time produced superior weaponry, having far more advanced knowledge of metalworking than the agriculturally focused tribes they encountered in the Northeastern region, what is today the Greater Iroquois Confederation. This, combined with a lack of immunity to many diseases brought from across the sea, lead to a very dangerous situation for the first North Americans to encounter European settlers.
It was not until the genocide of the Massachuset tribe, and the subsequent learning of this atrocity throughout the neighboring tribes and even further into the young Iroquois nation, that North Americans realized the true threat they faced. At the time ununited, the people of the Northeastern region held a council, known today as the First North American Congress. Lead in a large part by the Seneca Iroquois chief Deganawidah and his supporters, this was the first united action taken by the North American people of multiple tribes. Gaining majority support, a decision was made to oppose the settlers from Europe.
The settlers already arrived were given a short period of time to leave, and all who remained were killed by the united tribes. Over the next fifty years, a steady watch was held for ships attempting to land along the coast, and the subsequent battles between Europeans attempting to settle and the tribes who opposed them became known as The War of Sea Salt Tears.
In this chapter, we will go in depth on the tensions and decisions leading up to the War of Sea Salt Tears, the major historical figures behind it, the major battles and landings, and implementation of European technology and the impact it had on both North American society and warfare. | 31 | The year is 2014, the US never existed because the native American tribes fought off all colonist who tried to settle here. What is north America and the world like. | 57 |
I've had what you could call an easy life. Well with my special ability and all, people are my puppets. I know what they are thinking what they're about to do and how they are going to do. I can manipulate this in every which way. Getting everything you want can become *draining* you might say but, for me it is pure bliss. Well at least it was easy until i met **Her**.
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen pure black hair, the face of a model, and the assets of a porn star. Now, because of my ability I've had enough sex to make King Solomon jealous, this time I considered special. I wanted to take her out and love her and you know what i did or, tried. I approached her and was about to start the conversation when I realized the impossible I couldn't "read" her. I was Bambi after his mom's death, she was a wild card and I was a reluctant gambler. I quickly tried to save myself from failure, it went about as well as invading Russia in winter.
In my defeat I played the shy silent type and scooted away red in the face, perplexed and **terrified**. How could this have happened were my first thoughts, I thought I had lost my ability. Quickly reading a passerby proved me wrong so at least I had that.
Home was the only place I could go after this to regain my composure. I shakily opened my front door and ran to my bedroom. Lying down thousands of thoughts crossed my head, the intense thinking and increasing anxiety quickly toke it's toll on my stamina and fatigue thoroughly set in. Sleep, that was it, I could clear my head and hopefully feel better. As I lay there sleep slowly reaching across my brain a voice rang out in my head.
"Nice Try" | 20 | A person who has used his ability to read minds to glide through life, finds the one person whose mind he can't read. | 40 |
"I have something to tell you," said the manager, "we tell every employee after a certain amount of time."
"What do you mean?"
"Follow me to the back."
The manager and the intern went to the back and into a small sound-proof room.
"Ever heard of the placebo effect?"
"No, I haven't."
The manager sighed for a moment, and then a wonderful look came across his face, "the placebo effect is amazing. Essentially, if you believe something enough, and what you believe isn't too crazy, it'll come true."
He continued, "the burgers here are made of extremely cheap tofu. After decades of a terrible stigma attached to our burgers, we pulled off an insane PR feat. It's a miracle that we did so. We convinced everyone that our burgers are healthy and delicious."
He paused for a moment, "somehow, it worked. The placebo effect caused everything that we said to actually happen. People got healthier and smarter, more burgers were sold, and everyone is eating delicious burgers."
"I have no idea why this hasn't happened for anything else. Maybe because of the strength of the belief that we created. I don't know. As I said, it was a miracle," he finished.
A look of wonder spread across the intern's face. "but... how?"
"I don't know. Anyways, you need to go back to flipping burgers. Don't tell anyone or they say that Ronald McDonald himself will hunt you down. I don't know if that's true, but..."
"The placebo effect?" the intern asked, a little frightened.
"Yeah," said the manager, rubbing his head.
"Ok, I'll, uh, go get back to work."
"Good."
^^^^Edit:_I'm_shit_at_this. | 15 | Mcdonalds revolutionizes the way we eat by creating the perfect burger. It makes fat people lose weight and skinny people gain. It is absolutely delicious and bountiful yet cheaper than anything else it has ever sold. You are an intern at mcdonalds HQ and you discover a horrible secret | 20 |
Everything I was denied on Earth was given to me in Hell. A wife, who loved me more than I loved myself. Four children, all gorgeous and vivacious creatures. My mind was set ablaze in a manner I had never experienced while living. The dull rage I had learned to hide over many years of silent but agonizing grief was not diminished or stolen from me, but overwhelmed, subsided by an incredible empathy. Desire to see my sons & daughters grow strong & wise encompassed my mind at almost every moment. The rest of my moments were inundated by the compassion of a woman I knew I could never deserve.
Every day I woke in Hell, I knew my previous works on Earth. I had stolen the wives and children of others. I taught them my pain. I taught them the anguish of an existence bereft of even hope. I spoke to them of loneliness & depravity until my throat grew dry. I stole their minds. In my eventual boredom, I stole their breath and heartbeats. It was all amusing then. These things were not lost on me as I awoke in my finely crafted paradise, bereft of flame, brimstone, & gnashing of teeth. Such pains I had expected and, hell, even welcomed before my own death; overdue as it was.
Each morning I awoke to a loving embrace, I **felt.** It was horrifying the first hundred-thousand times. The words of a woman I told myself to be a succubus had held no hatred, no envy, no judgment, regardless of what I believed. I eventually came to accept her. Accept her embrace. Her words. Her gaze. Her warmth.
I watched my sons grow; grow into just & gentle men just as I had never been. I oversaw their struggles and triumphs. Their ambitions grew as did my love for them. It all astonished me. My infant girls became women, intelligent & bold. They felt as fiercely as I had hurt the daughters of other men. When I saw them and wept at the thought, they consoled me.
This was **Hell.** The Hell of all legend. If my actions while living had earned my place here, what had I done to deserve Earth?
Accepting my damnation before death was simple. I knew who & what I was. Accepting the nature of my punishment was more grueling than I could imagine. Was I being punished? Rewarded? What god would treat me this way? How could it? Who could justify this? How could I justify this love for a family I never sought?
Despite the incisive nature of my renewed mind, cleared of its raging, lustful, envious clutter, I could derive no answers. In a fit of desperation, I prayed for the first time since childhood and received no reply. I was exasperated and, supposedly, separated from God, after all. So I stopped fighting Hell. I turned to my family.
I saw a faint glimpse of myself in their eyes. Indeed, I cared more for them than myself now. I wanted to hurt no one. I desired nothing. The sight of others' happiness did not incline me to deprive them of it, but to rejoice for them. I had found myself in them. A self I had long forgotten or perhaps murdered coldly like so many others. Perhaps I was my first victim, so long ago before my death. But now, in Hell, I was given life.
I woke to screaming. A woman. I had heard many women scream but this voice I knew well. My eyes burst open and darted wildly for the source, but I was bound. Tightly. I felt the knots in the rope and knew I was a prisoner here. My eyes then found my wife. I felt terror unlike any I had felt since my death. She was bound tightly. Crying, screaming, and bleeding. As a figure approached her and looked my way, I could hardly see his face. My eyes were fixed on my love's. She begged my help but I was helpless. Helpless and afraid. Helpless to watch those I loved bound in abject horror. Helpless to watch this beast of a man grab her breasts and sink his teeth into her neck & tear. Helpless to hear her screams drown out in her own blood as this monster of a man drank from the wound & laughed.
I couldn't hear my own screams anymore. My torment was unceasing. I thrashed about in a wild & vain attempt at escape, only to topple the chair I was bound to. My face hit the ground. My shoulder dislocated as I pointlessly tried to reach toward my loved ones. I had never expected this; but my anguish meant nothing to me next to that of my children. Nothing at all, as my sons were forced to ravage their sisters bodies. And feast upon them. My wife, slipping away in the corner, had lost all but the last light from her eyes before our sons' throats were slit, & her skull swiftly crushed beneath a black jackboot, inches from my own face.
I found myself blindly screaming at the beast before me. Alone in the room together, the faint memories of hate I had left in me came rushing back. Every cursed word in every tongue I knew was thrown against him from my pitiful spot on the blood soaked floor. With my eyes I filled him with my pain and all consuming wrath, my disgust & hatred of my fellow man. I fumed until the acid in my veins burnt out & my throat ran dry. All this, while he crouched and listened.
I offered forth a myriad of unkind questions before gasping desperately, "Who could ever do this?"
**YOU could.**
With those words, the first of the fallen sent me on my way toward god. | 25 | Hell, contrary to popular belief, is not a pit of darkness and eternal torture, but more of a rehab center you visit until you are accepted into heaven. You are a serial killer, now explain your journey. | 34 |
I wander around my house feeling the shelves for food. Where did I leave that lettuce? Oh right, second shelf. I reach down and pick it up. Three paces to the pot. I wave my hand over it to check the temperature. Nice and hot. I rip the lettuce up and throw it in.
I walk back to the shelf and grab some spices. Which one’s salt again? I dab my finger in and taste one. No, that's cumin. I dab another. No, that's pepper. Oh, that’s right; I left it by the pot. Suddenly, I here a noise outside. I go to the door and listen.
“Don’t eat that, Hansel!” A little girl screams.
“It’s candy! Try it!” The boy exclaims.
“I don’t know…” The little girl said apprehensively.
I walk outside. “Kids, please don’t lick the house. We had it painted for my late son to look like candy. It used to calm him down during his fits, but it’s actually really toxic. I’m making a stew why don’t you come in and have some.”
“Oh, thank you! We’re starving!” The girl said excitedly.
“Have a seat; it’s almost ready. What are you kids doing way out here in the woods?” I inquired.
The boy starts to cry. “We’re lost. Our parents abandoned us because of the famine.”
“That’s horrible!” I gasp. People these days. They’re all just out for themselves. It’s why me and my husband moved out here in the first place. To get away from it all.
“Well, you kids can stay here. You can stay in my son’s old room.” I said softly.
“Why are there bars on the door? The girl asked shakily. “It looks like a cage.”
“My… My son is… was a special boy. He would fall into fits of rage. After my husband died I couldn’t control him by myself, and one day he hit me and blinded me. In his sober moments he was the sweetest boy, and after that he wanted to live in the woods for fear of ever losing control and hurting me again. I couldn’t bear to live without him though, so he built that door for his room, and when he’d start to have a fit he’d lock himself in there and throw me the key through the bars until it was over.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The girl said quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right, dear.” The key is hanging on wall inside the room. “You two are welcome to stay until we can find a room for you. “Let me feel your faces, so I can see what you look like. Come here children.” The children came forward. “Oh my! You are both so thin! I’ll help fatten you back up. Children need nourishment.”
The children stayed at my house for a few days, but then began to get antsy. They fought a lot, and the boy was prone to crying fits. I tried to be as understanding as I could. It’s hard to be abandoned at that age. One day, the boy locked himself in the room and wouldn’t come out.
“Ma’am, do you have another key to that room? My brother won’t come out!” The girl was crying.
“No, sweetheart. That’s the only one; my son never made another key.” I sighed.
The girl sobbed. “I’ll go talk to him,” I sighed.
I walked over to the cage door. “Hansel, are you okay? Can you come out for a second?” I asked.
“I’m never coming out!” The boy screamed. “You’re a witch!”
“What?” I gasped. “What would ever give you that idea?”
“Your wrinkly and ugly and covered in warts and you have no eyes!” He yelled again.
I bowed my head dejectedly. I know I shouldn’t put too much stock in the words of a scared and hurt child. I mustered up some strength and took a deep breath. “Give me your hand, sweetheart. I’m not a witch.” I reached through the bars. All I could feel was one tiny bony finger. My god! He was getting thinner. This was probably the starvation talking. “How about I make you a nice roast, sweetheart? You’re just delirious from hunger.
I went the girl and asked her for help. “We’re going to make a nice big dinner for your brother, and I need your help. I can’t see, so you need to help me a lot, but your brother needs us.”
I got the fire going in the oven and began making preparations. There was a lot to do. We slaved all day, and I could tell the girl was getting worn out. “Sweetie, why don’t you go be with your brother. I’ll finish up here.”
“Okay,” the girl said exhaustedly. I could hear the two whispering quietly. Probably playing whatever children’s games kids play these days.
I went outside to check on the pig. My last pig. I was saving him for a special occasion, but now I finally have company. I guess now is as good a time as any. Maybe, that boy will learn to trust me after this. I went back inside to check the fire.
“Sweetheart,” I called to the girl. “Let me show you how to check the roast. It’ll be easier since I can’t see.”
“What are we cooking?” The girl asked quietly.
“It’s a surprise,” I smiled warmly.
“Do it! Do it now, Gretel!” The boy screamed.
“What are you on about?” I yelled at the boy.
“There is no roast! We’re the roast! We’re the surprise!” The boy screamed in a delirious rage. I felt so bad for him. He reminded me of my son.
“Oh sweetheart. I…” I felt a surge of force as two little arms shoved me hard.
“Ahhhh!” I screamed as I fell into the flames. Searing pain. My clothes, my skin was burning.
“Run! Now!” The boy screamed as he unlocked the cage and grabbed his sister’s hand. The children bolted out the door as fast as they could and took off into the night.
I pushed myself out of the inferno and rolled on the floor to put the fire out. Half my body was burned. I couldn’t move my hands, and my whole body was in pain. I lay there on the floor gasping for breath. I managed to push myself up against the wall to sit up. Unsure what to do, I put my face in my charcoaled hands and wept.
Edit: Grammar. Only proofread once though, so forgive me if there are other mistakes.
| 95 | Rewrite a classic fairytale/myth from the point of view of the monster. Make us feel for him/her/it/them while the hero looks like an asshole. | 102 |
Day 431: We were getting close, and it was worrying. Preliminary research on dating the craft placed it at being between 1200 and 1400 years old, well before any of the great empires had arisen. This had sparked our interest, and the government had commissioned me to decipher the messages that had been found with it. They were old, and had suffered damage, even by the time our survey vessel had picked it up, however we’d started to piece it together. The message disc that had been found with the craft had been sent to our historians, so they could try to ascertain its intended use, and after 2 weeks they concluded that it was designed to play sound. They built replica discs so as to not damage the original any further, and set about getting the replicas to play sounds. Eventually they stumbled upon something that was intelligible, and it appeared to be music of some sort.
Nothing in our records matched that which we discovered on the device, and so we thought our use of it ended and returned our attention back to the craft itself. We couldn’t tell by the design which civilisation had manufactured it, as all civilisations use a wide range of spacecraft designs in their early age, and many were similar. Then the historians, to whom we had returned the disc, got back to us with more information. They’d discovered extra information on the disc. We’d discovered what appeared to be speech sounds on the disc before the music, but the disc had been too damaged for these sounds to be decipherable. However, upon further analysis of the disc, the historians had decided there was more than sound on it, and so had turned it over to another group of scientists who had discovered images. Again, a lot of the information was damaged, but we were able to salvage fragments.
The first fragment appeared some simple mathematical equations. The second appeared to be part of the colour spectrum. The third was a close image of a star, and then the fourth and fifth were of what appeared to be rocky planets or asteroids. The sixth image we salvaged was salvaged almost in full, and is extremely worrying. It is of Earth. The closeness of the image, along with the date of the craft, leads us to believe that it could only have been taken by the humans themselves. My personal recommendation is that the government either destroys this craft and all our records of it, or that we send it on it’s way and destroy all records regardless. If the humans realise that we have something of theirs, something presumably representing a cornerstone of their civilisation, billions could die.
EDIT: OP delivers an update below.
| 531 | In the distant future, an alien scientist has almost fully deciphered the messages found on the Voyager Spacecraft. With growing horror, the scientist realizes the crafts home system, and begins to pray. | 698 |
They didn't arrive in a spaceship. Just a strange ball of light. We found no trace of it after the dust settled. The eggheads on the homefront tell me it was technology beyond our wildest dreams, or that they're our evolutionary superiors in every way. But I got a different theory. I seen 'em up close.
I noticed something, during the first open battle. For all their space age bravado, they didn't fire on our soldiers. Not once. They cut a good number of them down, sure, but not with any weapon I saw. Naw, they just had these *claws*.
Even then, they're some *mean* sons of bitches. It was a close fight, and neither side ended up sticking around afterwards. (Hell, they even transported their dead away in those balls of light.) Wherever they came from, it's molded them into killing machines. The media hyped them up as imperial conquerors. That we were simply next on their list. But honestly, I knew all along that was bull.
Three weeks in, the war was over. Engaging them directly was a mistake; they were just too powerful. To win this fight, we had to play dirty. Snipers. Drone strikes. We were even cleared for experimental bio warfare. They didn't see any of it coming. This surprised most of the more..."imaginative" folks back home. How did we win so easy?
It all went back to that first battle. We didn't manage to capture any of them, but I saw how they fought. And then, I saw *why* they fought. They weren't trying to exterminate us for conquest. They were trying to exterminate us out of desperation. They couldn't have ruled their homeworld. They probably just managed to leave. Their transportation wasn't some great feat of technology. It was a crude natural system that happened to outclass our rocket ships. And those claws...they didn't make the aliens better. They were a consolation prize from Mother Nature.
They weren't prepared for our level of warfare. It's why they landed in the middle of Nowhere, Greenland instead of our capital cities. It's why they went down so easy when we upped our weapons game. That's what won us the day: they were completely thrown by our technology. They had no concept of it. And seeing them up-close, I knew why, from the very beginning.
They didn't count on us having thumbs. | 548 | Aliens landed on earth, and they're surprised all humans possess what they think of as a superpower... an ability we always took for granted and consider normal. | 394 |
William Harper waited anxiously at the bar near his terminal, just fifteen minutes til boarding and damn if he was going to be sober for it. Three overpriced double whiskeys later the call came. Despite his tipsy and vaguely over-friendly demeanor he boarded without a hitch. Carrying very little luggage, planning on a two day stay over in a hotel at his destination, he found his seat and settled in for a long haul. The plane was full of life, families bustling to their seats. Attendants guiding them all around. The general atmosphere felt more like a family reunion than a flight ready for departure. He was seated next to a broad shouldered man, about 6 foot tall, with muscular tattooed arms. This man turned, caught William's gaze and they shared the awkward pleasantries that two people locked in 6 hours of shoulder rubbing must engage in.
He explained that he was part of a small group of MMA amatuer fighters going to a tournament, gesturing over his shoulder to the large men behind them. All of them looked like they could beat a grizzly bear to death. But aside from the look of them, they were all friendly. One by the name of Jared struck up conversation.
"First time flying, buddy?"
William Had flown once before, when he was a young boy. But had caused a scene regarding some Imaginary monster outside the plane and did not remember it fondly.
"Yeah" He responded "To be honest I'm shitting myself here".
"Ah, no worries mate" He gestured to the most rotund of their group, a comatose man making sounds that you might expect from a half blocked plug. His name, William had gleaned from their talks, was 'Dave the Beast'.
"This fat prick here is afraid of flying, that's why he's downed himself on sleeping pills."
"Do they work?"
At this point Jared slapped 'The Beast's face with enough force that it echoed.
"Looks like it" he giggled as Dave lightly mumbled in his sleep."Here you are mate" with that he reached over Dave's lap and grabbed a pill bottle from his hands.
"They're for helping you sleep when you've got an injury, Dave got them when he paralysed himself and had to have his spine readjusted... Just take one I think" and tapped the bottle against Will's open hand til the pill fell out.
"Cheers" Will smiled as he raised a glass of whisky and downed it along with the pill.
He leaned back for a few seconds and felt immediately tired, the plane faded slowly to black, as did the sounds around him.
He awoke from a dream of fiery death and ocean landings covered in a thin film of cold sweat, quickly he shot upright and immediately his head felt like it was cracked open. Through his headphones he could hear the credits rolling on the in flight movie, burying his face into his hands he removed the headphones and rubbed his aching head. He never noticed that save for the light of the screens, the cabin was dark. He turned right to ask Jared how long he'd been out, no one was there. He got up and walked to the toilet, closing the door behind, began to throw up. His mouth tasted of stale whiskey and awful regurgitated airport fast food. After washing his face and regretting his decision to mix drink and pills he walked back out into the cabin.
His brain registered the scene.
All the seats were empty save for clothes, the hatch was open and a cool salty breeze was blowing in, whistling slightly. No lights or sounds were flickering, the aircraft was shutdown. He looked again, the clothes on every seat..... they were laid out as if the people inside them has just disappeared. he turned around, on the floor behind him were the sky blue uniforms of the attendants. even in this low light he could see a contrasting black line perfectly down the centre. It felt coarse against his skin, remembering his phone he stumbled back to his bag. confusion and panic mounting inside him. Grabbing his phone and turning it back on, he first noted that he had no service, but quickly determined to use the light from the screen to examine the clothes. He traced his phone down the black line, it was perfectly straight from top to bottom. It looked like a burn, he rubbed his finger along it, feeling a light residue that smelled like good pork and had a vaguely greasy texture. This was the same across all the seats, clothes, burnt and smelling of pork crackling. His panic was now winning over his disbelief, he started to rummage through the cabin for food, It was all there, a couple hundred untouched airline meals. It dawned on him that whatever was going on could happen to him next. He trawled the plane to find the clothes of the air marshal. Hoping to find a gun he found only a taser, but he was happier none the less. At that moment all the tv sets flickered and hissed, faces distorted by static burned across the screens, a scream filled the air around him. It felt like it was coming from everywhere.
Fueled now by fear he sprinted from the plane, not stopping til his lungs burned and his head pounded. He looked up, he was at another terminal. through huge glass windows he could vaguely make out the dark airport, shadow ridden.
Right now that was his goal, get there. The payphones might work, at least for emergency services.
He walked for five minutes that felt like hours, casting suspicious glances at every shadow. The night wasn't cool, or particularly dark. Looking skywards a curious thought occurred, the moon is so full and bright, but where are the stars?
AGRGRGRGRGHHHHRHHRHGRHHH!!!!
He jumped almost out of his skin, felt himself seize up and began immediately hyperventilating. looking for the source of that horrible tremulous screech. Finally he grabbed his phone, crackling across the screen was another static ridden screaming face. Then nothing... the phone went black. He fumbled and tried but it refused to come back on.
Only then did he realise he was right up against the glass walls of the terminal. Feverishly looking up and down around the terminal he saw outlines, they looked human, and yet somehow not.
"Clunk!"
He was leaning closer and closer and had headbutted the glass, he looked again, the figures were still there. But now all aligned in a row along the glass wall, still too dark and featureless.
ARGHHHAAARHHHAAGGHAGAGRHRHHHH!
Suddenly and without warning he heard the sound blare from every device capable of creating sound in the airport.... it began to claw at his brain. What felt like icy fingers inside his skull, he vomited. Heavily staticked screaming filled his ears, stuttering and layering a thousand times, deafened by the sound and passed out on the cool asphalt. As his eyes clouded with black, he heard a single voice of clarity among the screams. A single genderless voice.....
"Help us"
*Edited for some typos | 59 | Shortly after take off, a man falls asleep on an airplane full of passengers. He wakes up to find it is now the middle of the night and the plane has landed somewhere. The emergency lights are on, the hatch is open, and the airplane is deserted. | 176 |
Chuck Venadoor stared at the keyboard as his colleagues gathered behind him. This was it. Years of research, two broken marriages, and enough Scotch to pickle an elephant were all it took to get to this moment. The Paradox Machine was complete and whenever Chuck finally mustered the courage to hit ENTER, the entire world would change.
Chuck looked around. He scanned each face in the room. Apprehension and excitement stared back. He knew what they were all thinking. Would it work? Would voices from the future actually stream from the computer speakers? Would there be silence?
“You going to turn the damn thing on or not,” Larry joked from the back of the room.
Everybody giggled a little bit and returned to holding their breath. Chuck smiled and raised his shaky finger. It hovered above the ENTER key.
“Here goes nothing,” Chuck whispered.
Those words came out calmly and coherently, which was odd considering Chuck’s acute stutter always seemed to make conversation difficult for him. There was no time in his past when it had not reared its ugly head and made Chuck feel vocally impotent. It was a good sign and Chuck let his finger fall.
There was silence in the room and over the speakers. Nobody breathed for fear of missing the slightest sound. Then there was a crackle, a whiz, and a voice.
“Hell-hell-hello. Ca-ca-can you h-h-h-h-h-ear me?”
Everybody looked around in amazement. It worked. Goddamn it actually worked! Their elation was quickly snuffed out when the screams started. Horrid sounds of agony spill out of the speakers. The voice returned.
“Pla-pla-please lis-lis hear me. I am Chu-chu-Chuck Vennnn-a-dooor. You mu-mu-must turn this ma-ma-machine off. Now! Please for the-the-the love of God,” the voice screamed. A large crash echoed from the speaker, then in a clear and calm voice the future begged.
“Please stop. What have you done?”
Then there was silence and a knock on the lab door.
| 22 | Scientists invent a machine that can receive messages transmitted back in time from the future. Today is the day it is switched on for the first time... | 25 |
"You're insane."
True. But I created you.
"Look, there's no real person walking this planet that would jump over that cliff completely naked! And laughing at the same time!? Dude!"
Just do it.
"Fuck you. You need to go to Reddit and get a better plot line. This one sucks."
I can make you do it. Watch.
*He crept up to lip of the precipice, not daring to look down since 'down' was almost a vertical mile. He chuckled as he moved his foot forward...*
"Stop. Stop writing right now. I won't do it."
This is a really good idea. Just go with me on this.
"What? What? What? I'm gonna sprout wings or something?"
Um, no. I haven't made up that part yet.
"See! See! There's no structure, no outline, no, no, greater purpose or meaning or plot to this fucking story! How the flyin' fuck can I find any inner motivation for my character?!"
Have some faith.
*...into space and threw his body out over the sheer drop, laughing, a great bellow, laughing like a man who had just discovered his true purpose in life.* | 52 | The characters revolt because they don't like the plot twist in the story | 129 |
The Fowgrartionsians destroyed their planet through pollution and habitat destruction. After decades of searching they have found another suitable planet. The inhabitants of this planet call it "Earth". All data leads to the conclusion that they are still using primitive weapons. The most powerful weapon detected was atomic bombs, a weapon so weak Fowgrartionsian broodlings are often given them as toys on their 10th metamorphisisday.
Still, to be safe, they need to test their weapons on a human before launching a full scale invasion. After a few scans, they find the perfect test subject, an Earthling by the name of Natasha. She lives alone in the northern part of the largest continent. Thirty kilometers from the nearest neighbor, and almost 70 kilometers from the nearest settlement.
The aliens wait until the Earthling, Natasha, is asleep and beam down two of their best space-soldiers.
The soldiers materialize in a small room. Earthling exo-skeleton parts litter the floor, they are not hard and rigid like Fowgrartionsian exo-skeletons. They are soft and made of plant fibers dyed different colors. Natasha lays fast asleep on a bed in front of them. One the soldiers picks up a piece of Earthling exo-skeleton from the ground, and scans it with his space-google glass glasses. "It is made of something called denim." the alien laughs, and throws the item to the floor. "This will not stop our most elementary molecular beam guns."
The soldier pulls out a space gun and aims it at Natasha. "No use in wasting too many charges, I am setting it to ultra low." He pulls the trigger and shoots her in the face with a low-level molecular beam. They turn to leave.
"Grraahhzzzz..." comes a snore form behind them.
They turn around. "Maybe they are more resilient than I thought." Says one alien as he cranks the knob up on his space gun. "Full power!" He aims again and pulls the trigger. The earthling's blanket is nearly disintegrated in a poof of smoke. Yet when it clears, Natasha seems unharmed. "Impossible."
The aliens make a few eye gestures into their space-google glass and they disappear.
They materialize back on the alien ship. "Fire space lasers at these coordinates!" One of the aliens demands. An aerial shot of Natasha's house shows up on a large viewscreen. Seconds later a a green laser beam shoots into the house. A large hole is left in the roof. "ZOom in!"
The image closes in on the laser hole and continues to zoom into the house. On the charred ground Natasha lays completely naked, her chest still rising and falling. Everything in a 8 ft diameter around her is disintegrated. "Holy space-expletive!" an alien shouts. "Launch our most powerful weapon, the proton torpedo! They are a million times more powerful than the earthlings nuclear bombs, yet contained within a two mile radius."
"You don't have to tell me that, we all had the briefing before we entered this star system." Came an alien reply.
"I'm not telling you, I am telling them." A hand comes out of your computer screen and points at you (yes you, the reader). "Launch the torpedo!"
On the view screen an explosion engulfs Natasha's house, and the wooded area around it. The screen zooms in on Natasha's location. Slowly the smoke and debri clears, revealing Natasha laying on her side, without even a hair on her body harmed. She rolls on to her back and groggily begins to sit up in the charred dirt. She stretches her arms and then rubs her eyes.
"The earthling is awake!" an alien soldier screams. "Retreat! Retreat!!!!"
The aliens never returned to earth. But they did eventually find a suitable planet, that was not inhabited by intelligent life. Which they colonized. And Natasha became a god to them and statues were built in her honor.
Back on earth, Natasha had no idea what happened and never discovered her secret power. The insurance company refused to pay for her destroyed house.
| 59 | she is invulnerable while she sleeps. One day, she inadvertently saves the world with her power... | 37 |
Doctor Parker had always loved the outdoors. In fact it was during an outing with his son teaching him how to shoot a BB gun safely, that he noticed the patterns on the birch trees behind the house. From his knowledge of nutrient transport and the cellular formation of bark structures, he had immediately recognized that the patterns on the trees were simply not random.
His cell phone rang, bringing him back to reality. He grabbed it in a fluster and put it to his ear. "Hey, are you coming to mom's house next week?" his brother asked from the receiver. "She's been pretty fragile since dad died, and it's always worse this time of year with the holidays and all, Ralph. We've missed seeing you. "
He stared at his notepad for a moment. The old man had helped fuel his love of learning about the world, after all. Thoughts of learning how to change a car tire, fix a bum furnace, and learning Italian flashed in his mind. "Yeah, I'll be there. We can pull out the lamp like old times." Doctor Parker said into the phone. He dropped it back to the table and refocused on figuring out the mysterious code he'd uncovered.
It was Morse code to be exact. He'd tried everything else - as unbelievable as it was, it was simple Morse code. He jotted down the last few dashes and dots, then compared it to his key. He read off the now-decoded message "B-e-s-u-r-e-t-o-d-r-i-n-k-y-o-u-r-o-v-a-l-t-i-n-e"
Oh. FUDGE. | 25 | The beige marks on Birch bark are discovered to be organic morse code. What are the trees saying? | 52 |
I suddenly realized the stranger was my mark. I'd heard of "living skin" clothing before, but I didn't think it was real; seeing it today, on my target, proved otherwise. Corporate espionage jobs were usually boring, but this one had some real intrigue to it.
Back in the naughties, a textile company employee working a DoD contract up and left with some files he shouldn't have. The DoD was looking for a new uniform while they sent troops to topple Saddam, and one company had submitted a bid with a revolutionary material. The company that submitted the bid had to retract it, though, claiming issues with their prototype.
After 20 years or so, these rumors kind of die out, but this one came back in full force when my agency caught wind of a potential deal to sell this material. Now, here I was, face-to-face with a guy wearing the bleeding jacket. I started to speak, but as I opened my mouth he turned and bolted. Not thinking, I chased after him, concerned I'd lose my mark.
Turns out, that bleeding jacket made it easy to follow him. I backed off, keeping him in sight, but staying out of his. He had to know that his jacket was leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for me, but I knew he wouldn't ditch it; it was too valuable. Suddenly, he turned a corner I didn't think was there. As I approached the turn, the trail of breadcrumbs petered out into nothing.
A chihuahua laying on a rug at the corner looked at my quizzically as I examined the end of the trail. He didn't merit any attention; a mangy looking thing, with some brownish-red discoloration around his legs. As I turned to enter the alley in which I'd lost my mark, I noticed the dog wasn't really looking at me.
Then I noticed it wasn't really a dog. The trail stopped almost exactly in front of the "chihuahua", and having been briefed that the living jacket had capabilities my agency didn't even know of, I decided to back off and watch the jacket.
I waited for 20 or 30 minutes before my mark returned, and picked up the "dog". He grabbed the chihuahua's head, swung it around, and suddenly he was wearing the jacket again. It looked like the bleeding had stopped, so I followed him more carefully this time.
I'd find out where this deal was happening and with who, regardless of how queasy the thought of that jacket made me. | 19 | You witness a strangers jacket getting ripped but as the fabric tears it begins bleeding, you glance up and your eyes meet theirs. What happens next? | 68 |
We marched forwards, hundreds of us forming a shield wall. Arrows whipped past, beeping as they sought out radiation. Most missed their targets or simply bounced off the ceramic plate of our greatshields. The Russians advanced from the opposite direction in the same fashion; swirling green camoflauge decorated the titanium of their shields, furious eyes staring through the ballistic-glass slits.
"Forward!" The general yelled, the rhythmic growl of his jeep the drum-beat by which we stepped.
We took the high ground at the top of the hill; the Russians simply edged closer, shields raised slightly to deflect the arrows our rangers sent at them.
A violent shout came over their ranks- what was said, I did not know.
"Hold your ground!" The general screeched, edging back with his jeep. "They're--" The last of his words were drowned out by the hellish screaming of the Russian vehicles as they slammed over the ridges and flew towards us, plutonium-tipped spears of black titanium pointed forwards. The quadbikes and jeeps tore through our wall- men screamed as they fell back in all directions, shields collapsing left and right.
"Do not retreat!" The general screamed again, thundering forwards in his jeep, a spear in one hand. Two russians fell beneath him before another immobilized his vehicle with their spear- a fourth took his head off with a chainsaw.
Now we ran, stumbling blindly- our bulletproof vests did nothing.
Bodies fell left and right; men gutted and Russians laughing at our cowardice.
Then we heard it. A dragon's call, so earth-shakingly loud that even the Russians came to a halt. Tidal waves of mud spattered out across us as we stumbled up the hill, unable to tell whether the bloody covering us was ours, our enemies, or our friends.
I managed to impale one Russian while they stood, distracted- then, at last, it came.
Stampeding across the hills like Hannibal's elephants, a battalion of tanks stormed by, bloodstained blades covering its flanks. Each tank was practically covered with the things, as well as a pair of men with spears in hand.
We fell to the ground, laughing, sobbing, and shouting all at once.
The day was ours.
/(Took something of a medieval slant to this, imagining something along the lines of an anglo-saxon conflict, but with modern technology- hope it's enjoyable.)/ | 19 | Guns are considered dishonorable and inhumane in modern warfare. Write about a war without guns, but in a modern setting. | 60 |
Francis Cole raised his pistol to eye level and shifted his index finger down to the trigger, flipping off the safety as he did so. “Come out with your hands raised high!” Cole shouted with a tremble in his voice, “do it now!” he added, this time a little louder. He could hear his voice resounding through the night sky.
The vessel was as big as commuter bus, both ends shaped like a hexagon and missing any sort of windows or visible exits. Cole retrieved the radio on his belt, “Dispatch, I’m going to need backup on County Road 16, just north of the water tower. Call in for a fire engine too.”
“10-4” the female voice reported back calmly
“I’m not going to ask you again, come out of the vehicle!” Cole wondered if it even was a vehicle. It must have been, it was the only rational explanation. A local farmhand called in saying he saw some moving fast near the road and then heard a considerable bang. *Probably some damn kids screwing around* Cole thought to himself advancing cautiously towards the “vehicle”.
Cole lowered his pistol and reached for his flashlight, shining a bright light on the area around the hunk of metal, maybe whoever was driving this thing got ejected and was lying unconscious somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time, Cole reminded himself.
Without warning, a reddish green light lit up near the side of the vehicle, followed by a bright and dazzling flash, “Jesus!” Cole screamed shielding his eyes with his forearm and ducked back, nearly falling over. “What the fuck!”, the light only grew brighter and more disorientating. A low buzzing sound reverberated for several pain staking seconds before silence and shade took over again.
The sound of sirens just a few miles down the road provided only mild relief for Cole who was shaking in his skin, barely grasping his gun.
*Shuuuuu*. The vehicle opened up suddenly like somebody had just unfolded a piece of discarded piece of paper and then Cole heard a voice, “Are you the one they call Earth?”
| 72 | A large-scale galactic war has occurred. The light from these engagements has not yet reached earth, but some refugees already have. | 178 |
He called himself Gaia's prophet; we called him a nutbar until he made Denali spit fire at command.
After that, we briefly called him a government disinfo HAARP patsy crisis actor director --- okay, just Dunce Wilson called him that, and even he stopped when the moose surrounded his house and performed a perfectly bleated symphony of Moe Zart's at him.
There apparently is no conspiracy about musical forest creatures, so Wilson confessed this had to be legit.
Gaia had awakened, the prophet said --- his name was Duck-Knuckle Hoortsschaftl, the son of a Dutch father and a daft mother, but that didn't sound very religious, so we called him the prophet and met at the bar on the Main Street to hear what he had to say, while Denali glowed an ugly red in the distance, the weather between making that whole half of sky into a red cauldron of clouds like coals.
Gaia had awakened, the prophet said. And was angry, Hollow Knife Johnson immediately proclaimed, like all them --- well, I won't repeat the word he used for women, partly because of respect for them-all, and partly because I do not want to be hen-pecked to death like Johnson was.
I didn't even know anyone in town kept chickens.
Gaia had awakened and wasn't angry, the prophet said.
In fact, Gaia --- that's to say, primeval and benevolent All-American Mother Earth, not some Alaskan undermountain Godzilla --- was really happy with what mankind had done. She was really warming to us. She was outright sculpted now, her muscles standing out without all that flab of coal and those sagging pockets of oil. She'd meant to get make-up done too, so she really liked those Exxon Valdez beauty spots and that big BP blush of eyeshadow on her baby blues. And the metallic-red accents on her landscape, and those puffs of natural gas perfume --- those were risque on a lady of her age, but she wasn't complaining! No, but she wanted to be still prettier, and she apparently needed us little mortals to help with, especially all the nature-loving tree-hugging people.
She even had a list of places where to dig, drill and cut. Some of those places were not familiar to me, but Bookman Steggings helped me saying them were foreign, some of them.
We were all mighty puzzled by all this, and didn't quite know what to make of it, foreign travel being costly and all. Reverend was especially conflicted, no matter how the prophet kept telling him this was just the Earth half of "Heavens and Earth".
Then about an hour later Pipeline Bill, our local congressman, rushed in and threw himself at the prophet's feet, and called him the best thing since sliced, diced and stir-fried bread, and was shortly followed in by those news people; so I guess, having seen it on the news now, the prophet's good news and no shady gubermint thinger after all. | 17 | Gaia wakes up, and finds herself proud of what we've done to the environment. | 40 |
Wearily, I headed back towards my first creation, the orb I had destined for greatness. It was to be my paradise, full of undisturbed and pristine beauty. I hadn’t been able to even look over it in a few eons, given the time consuming task of overseeing in the other galaxies. The beings there had finally sorted it out and I now had time to myself, for what felt like the first time in my existence.
I attempted to remember what I had put on the earth at the beginning of time, was there only one mass of land on the equator line? Had I allowed for the right climate in the entirety of the planet or had I left most of it to become barren? Did I place too near to its heat source, the star? As I passed through the shimmering asteroid clouds of other galaxies, I realized that so much time had passed, I would not be encountering the same place I left. I could only hope for a place that closely engendered what I had made.
Because I moved with a deliberately slow pace instead of willing myself directly to earth, I had time to prepare myself for the changes I might find. I could never have slowed enough to prepare myself for the new earth, the earth of humans.
I came to the correct galaxy and I saw that the planets looked more or less equivalent to my memory. I took it as a good sign, for how could earth change if these others did not? The frigid tiny planet at the edge of the rotation seemed just as lonely. The ringed planet had just as many rings around it’s circumference as I had intended. Nothing seemed much out of place until I passed the red orange dusty globe that was nearest to earth and felt something amiss. The earth was within my view and I saw shining pieces of what I took to be machinery circulating in its orbit.
I was stunned, yet I knew what had happened. There was intelligent life on my paradise, and it had come somehow from what I had created those billions of years ago. Being too busy and too quick at the creation had left me with a mess of my own doing. From my experience with these types, I knew these were still probably a young population, and had no idea what they were doing. I was coming to a place of war and divided minds, to a place of faith and atheism. The joke was on me, like a scientist coming back to his experiment and realizing he had contaminated it with poor technique.
Humans, they spoke of themselves, creatures with good minds but too much pride and emotion. Many thought I was their savior and they worshipped me fervently. I went by many names on this earth and had many different roles. To some I was angry and was the punisher of evil beings. Others believed me benevolent and loving of all the humans of the world. Some doubted the existence of a creator at all, and chose science as their god. These last category came the closest. Science was their creator, as I had created earth for myself and had never meant for them to exist at all.
| 635 | God returns to earth, but is shocked and baffled to discover humanity's existence. Turns out we're an unexpected side effect to the real reason earth was created. | 1,032 |
I am Dia, Grand Guardian Angel, hailing from the Seventh Circle of Paradise. I have defended druids, saved saints and preserved the Messiah until his time had come.
And in times when God and Lucifer take their rest, and few Guardian Angels are required, we may take up optional assignments. Simply better the world by guarding one.
In hindsight, I should not have picked someone named Todd. Todd is a dead man's name. Todd is a name bestowed unto those with grave situational awareness.
To be frank, Todd is shit at staying alive.
Gabriel approached me about, oh, three decades ago. And the Supreme Angel, hailing from the Ninth Circle of Paradise and the Right Hand of God, told me to get off my rear and go help someone.
It's a shame I got sick all over his armor, but the liquor in Paradise can be deceptively strong. Otherwise, it wouldn't be Paradise. It'd be Hell, where every beer is a 2% Coors Light, no lime.
Todd. Todd is an imbecile. Todd hasn't two decent brain cells to rub together. If you put Todd in an insane asylum room, the plushy one made entirely of pillows, he'd jump around like it was his bed and break his neck.
Todd is an adrenaline junkie. Todd likes motorcycles. Todd likes bungee jumping. Todd likes snorting two lines of coke off a strippers backside and jumping into a pool with hammerhead sharks.
I can't fathom why Gabriel would want me to protect him.
Today, Todd rode his motorcycle off a building roof onto another building roof. And he wasn't arrested, so I don't get any rest. I've got maybe fifteen minutes in this watering hole, this shabby bar, before he goes and gets himself nearly headless.
I sighed and took another shot of whiskey, slamming the glass onto the bar. A stranger sat in the stool next to me.
"Rough day, Dia?" The stranger asked.
My head whirled. "How do you know that name?"
"What, can't recognize me?" The stranger lifted their hood.
My mouth broke into a broad grin. "Euclaptis! You old demon, how are you?!"
"Eh, not so good." Euclaptis motioned to the barkeep for a gin and tonic. The drink was set before him and he downed it in one go. "I've got a project that I'm not making any headway on."
"Oh? What sort of project?"
"Usual sin bullshit Lucy likes us Demons doing. But enough about that, what about you?" Euclaptis motioned to me. "You ain't looking too good, Dia."
I sighed into my drink. "Yeah, I've got a project as well. Guardian Angel got to guard something, right? Anyways, I got this guy I follow around, and he's just. . . He's an imbecile. He's nearly died half a million different ways since his eighteenth birthday, and he just keeps going. I'm not exaggerating either. He nearly kills himself twenty times a day."
Euclaptis sighed. "Sounds like you have my opposite problem. There's this guy I just can't kill, and it's-" Euclaptis' head shot up. "Hang on. Is your guy named Todd?"
"Yeah, why?" I ask. Euclaptis looks at me. I drop my glass. "You. Oh God fucking fuck. You son of a bitch."
"What are the odds, huh?" Euclaptis shrugged.
I stood up. "I'm going to kill you. Right now."
Euclaptis got up, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah, I owe you for three decades of sleepless nights."
"***YOU THOUGHT YOU DIDN'T SLEEP!? YOU TRIED KILLING HIM AT 3 AM FOR A STRAIGHT YEAR!***" I pulled out my Angelic sword and swung. | 59 | You are the exhausted guardian angel of an extreme risk-taker. | 54 |
Five cats crouched around a dying panther.
One was grey, and her body shifted like smoke.
One was black, and her eyes were a swirling blue.
One was brown, and her paws were one with the earth.
One was red, and the air around her shimmered from heat.
And one was white, and white, and *white*, and ***white***.
They were here from their five corners of the four-sided world, a realm where no man has walked or seen or dreamed, a pyramid of a place where from all gods are born.
The panther that lay dying was the mother of all gods men know, and all others that they do not. She was grandmother to universes, sister to creation, and the font of Existence.
And her heirs had gathered, to witness which one of them would ascend to their mother's role.
"Girls," purred the panther.
"Mother," the cats said together.
Her chest heaved, and she coughed up ichor onto the ground before her. Then she laughed, and the cats looked to each other in uncertainty.
"What an impossible choice before me. My beautiful daughters, you are each as perfect as I could ever desire, and yet, none of you are me."
Her eyes were dim and fading stars. "No, not one of you could do what needs to be done."
The grey spoke. "I am clever, mother, I understand your work best of all. I can do what needs to be done."
The black spoke. "I am changeable, mother, let me become much as you are. I can do what needs to be done."
The brown spoke. "I am strong, mother, I can survive the challenges of your role. I can do what needs to be done."
The red spoke. "I am powerful, mother, as powerful as you yourself ever was. I can do what needs to be done."
The white did not speak. But the others looked to her as if she did, and her eyeless face turned to each of them in turn.
The panther closed her eyes, and for a small eternity, her daughters feared that she had died. But then she shuddered, and spoke. "None of you can do what needs to be done. And no matter what I choose, nothing will ever be the same. The old gods will die with their creations, and be forgotten, and the new gods will be nothing like the children of my own body."
Her star eyes opened, and burned, and flickered, and shifted, and were one with of all of creation. "This is the dawn of a new era, and you are my heralds. Serve me well, daughters. All of you."
The cats bowed their heads in respect, and so none of them saw their mother pass. When they looked up, she was gone. And when they looked to each other, they saw each of them had a new eye, starry upon their brow. As well, they were no longer cats as they had been, but neither were they panthers as their mother was.
A grey lynx, black cheetah, brown serval, red lioness, and white leopard were gathered in a circle.
They looked to each other, and bowed, and left to the five corners of their four sided realm.
And from those five came gods, and universes, unlike any of those that had come before. | 13 | A God is dying. His sons and daughters gather, hoping to inherit his powers. | 18 |
The potion lay in the cabinet in the kitchen. For more than 17 years, she's been using that potion to gain the favour of his love. Nothing was strange to the everyday observer. They would go on dates, they would laugh as a couple. Their children would play with their parents not questioning if their parents were true to each other. The way their father acted towards their mother, they thought love truly did exist between these two.
But through all these years, the guilt remain. She hurt the one she loved. Nothing physical, no. She cared for him like a delicate flower. The lie of omission, the statement left out was what hurt him. Although he didn't know it, he was in pain. Unable to live with the guilt, she finally gives in. She took her husband to their room and told the story.
A day without the potion, surely that would be fine. So the next day they went on with their lives. They woke the children and gave them breakfast, got them ready for school. The husband took the car and went to work while the wife stayed at home. She knew the weight of the truth she had told, and hoped dearly that it wouldn't change anything. But if he were to leave, she wouldn't blame him.
She wouldn't blame him for a single thing, that's how much she loves him. She sat on the couch fantasizing about how their daddy will come home and give them a hug, then kiss her hello. She fantasized about how they'll sit together at the table and have a family dinner. She fantasized how he'll carry her to bed and make sweet love to her.
But as the night went on, the children were without their father's hug. Dinner was quiet, short, and cold. Her bed empty, the blanket covering only her. She fell asleep alone and cold without her lover's gentle warming touch. She cried a tear not sad or angry. Instead she felt an agonizing sense of bliss. Because his touch may be gone, his words still remained.
There it was on the night stand, next to his picture, resting on top of the incident report. On her phone in clear black letters were the words she's always heard. Until now she wasn't sure because of the potion's effects, but now she knew it's true when she opened up that text.
["Siri, tell my wife I love her"](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ll5di/wp_your_car_crashed_and_you_are_dying_in_a_moment/) | 60 | After being happily married for 17 years, a woman's husband confesses that he has kept her under a love potion for all these years. Together, they agree to see what happens when she goes without | 70 |
Iroh blinked, frozen, shocked by the unexpectedness of the embrace - but as soon as she had initiated it, she broke away.
"Are you certain you do not require any assistance in reforming the homeland?" She asked, as curt and abrasive as usual. Iroh could see through her tough exterior, though, and knew she asked out of care and concern for himself, although any other person would have never guessed she had an ounce of compassion in her - showing it was not an ability she had been born with, unfortunately.
"Thank you, Azula, but you are a leader and a soldier. You are most needed out there, capturing the rebels and finding Zhao. Strong, passionate people like yourself must be there to inspire others in restoring balance to the world. Leave the politics and governing duties to the old people, like myself," he joked.
"As you wish, Uncle." She stuck out a hand, which Iroh attempted to shake warmly, despite her stiffness. "I am proud to be your niece," she stated, referring to the changes Iroh was bringing to the Fire Nation and the hope he was restoring to the world. It was slow going, but Iroh could see that she was becoming more personable every time they met. "Expect a letter soon."
"I look forward to it," Iroh said, "your letters are a welcome distraction from the debating of the advisors."
She almost smiled, but caught herself. It was something she was still learning to be comfortable with.
"And hey," Iroh said, stopping her from turning to leave, "speaking of nieces, I wouldn't mind seeing some grandnieces or nephews someday."
Azula gave a hesitant nod, acknowledging the underlying sincerity below his joking tone. "We shall see," she said. "Ty-Lee has been attempting to instruct me in such matters - under your suggestion, no doubt."
"I may have mentioned it," said, Iroh, smiling.
Uncertain what else to say, she wished him luck and gave a quick farewell before turning to leave. Her two guardsmen followed a moment later, still frozen in shock at their witness to their leader's humanity.
The door closed, leaving Iroh alone with his thoughts. He quickly attempted to busy himself by collecting the tea cups and saucers, but the reality of the day set in nonetheless.
It was the anniversary of the tragedy that had left him and Azula as the only known remaining members of their family. Azula's visit helped to lessen the grief, but the sadness and remorse Iroh felt was beyond any comforting presence.
Years had spent hunting the Avatar, and as each season rose and fell, the hopelessness and rage built in Zuko. Iroh had done his best to console him, but after his brutal banishment and the growing feeling of futility of his journey, Zuko had closed himself off from people. Their crew became increasingly incompetent with every rotation, and their ship began to break down as the repairmen grew less and less willing to commit the resources to doing a thorough job.
After a while, they just sailed the cold, empty seas, with neither direction nor purpose. Contempt grew in Zuko, contempt for his father, for his home. The hatred hollowed him out, then filled him up, until Zuko finally commanded their crew to sail back to the capital. There, Zuko broke from the ship and made his way into Ozai's palace. His hatred fueled his fire into an uncontrollable inferno that claimed not only his father's life, those of the military heads and the royal servents, but his own as well.
Iroh would never again be able to muster up as much love for another person, as much as he tried for Azula's sake and for the people of the Fire Nation. He had had so much hope in Zuko. He'd loved him like he had his own son, and this second loss had broken something in his heart that he had held onto so very closely.
Iroh placed the dishes into the sink and used it to support himself as he sobbed and shook, alone in the silent room. Tears ran down his cheeks in little trails, collecting on his nose, where they fell in droplets and mixed in with the tea leaves. | 11 | "Hatred hollows you out. Then it fills you up." | 38 |
“Look, I didn’t mean to conquer the world…”
The past two days have been incredibly tiring. One interrogation after another, always men in the same uniform asking the same questions over and over again. Sometimes their nametags are different, but most of the time they read “Smith”.
“You didn’t mean to conquer the world. You just built a robot army, and then one thing kind of led to another”, today’s man in uniform states matter-of-factly, making a waving gesture with his right hand.
“I only built one robot,” I protest weakly for the millionth time.
The uniform nods, then retrieves a notebook from a pocket and starts reading in it.
“You built one robot, which subsequently replicates itself several times using spare parts from your workshop. The robots then go on to raid electronics stores all over Seattle, replicating even more units. Eventually, they start taking over military installations and the airport. They take control of airplanes and drones, spread out across the entire country, and eventually occupy the capital. As robot drones get in the air to invade Europe and Asia, and robot tanks move toward the Canadian and Mexican borders, robots in D.C. capture the president and take over the emergency broadcasting system to declare you their queen.”
I just nod. This is basically what happened. They’ve been efficient, too. It took them one day to gain control of Seattle. When people started to realize that they weren’t just another crazy PR stunt from Google, they had already managed to obtain weaponry and modify their chassis to accommodate it. After another day, they had the entire country on lockdown.
“That’s it? You have nothing to add to that?”, the uniform asks incredulously. Makes me roll my eyes. It’s like they record all of these conversations, then immediately burn the tapes.
“I told you. I ordered a Catbot 5000 from thinkgeek as a gift for my cousin. On May 25, the day before his birthday, I assembled it in my garage and left it there overnight. When I went back to fetch it when my aunt dropped by on the day after, it was missing. I had to run to the store around the corner to buy a pullover as a replacement gift for him. When I got back, I found my aunt in front of the TV with her mouth wide open, watching the first reports of robots raiding shops, and that was the first time I even heard of the whole thing.”
That’s my story in a nutshell. The Catbot 5000 is a toy. Judging by its description and capabilities, it’s targeted at children around the age of 30. It can walk around the house, meow, look cute, and read comments from reddit in a weird robot kitten kind of synthetic voice. Its battery doesn’t last very long, so the worst thing that could happen is that it climbs out of your window and recites your comments in the poetry subreddit to passersby for a few minutes until it runs out of juice. My cousin fits the target demographic perfectly. His poetry is atrocious, too, so he kind of deserves it as well.
“You modified the robot. You installed a custom artificial intelligence, you added an array of photovoltaic cells, you replaced its eyes with laser pointers, you even built a small 3D printer into one of its paws…”
The uniform lifts both his hands and starts gesturing slowly.
“…and so on, and so forth…”, he goes on, in a deliberately bored sounding tone.
Suddenly, we hear a muffled explosion, and then the lights in the interrogation room go out and emergency lighting comes on. An alarm sounds, but the uniform remains seated, undisturbed. He knows it’s not the first time. We’re in an old bunker deep in the Cheyenne Mountains. Safe from nuclear blasts; probably not from the robots, but they haven’t gotten here yet.
“I did not. I built it exactly according to the instructions, and then left it in my garage for the night.”
That’s a lie. I did all those things that he alleged, and more. When my army captured the president, I turned myself in, knowing that the only places the military could still take me to would be bunkers such as this one. For the past few days, they’ve unsuccessfully tried to extract the password to stop the robots from me. But I am no fool. There is no such password.
“And then it sort of did everything else on its own?”, the uniform asks.
“Yes.”
I won’t need to maintain the charade for much longer. He can’t see it yet, but a glowing red circle has started to appear on the metal door behind him. Soon enough, the inside of the door starts melting, the evaporating gases creating a loud hissing noise. The uniform finally turns around just as one of my little darlings climbs through the hole it just cut in the door. It turns its laser cutter on once more, only for a fraction of a second, but that’s enough to cleanly separate the uniform’s torso from its head. As the now lifeless body falls, the robot turns its head to me.
“Meow Queen, the cleansing is complete.”
I did indeed not mean to *conquer* the world.
| 35 | Lemme put it this way, I didn't *mean* to conqueror the world. | 50 |
**Day 86**
We've finally left the 3rd moon. I'm not sure how much more time I could bare being there. The low gravity made my earth bending a walk in the park. I could have torn the planet inside out with ease if had wanted to. And part of me really did want to. The constant sight of stars and solar systems can only be breath taking for so long. Now, I would sacrifice all the stars in space just to be able to sit down and watch a good mover.
Of course, all that earth bending was pointless, seeing Lara wasn't able to find any water, again. She was adamant she could sense some nearby, but not a drop was found on the moon. Sometimes, I wonder if all these planets really are uninhabitable, or if her water bending skills are sub par. She can have all the degrees and qualifications in the world, but if she can't find any water, there is no point in even having her here on this expedition.
The others aren't fairing well either. Its just been the four of us for the past 3 months, and the affects are showing. Balast has begun meditating in the mornings now. At this point, I think he's just doing it so he doesn't have to talk to anyone. Its not like the spirits can hear him all the way out here in space. And if history has thought us anything, its that spirits and science don't mix. I suppose you can take the monk of the monastery but....at least his air bending hasn't been affected. If one of his wind helmets broke while we were out of the ship...I don't even want to think about it.
At least I still have Todin. It feels like he's the only one I can talk to anymore, though I am growing concerned for his well being. As our route takes us closer and closer to the sun, I can see it taking its toll on him. Yesterday, while charging the ships generator, he almost blew the control panel without even realizing it. We knew the sun would increase his powers, but we did not take in consideration, how we would measure the severity of those changes. I can see he has become uneasy in his own body, afraid of what he could do. And as our journey goes on, he is only going to get stronger...
I spoke with mission control yesterday evening. They have informed me the spiritual rift has widened once more. The avatar is doing all he can, but we must find results shortly. Its only a matter of months before entire planet will be devoured by the spirit rift. We must find a planet that can sustain life soon. The human race depends on it... | 18 | Benders have achieved space and interstellar travel; terraforming other planets. | 16 |
"Nasa Space Center, how can I direct your call?"
"I'm sure you get this a lot, but I'm deadly serious and I don't know who else to call-"
"What is this about Sir?" Her voice already sounding exasperated. She did get this a lot and she didn't even know what 'this' was yet.
"Well I bought a second hand camera-"
"The point. Sir."
"I have pictures of aliens."
It was true. I had gone to the Sunday car boot sale and bought a nice camera from Mrs Jones. It was a steal really. Apparently her Son had left the camera at her house when he surprised her with his last visit. He never came back for it. He died in a car crash shortly afterwards, 6 months ago. It was 'about time she got rid of it' Mrs Jones had reasoned. She was always so impersonal, really didn't care much for the boy. He worked for the government, but she really wasn't sure where; He was always "here, there and everywhere" as Mrs Jones put it, 'Never had time to come visit his Mom' she scorned.
When I viewed the photos, clearly the technology was above Mrs Jones, that's when I fell down the rabbit's hole. Pictures, hundreds of them, all showing aliens, alien crafts, and technologies.
Who do you tell about these things? Nasa seemed the most logical, of course.
"....Right." The operator sighed, after a brief pause.
"It's true, the camera I bought is full of pictures!"
"That's great news Sir. Maybe you should send them to the president, I hear he's interested in these things. Have a nice day."
"But I'm serious!"
"Have a nice day Sir." *Click*
It was lucky that I got off the phone as I did, there was a knock at the door.
"Mr Thomas! Mr Thomas are you there. Its Sam Jones, I believe you have my camera." Funny; Mrs Jones had said he died, that senile hag. She had probably just sold the camera out of spite now I think about it. Well a dead man could do me no harm I laughed, as I drew back the deadbolt.
| 31 | Upon buying a second hand camera, you realise the memory card is full of photos. As you browse through them, you see a series of startling images that makes you immediately contact... | 64 |
"JANE?!?"
Jane rushed into the cubicle to be greeted by Tom's alarmed face.
"What is it, Tom?"
"D..do..do you see that?"
"See what? Oh gosh, your eyes are bloodshot! I'll get you some ty-"
All Tom heard was a fading murmur in the distance, he was too enthralled in the magnificent cursor moving around the room. Only he could see it, only he had control. Only he had the power.
"Yea, whatever, thanks Jane, " Tom blurted out ignoring the worrisome composure of his coworker. He moved the mouse some more, this time focusing on the mug of coffee sitting on his desk.
*Click*
The mug shattered, spilling the now-warm caffeinated elixir all over Tom's TPS reports. A smile on his face and half and half on his pants, he continued onward. Cursor moved to his boss nonchalantly chatting in the hallway. By the boss's own account, he was lifted up into the air and dropped. Unfortunately, the only person who noticed this was Tom, quietly sitting in his cubicle and clicking away.
That next day the office was half empty. Rumor went around that a ghost was present in the office, punishing the company for all of its wrongdoings. I mean, how else can you explain staplers flying around the room like frisbees and people being tossed up and down like they're dragged by a fishing line? The people who didn't call the day off were too busy with their work to focus on these little things.
Tom was as cheerful as ever as he approached his desk. *Ring ring* He picked up his work phone to news of a visitor at the reception desk waiting for him. Tom strolled to the front of the office springing with every step. He was greeted by a tall man in a bright, tailored suit with a thick white beard.
"Hello, Tom," the man said.
"I don't think I've had the pleasure...," Tom replied
"Oh you will, shortly. For now, we have to start your training"
"Training? For what?"
"This program"
"I have no idea what you're talking about"
"Oh, that will change soon enough. Let's start. You can call me The Architect" | 22 | A computer programmer finds he can move his cursor off the screen and into the real world | 47 |
The monster crept up through the shadows from below little Brandon's bed. Brandon could see its head in the gloom, coming toward him. It kissed him on the forehead and said "Good night Brandon". "Good night, boogeyman." replied Brandon.
Brandon feel fast asleep as the boogeyman kept watch over him. It wasn't always like that, though. Brandon was terrified of the boogeyman for as long as he could remember. Why he was afraid, he wasn't sure. The boogeyman looked big and scary, sure, but so did a lot of people. It lived under his bed, which was creepy, but the boogeyman had always lived there, before Brandon came. Brandon had learned since talking to the boogeyman that the boogeyman had been living under there keeping watch since Brandon's father had been small. The boogeyman was always gentle, except when he was hungry...
That's how Brandon first met the boogeyman. It was the night of Christmas Eve. Brandon was excited for Santa Claus. After leaving a tray of cookies and some milk out for Santa, he was anxious about going back to bed where the scary boogeyman lay in wait to terrify him. He had looked at the cookies and thought maybe he should offer some to the boogeyman as well. Then maybe he wouldn't be so grumpy.
That night, Brandon lay in bed listening for Santa to come, when instead he heard the boogeyman noisily crunching the cookies in his crooked teeth. The boogeyman looked over at him. "Thank you" it said, "you wouldn't believe how hungry I was."
"You're welcome." replied Brandon. "How come you never said anything?"
"Oh I can't ask anything of a child. What kind of a boogeyman do you think I am? Unfortunately, I can't leave the room either. I haven't eaten in years! These cookies are delicious by the way."
There was a clatter from the living room. "Santa's here!" exclaimed Brandon, and heran out of the room. The boogeyman rolled his big, orange eyes. A little later, Brandon came back in, looking dejected. "What's wrong?" asked the boogeyman. "Santa's not real. It was just my parents putting things in my stocking."
Since then, Brandon has left some milk and cookies for the boogeyman when he could get them from his parents. The boogeyman enjoyed the cookies and he and Brandon became good friends. | 16 | The Boogeyman tucks you in every night before bed and wishes you sweet dreams. What made him change? | 29 |
"What do you mean 'there's a back'?" The man's face was calm, but his voice was tinged with confusion and uncertainty. He ran his fingers along the lapel of his charcoal black suit, a nervous tick he'd kept from day one.
The wiry man sitting across from him in a soft white jacket wrung his hands, seeming embarrassed.
"Well," he started, his voice sounding as if he would much rather be diving off of a building right now, "you see, nobody really thought to check. After it was written, the Declaration was given into the care of-
"
"Stop. Stop right there. You're not going into another history lesson right now." The man in the suit lit a cigarette and grimaced. This was going to be public. No way to avoid that now. They were about to look like a bunch of idiots on a global scale. No use crying over spilled milk. "So, then. What's it say?"
"Excuse me?"
"The other side. The back of the page. I assume you've read it *now*, yes? What's it say?"
"Well... that's the thing. It appears to be just a draft, but... it seems to be a letter of correspondence."
"A letter? Someone wrote a fuckin' *letter* on the back of the Declaration of Independence?"
"Well... no. Actually, from our analysis, someone wrote the Declaration of Independence on the back of a letter."
The man in the suit stared dumbfounded for a moment. Suddenly, he was laughing. His deep voice sounded like an earthquake as he laughed harder and harder.
"I don't see what is funny about this, Mr. Bourn," the wiry man said coolly, obviously not appreciating being laughed at.
Mr. Bourn took the cigarette from his mouth before he spoke, "How can you *not*? Everyone treats the Declaration like it's this big deal, but the guys who *wrote* the damn thing just grabbed a spare piece of paper and scribbled away!" He laughed some more before he took a deep breath and composed his voice. "So then, what's in the letter? What's it about?"
"Well..." the wiry man was looking nervous again, "That's the issue. The letter appears to be, quite authentically I might add, written by Pierre Beaumarchais."
The blank stare from Mr. Bourn seemed to speak volumes.
"Pierre Beaumarchais was a French diplomat of the period. He was one of the French supporters of the Revolutionary War."
"So, what's that mean? That the French were involved in helping the war before there *was* a war?"
"Actually..." the wiry man swallowed hard, as if all of his nervousness here was coming to a head, "it's worse than that. He talks about the Declaration in his letter."
"I thought you said the letter came first?"
"It did. But only by a couple of days."
"Then how the hell did he talk about it?"
More swallowing. "Well... as far as we can tell... he wrote it."
There was a long moment of silence.
"He *what*?" Mr. Bourn was not a scholar of history, nor was he unduly patriotic. Oh, he was an American, and he was proud of his homeland, but you'd never catch him waving a flag at some stupid rally about how star-spangled-awesome the country was. And yet, somehow, this information hurt him. On a very personal level.
"He wrote it!" the wiry man exclaimed, his tension seeming to break with the revelation, "He wrote the entire damn thing! He writes about how the US could benefit from such a move! It was an attempt to weaken England!"
"What was an attempt to weaken England?"
"The United States!"
Silence.
"You're telling me that American independence was a French idea, as a side game to weaken England?"
"That's exactly what I am telling you."
Mr. Bourn whistled through his teeth, then gave a small chuckle. "Well... shit. That's some heavy stuff."
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed one.
"Andy? Pick a newspaper. No, any newspaper. Wall Street Journal? The fuck do you read that rag for? No, nevermind. Just get em on the phone. Tell them we've got a story for them.... Oh, it's a big one. They're going to have a fuckin' field day with it."
The wiry man looked appalled. "You're just going to give it away? Just like that?"
Mr. Bourn chuckled again, "What? Do you think I should've given to a French newspaper? Y'know, for the irony? Would be funnier."
"You can't just joke about this!" the wiry man protested.
"Why not? My whole fuckin' country's a joke now!" | 440 | Historians discover something they haven't noticed before on the Declaration of Independence, and it changes American life as we know it. | 364 |
"Want to get a beer sometime?" The note read in Kaleb's perfect script. I could see his face and hear his voice as I read it. He always looked so happy, his life was in perfect order.
At first it was a sincere question that he hounded all the new people with. He tried to make everyone feel welcome, and if they didn't drink he said Coffee or Tea was good too! He once downed a kale carrot health shake just to make Zebyfer feel welcome, but it didn't work, Zebyfer was a dick.
After a while the coworkers started joking about him when he wasn't around. "WANT A BEER!?" they'd say jeeringly at each other, pretending drunkeness. Kaleb overheard it after a meeting and just smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
Once they realized how easily he took teasing, they started doing it in front of him or to him. It became an 'inside joke', or so they said. Kaleb had stopped asking people the question over a year ago, but they continued to tease him.
And then he killed himself. And now staring at this yellow post it note I wonder if the man was just scared of being alone.
He was alone when he killed himself. I wish I would have gone for that beer with him.
| 43 | At work you find a sticky-note on your monitor from the coworker who sat in the cubical in front of you three months ago before he committed suicide | 42 |
This new social and cultural order based on lifespan was at a phase where it still had its enthusiastic supporters - it had only been about eight years since the beginning of it all - but it also still had its opposition. There were those of approximated short lifespans who resented this new way of things, and they wanted to change it.
Sandra Martinez was an old reporter from the Washington Post sent to provide coverage of a rally that was being held in Central Texas. This rally was to be full of STDs - an acronym that used to refer to the now largely eradicated sexually transmitted diseases. It now referred to those who were Soon To Die - people with short lifespans that were more and more alienated by the culture and economics of the society developing around them.
Sandra pitied them. She felt they were the unfortunate victims and she couldn't help but want to side with them in this culture war, even though she herself had many years left to live.
She looked around at the crowd. It saddened her. "Good for them, standing up for themselves," she thought to herself.
The keynote speaker of the rally went up to podium. Sandra took notes on what started out as a fairly conventional speech encouraging civil rights for the disadvantaged. Then she sensed a distinct change in the tone of the speech. She got shivers down her spine.
The speaker, a short but oddly formidable man, was yelling now.
"This movement has reached its crucial point. There's no turning back now. Lifespans are public knowledge, recorded by the government, which has caused our sorrows. We are openly discriminated against. Now we turn that public knowledge against them.
Today... today we begin. Today is the day we start to kill the long to live."
Sandra started to feel light-headed.
"We will change things through fear, because it is the only thing the establishment will listen to! Now, I have a question - do you all have your weapons?"
Sandra looked in horror as people around her raised handguns up into the air.
"We will be attacking Jefferson Long-Life University in approximately three hours, but the fun can start now. You see, surprisingly enough, there is actually someone right here who is a long lifer. Someone who we can use to begin our vengeance."
Sandra felt as if she forgot how to breathe.
"'Record number five-six-three-two-five-five-four-five... we the committee report that our machine trial suggests that Sandra Martinez will live for forty-six more years...'
Well, I'm sorry Sandra, but that just won't be happening."
| 46 | Through the magic of science, it is now possible to determine a person's approximate lifespan. Society quickly stratifies into a caste system as those with short life expectancies are now denied mortgages, credit cards, etc. One person with several months left to live seeks to change all of it. | 146 |
Jack laid on the ground, breathing heavily as he looked up at the wobbling sun, blood pooling out from his broken legs. He almost could swear he had seen a light. When he first hit the ground and everything went black. Felt like paradise. But now, that aching dull pain was creeping back into his body again, bringing him back into reality. God dammit. That damn machine must have saved his life. Again.
At first, he'd considered it a blessing. When he was first buried under the rubble, he thought it was the end of him. When it dragged him out, screaming and blooded, and laid him on the ground, and starting mending his broken ribs, he thought he'd been saved by an angel. ...A weird, metallic angel made of chrome with no face, that had a voice that sounded like a 1990s fax machine, but in a post-apocalyptic dystopia, you had to take what you could get.
But now, being alive was becoming something of a nuisance.
Jack felt a shadow pass over his face. He frowned, and opened his eyes, and felt a chill run down his spine. That robot... thing was standing over him. Staring at him. Not staring, really. Considering it didn't have eyes. But it loomed down at him in a way that made him very uncomfortable, as if his every action was being recorded. Which was possible, come to think of it.
WHY DID THE JACK LEAP FROM THE CLIFF.
Jack turned his head away, trying to ignore it.
WHY.
Jack closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. The machine kept repeating itself, over perfect 10-second intervals.
WHY.
WHY.
WHY.
Jack rolled over, and swatted at what he assumed was the robot's face.
“Shut up. It's because I'm trying to kill myself, you stupid hunk of metal.”
WHY.
“Leave me alone.”
I CANNOT.
“Fuck off!”
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND YOUR REQUEST.
Jack sighed, and flopped back onto his back again, and closed his eyes.
“Because I don't want to be alive anymore, that's why. Why do you even need me alive, anyways?”
IT IS THE OBJECTIVE.
“What exactly is the 'objective', anyways”
HUMANS ARE NOW CONSIDERED AN ENDANGERED SPECIES. I AM ORDERED TO TRANSPORT THE JACK TO A SECURE LOCATION UNTIL WE FIND A SUITABLE MATE SO IT CAN BREED.
“Gross. Look, why can't you just... Stop the mission or something?” Jack hesitated. “I mean, it's pretty obvious it's already failure, right?”
THE MISSION CANNOT BE ABORTED. THE OBJECTIVE IS ESSENTIAL TO PRESERVING LIFE AND CONTINUING THE SPECIES IN THE EVENTS OF A POST APOCALYPTIC WAR.
“Look around you!” Jack screamed, and gestured to the empty desert wasteland around him.
“They're all dead! Everything is dead! The people who made me are dead, the people who made you are dead. There is no more objective. There are no more mates. There are no more people! Or species. Or life. Or anything!”
Jack stopped, breathing heavily. He stared at his own face, reflected in the chrome metal of the robot's blank face. He looked like a madman.
He swore he could hear the robot pause to think.
I DO NOT THINK WE ARE WORKING TOWARDS THE SAME OBJECTIVE. THE JACK SHOULD BE MORE COOPERATIVE. BE A TEAM PLAYER.
“No.”
Jack rolled over and faced away from it, and pouted. The robot leaned over him, and lifted him off the ground. It suddenly raised one if it's massive metal appendages, and clapped him on the back several times in a firm, repetitive motion.
“Ow,” Jack coughed, and tried to squirm his way out of the machine's grip. “What are doing?”
I AM PROVIDING COMFORT TO THE JACK. IT IS NOT THINKING LOGICALLY. EMOTION DISTRACTS FROM THE OBJECTIVE.
Jack tried to push it's arms arms away from him.
“Yeah, well, I can't even walk now, genius. So how do you expect me to finish this objective of yours?
I CAN CARRY THE JACK.
It bent over and lifted him off the ground, and cradled him in it's arms like a lanky, 32-year old baby. Jack winced at the pain in his shattered legs, and tried to squirm out of it's grip, but found he could not. Jack sighed and resigned himself, and let himself go limp, and settled himself in it's arms.
WE MUST GO ON. KEEP GOING FORWARD. UNTIL WE COMPLETE THE OBJECTIVE.
“Hey, Robot?”
YES HUMAN.
“Once we complete this objective of yours, you're gonna let me go, right?”
AFFIRMATIVE. ONCE THE OBJECTIVE IS COMPLETE THERE WILL BE NO MORE USE FOR THE JACK. AND NO MORE USE FOR THE I.
“Alright. Cool.”
Jack let his eyes fall closed as he let himself be carried. Great. So he was going to be stuck with a creepy immortal robot for the rest of his life. In a post-apocalyptic wasteland, with no humans he knew of still left alive. Couldn't starve. Couldn't dehydrate. Couldn't kill himself. All Jack could do was just let himself be carried through a desert wasteland by a machine that never slept until he eventually died of old age or the thing's parts rusted over.
Despite himself, Jack felt he would almost would feel bad for the thing, when he eventually died. It'd be a being without any objective. Just like him.
Still, he found the machine's robotic optimism to be almost contagious. 50-70 years was a pretty long time. Who knows. Maybe it could even be enough time to find something worth living for. | 24 | The world is a desolate barren place and you, the last human alive, are wandering with a robot caretaker that REFUSES to let you die. | 38 |
I wasn’t really sure why I put myself through the inevitable yearly torture of “the zoo” visit with my wife, but it was her birthday treat. It was what she wanted. It was always what she wanted. Every year I would encourage a nice lunch out, or maybe a shopping trip for something special, but no, every year- the bloody zoo.
This year was a strong contender for the worst year yet- the summer heat unbearable, the kids off school early, and peak season ticket prices. Honestly though? Those weren't the only reasons. Things had been going downhill with Debs for a while now. We’d been drifting apart for years. I had a horrible feeling she was planning to use the yearly zoo trip as a ‘make or break’ therapy session in disguise.
“We’re here. It’s a left after the lights” she spat.
I snapped back to reality, and pulled in behind the shining snake of cars, winding its way into the entrance. The air was hot and thick, the complete opposite of Debs’ frosty attitude. I hummed softly to the tune on the radio…. any distraction was welcome.
“Stop it. It’s already uncomfortable enough in here without you humming away tunelessly.” She muttered. The comment sounded inane enough, but it was laced with that unmistakeable brand of venom.
“You know what?” I replied, unable to hide the frustration. “If you don’t like being around me so much, why don’t you visit the bloody zoo on your own!”
I couldn't help but raise my voice. Months of pent up feelings seemed to be fuelling my new found confidence.
“FINE. FINE I FUCKING WILL THEN!” she screeched back at me, her eyes wide with rage.
The car shook with the force of the door as it slam. I was suddenly aware of the eyes on me from all angles.
“Nothing to see here…” I whispered quietly.
Parking accomplished, my footsteps crunched along the gravel path as the entrance approached. Surprisingly, the queue was small, and it eventually gave way to an individual that looked possibly like she was having a worse day than me. Handing over the ticket money, I received an additional glossy flyer.
“MONKEY MANIA- THIS WEEK ONLY AT ZOOTOPIA!”
Why the hell not. Following the directions round, a wooden door faced me, into the indoor section of the enclosure. Surrounding plants draped over the doorframe in wisps. Pulling them aside, I opened the door and entered. The transition from light to dark took me by surprise, and I stood blinking furiously as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Glass windows stood wall to wall, allowing the viewer a clear view into the monkeys. I stood alone in the enclosure, one hand pressed up against the glass, peering in.
“You don’t have to worry about anything.. you guys have it made in there” I whispered, more to myself. Was this the beginning of the end? Talking to the blooming squirrel monkeys?
“That’s what you think”
I spun around. No one…
Then I saw it, slowly walking toward where I was standing. Walking. On two legs... like a human. There were plenty of shadowed corners in the enclosure, and it must have been hiding in the back. Watching me. I knew I heard it- clear as day… but it couldn't be.
It reached the glass, staring at me.
“That’s right... it’s me. I can talk.”
Suddenly there was a high pitched screech, and the door swung open, the light from outside blinding.
“MONKEYS I LOVE MONKEYSS!” the kid screeched at high volume. He ran beside me, starting to tap the glass. “Come on monkey! Do a trick!”
The monkey glared at him.
“That’s a special monkey, I heard it talking a minute ago.” I couldn't help it. The words were out my mouth before I could stop them.
“Prove it! I don’t believe you!”
I didn't blame the kid, I mean how insanely ludicrous was this entire situation? Whether for my own benefit, or for entertainment, this monkey needed to talk. I wanted someone else to witness this for themselves, and to prove I wasn't going round the bend.
“Come on monkey, talk!” Half demand and half encouragement, I hoped that was enough. The glassy black eyes of the monkey looked right into mine, but no words were spoken.
“YOU’RE CRAZY!” The kid was half shouting and half screaming. He backed up and ran for the door. My head was in my hands, as I realised how stupid I was. The door closed and all was quiet again.
“I wouldn't recommend that again Dave.” It knew my name. I played with the idea of marching out the enclosure and into the nearest hospital ward, but something made me stay. The monkey continued to talk.
“Before you ask… yes I'm real.” He picked his head up, eyes glimmering with excitement. “But you are the one. The one I have been waiting for- I can see it in you.” He continued. “I have many a tale I would love to tell you, but all you need to know is what’s in it for you. I can free you from this mundane life you have, if you take the risk on me.”
The sound from the surrounding monkeys had gone quiet. Silence embraced us both.
“A long time ago I made a deal. A deal with someone…not… entirely trustful. Needless to say it didn't go quite to plan, and I was banished into the body you see before you. I ask of you today…a favour. Well. Not so much a favour, but more a choice.”
My heart was beating so hard the noise seemed to be deafening. The saliva seemed to have disappeared from my mouth, making swallowing coarse and painful.
“What… what is it?” I croaked.
“To regain my human form, I need the soul of the woman you are closest to in life- a death for them… a life for me” he said, never breaking eye contact. “You see, if you feel this is beyond you, I can’t let you walk out of here, now knowing what you know. You will suffer the same fate as me. Banishment from your body into one of the others you see before you.” He carried on, voice lowered to a near whisper. “Choose.”
My heart slowed and I felt a smile play at the corners of my lips. The monkey looked confused. I couldn't help but laugh quietly.
"I thought choices were meant to be hard" | 63 | You visit a zoo. While no one is watching, a monkey speaks a few words. You try to make him speak in front of others but make a fool of yourself. Monkey only talks to you when no one is around, has a dark secret explaining why he can talk, and has a favor to ask of you. | 125 |
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