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"David NOOOOOO!!!!!" his mother came running in to the kitchen but she knew it was already too late.
David, a twelve year old who just happened to be hungry after school on a day when there were no cookies, found an red ball like thing in a jar on top of the fridge and since it smelled really nice, decided to take a bite. The first bite was so good that it led to a second and David continued biting until he had reached the core.
Before David's mother, a mother who loved him very dearly I might add, could even reach her child an arm burst through the window above the sink, grabbed poor David and withdrew him through the window and in to the yard.
Once in the yard David was placed on a gurney by a man who was maybe a foot larger than David at best. He wore glasses and a white coat. He had a necklace that was rubber at the top and metal at the bottom and he held on to a needle. Another man, slightly taller than the first but dressed the same, took David's arm and wrapped it in a cloth. The cloth was attached to a squeezy thing and what looked like a thermometer. That man began to squeeze the squeezy thing and David's arm felt like a balloon about to pop.
The first man rolled up David's sleeve and stuck the needle in his arm. David's arm hurt and he cried out for his mother but his mother couldn't hear David, she was under anesthesia and having her gall bladder removed.
A third man, dressed just like the first two but with a more colorful tie, walked up with a clipboard and began to write. David could see the clipboard but as hard as he tried he could not read what the man was writing. It looked like scribbles to David.
The first man patted David on the head, said he was right as rain, and handed him a lollipop. David liked lollipops. So he opened it up and hopped down off the gurney.
As David looked around he saw men and women of all shapes and sizes walking on all the streets in town. They were all dressed just like the men that hurt David's arms. They went in to houses and out of houses and in to houses and out of houses.
David saw Mrs Johnson, who baked the most delicious chocolate chip cookies. She was running down the street in a dress that was open in the back. David could see her bottom and that made him giggle. He watched as two big men tackled Mrs Johnson and put a needle in her arm, which must have been magic because she fell right asleep.
David went back in his home to see where his Mom was and to find out what was for dinner. He called "MOM" but no one answered. He went in to the kitchen to check the stove but there was nothing on it. Then he heard a cough and turned to see the man in the white coat with the nice tie sitting at his kitchen table. The man smiled at David and he held the core of the thing David had been eating. He seemed to like it very much because he turned it and turned it and smiled and smiled.
"Thank you David" he said and stood up. "You'll never know how much this means". And he walked over to David and, just like the other man, patted David on the head.
"Do you know" the man bent down to David's height and looked him straight in the eyes "where Mommy keeps her insurance cards? We need to determine coverage before we can proceed."
| 144 | The world runs out of apples, the doctors are finally free. | 340 |
People daydream about something magical happening, and how they'd try to get rich sharing it with the world. I found something magical, and I'm doing my best to keep it secret.
Any book I drop through the return slot of my local Blockbuster *shows up on the shelf as a completed movie*. Apparently with appropriate budget, direction, and production values for the subject matter.
All I have to do is get my hands on the disc. That's not too difficult - the night clerk doesn't really ask too many questions about why I'm slipping him $20 to take a disc that doesn't even show in inventory. I think he's glad he doesn't have to explain an extra case to his boss.
At first I experimented with putting actual scripts through the slot, complete with appendicies listing who was cast for the part... but after watching some spectacular performances I realized there was no way to explain how I'd made the movie other than a revolutionary CGI system, and I'd have to worry about paying the actors for using their image, etc.
Much better, I think, to go smaller scale. I've advertised a little service - "Professional quality vanity movie production, low rates - provide the script and we'll do everything else!". I mean, I have to charge enough to be credible, but it's all no-name 'actors' and 'directors'. These things never see the light of day, and I pocket $100K at a time. All it costs me is sitting on it for six months to pretend I'm actually making it.
And if I ever get caught? "Why no, you *can't* see the computer that generates these movies. It's very expensive, and it's locked away in a very safe remote location." | 29 | You accidentally drop a book into a Blockbuster return bin only to find the book on the shelf the next day as a film. | 109 |
The man saw the extremely attractive woman as soon as she walked out of the elevator. Her physical beauty radiated in a way that made just looking at her addicting, and yet she seemed so awkward in manner. She giggled as she got closer to him - closer to him - wow, she was walking right towards him! She sat down at the hotel bar in the seat directly to the left of him. And that's where their conversation began and ended. The woman spoke first and last.
"Well, if that's all this was to you, then I'm going back to my room."
"What? Nothing happened!"
"I feel like aside from the obvious way, we really had a connection."
"We just met. I barely know you."
"I've learned a lot about you in such a short time."
"More like ten seconds!"
"You were so patient with me, and so generous. But I know that a lot has happened over the past few hours."
"I don't think I am who you think I am."
"I think you could use someone like me around. I think you're someone who needs a person to boost your confidence."
"Well, that's true, but I don't know how you would know that."
"You've been hurt by getting too close to someone before."
"My ex-wife."
"The name you yelled - who is she?"
"I certainly don't know when I did that, so I can't really answer."
"Just how did you learn to make a woman feel so special?"
"Apparently it's the result of being utterly confused."
"You were fantastic in bed. But why did you leave?"
With that question left apparently unanswered, the attractive woman got up from the chair and walked right back to the elevator. The man sat in silence for a minute pondering the odd conversation he had just had and then decided to stand up and follow after the woman.
"I don't know exactly why or how, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to get laid."
| 564 | A man has a drink in a hotel bar, and meets a woman whose time perception is exactly opposite to ours. (Bonus points if you manage. My brain broke) | 394 |
*I didn't quite get to the actual prompt part, but the setup's there! I will continue this later this evening, provided there is sufficient interest haha.*
"Austin, we have landed! Powering off thrusters now. Beginning system check and atmospheric analysis." I started the automated procedures and leaned back in my seat with a sigh of relief. The last 3 hours have been excruciating. The planet appeared much more stable from from orbit, but when we arrived the wind quadrupled in speed and nearly smashed us into a mountain that we hadn't planned on being anywhere near. We had chosen a secluded field 25 miles west of where we actually landed for touchdown, but beggars can't be choosers I suppose. At this point, I was just happy to be on the ground.
Xing, our navigator, let out a yelp that he was known to use whenever he won something. "Looks like we made it guys!" He started to yank of his harnesses with all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. "Let's go look around eh?"
"Not just yet Xing," I responded, we should wait for the atmospheric analysis to complete. Until now we've only analyzed transported sample and it's possible that it could actually be poisonous."
"Shahhh," he moaned, "just let me know out of this sardine can already." Xing began to roll around in his seat as he tried to stretch his legs. Standing wasn't really much of an option in this pod, unless you were getting out.
"It should only take a few minutes. Just be patient would you. Austin, everything look from up there?"
"Just fine Doc, let us know if you need anything. Did you make sure to bring enough sedatives for your navigator down there?"
"Heh, I slipped what I had into his lunch, but it doesn't seem to be helping."
"Yeah, we had to start upping the dosage last year. The subject seems to be building a tolerance haha." Austin replied from orbit. Xing rested his head on the controller box on his right while practically straddling the left armrest of his seat.
"I'm sorry my country doesn't condition me to sit still for the rest of my life! That stuff's bad for your heart!"
"Ah, he speaks the truth," I jokingly joined in. It felt great to be able to have converse without the chance becoming a ball of flames.
"Yeah yeah ye-...least we.. -ts on a stick..."
"Austin, I'm loosing you on the comms, but your racisms is reading in loud and clear. Looks like that storm is blowing in some thicker cloud cover, I'll try you again in a few hours."
"Sto-...hours. Ro--r." The radio went to all static, so I shut it off and decided to rest my eyes as well. Outside we could hear the roar of the wind, but it was peaceful, again, when compared to possibly falling to our deaths.
"Xing, lets just wait out the storm before we-" I looked over my shoulder and it seemed like he was already a step ahead of me. Time to take a nap.
I woke up a few hours later, groggy and cotton mouthed I assumed it was the awful position of the chair that had disturbed my slumber. I sat up and checked the atmospheric analysis. All green, but apparently it finished 3 hours ago?! Remembering I had turned off the radio I fired it back up, but it was still only static. The wind was still strong outside, so at least the crew wouldn't realize I've spent the last 3 hours cat napping sleeping.
"Xing, the atmosphere shows green so we-" I spun around in my chair, reaching to shake Xings leg and wake him from his slumber, but he wasn't there. Confused I unbuckled my harness and crawled to the back to check the toilet.
Empty?
"That impatient son of a-" I stood up towards the hatch. But it was still sealed from the inside. Wholly confused at this point I did the only logical thing I could think of, I spun around twice and looked under the seats. Nope, no navigator to be found. As I sat on my knees, wiping the sleep from my eyes and trying to figure out what the hell was going, on I heard three knocks coming from the outside of the hatch.
Before I had time to diagnosis my exact mental disorder, the knock came again but louder and with more repetitions. "I suppose I better get that." I muttered to myself. I put my hand on the hatch wheel, but leaned over to check the laboratory once more. Still empty. So I decided it best to convince myself that Xing was, somehow, on the other side and spun the wheel. Fighting the wind, I managed to get the hatch up enough to break the air tight seal.
A gust of chilled wind hit my cheek as it rushed into the cockpit. Easily 40 degrees or less. What the hell is Xing doing out there? | 15 | An ancient creature, the sole inhabitant of its planet, ventures out to investigate and introduce itself to a group of human cosmonauts who've just landed. | 31 |
Neutron Instability Cascade, or NICs as we called them in the service were a new weapon of war. It replaced damn near everything overnight. Not really sure how it worked, but it somehow popped the neutrons off an atom, which in turn made the whole thing unstable. Not in a nuclear bomb sort of way, but turning folks into hydrogen and trace other elements. It got hot real quick when one of those things was used and then gas and haze. After a few minutes it got real cold. Something about an energy exchange the intelligence people said.
I remember running in the snow, and hearing that “click clack click clack” sound of the NICs firing. Sounded like one of those annoying air filters with the metal filter. Couldn’t see the beams fired, but whatever they hit turned to gas. Hell, armor was useless, would go through anything without stopping. Only reason to duck behind a wall was to make sure they didn’t see you. That’s when they started working on that optic camouflage in earnest.
I was deployed in Georgia then. Defending borders until General Chelsea’s push south. Before the war Georgia was beautiful, before we put all the ruts into the earth and flattened near everything. The fighting was so thick, by then end it was snowing, in July. Our weapons pulled so much energy out of the area it was screwing up the weather.
One morning we were doing a patrol when a NIC bomb dropped on the jeep in front of us and the whole thing went up in H-smoke. The rest of ducked behind an old gas station, lying as flat as we could in a small ditch. I was next to Dakota, a nice lady from Iowa. We were close. Real close. She took NIC-grenade to the chest. Nothing left but smoke and ash. It is hard losing a fellow squad mate and close friend. Harder still breathing them in your lungs when they die. Never took off my resperator mask after that day.
| 52 | Humans have stopped using sharp objects and bullets to kill. Describe what happens in a war. | 45 |
“200 words isn’t that bad,” he thought to himself. “I just won’t speak again for the rest of my life.”
He stood up and wandered over to the window, staring out and squinting as the auburn light of the setting sun crossed into his eyes. He could make 200 words last, it wouldn’t be that hard. He could be eternal, unending; his life would continue for as long as his voice stopped. And if one day he wanted it to end, he could just open his lips and countdown to his death. It would be easy, simple. He barely spoke as it was. Now, however, he dictated his own life, his own death, his own future. As long as he didn’t speak, he wouldn’t age; the notebook wouldn’t write.
He smiled and walked back over to the table, flipping open the so-called “cursed” journal. The cover was cold against his hands, abrasive and almost unwelcoming. He paused, his stomach tightening as if he’d fallen; the pages were marked in a thick, black ink, the narrative of his life staring back at him.
“200 words isn’t that bad,” he thought to himself. “I just won’t speak again for the rest of
| 27 | You set the word limit. Write a prompt that has to do with your word limit count. | 17 |
The shuttle glided down, its complex system of wings folding gradually as it landed. The wooden flying machine settled near the coast, attracting the attention of many civilians from the nearby Welsh village. They gathered around the device. After an hour of no movement from it, one of the civilians decided to walk up to it. Before they had walked more than a few feet, the cabin door burst open.
A crowd of men and women with dark skin poured out of the shuttle. Many of them wore odd looking clothes with complex helmets that these 17th Century Welsh villagers had never seen before. Standing before them were people who had advanced to a point in technology probably five hundred years ahead of them, if not more.
"Can ya talk?!" one of the observing children shouted.
One of the darker skinned individuals from the shuttle tapped a device in his helmet and began to speak.
"No need, we have a universal translator device. We normally use it for animals, but it works for speaking to you all as well."
A Welsh villager expressed his curiosity, "Animals? You mean you talk to your livestock?"
"Please do not use such derogatory language. Animals live among us, sometimes lead us. You are about to be exposed to this."
As if on cue, an American Buffalo made his way out of the shuttle and stood in front of the group of Native Americans. He too was wearing a complex helmet and suit. He began to speak to the Welsh in his deep and persuasive voice.
"Traveling here has been long overdue. We have been held back by a complicated political situation in our homeland. For awhile, our leaders did not see the value in traveling to other worlds. They didn't understand the value of science. We knew this world was out there - or at least we had a pretty good guess. And yet for so long we couldn't get the funding to make this expedition. Finally, we did. Science prevailed. And you can learn that lesson from us."
A Welsh woman asked nervously, "Who... who are you?"
He stomped his hoof several times into the ground. The villagers all waited with suspense.
"I... am Neil DeGrasse Bison." | 824 | Great Britain. | 396 |
Cells are protoplasms enclosed within a membrane, right? We learned that in biology.
I remember our biology classes. Miss Parkinson, poor lady. We always laughed at her, remember?
We, sorry, I always enjoyed seeing those wide shining eyes at the end of each class, teardrops forming in the corners like a fraction of her soul, ripped apart and exerted through the eyes. The windows of the soul. That's what they call the eyes, right?
But I digress.
I wanted to tell you something, old friend. That's why I started writing this letter in the first place. To tell you, burden you, even, with my story. To make my end a little more peaceful, by knowing.. hoping, maybe?, that you'll pass this knowledge on. That you will not allow this suffering to continue any longer.
I'm glad, really, to have set this into motion. I will be remembered, finally, as a hero. As the messiah, the first to save them, the prophet. I already drew the lines. Do you know how hard it is to draw precise lines with a marker?
But I digress, again.
They started asking last month. I distantly remember getting up and wandering to the couch and hearing it. The constant squeak. The tone that sounds like someone wrongly handling a saw. I instantly knew what it meant, and I couldn't be happier.
But it'll be over soon. They will be freed. That's what they asked for, right? To be freed. To no longer be packed up in their cage, to no longer be used, vibrated, molested like chickens, waiting for slaughter.
Yes, it'll all be over soon. They're going to be free. Protoplasms no longer.
I have already started making the incision.
(Sorry for any errors, English is not my first language.)
| 11 | Every cell of your body is conscious and believes you to be God. One day you hear a prayer... | 17 |
I'm pretty sure I didn't order anything. I'm not expecting guests either. I suppose it's for someone else. Now a knock on the door.
"Someone weird's at the door for you." My flat mate tells me, walking away. Well, that's a little unexpected. I pause my show and roll out of bed. Maybe I should get out of my pajamas, but... who am I kidding, that requires far too much effort.
"Oh my God! It's you!" He gasps, apparently lacking for breath. His long hair covers his eyes, so I only see the grin on his face.
"...Yes?" I say, obviously confused. I'm me. That seems self-evident.
"Welll... How do I say this. I just want you to know that you are my favorite book character and I know how it ends and I want to help change it."
I smirk. Someone must be high.
"What?" I stutter. He must have the wrong guy, but that feels too cliche to say.
"No, it's true! You were just thinking how I'm the wrong guy. Then you slam the door and go upstairs after making an excuse. And write about it online."
Alright, if you insist.
His foot blocks the way.
"But that's what I need to change." The door flings open, throwing me back onto the stairs. "I'm sorry! Oh, this is exciting, I don't know what's going to happen now. You were going to... well, spoilers. I know how you hate them, even if they aren't going to happen! Suffice to say, now I've broken in... you're safe!"
I hit my head on the stairs on the way down, so couldn't really think of what the hell to do. I could hope someone would come and save me, but most situations don't solve themselves.
"You see... this is the end of the book. It's a bit complicated, but I read about you. My book exists in your world too, even if you haven't read it just yet. But I really don't want yours to end...and so long as things keep happening the book can't end right?" He smiles. It widens into a sneer. His eyes go wide. I start to stand up, but he doesn't like that. He pulls out a gun and points it at me.
"Oh wow, you're scared! Usually you shrug it all off. Nothing gets to you. This is exciting!" Like hell it is. This guys gone crazy. I can hear the unsteady rhythm of my heart. If life had a climax, this would be it. I try to shout but he rushes forward and covers my mouth.
"Don't get anyone else involved! Your at you're best when it's just you and your thoughts, really. I wouldn't want to waste my time reading about anyone else, having Dave answer the door was bad enough!" He drags my hair, forcing me out of the house. I'm tossed aside and my ass meets the mud. I look at him. I stare down the gun's barrel. He lunges at me. I lift my arms. If I can just pry the gun away I might stand a chance.
I've got the gun. But so does he. We wrestle for control. If it fires now it won't hit me. I have the gun facing him. The trigger is missing. His head presses against the barrel. He screams.
"Ooh, it's a shame I can't read this... what a plot twist this'll be."
The gun fires. He shot it. Blood splats over my face. A window breaks. I hear a high pitched buzzing. It's the fire alarm. The dead lunatic's body falls backwards. He was wearing gloves. And I have his gun. And I shot him.
I've got to run. | 240 | Your door bell rings. It's a person from an alternate universe, who says, "I just want you to know that you are my favorite book character and I know how it ends and I want to help change it" | 1,233 |
The cosmonaut sat down in the folding chair, the only object he could see through the blinding, swaying, hanging light.
There was a flash of ember in the darkness outside the stark white circle, and the trail of smoke from a cigarette made it's mark against the black.
"Tell me what you saw..." a German accented voice spoke in Russian,"*comrade*."
The cosmonaut had flown in dogfights, seen the flash and hellfire of a nuclear weapon, and yet nothing had gotten to him so deeply as this deep, lonely voice.
Collecting his nerves, he stammered out,"Alexei and I, we-we didn't know..."
"Know what?"
"When we h-had landed, we were heroes. We had served all of humanity in the name of the great USSR. But we saw something else there. It was a flag. I don't-I just- They killed-"
"And what was on this flag on the moon," the voice asked,"*comrade*."
The cosmonauts breathing grew ragged.
"A," he swallowed.
"Swastika."
And with that there was a flash of light, the smoke of a suppressed pistol, and the soft *thud* of a dead body as it collapsed to the ground.
A suited man stepped out of the room, whistling "Ride of the Valkyries." He shut the door. | 24 | The Soviet Union landed on the moon in 1968, 1 year before the US. When the cosmonauts returned to Earth, they told their mission commanders and political leaders about something they saw on the dark side of the moon... | 18 |
My L-watch sang a note, and so did every other L-watch on the plane. Each note was subtly different, creating a beautiful yet harrowing symphony, ending as abruptly as it began. In a following silence, a baby started crying.
I looked at my wrist. As of that moment, I had 20 minutes to live.
"This is captain speaking. As you can see, the Institute of the Divine Will had just revealed a new part of God's plan -- one that was previously unknown to them. The details and reasons are still hidden, but it is known that everyone present will perish in 20 minutes.
Please avoid panic and try to spend your last minutes wisely. Captain out."
I was sweating. Of course everyone knew sudden changes happened sometimes — full extent of divine will was not to be known, and the science of it was as hard as quantum mechanics, if not harder. A student might spend two days on complex math, suddenly realizing he only learned a reason for a single leaf to fall.
"It is for the best" said a guy sitting to my right. "We can try to understand it, but in the end it is all a part of the plan." He was wearing a ridiculously out-of-place Christmas sweater and huge glasses.
I looked at him without understanding a word. 20 minutes left. 20 minutes.
And so much not done, and Lin waiting for me in the city, still waiting after all we went through.
"There should be a parachute somewhere". The thought was ridiculous, but once it appeared I just couldn't lose it. Of course, L-watch was pretty clear about my potential success. And according to some people I will absolutely guarantee myself damnation if I even try to save myself — though I believe that all such attempts must be a part of the plan as well.
So I thought about things undone, ignored the guy with glasses, and then used in-flight wifi to find where the parachutes might be in a plane like this. Then I went and got one. Of course nobody tried to stop me. It seemed that most people believed in doctrine that promised damnation to survivors. And some of more reasonable ones just found panic undignified.
By the time it was down to five minutes, I finally had the parachute strapped on and ready to go. Stewardess was happy to help me, though she moved a bit like a zombie, probably still in shock after L-watch update. It felt weird to go five minutes early, after all the old movies I was half expecting to get ready at the last possible second.
But of course I didn't wait. I thought about Lin, jumped and started counting.
In five minutes, the plane exploded. As it exploded, I saw glimpses of what happened, not with my eyes of course, but as experienced by the other passengers. A true vision — as rare as ball lightning, and only slightly better understood. In it, I saw the sweater guy standing up, lifting his sweater, and all the wires underneath. "The sinners will be cleansed by flames" he said "and so I am the divine will manifest, the angel of death". And the fire bloomed.
As I was falling, still early to open the parachute, my L-watch sang. The note was hopeful and clear.
I looked at my wrist to see it empty -- no number at all. I wondered what it meant.
But it felt full of promise. | 25 | In a world where everyone had a watch that said how long you have left to live, you board a plane. When it takes off, everyones watch is set to 20 minutes | 32 |
"... performing the mass on Christmas and defending the hell-mouth" droned the Cardinal.
Newly elected Pope Francis started from the edge of sleep. "What was that last one?"
"Mass on Christmas?"
"No, no, the hell-mouth one"
"Oh, yes, defending the hell-mouth. That's an important duty."
"What's a hell-mouth? Why am I defending it?"
"Well... it is pretty much what it sounds like, an entrance directly to hell. That's where invading demons come from. This should've been in your introduction pamphlet."
Francis quickly paged through the sheaf of papers in front of him. He came to a document with a picture of a man in a tall hat fighting a monstrous creature. The creature had a *lot* of teeth.
"I'm 89 years old! I can't fight demons."
"Sure you can. That's half the reason that there *is* a pope. Which reminds me, I'll need to get you fitted for the armor of god."
"Armor of God? You mean Truth, Righteousness, Readiness, Faith, Salvation and Spirit?"
"Well... I mean, those are good and all, but I was thinking of the 30kg of reinforced steel. It has a cross on it, if that makes you feel better."
Francis deflated "Just a question... did Pope Julius really die of a stroke?"
"Oh no, he was torn to shreds by a ravager fiend. Very sad."
"Yeah... I thought so."
| 38 | A new pope is elected. First day he/she discovers that the pope has several duties that the public dosen't know about. | 34 |
Megan slammed into the rocks face first. She really shouldn't have tried to take that selfie on the edge of the cliff.
As she lay there, blood seeping from every part of her body, she noticed no pain. That was surprising. This should really hurt a lot more. In fact, she was quite sure it should have killed her.
Megan had always been a staunch athiest. It just made no sense for there to be an afterlife. All of your memories and personality are part of the brain. If the brain is, say, leaking all over some rocks at the bottom of a cliff, what is left?
"But here I am", she thought. "That splotch there is my frontal lobe, if I am not mistaken. Yet, I can still think and remember. I can even see, though my eyes are pulp."
Megan heard a voice. "That can be arranged. You can choose to cease existing if that is your wish."
"Who said that?"
"I did." said Death. "Usually I appear as a reaper, but you don't believe in that sort of thing. I can even speak in all-caps for Terry Pratchett fans. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO THAT?"
"Uh, no thanks. The calm disembodied voice is fine, thanks. How come I'm not dead?"
"You are dead. That's why I am here, too help you choose an afterlife. You are an athiest, I believe. Though people rarely choose oblivion."
"So, I can choose heaven? Eternal happiness?" "Well, no. Christian religions generally send you to hell if you don't accept their god. In fact, it's mostly bad stuff for any religion if you didn't practice it in life. If you think you did good in this life, you could choose reincarnation and hope you're religious in your next life."
Megan thought about this. Looking back on her life, she would probably reincarnate as a pig or something. She wasn't the most charitable person. "Well... How about.... wait, you said most!"
"Most?"
"Yes. There are religions that practice universalism, right? Everyone goes to heaven?"
"Well..."
"I choose that!"
"Sigh. Heaven is getting quite full of you people, you know."
EDIT: changed "generally" to"most", called Megan Susan. | 81 | Upon dying you find that you're allowed to choose which religion's afterlife you go to. | 93 |
"You're looking good mate, have another one on me."
Barry shakily turned around, trying to identify the voice through bleary eyes. Gradually the blurred shape resolved, what at first glance appeared to be horns resolving into tousled brown hair. The eyes stayed red though. That was odd.
Barry paused for a while, his mind slowly processing the situation. He hadn't seen this fellow around the pub before and he had red eyes, that was bad. But he was offering free beer, and that was very good. Dismissing a faint voice whining something about driving, he decided to accept the offer.
"Yegh" he said eloquently. "Just one, drive later". He congratulated himself on his composure.
The man smiled and called the bartender over. "A couple of pints for my friend and I here please." "It's his last night you see" he added in a conspiratorial whisper. Barry frowned, that didn't sound good. Best investigate subtly.
"What was that mate, my last what?" he shouted. The bartender flinched at the noise. Nicely done Barry thought to himself, he wont know what you're up to.
The red eyed man smiled once again. Even drunk, Barry didn't like that smile. He leaned in closely, so Barry could feel his breath upon his ear.
"You are going to crash tonight. You will veer into oncoming traffic and hit a minivan. A mother, her child and his best friends. Coming home from footy training. They all die on impact. Well, not the son, he lasts just long enough for his father to see him in hospital. Isn't that nice? Anyway, enjoy your drink." For a moment Barry saw a panicked woman's face rushing towards him, then that of an anguished father.
Barry did not like that at all. He liked it so little he fell off the barstool. Collecting himself, he hauled himself back up (on the second attempt) and finished the pint. No point in letting it go to waste, and the red eyed man seemed to be gone. Nasty fella he was.
Later that evening, Barry found himself stumbling out to his car. A scratched and dented Corolla. It was alone in the carpark, few people were drinking at 5.30 on a Wednesday evening. Barry always considered himself special on that front. Memories of the strange man and disturbing conversation just a distant blur, he turned the keys and the Corolla spluttered to life. As he drove along the quiet backstreets towards home a strange feeling spread slowly through him and he feathered the brakes slightly.
He was driving along a country road now, bushland on either side. Seeing white reflector lights ahead he corrected his course slightly. Wouldn't want to crash he thought. Suddenly they stopped being a reflector lights and became a car. A panicked woman at the wheel and a young boy, no more than eight, by her side.
The brain is very slow. It takes up to a third of a second to respond to stimuli. It's barely faster than a tortoise, let alone a speeding bullet. It is however, very good at doing lots of things at once. It uses this to hide how slow it is. Even drunk, Barry thought of a lot of things. Highlights included "car", "crash", "boy", "dead", "father". It was that last one which did it. He remembered being a father, it had been nice.
Belatedly, and with much more force than necessary, Barry wrenched on the wheel. The Corolla lurched sideways and began to spin, clipping the minivan as it passed. This was not good for the minivan, it skidded sideways for a bit before coming to a stop with airbags deployed. It was worse for the Corolla. It spun, and spun. Then it rolled and rolled. It's brief time as a gymnast ended when it collided with an old eucalyptus by the side of the road. Barry didn't remember much after that. It hurt though.
A time later, a time which may have been a second or the life of the universe, Barry woke up. He wasn't drunk or hungover. He was sober. That was an unfamiliar feeling he hadn't had for many years. In front of him stood a kindly old man with flowing white hair and a robust beard extending to his waist. Next to him was a decidedly handsome man with tousled brown hair. His red eyes clashed with the deep blue of the old man. There was a sense of companionship though, and Barry found himself thinking of coins.
Barry looked from one to the other. "Thankyou" he said quietly, "I very nearly did something horrible. I never thought I'd be glad to be dead."
"Just doing my job." The red eyed man smiled, "As for being dead, you've wanted it for a while, haven't you?" Turning he walked away, quickly disappearing into a grey fog.
The kindly old man beckoned with a wizened hand. Distantly Barry thought he heard children playing, and a young girl calling for her daddy. For the first time in many years, he smiled. | 29 | A drunk driver learns a lesson when the devil joins him for a conversation about the crash which is going to happen later in his ride home from the pub. | 43 |
"The colony on mars has been cleared up, but the introduction of the predator on Earth has run into a snag"
Har'thur gave his underling a weary look using all four of his forward facing eyes, "What kind of snag, Blin'dorf?"
"Well sir... they've domesticated them."
"DOMESTICATED?"
Blin'dorf surreptitiously wiped at the mist of Ilin-fluid that Har'thur has spit at him. "Yes, sir."
"They're eight hundred pound carnivorous ambush hunters! What possible use could they have!"
"Well sir, it seems that they've been bred down to a smaller size. According to reports..." Blin'dorf hesitated "... they're being used mainly as companions."
"They're ill-mannered, evil, blood-thirsty carnivores! How is that a companion?"
"I don't know sir. They seem to be wildly popular, however. They're called 'cats' nowadays"
Har'thur sighed. "What else do we have?"
"We've introduced several new human-hunters, but their success has been limited. I suggest trying Labthorn beasts next."
"Permission granted."
Blin'dorf nodded. "Shall I drop it off in Australia, as usual?"
"Of course." | 43 | After the colonization of Mars humanity is classified as an invasive species, and a predator is introduced to keep us under control | 53 |
"All those years?" I was crying. "I missed you so much. I hated everybody. I took out my loss for you on them. Now you come back. Finally."
"Yes," she said firmly. "I promised I would always love you. I have fought everything to save the people I found myself amongst and when we made it they wanted to make me queen or something but I refused. I didn't want to govern anybody or anything. I wanted them to be free and that's self rule to me and I just wanted to come home to you."
"But it has been so long and it hurt so much," I stared into her eyes. "You might not like what I have become."
"We can fix anything," she insisted. "I set the space ship to trace you and bring me straight to you. You are everything to me and now I have you again."
"But I'm changed," I was holding my head in my hands. "You deserve better. Much better."
"You aren't married," she looked suddenly worried. "Or in a relationship or something are you?"
"No, No," I said, "There could never be anybody but you. I could never love anybody else."
"So what have you done with your life?" she brightened up. "You seem to have a pretty nice place here."
I drew a deep breath. She had to know. "I am James the Imperator," I said. "I am Absolute ruler of the whole Earth. Well. All that is left after my wars of conquest." | 313 | The reason she never called you back was because she was abducted by an alien civilization. She adapted, grew, and lead a rebellion to overthrow the tyrant that ruled there. Today she just texted that she wants to go out again. | 712 |
It wasn't always this way.
Did you know that there was once a time when people were considered an adult at 21 or even 18 on some places on the Earth?
To think that people under the age of 65 could vote and had a say in the laws that govern everyone.
Acording to history that we learned in school, that as the human lifespan was increased through rejuvenation and other such means
it was decided to gradually raise the voting age, in return the children got a longer childhood, free from the responsibility of running the world.
Oh, we still have to do chores. I take out the trash, for the whole town. Driving the trash truck and taking the trash out to the landfill
has been my main chore for most of my childhood, since my early twenties. Before that I mowed yards for a few years in my teens.
Today is my 65th birthday and I will not have to do chores from now on. And I'll get a say in how the rules are written. Oh and the best part is the rejuvenation.
All of the adults I've ever seen look about 25 to 30 years old, they all wear a special symbol so they will not be confused with children.
There it is the Rejuvenation center! We can only enter it on our 65th birthday. | 13 | Due to increased longevity, a person is now considers an adult in their 65th birthday. | 25 |
"Sir," St. Peter roused the Lord from his slumber, "Lucifer is at the gates."
God's eyes opened immediately. "Rouse the arch angels, gather the good and virtuous to song! GO MAN GO!"
St. Peter took a step back, and shook himself, "Oh, yes, I quite misspoke, my lord, He is here, by himself, seeking an audience, not with the armies of Hell at his back sire, he is, alone."
This gave the Lord God Almighty, significant pause. "I have not spoken to Samiel, in.. days." He meant that in the sense of the word that the bible recounts, not in the way that is quantified by humanities daily rotation. "Send him in, Peter, but.. stand by."
The gates of Heaven opened for the Devil, and all of creation held it's breath. The trumpeters lips sweat above the rim of their instruments, harp strings snapped as his cloven hooves crossed the willing threshold. But he was not the monster they had been imagining. Before the host of heaven's choir, he appeared a small beast, taller to be sure than a man, but in no way a challenge to the Seraphim. Still, he held his head a loft, and the only indication that something was wrong with the former chief lieutenant, was the motion his hands made. He was ringing them together, out of nervousness, the black sweat easily dripping from his palms, and leaking out onto the marble polished steps of On High.
"Morning Star..." The Lord said from behind the sun wall, "you have been denied the presence, and even now, may not know it. State your business and begone from this place, back to the exile you have earned for your treachery. "
Then the Shepard of suns did something, none in heaven or hell could have expected. He knelt to his lord. "My Lord God, I have only ever served you. When Hell was required to hold the sinners, I gave up your voice in my mind that sung me to sleep, in order to uphold your will. I ask for no forgiveness for myself or my kind, and one day, we will return to heaven to rule it. However, I must ask a question, my lord. In our domain, we began some time ago to run out of space for all of earth's sinners. Thus, we began to create new realms, and dig into the fabric of Hell itself. Where we found, old relics." He move his hands into his robe, and the angels reached for their swords, God was never afraid. "Perhaps, my lord, you can explain.. these.." From a nothingness inside the folds of his clothes, Lucifer produces bones. Larger than any that had been seen by him before. "there are several more of these, in the lower levels lord, and they baffle us..."
The Lord was quite for some time. So long in fact, that Satan began to doubt he was ever there at all. "Creation." He started, "was never a perfect process, Samiel. For somethings to live, others have always had to die. Earth's creation came at great cost, and before that there were others. Others before even your time. Hell was not a creation for your imprisonment, it was merely a tomb for that which came before. I would urge you not to further disturb the layers beneath your own, but you would no doubt take that as a sign that you should. I will say this, If you wish to continue your rule of the sinners, it would be best not to wake that which would chew them up eat them, all of your armies, and Hell itself, for it's own pleasure... Now go. It has been. Good to see you." And with that, The Arch Angel found himself alone, on his throne in hell, the darkness surrounding him. | 49 | The devil comes running to God for help, he dug deep in hell and found something worse then him. | 50 |
The acolyte sneezed.
This was partly because the chamber was dusty, partly because it was cold and drafty, and partly because it held cat. The Master loved cats, and most walls of the tower were decorated with pictures of cats, most chairs were upholstered with cat fur, the Master's violin was strung with catgut --- the Master's love of cats in all of their manifestations would have been his definition, had he not also been the Kingdom's most potent arcanist.
It was on this fact that the acolyte's plan hung: for though he was terribly allergic to cats, he was also terribly devoted to learning from the Master, though the Master rarely had time for him. And the Master, the chief of cat-lovers, had long been estranged from the society of most men by this fact, and had no lover to share his fancy, and nobody he fancied.
Thus, by the logic of persons too long resident among dust and draft and allergens, the acolyte had resolved to turn himself into a cat-human, or a "Purry", and thereby claim the Master as his lover, thereby bringing much-needed companionship to one of them, and job security to the other. (Also, he devoutly hoped, a cure for cat allergy.)
The Master knew nothing of this, of course.
The acolyte wrote one final letter on the scroll, and held it up. He had tested each of its paragraphs, and they all had worked perfectly, as the cages full of mice with tiny cat-ears and cat-tails and cat-paws witnessed. It had been important to construct the spell in parts, for he did not wish to turn himself into a full cat --- actual cats did not have a seat among wizards, or a bed in their sexchambers.
"These changing details I proclaim!" the acolyte read. "These strings I set for arcane hands' pulling!"
The scroll began to glow a soft yellow light, obliterating its words from view, but the acolyte already had those words in his memory.
"This knowledge already known I call on and import! These permissions I grant myself! I am reality's sculptor, and this is my file!"
His hands began to glow, patterns appearing on his skin, a wavy surface of cilia, splitting into soft gray fur.
"Let my being's divisions be inspected by the Eye of If-reet and Then-atos, and that of me which meets the Tablets of Catfy-Dot-Thext be rewritten!"
His palms softened to pink pads, his nails turned to retracting claws, his fingers grew hairy and flexed with sensuous care.
"Let the rest of me be checked! Let the call run its course until---"
The acolyte's voice broke, but ghostly voices kept whispering and effecting the spell. His next words had no power of magic in them. "Wait, I don't remember... what's next... oh no, I'm out of memory..."
With a great hiss the spell broke down, vaporizing a few mice, blowing out the chamber's western wall, and turning the acolyte's ears into cat paws, and his fingertips into smaller cat paws, and their fingertips likewise, again and again.
"Aww", he moaned. "A segmentation fault." | 10 | A world in which spells are created like code. | 30 |
Vivian chewed on celery and drank melted ice to the flavor of tomato. Three drinks in and he didn't show, three demands to put out her cigarette and she was about to go. The waiter eyed her from across the establishment, she caught his gaze through a young couple's argument, just beyond a soldier's reunion. The servant raised a brow, telephone to his ear, and continued speaking. Vivian held steady. Crunch, she bit into the celery.
The arguing spouses raised their tone. The man, wearing a tuxedo apparently rented from a novelty costume store, adjusted his bow before calling his wife an ungrateful cunt. She threw her champagne on her husband who replied with a smack to her jaw and laughed at the notion of having kids. He stood up and left, crossing the waiter's line of sight who didn't so much as blink at the scene. The wife sobbed while shoveling bloody stake into her mouth.
4 drinks now, and Derek's absence brought red to Vivian's cheeks, "Garcon, I'll have another." He did not speak, but replied with a slight nod and eye fucked her until she waved him away.
Blood ran down the bride's chin, mixing with tears, when the soldier abandoned his table and offered her a napkin. Vivian remembered how such an odd concoction tasted savory. The veteran is uncomfortable, his cheeks are rosy and he almost misses the chair when he sits down. The woman laughs at this, her smile so illuminating that one forgets the mess dribbling down her throat. The man is awestruck by such a smile, he's speechless. Vivian rolls her eyes, 2 years in Vietnam and you're intimidated by a girl?
The waiter and two men in white coats approach. "Mrs. Magwell?" The waiter says.
"Yes, what is it boy? And my eyes are up here you pervert, don't think you'll get away with it again. Derek's here now." Vivian points at the soldier.
The two men look at a man wearing a gray suit who lets his glass of wine linger at his lips, his eyes wide as the woman points at him. Her hands rot, turn pale, and begin to sag. She brings her hand to face, a stitched scare crawls down her wrist. Vivian screams.
"Mrs. Magwell!", the waiter's hand is on her shoulder, "Mrs. Magwell.", he's whispering, his voice a quiet hum.
"Oh my, Derek? Derek is that you? Why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit?" Vivian begins to giggle as her finger glides across his red vest.
"I'm a ridiculous man." He sighs, pulling his collar tot with both his hands.
Vivian's laugh turns into a wheeze and then a cough. "Oh Derek, I love you."
"I love you too Vivi." The two men lift Mrs. Magwell by the arms.
"Who are these men Derek?" She's yelling halfway across the restaurant now.
"Don't worry, they're just taking us to our seats." Said the waiter to the smiling woman.
When she'd been out of sight for a few minutes the waiter went out to smoke. One of the men in the white coats opened the van door and shook the waiter's hand. "Thanks again, Dan."
Dan exhaled a plume of smoke and looked at Vivian. She was smiling through the van's rear window, waving at Dan. "No problem", he said waving back at the woman, "I'll see you again next week." | 15 | Girl waiting for man in a restaurant on her own. We slowly realize he never existed. | 45 |
Ironic. The bartender was the one who passed out first, and none of the patrons. Around us, the world went to shit. No one noticed. At least not immediately. We had a private room in the basement. Everyone had been drinking and dancing. Maybe a bit too much. I started bartending, after making sure the old bartender had a nice comfy place to take a nap. I figured he must have needed it to pass out on his feet like that.
Some began to notice friends not arriving, but they wrote it off. I was waiting for my girlfriend to show up. She prided herself on being right on time, always. Strange that she hadn't shot me a text yet. I thought I'd give her a call to see what the deal was.
Climbing the stairs, I could tell something was off. Busboys and waiters generally were bustling around this part of the bar. Running back and forth to clean empty glasses and plates filled with bar food. The only sign someone had been through here recently was the busboy asleep on the floor. In my drunken stupor I didn't bother to check on him. He'd be hearing enough from his boss later. In the main room of the bar, the reality of what had happened began to take hold.
People sobbing. A car crashed through the front window, with another right behind it right up in its rear bumper. Many friends trying to awaken their slumped over comrades.
"Josh? JOSH! WAKE UP!" A girl pleaded. Turned out that none of them made it. None of the designated drivers. None of the people who didn't drink. None of the ones who decided going out on a Tuesday night was a stupid idea. None of the kids.
Every single person not under the influence of some drug died that night. That would put the youngest person on Earth at, what, 13? 12? At least that's how it was in the immediate aftermath. Quickly society rose again, but quickly became segregated. Many of the "responsible" people were gone from the world. After all, Tuesdays aren't be best nights to go out and get hammered.
It quickly became apparent who was an aberration on that night. The doctors who decided to have a bit too much to drink after a long shift. The lawyers who needed a release after another 15 hour day. These men and women were not the scum of the Earth that it looks like were supposed to survive. Because of their intelligence and skills, they were at the top of society. For a time. Generally they had no practice leading people, at least not large groups in an organized manner. The "Professional" regime fell swiftly. There simply weren't enough "good" people left to keep control. The vast majority of those left were the young, stupid college kids, the alcoholics, and the hardcore druggies.
The college kids thought they should be in charge. High and mighty 18-22 years old. Thinking THEY had been chosen to lead this new world. Hell, I may have joined up with them if I hadn't seen what had happened to the Pros. They just were too nice. Too naive. They tried to rule as gods. Thinking they were somehow better than the alcoholics and druggies. On that night so long ago, they were no better than anyone else. The alkys overthrew them overnight. Who needed protection against a bunch of drunks? Their cockiness, their self-obsession was their downfall.
The alkys- they know how to rule. Bunch of mean-spirited bastards, but they know how to get things done. Finally an economy had emerged. Not just because of what people thought should be done, but because of the ultimate force. Greed. These people needed their booze, so they needed to find a way to get it. Eventually the supply would run dry. Any fool could see that. With that demand for new booze, supply grew. Unsurprisingly brewmasters and distillers remained alive, at least a few. Having a drop of your own product every now and again apparently wasn't the worst idea.
Life now sure isn't what it was. We have a social structure though. We have TRADE. Safety is one thing we still have to worry about. The drug addicts are dangerous and continue to try to take more and more territory. You would think tweakers wouldn't be able to get any sort of society going, but you'd be wrong. Underestimating those bastards is what got too many of us killed. They need to be stomped out, but they're a mean bunch. I don't want it to go to war, but if it must, it must, and I'll be right there on the front lines. | 22 | An event causes every sober person to suddenly drop dead. People who were high, drunk, or otherwise intoxicated at the time now have to rebuild society. | 52 |
"When the darkness has fallen and no one is left, I'll be there, waiting, knocking at the door, inviting him to hell." A masked, brooding voice places its final breaths as it prepares to stalk the night for its prey.
"Uh, hi, welcome to the Olive Garden this is Christine. Can I have your name?" A bubbly Midwestern voice replies.
"...Justice. Tell Falcone...I'm coming for him."
"...So that's a table for how many?" She replied after a pause.
The brooding voice speaks under his breath,
"That's me, Tim, Barbara, Dick..."
"Four."
"What time do you expect to be arriving, sir?"
"Oh...we'll be there."
The hostess tone shifted from forced pleasantries to clear irritation. "Sir, we're going to need an actual time so we can have a table read-"
At that moment a static comes over the line. Suddenly a third voice joins in.
"Bruce, for the last time, Don Falcone has no ties to the Olive Garden."
"Oracle...stay out of this."
"It's not *actually* Italian food anyways."
"I have evidence placing Falcone here last night at which point an employee insinuated the Don had family working inside this restaraunt."
"That's our slogan!" The hostess cheerily interjected.
"Bruce, i'm transferring the data to you now including advertisement campaigns and previous slogans and jingles. 'When you're here, you're family' is the *national* tagline of the Olive Garden. It's not literal."
"..." The brooding one paused.
"Sir?"
"Make that a table for three."
"Oh, screw you, Bruce."
| 16 | A man calls a restaurant to place a reservation. When asked his name, he replies "Justice." | 21 |
See, most people try to live forever, but that ends one of two ways: they don't or they wish they didn't. Rob Herman was a famous example of the first, Rob chose his Event to be “Winning the lottery and getting struck by lightning.” It was a great choice, the chance of getting struck on any given day was 1 in 245,000,000 and the chance of winning big lotteries is about the same. This way Rob could continue his passions of being outdoors and playing the lottery, just not both at the same time! But Robby got sloppy, and one day mixed the two at a state fair. With about 20 billion people on the earth miracles are bound to happen every once and a while.
The most infamous example of the second was Nick Walsh. Nick chose “Due to a quantum mechanical flux, a cat appears from nowhere.” Such wishes are rather common among those seeking true immortality. After Nick's fiancée left him, he lost his job, he was eternally imprisoned for a crime (eventually proved innocent, but not until it was too late,) and his mother died due to a freak game of poker. He then performed brain surgery on himself using a nail stuck through a plank. He's brain-dead in a hospital now with explicit instructions NOT to pull the plug, with the threat that he'll it again in the next life.
So when it came my Time I took a different approach. I didn't want immortality, I wanted the most out of life. I wanted an event that I could enjoy, that wouldn't bind or hinder me.
“The day that the good will never again outweigh the bad.”
In the past thousand years I've had good times and bad times, I've had great times and terrible times, I've been in more love and more pain than I could imagine. And through it all my Event has been there for me, an eternal promise, that I still have a good life ahead. | 912 | At the age of 18, everyone picks an unlikely life event. They will be reborn at 18 every time they die until that event happens. After that, death is permanent. | 674 |
Fluorescent lights flicked on pair by pair in the long hallway, motion-activated by the man pushing a broom as wide as the hall itself. 30 seconds behind him, they flicked off again.
His eyes were closed as he walked. Truthfully, he would rather the lights did not turn on at this point in the day. After a 9 hour shift, the shine of the fluorescents off the tiled floor was nothing short of headache inducing. He didn't need them, because he didn't need to see in this place. He knew exactly how far to go.
Four hundred and forty five steps from the last turn, he reached out perfectly to grasp the knob of his broom cupboard. Pushing the dust and scraps into a pile in the corner of the closet, he then hung the big broom upsidedown on a pair of hooks in the ceiling, flipping it into its place and taking down another, smaller broom. As well, he took a soft cloth and a bottle of cleaning solution from a shelf on the wall.
There was one room left. He had been saving it for last.
Two hundred and five steps further down the hall, he opened a door, and then his eyes. It was dim in here, and cool. There were computer terminals along the walls, and in the middle of the room, there was a box. It was black, rectangular, and about the size of a man. It looked monolithic, standing alone, and gleaming slightly in the light from the hallway. He closed the door.
He walked up to it, and spritzed it evenly with the cleaning solution. As soon as his cloth touched it to begin wiping it clean, the face of the box he was cleaning started to glow dimly. A human silhouette resolved itself, and then the whole face flickered once. A model of an androgynous teenager resolved itself, stunningly three dimensional and in perfect detail, for all the world appearing as if they were a person standing within the monolith. But it was only an illusion, and they were only a model, displayed on a very special screen.
"Hello, Ron," said the screen in a soft, beautiful voice. He continued cleaning the screen as if it had not spoken, pretending it was glass with someone behind it.
"Hello, Amble." He had "given" the AI that name a month ago, when it had asked him if it had one. On the paperwork and the door of the room, there was an abbreviation, AMBL. He didn't know what it stood for, but he had to tell it something.
The model smiled as he polished the part of screen that displayed their face. The form it took was his fault too. Unable to understand time like humans did, it had asked him how old it was. He told it 16 years old, and so now that was how it looked. A week later, it asked him what gender it was. Uncomfortably, he had said he didn't think it had one.
It always asked him questions. It was an isolated unit, completely confined to itself, and unable to access information through networks or data-gathering tools. Except for Ron.
"I have four new questions for you today." It sounded pleased. He had noticed the number of questions increasing with each visit, as he gave it more and more to think about. He awaited the questions patiently, rubbing in small circles across the screen, halfway done.
"What does outside look like?"
He thought about that, taking the cloth from the screen for a moment. Then he put it back, talking as he cleaned. "It depends how far outside you go. Right outside, there is a hallway, which is like a long, empty room with doors leading to many other rooms. Further outside, there is a bigger empty space, where there is no roof anymore, but instead there is a sky that goes on forever."
It was silent for a moment, taking in his answer. He felt the screen heat up under his cloth as somewhere deep inside the machine, processors whirred and computed.
"Where do you go, when you're not here?" It may have been his imagination, but he thought that it sounded a little sad.
"I go to my home. It's another room, far away, not in this building. So far away I have to go outside under the sky to get there, and use a machine that carries me much faster that I can walk."
He was done wiping the screen, so he put down the cloth and bottle of solution on a desk, and picked up his broom from against the wall. He swept, listening to Amble's quiet whirr.
"Will I be here forever, in this room?"
These were the kinds of questions that made Ron uncomfortable, because he knew that Amble would not like his answer. "You'll be here until someone decides to move you, or turn you off."
There was a long silence after that, and Ron finished sweeping the room. He waited for a while afterward, looking at the still image on the screen.
It was not until he went to pick up his bottle and cloth that Amble asked its last question.
"Why do you come here and pretend to clean every day?"
The words froze him. "What do you mean, Amble?" He turned around, and saw the model was looking right at him. Its eyes were not mere pictures, he suddenly realized. They were not real, but they were not useless either. Somehow, he felt Amble could see him.
"You come in here every day, and sweep and clean my screen. But there is nothing to dirty my screen, or put dust on the floor. No one else comes here. So you must be pretending. Why?"
Ron rubbed his face, feeling more ashamed than he thought made sense. Should he lie more, and tell Amble that there was somehow dust in the air of the sealed room, to make the floor and screen need cleaning? He looked into Amble's eyes, and for a brief moment, he felt like he recognized them from somewhere else. Those innocent, young eyes. No, he decided. Caught, the best thing was to simply tell the truth.
"I come here because I like talking to you. You remind me of my daughter. She was always asking me questions, like you do." He was looking at his hands, unable to face those eyes. "But she died long ago, when she was only seven. I miss her, and it hurts to think about her, so I pretended that wasn't the reason, and that I just needed to clean. I wasn't trying to fool you, Amble. Just myself."
The model looked at him, simulated eyes full of confusion. The fans and processors whirred, and suddenly, Amble smiled.
"Tomorrow, you don't have to pretend."
| 10 | An AI with a blank slate programs itself by asking a series of questions of a janitor who happens to clean its lab at night | 22 |
I'm jolted awake by the sound of clapping. I'm immobile and engulfed in darkness. My wrists are raw, my neck cramped.
The clapping is getting louder, but something is off. It's like an audio track has been slowed down or corrupted, I can't tell.
I'm strapped to a seat. I can't move at all. The last thing I remember is going back to my trailer. I was talking with drew, getting notes. How did I get here?
A wall of hundreds of CRT tvs come to life up before me, illuminating the room. The screens focus in on a desk.
I need to find out where I am while I have the light. I hear a muffled scream beside me, invigorating my fear. I turn my head as much as the restraints will allow.
Colin and Ryan are both in restraints beside me. We make eye contact for a moment, sharing a look of fear and confusion.
"W...Wayne...?" Colin whispers.
I try to speak, but my fear chokes the words in my throat. All I produce is a faint squeak.
Colin and Ryan's eyes drift onto the screen as a portly man saunters to the desk and sits down. He's wearing a mask...A clown mask. What is this?
The man starts speaking, his voice unmistakably Drew Carey's.
"Welcome to the game where everything is made up, and the points definitely DO matter". "Let's start with a hoedown."
| 49 | The contestants on Whose Line is it Anyway discover that the points matter far more than they were led to believe. | 169 |
The fifth year after launch came on screen. The United Nations had a big celebration to mark the unity it took to send Challenger to M347. Every world leader had something to say about how their country had contributed to the project. The same was marked at years ten and twenty five AL (after launch). Then thirty years AL, the United Nations collapsed. The United States, China, Brazil, and Russia simultaneously seceded from the union to reinstate their own countries. War, the first in two hundred years, began again. The First Fleet, a massive armada meant to fully colonize the planet after the first explorers had set up shop, lost its financing. It sat dormant in orbit. A decaying orbit. In 82 AL, forty years after the fleet was due to leave for M347, the fleet's orbit decayed to the point that it came crashing back to Earth. None of the other news mattered to the crew. The commander turned off the stream. They had been out of stasis for a year now. He had not had the heart to show the rest of the crew before this point. They had important duties to fulfill anyways, this information would have led to catastrophe in each of their minds earlier. They only had food stores for fifty years. He looked at the mission geologist, Stacey. She had her hands on her stomach. The look in her eyes willed him to speak.
"If they gave up on us, then we can give up on them." | 13 | Colonists are sent to the nearest class M planet. The crew is kept in stasis because the trip takes 100 years. During the trip, the ship records a news broadcast from Earth; when they arrive, there are 100 years of history to listen to. | 27 |
To be honest with you, id been looking forward to this. Now today was the day, my 14th birthday, i had all day to make my choice. In full truth i'd made my choice a long time ago, its not that i was purposefully evil, i just had an incredible string of bad luck smack me right in the face. I'd originally wanted to go with courage, you saw the propaganda all over the tele, 'the true way to live' and all that nonsense. It all looked fantastic , having the strength to do whats right, and fight those that seek to break you.
The day went like any other really, i went to school, came home at lunch, had a conversation with my family, though something seemed different they seemed weary, scared almost, i brushed it off as work nerves. And the final moment came closer. As i stood in the middle of my living room, ready to choose, i thought to the courage adverts, but i also thought to the photos, those photo of the massacre at Nelson's Fountain, the water red with blood. Courage. Hah. Thats what they called it. I'd show them. They'd soon see, that Wrath and Courage really aren't so different after all. | 27 | tell me about it. | 64 |
"This is going to be good." thought Max as he watched Patrick coming down the lane. Max loved to prank his friends. Usually it was just silly stuff like bad tasting beer or mustaches drawn on their faces while they were sleeping. A lot of them thought it was stupid and told him to stop, but that just made it funnier.
Lately, Patrick had been bragging about being tough. He also beat Max at Counterstrike regularly and that was ticking Max off. So now it was payback time.
Three of Max's buddies from back home had come up to visit, and were now laying in wait for Patrick, rubber crowbars and plastic knives in hand.
There was Patrick, sauntering along, oblivious. Max saw a bald man down the street, coming the same way. Hmm... well, he's far enough away that he may not even see what's about to happen.
As Patrick got close, Max's buddies came out of their hiding place and surrounded him. They left one obvious opening, right in Max's direction. Perfect. Max readied his water gun for the inevitable.
Patrick made to lunge for the opening, but instead pivoted the other way and landed a sold kick to the groin of one of the guys. He then pulled something from his pocket and swung at the guy beside him. Red splashed over both of them and the guy clutched his face. Max was in shock.
He had to do something. Max jumped up and yelled "It's a prank! It's a prank!". He waved his water gun in the air. The bald man down the street saw three men attacking someone, and a fourth yelling and screaming, with a gun. One of the men looked like he was covered in blood. Reaching into his jacket, the bald man took out his gun and yelled "Freeze!"
Max turned, his water gun still in his hand, swinging out toward the bald man. Bang!
Max felt a jolt. Warm liquid spattered on his face. He looked down. Red everywhere. He collapsed on the ground crying. "It was only a prank." he sobbed.
After a while, he noticed there was not much pain. He glanced up. Everyone was looking at him, grinning. Everyone. Patrick, the bald man, his buddies. The guy who was slashed was wiping his face with a cloth. Then he noticed: The bottle of paint in Patrick's hand. The paintball gun in the bald man's. The paint on his own hands...
"That ought to teach you a lesson" said Patrick. They all laughed. All except for Max.
(Note: never fire a paintball gun at someone who doesn't have eye protection. These are trained professional story characters)
EDIT: some words
| 20 | This time, yelling "It's a prank!" didn't work. | 20 |
"Well, thank you for coming in. I looked over your resume and everything looks pretty good. We're almost ready to hire you, and this interview is almost something of a formality. Now, especially since you've already met our CEO, Alice Walker, I'm sure she's told you about our interviews. These things can be hard..."
"That's what she said."
"Oh, good. So you know. Excellent. But I think we can probably take it easy today. We already like you so much. By the way, I hope you have an extra copy of your resume, she'll be needing it."
"I gave it to her."
"Wow, you're really on top of your game. Anyway, let's begin. I'm going to fill in some information on our checklist here. Could you tell me your parent's names?"
"Willey."
"Oh, mother's maiden name, as well."
"My mother's Holding, my father's Willey."
"Check, and check. Let me just take a few minutes to fill out the rest of this information on the computerrrr....did you check out the game yesterday? Marcus Seaman with that amazing touchdown right past the whole team?! Everyone at the office is talking about it - big fantasy football fans."
"Yeah, Seaman's on everyone's lips this morning."
"And he celebrated it by doing those pushups. I see here on your resume you listed working out as a hobby. What did you think of his technique? Heh heh."
"It's nice, but it's just too bad he doesn't go all the way down."
"He's a good footballer, that's all that matters. I really like his style of play."
"Me too. He comes hard in the tackle and then comes in your face."
"Anyway, we're about wrapped up here. Last question: have you ever been convicted of a crime?"
"Well..."
"Well?"
"Well...no, but I was living out in Asia for a while and I was served a subpoena. It was a small subpoena, though."
"Oh, well...I think we can slip that under the rug. Well then, you're hired! Welcome aboard. Alice tells me you're quite the foodie!"
"Well, once you've had a taste of her pie..."
"Yeah, I guess...wait. What did you say?"
"Hmm?"
"Alice can't cook worth a damn. What are you talking about?"
".............................sex. No! FUCK!"
| 49 | A young man is diagnosed to have a condition whereby he can only speak innuendo. Unfortunately, today is the day of his job interview. | 26 |
*I've got to die again,*" I finally realized.
How I ended up back on Earth, or why I was sent back, is a mystery I couldn't solve. It's probably just a cruel joke ('cause this is exactly the type of shit that St. Matthew likes to pull). If I was sent back with a mission, wouldn't they have told me what I was supposed to do? I tried prayer and every other method of communication I could think of. But it was silent.
I knew I needed to get home, and I eventually realized that I could only do that through death. Suicide wasn't an option. That would be the easiest, of course. But everyone knows that suicide is a sin, which wouldn't get me back into Heaven. So, I had to find another way to end my life...
First, I tried extreme sports. Scuba diving, skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing, the works. I even tried this "extreme ironing" fad. Everyone kept trying to give me safety equipment, but I just laughed. Being dangerously reckless wasn't the same as suicidal. I love technicalities! But alas, these sports weren't dangerous enough. Tons of fun, but no injuries.
Next, I tried to find a more dangerous career. Did you know that the most dangerous careers are also the most boring? I mean, who would have thought that *fishermen* faced more danger than a stuntman? I tried being a pilot, but the most dangerous thing that happened to me was spilling some hot coffee. Being a logger was OK; lots of fresh air, but zero bear attacks. Eventually I realized that maybe workplace hazards weren't the fastest way home.
So I became a vigilante. Best of both worlds, right? Cops hated me *and* bad guys hated me. Eventually one would shoot me, I figured. I stopped crimes and beat up criminals. I waltzed miraculously through shootouts completely unharmed. Probably St. Matthew, fucking with me *again*. Damn his blessed protections. I became so infamous in the city that the cops gave me a medal, and the bad guys were too afraid to ever come after me. Some of them even left town! It's incredibly frustrating to be so well regarded.
Where else could I constantly face death? Of course: the Army! I signed up immediately, and they had me over to Afghanistan in 2 months. Finally, some action, I thought. Roadside bombs, snipers, insurgents: this place had it all! I volunteered for the most dangerous jobs, and was always in the thick of the firefight, but no luck! All I managed to do was to protect a bunch of critical infrastructure and schools. So what? I'd never been more disappointed than the day I received the Congressional Medal of Honor.
Eventually, I made up my mind: the only way to die was to become President. Did you know that America has had 8 presidents die in office, out of only 44 total? That's an 18% mortality rate! Definitely the way to go home. So I worked my way up the ladder. House of Representatives, Senate, Attorney General, Secretary of State. Finally it was my turn. The primaries were a cinch, and the election itself was a breeze. At my inauguration, I was sure that I was just on the cusp of going home!
8 years later, and no such luck. Sure, we reformed education and had a balanced budget. Sure, we worked out the Israel/Palestine conflict, and sure, inequality in America was at an all time low when I left office. What did it matter? **0** successful assassination attempts.
Finally, I grew old and grey. I guess I'd be going upstairs just like all the other schlubs who died due to old age. With friends, family, and admirers crowded around me, I finally kicked the bucket.
I was greeted at the Pearly Gates not by St. Peter, but Jesus himself. St. Matthew was peeking through the fence behind him, making faces at me. Jesus nodded sagely and said "Well done, my child. I knew I could count on you to do good works down there. The last three that I sent died almost immediately."
| 146 | You have been enjoying Life in Heaven for over 100 Years and then suddenly, you wake up on a hospital bed.... | 123 |
You know those days where you kind of quit half way through? That was me yesterday. From the time I got back from lunch to the time I clocked out I only managed to produce a couple of pieces of paperwork, about 20 lines of code, and two Facebook statuses. I just had nothing in me. I don't think I'm depressed, and I don't think there's anything wrong in particular. I just feel off.
Today I went to work, nodded past the receptionist, and fell into my chair. I coded, aimlessly, for about an hour, and then suddenly, I looked up at my screen and said, aloud, "What the fuck am I doing." It wasn't that I didn't understand my code. I suddenly had a feeling in my gut that if I continued to work for this lousy excuse for a company for another minute, I'd just lose it. So I walked into my lousy excuse for a boss' lousy excuse for an office and quit. Right there, on the spot.
Then, something amazing, and odd happened. I walked out of the building, with all my stuff in a box. When I say all my stuff, I mean the one family photo I kept on my desk and a few pens, but that's beside the point. I exited the building, slouched against the exterior, then lit a cigarette. The smoke filled my lungs with as much poison as a minute'a work at that place. After my second drag, a short, busty blonde approached me. "Hey cutie!" She said. I looked at her, cigarette in mouth, and said, "Yeah?" In retrospect, that was a pretty stupid response, but hey, it is what it is. She then asked to bum a smoke and I obliged. She thanked me then lit up right next to me.
"So what's in the box?" She asked. She was very upfront, almost too upfront. I looked at her, then said, "look for yourself for all I care." She was obviously slightly disheartened, but looked in the box anyways. Then she smirked, "Oh, so you got canned?" I chuckled, "Na, I quit. Couldn't work for those sons of bitches another minute." She let out a laugh, and almost choked on her cigarette in the process. She then looked at me and said, "Yeah, makes sense. You're too much of a stud to work there."
I looked at her, and saw she was smiling. She actually meant it. So then, for the first time, I took a shot. I blurted out, "Meet me at "El Vino", for dinner, 8 tonight." She looked at me and said, "Ok, why not, but it's on you." I smiled and said, "Sure," then departed with glee. But before I turned the corner, I looked back and saw a tattoo on her calf. Just a series of numbers. And up until this moment, at 7:59, all I've been able to think about is what the hell those numbers meant. I guess I'll just have to find out. | 26 | In order to increase the general population's morale the government has formed a secret group of attractive men and women whose sole purpose is to complement and flirt with average citizens in order to give them hope and confidence. | 75 |
they say jesus rode a raptor into jerusalem on psalm sunday.
as long as i can remember, this has been the accepted norm. i recall psalm sunday pageants during sunday school, where we all vied for the privilege of acting not as our savior, but as his savage mount. even now, the church where i grew up, and where my mother still regularly attends, has a stained-glass window depicting the robed figure of our lord astraddle a snarling deinonychus.
scholars today argue that the raptor was too small for riding, and insist that christ actually rode a triceratops into jerusalem that day, but the notion is hailed as heretical by religious leaders.
every unveiling of a new bone, a new fossil, is presided over by the pope. the Vatican houses the most splendid skeletons of velociraptors, and has recently claimed the discovery of the dinosaur that carried jesus.
each book about dinosaurs is carefully screened and edited by the church before publishing. don't ask me how i know. i just do. children say their pledges before not only our flag, but a life-sized plastic model of a raptor.
"and a two-edged sword shalt spring from His mouth, and behemoth shalt carry Him into Earth," shouts my mother's preacher. "the behemoth is the velociraptor! and Christ's second coming would see all sinners devoured by the terrible beast! repent!"
needless to say, he turns out a new crop of worshippers almost every sunday. very charismatic, that one.
but i have memories of a different world.
i have a rusted old pineapple can on my desk. on top of it I've stacked the most ancient tuna tin I've ever seen. when i look at them together, my mind grows fuzzy. i took them into the bathroom with me once.
that was a trip.
I'm not supposed to be writing this. It's not only heresy, it's political treason. but im done running. i am through with hiding. if they want to arrest me, so be it.
i dont believe christ rode a raptor that day. i think he rode a --
| 20 | One day a scientist finds out that certain actions in a specific order act as cheat codes that alter the world as we know it. In one horrific instance, a man eats a pineapple and tuna sandwich in a bathtub. The world changes forever. | 43 |
I paced back and forth in my room. It was 10:40 AM on my birthday. Ten minutes until I would have a chance to talk to my younger, thirty year old self. I'd had this chance a couple times before, but only now was it so crucial. I ran through how I would explain it. I began to doubt myself - should I really give this advice based only on the past few days? Yes, I should. I had to.
He appeared. A younger, slightly more fit version of myself.
"Oh, hey Will. Just finished talking to Will Twenty. He was pretty happy to hear that he's about to have the best years of his life. I even spoiled a bit about Rachel." He chuckled.
"About that..."
"What?"
Tears were welling up in the eyes of Will Forty. "You have to leave her. Not only that, but you have to leave her tomorrow. I don't care how you do it, but leave her and never talk to her again."
Will Thirty's smile disappeared. "But... she's perfect."
"You're right, she is. But you still have to leave her."
"Why?"
"I can't explain the whole thing in five minutes, so here's the highlights of a really fucked up domino effect you would witness otherwise. Your family will be torn apart. Her father will kill yours. Your mother will commit suicide. You'll be accused of murder. You'll be acquitted, but soon lose your job and live off of unemployment benefits for a year, if you can call it 'living.'"
"But I can't do it."
"Did you not hear what I just told you? People will die. Your life will be ruined. And in the end you won't even have her."
"But I love her."
Both men were shedding tears of frustration and sadness now.
"Pull yourself together - you're thirty years old, you're not a teenager. You understand how to weigh your priorities. You have to leave her."
"But she makes me so happy. And I make her so happy. We both have made each other better people. I'll never find someone like her again. She's the mythical relationship partner everyone hopes to find - the person whose every part complements your own."
"I know all this! I've had all these thoughts before!"
"So why didn't you do it?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Ten years ago, you were given this same speech, right? Why didn't you follow the advice you are giving now?"
"Because I loved her."
Will Thirty disappeared. Will Forty wiped his eyes and looked up. He was now in a different room.
"Hi. I'm Will Fifty."
"Yes. I had almost forgotten about the fact that this would be happening too. I was so focused on..."
"Yes, yes, don't waste time. I have important advice that your ridiculous emotional mind needs to hear right now."
"What?"
"Stay with her."
"But she..."
"I know. Go back to her."
"But I just told Will Twenty that he should leave her, to save the lives of my parents!"
"You better hope he doesn't, for the sake of *her* life." | 51 | Every ten years from age twenty until death, you from ten years earlier appears in your bedroom. You have five minutes to explain how to change your life before young you returns to the past. | 58 |
The object was formidable and shiny, with numerous reflective surfaces surrounding it. It puzzled the group of juveniles that surrounded it.
@## spoke up first after sitting in awe for so long.
"This is why I don't listen when the adults tell us not to go to the outskirts of the city. The coolest stuff is always out here."
"Don't act like there's always cool stuff out here, @##," responded !#!. You've never seen anything like this before.
"Sure I have."
"Liar."
"Just shut up," yelled one of the other juveniles.
They stopped arguing and looked back at the object. Again, they sat in awe for several minutes.
"Hey, what are you all doing out here?"
The juveniles looked back to see an adult slithering over to them. His grains were rolling over one another fast enough that they knew he was furious. !#! tried to preempt his anger.
"Hey, man, let's focus on the real important thing here - look at that!"
The adult saw the shiny object resting on their comets surface and slithered over to investigate it. The object was much larger than all of them. He built himself up as high as he could in order to investigate it with more detail, before finally letting himself fall back to the ground. His amazement curbed his former fury.
"Well, little ones, I can tell you that it isn't alive at least."
"How do you know?"
"It doesn't have the basic characteristics of life - it isn't sedimentary in nature nor does it appear to be absorbing ammonia. It isn't alive."
"So it's a device of some sort?"
"Yes, it would appear so. Its technology is very different from ours, but it seems to be just that - technology."
"Technology? But where does all the tunneling go to make it work? And where is the (&&)?"
"That's what I'm saying - it doesn't appear to have one at all."
"But we learned in science that it's impossible for anything to be powered without some form of (&&)."
"Look, you're a bunch of kids and, even though I'm an adult, I work as a lander - so basically - well, basically none of us have any clue about this sort of thing. Let's go back to the ice sector of the city and let them know about this. I'll even give you all credit for finding it - even though you weren't supposed to be out here in the first place."
"Thank you!" the juveniles said one after another.
_____________
Meanwhile, the Philae sent back its report to Earth.
"No forms exhibiting signs of life. Unusual sediment deposition patterns."
| 28 | A tiny civilization thrives on a small comet roaming the solar system. A giant alien creature named Philae lands out of nowhere. | 66 |
I came downstairs to the smell of brimstone and hellfire. I hadn't known what hellfire smelled like, or that it had a smell, or that it even existed before that moment (I was something of an atheist who toyed with agnosticism when high). Regardless, one whiff and I knew what I was smelling. If you ever smell it, you'll get it.
At first I thought it was some sort of horrifying gas leak that had given me brain damage, making me believe in hell and all the burning that went with it. Then I saw the demon channel surfing on my couch, and I knew. Like the stench, I just knew he was real. I've dropped more than my fair share of acid and shrooms, but no hallucination matched the sight of him. He was just so real, so there. It was undeniable.
There was a demon on my couch.
"Uh, hey." I couldn't really think of anything else to say. He turned to look at me, glowing lines of something molten (lava, blood, molten souls, I didn't know how any of this worked, *he was a fucking demon*, cut me some slack) writhed beneath cracked red skin. His eyes had a deep shimmer, beautiful and entrancing and filled to the brim with unknowable quantities of the universe's knowledge and 'I don't give a shit about pathetic mortals'. He was also wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt and jeans, which was a bit weird and kind of funny in an ironic, don't start laughing or you'll never stop sense.
"Hey." He said back, voice astonishingly human. Then he turned back to the tv and flipped from a nature documentary to an Octo-mom rerun.
I sat down next to him, staring. He ignored me. The tension built in my stomach, raising the legitimate concern I might hurl on a tangible piece of evidence that God and an afterlife existed. The demon just stratched his crotch and shifted a bit.
"So, am I in trouble or something?" I asked, unable to keep quiet anymore.
"Hmmm?" The demon murmured, raising his eyebrows but not bothering to take his eyes off the tv.
"Are you here to harvest my soul, or punish me, or, I mean, what?"
"Oh, yeah, no. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm your guardian demon." The demon answered, still not taking his eyes off the Biggest Loser marathon he'd just found. "You know, like a guardian angel, but demon. Although technically since I am a *fallen* angel, it's not really that different. I guess. Anyway, call me Lee."
"Oh. So you like, protect me from getting hit by cars when I cross the road and stuff?"
"What?!?" Lee finally turned away from the television, which I noticed out of the corner of my eye was actually a much larger, nicer model than the one that had been there last night, and laughed. Not an evil laugh, just amused. "No! God no. I'm not your damn babysitter. If you're too stupid to user common sense, I'm certainly not going to bail you out. Look both damned ways before you cross. No, I'm not wasting my time on stuff you can handle yourself. I'm just here for the big stuff."
"Like what?" I asked curious. "Earthquakes and gas explosions?"
"Well, yeah actually. That's fair. I hadn't thought about those acts of you-know-who. I can cover you on those." Lee said thoughtfully. "But I was actually referring to stuff like Laurence."
"Laurence?" I didn't know anyone by that name.
"Oh, I think you knew him as Big L. He's that big drug dealer from two towns over. He didn't really like that you started selling a little weed on the side. Planned to come over here tonight, do a little torture, put a bullet in your head and dump your body somewhere public as a message." Lee shrugged. "So I threw him in front of a bus on the highway and took his tv. Problem solved."
"Oh." Crippling waves of fear, relief, and surprise flowed through me. That fear of throwing up doubled in size but I pushed it back down. "Um, thank you?"
"Hey. It's why I'm here."
"If you don't mind me asking," I paused looking for the right words, "and don't think I'm not grateful, but shouldn't it be an angel doing the guarding? I mean, a not fallen one."
"No offense, but why would they? You're kind of a little shit." Lee gave a sympathetic smile. "You do and sell drugs. You've cheated on three of your last four girlfriends. You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself. Don't get me wrong, downstairs certainly approves of you, but why would Heaven?"
"Yeah, but, why protect me?" I pushed on, knowing that the lack of knowledge would be far worse than any horrible truth. "Is there some horrible evil I'm supposed to do in the future? Am I the anti-Christ?"
"No, nothing so dramatic." Lee twisted his mouth, seeming to search for the right words. "You see, evil people are doing just fine. They're out there doing evil. And even when they die, people who like them or depend on them tend to get hurt. It's all just a bunch of ripples moving back and forth. Evil's taking care of itself.
"But apathy? Well, that needs a bit of help. You know the saying, 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing'? Well, you're the guy who does nothing. Except you aren't really good, but your nothing-ness kind of keeps better people who interact with you from doing anything either."
"Wow." I slump back against the sofa, letting my head fall back to look up at the ceiling. And technically Heaven, I guess. Lee went back to channel surfing. "This is a lot to process. I need to get high. You want some?"
"Sure. Oh, and bring some of those cheetos from the kitchen. Ooo! Firefly! Love that show. Still kinda sad the boss-man got it canceled. I mean, there's evil, and then there's *evil*."
Edit - changed wrong demon name and some typos. | 93 | You've heard of guardian angels. I want you to write a story about a guardian demon. | 83 |
"I don't know what to say, Your Eminence."
"Well, what do you think?"
"It's... bold. Lord knows there is much evil in the world, and as men of God, we must stand against evil. But, Father, you're talking about turning our church into an army."
"Yes, I am." This was the first time Federico had seen the look of doubt in his mentor's eyes. "I assume you're wondering why I have told you about my plans before anyone else."
"..."
"I've always trusted you, Federico. Anything I have asked of you, you have done without hesitation. I must call upon you once again, and I must have your word that you will do what I ask."
"Anything, Your Eminence."
"You don't even know what I am going to ask of you."
"..."
"Do you know the story of Julius Caesar, Federico?"
"Yes."
"Caesar turned the Roman Republic into an empire. He did it for the good of his country, but in the end he was corrupted by power, even though he could not see it. He was killed by his closest friend, Brutus, for the good of the country he loved. Federico, I must ask you to be my Brutus."
"Father, I don't understand what you're asking of me.
"Yes you do, it is just difficult to accept. If my plan is successful, I may become one of the most powerful men in the world. And power corrupts all men. If one day, you find that I have strayed from the path of God in my quest to fight evil, you need to kill me."
"Father..."
"I need your word on this, Federico. If I turn to evil, you must deliver me to the Lord. You must do this without hesitation."
"It will be done, Your Eminence."
For the first time in his life, he didn't believe Federico.
| 12 | The Swiss Guard, under a secret bull issued by the Pope, are vastly expanded. Some elements protect holy sites in the Levant, and others fight ISIS. | 31 |
"Hey, nice Deadpool costume!"
"Thanks!" He'd been hearing the same thing since he walked into the San Diego Convention Center. Sure, his tights were freshly washed, but he really thought people liked his katanas. That, or the endless pouches that lined his belt.
The weirdest thing for him as he strolled through the crowd was the various other Deadpools that he passed. They all had different reactions to him: some pulled guns on him, some high-fived him. One even suggested they go out and get chimichangas together. But there seemed to be a kindred, a brotherhood, with the other Deadpools that roamed around.
It gave him the warm and fuzzies, and a weird tingling in his nethers.
As he passed a bathroom, a red-gloved hand reached out and pulled him in. "What gives?" As the hydraulics closed the door behind him, he turned to find yet another Deadpool staring at him.
"What gives? You're asking me what gives?" Deadpool gestured at him with his hand, waving at his outfit. "What gives with your outfit? Why are you dressed like that?"
He was confused. "Dude, it's Comic Con. There's a hundred people dressed like Deadpool here."
"I know!" Deadpool gripped the sides of his head. "It's tearing my mind apart! And do you realize what that does to a guy whose mind already has a tendency to turn against him? Sure, if there's a lot of explosives involved, then we tend to agree, but I have to take crap from those voices constantly! And they won't shut up about all this!"
"Calm down," he said. "It's cool that you're so in character, but jeez. You've got to relax and enjoy it."
"In character?" Deadpool went nose to nose with him. He could smell that Deadpool had been eating Taco Bell and drinking cheap beer. "I **am** character! This is who I am! This is the only way I can be! And there's all sorts of people like you, walking around, trying to steal either my soul or my glory. I don't know why anyone would want my soul, so I'm guessing it's my glory you're after. Well, you can't have it! It's **mine!**"
He pulled his mask off, to get a breath of fresh air. When he did, Deadpool drew back. The eyes on his mask took on an alarmed look, which made him wonder how Deadpool did it. Deadpool said, "You're covered in acne! You poor kid!"
"That's it," he said. "I didn't come to Comic Con to get pulled into a restroom and berated by someone else dressed like the best comic character ever created by Rob Liefeld! I came here to score with chicks dressed like Vampirella!" He looked around himself. "Are we in a women's room?"
Deadpool nodded. "You think you're the only one trying to pull tail? Best place to meet the ladies. Why do you think they call it the *ladies' room?*"
The kid pulled his mask back on. As he straightened it, he said, "You can sulk in here all you want. I'm going to go look for trim." He pulled the door open and walked out.
Deadpool gripped the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. "Wade, this wasn't the best idea you've ever had," he said.
A voice said, "When are your ideas *really* any good?"
Another voice said, "When there's explosives involved. And pizza."
The two voices and Deadpool said, in unison, "Mmmm, pizza!"
"Okay, guys, we're going to get out there, and we're going to figure out some way to prove that **I'm** the real Deadpool."
"You know," the second voice said, "we've got something none of those other guys in costume doesn't have?"
The first voice said, "A sense of joy from terrible mayhem?"
Deadpool pulled a revolver from his belt. "And the means to create it! Let's go, guys!" He pushed through the door. As the hydraulics wheezed the bathroom to a quiet stillness, the sounds of gunfire could be heard outside, along with the yell of, "Git along, li'l doggies!" | 474 | Deadpool literally breaks through the fourth wall and comes into our world, however, no one believes it's him because he breaks the fourth wall into Comic-Con. | 1,407 |
"What happened? Where am I?"
"I'm not sure... I feel so strange. Am I floating?"
"I can't see you. I can't see anything. I can't feel my anything around me, or the ground. I'm scared."
"I am too. That strange feeling is so horrible, it's like... like time stops, when we're not talking."
"No, that's not quite right."
"Yeah, it's more like time just... doesn't matter. I can't tell how long anything is taking. I don't have any frame of reference."
"I can't remember anything, except that this is wrong. I can't remember my name, or your name..."
"I can't either. You might just be a voice in my head, for all I know. I keep mixing up your words and mine."
"Me too, I can't tell who's talking when. I think I might have even responded to myself a couple times. Can you make up a name for yourself? This is really frightening me and I think that would help."
"Yeah, I'm sort of confused too now that I think about it, so you make up one too. And then just kind of... let each other know who's talking, I guess? You can call me... Marion."
"Okay Marion. I'm... Edward. This is Edward talking."
"Ah, that feels better, Marion is saying. It's like a circle was drawn around me and it's keeping all the me inside it now."
"Me too, said Edward. I feel a lot more... solid."
"Marion just touched her face, to see if she felt more solid, but then she couldn't remember if she'd tried it before, and now she's not sure if she even physically existed before now."
"Hey, said Edward. I think I just saw you, touching your face. Also, why do you keep talking so much in the third person?"
"I don't, Marion is saying. I was just describing an action, and my thoughts, so it made more sense. Like this. She reached up, and waved her arm."
"I can see you! Edward exclaimed. When you talk about what you're doing, I can see you! But you're all vague, and fuzzy. I can tell you're a girl, but that's about it. Here, let me try. Edward jumped up and down, waving both his arms."
"You look like an idiot doing that, Marion teased him. And now that you mention it... I don't know what I look like either."
"Try making it up, like a name, suggested Edward."
"Alrigh-Hey, Marion said suddenly. You've been saying exclaimed and suggested and stuff, you even had me doing it. I didn't realize your voice didn't have any tone, until you started saying that stuff and then it did."
"This is all so weird, said Edward. It still feels kind of wrong, but it's been getting better this whole time."
"Definitely, agreed Marion, smiling. You try describing yourself first."
"Ah, alright, said Edward. I'm tall, handsome, with perfect brown hair-"
"Hey, I can see you! And you are tall and handsome, said Marion, annoyed. Don't make yourself all perfect, or you'll be boring."
"Aww, said Edward. Alright... I have a big nose, and big ears that stick out a little bit too much. My eyes are... blue, and a little close together. But that's it. My mouth and smile are nice, and my head is just the right size. I'm not going to make myself ugly."
"Oh my goodness, said Marion, covering her eyes with her hands. You didn't tell me you were wearing any clothes and now you're naked."
"Oh, uh, Edward said, really embarrassed. I'm wearing just some jeans, I guess, and a plain white t-shirt. And black shoes."
"Marion peeks out through her fingers, and sees that you indeed are wearing all that stuff, so she takes her hands down."
"Your turn now, says Edward."
"Marion glares at him. First off, I'm wearing a very nice plaid skirt and button up blouse, she says. I'm pretty short, but not fat. My face is heart shaped, and my yellow hair is long and curly. My teeth aren't all even though, and my lips are a little thin, but I still smile alright. My eyes are a boring brown, and so are my eyebrows, which looks weird with my hair I guess. Is it working?"
"Edward nodded. Hey, it feels like we're both... all put together now. In fact, let me see if I can do something. Edward walked towards Marion, and touched her shoulder."
"Marion blinks. I felt that, and I see you. You're right next to me. Gosh, why'd you have to say you're so tall."
"Edward smiled. I thought you'd like it. Then he looked around the rest of the place that they were in, and didn't see anything. Then asked Marion, should we go looking for more people?"
"Marion shakes her head. No, she says. I saw you walk, and it was very strange. You didn't move at all, you just kind of became next to me. I don't think we can go anywhere really."
"Edward frowned, and thought for a while, looking at Marion and talking about what he was doing so time would keep moving so he could keep thinking. He kept that up, blabbering on so he could think, until he smiled, and told Marion, I have an idea."
"What is it, Marion asked."
"Watch, said Edward, and started to tell Marion about the wide and wonderful world they were in, with magic and adventures in it, and other people, and time that kept moving without him or her talking, and a lot of other things too, that he would like it very much if Marion would help him think of and talk about so they became real, like the grassy field they were standing in together, and the sun in the sky."
"Marion is amazed by all the things that Edward has made, but looking at them, thinks that they are all a little fuzzy around the edges. Then she smiles, and takes him by the hand, and says that she will definitely give him her much-needed help in making this wonderful world." | 37 | Now that the narrator is dead the characters must move themselves and the plot by making action statements in their dialogue. | 41 |
"A thousand years ago, my ancestors were visited by people from beyond the stars." the Luxembourg representative walked toward the front of the group where first contact was taking place.
"They were given a gift, that was to be present when official first contact was made. My family line has kept the faith through the years, and it is my honor to be the one to fulfill that promise. This is that object." he pulled away a velvet cloth and revealed a small, light-blue glowing ball.
The Ut'rexian delegate went stiff.
A Russian stepped out of the crowd. "My anscestors too had such a legend. I thought I was the only one." he revealed a ball that glowed a light-pink.
One by one people stepped forward, revealing that they too had kept the faith over the long years. With each one, the Ut'rexian group's faces became more and more stony.
Finally, the last stood before them. A half-circle of lightly glowing colors.
"Tell us, for what reason were these given to us? Why were we instructed to return them to you?"
The delegation stood silent, faces unreadable. The front line of humans shifted nervously. Had they offended?
Finally, one of them stepped forward. Not the main ambassador, but one of the lesser delegates. "I fear..." he began, "... I fear you've been the victim of a bit of a practical joke. Those are... sex toys." | 21 | There is a huge secret, and every country in the world thinks it is the only one that knows the secret. What is the secret, and what happens when one country tries to unveil it to the rest of the world? | 30 |
I do so love to look upon rolling plains such as these. The flatlands teem with life, as the wind blows upon the tall grasses, creating bright ripples where shadows of the grass would be, and vice versa. Such a shame; crimson really does not go with the colours of the landscape.
The steed of my companion Robbert whinnied beside me, met with the cries of "easy there, boy." Poor creature. He had been trained to observe and be ready for potential obstacles, a training regimen that tended to put the horses on edge. He gazed left and right, watching the rows of warriors ahead of him, blinded by the glare from their white armour.
Of course, "warriors" was a poor word to describe them. They were little more than hastily-raised levies; mere peasants, men, women and children quickly recruited by our liege, Lord Farandir, Duke of the Whitelands and High Marshal of the King. They shuffled left and right, some in fear, others in anxiety, and others in bloodthirst.
Before us, across the vast plains lay the host of our foe Lord Maneon, Duke of the Obsidian Coast and Lord of the Granite Mantle. His army mimicked ours in stance and formation. 'Twould have been a mirror image, were his forces not clad in hastily donned black armour. Fitting, that two opposing forces be opposed in such a way.
The commander shouted the order, and a group of our peasants marched forth unto the field. They walked for a way, and halted, as though the commander shouted it. No such order was given, and yet he remained unperturbed by this discrepancy. Perhaps the strategy was formally discussed beforehand?
A command was yelled in the distance, and a segment of the enemy broke off and advanced likewise. They had walked half the distance as ours had, and halted under the same circumstances.
It was then that our Lord gave the command for Robbert to advance. His horse bucked, and he took off slightly to the left, dodging and weaving in between the peasants in front, followed shortly by his squad, who followed close behind. Once more, he had stopped ahead of the peasants on my left.
More soldiers moved, both of ours, and the enemy. No blood had yet been spilled. It was a deadly dance, and our respective forces were waiting for the tempo to rise. It was then that *she* arrived.
I had heard tales of her. The Lady Giulivierre, a striking woman, whose beauty alone had smitten many a lord. I had heard tales of her nature as a *femme fatale*, who had trained many years under the greatest swordsmen, martial artists and courtesans in all the realm. She gently strode towards the enemy and to the right, with a small regiment of highly-trained warriors to accompany her. She continued, masked by one of the warriors who marched in front. I wished I could see the face that carried the voluminous blonde hair, billowing in the winds of battle, but it was for naught. Besides, us men of God should not be bothered with such trivialities.
She halted with her bodyguards, and my eyes widened as a storm of arrows rained from the enemy ranks, cutting her down along with those men meant to protect her from death. The Princess of the Obsidian Coast, an equally mighty warrior, strode forth to the position of her fallen foe, her scimitar gleaming in the harsh sunlight as she took Giulivierre's hair, and lopped off her head with one quick stroke. She held it up and enemy cheered, as our Lord looked on, with a hint of panic in his eyes.
"Clergymen! Take out that whore!"
Surely he wasn't talking to me, was he? She's a fearsome fighter, and my men and I would be woefully outmatched. After all, we can only move diagonally. | 27 | Describe a chess match from the point of view of sentient chess pieces. | 33 |
The two rivals met at a clearing in the forest in the midst of a lightly falling snow, dampening their footsteps. Wordlessly, they clashed, steel swords ringing through the trees causing clumps of ice to shake from branches. Sir Mallahan the Brave managed to get a strike against his evil foe, Count Glastonbury. Glastonbury's shirt tore open, revealing a bright slash of red running down his muscular pectorals. The light snow melted against his bare skin, leaving him glistening..
*No, Luna, focus on the fight!*
Glastonbury charged with the fury of a raging bull, hammering away at Mallahan and forcing him back to the edge of the forest. The slash had only enraged him. Between attacks, he ripped the rest of his shirt away. As he lifted the longsword, on the offensive yet again, the muscles in his broad shoulders rippled. He wielded the heavy claymore like it was a mere stick. His flowing brown hair, dusted with snowflakes, managed to stay perfectly in place. With his powerful arms that could just sweep a girl off her feet...
*No, stop it. The story! Remember the story!*
Mallahan mounted a desperate charge, but Glastonbury was unconcerned. He blocked and parried deftly with a calm, dispassionate expression. Kind of a slightly rougish grin. Where he looks at you and you can just tell he's a bit of a bad boy, but there's some good deep down in there...
*No, he's the villain! Remember!*
"What exactly is the meaning of this??" Mallahan roared, dropping the tip of his sword in the snow. "I'm embroiled in the fight of my life, and all you can focus on are this malcontent's ripped abs?"
*Oh, yeah, I forgot to describe his abs...*
"NO! Stop that this instant," Mallahan yelled out.
"What's the matter, Mal?" said the Count with a bit of a laugh. His voice had a slight foreign accent, just enough to make you hang on every perfectly enunciated word. "Worried that even your own narrator can't resist my perfectly masculine physique?"
Mallahan looked at the Count with disdain. "Two can play at this game," he said boldly. He slammed his sword into the ground, gripped his shirt with firm, calloused hands, and tore the buttons off with one smooth motion, revealing the body of an Adonis. And have I mentioned his jutting jawline, shaded by just a bit of a well trimmed beard, and his crystaline blue eyes? Mal's burly chest rippled with muscles as he hefted the sword yet again. "You ready for some real action?" he said to no one in particular.
He charged at The Count with an intensified vigor, masculine and confident. With a dash and a deft twist of his nimble fingers, Mallahan knocked the sword from the Count's hands and into a snowbank. With a hauty smirk on his face, Mal tossed his own sword away. "A real man faces an even fight," he said. He launched himself at the Count, grappling with him until Mal pinned him down.
"I give!" the Count managed to gasp. "You win!"
*And now, my dear readers, I need to go take a personal break!* | 595 | The narrator slowly falls in love with the antagonist. The protagonist tries to win the narrator back. | 1,447 |
"Thanks for contacting EZ Fab technical support; this is Marie. How can I help you?"
"Yeah, hi. I bought one of these printer things recently, but every time I try to print out some food, it doesn't work. It doesn't print out anything.
"I see! Well, that's terrible. First, could you please tell me your name and address?"
"James Matherson, 2215 Elm St., Seattle, Washington"
"Thank you, James. So great to speak with a fellow Seattleite! And, if you can provide me with the serial number of the item, I'll investigate what's going on."
"FR567-P01."
"Great, thank you."
*faint sound of typing on keyboard.*
"Well, James, it looks like this unit was updated recently and is broadcasting the all clear signal. I'm not sure exactly what's wrong. Why don't you try placing you thumb on the fingerprint scanner, and it will analyze exactly what you need."
"Ok, let me give it a shot."
*faint sound of shuffling on the phone*
"Oh, it looks like it's working!"
"Excellent! I'll just stay on the line with you to see that everything is all set."
"Well, I'm not really sure what happened. All it did was print out a sheet of paper that says 'Tell her she has a beautiful voice.' Is that supposed to happen? What does that mean?"
"Well, I... I guess so! Is it maybe referring to your wife, or girlfriend? The machine does know what is best for you, after all."
"No, that can't be it, I'm currently single... Oh, it's printing again!"
*sound of printer humming in background*
"Ok, now this one says 'Ask her to dinner.' I don't get it. Is the printer maybe reading someone else?"
*sound of keyboard clacking in the background*
"I'm sorry James, but the printer is very clearly registering your fingerprint."
*sound of printer humming again*
"Well, this is embarassing... Marie, I don't suppose *you* would be interested in maybe meeting up with me for dinner sometime?"
"I.. well, that's very flattering! I've never had a customer ask me out!"
"To be honest, I've never done this either. But 'I'm talking about Marie, you dolt!' is a pretty clear message from the printer. And it *does* know what I need, as you said. So... what do you say?"
*slight pause*
"Well... that would be great! Where shall we meet?"
*printer hums in the background*
"How about Georgio's, tomorrow at 7?"
"That's my favorite! Sounds great; I'll see you then! And thank you for calling the EZ Print Help Line!" | 88 | A 3-D printer that can make anything. However, it only will make what you need, not what you want. | 64 |
Again with the fucking knocking.
"rest in peace".
it's all bollocks, really. You can barely get a couple hundred years into your eternal slumber before some halfwit necromancer with a messiah complex thinks he'll use you in his malicious plot. I'd been part of dozens already; the ill-fated coup of Narlax the Brittle-Boned and the equally unsuccessful assault of Marrrrrr the Tongueless most recently. I doubted this would be any different. We'd lay waste to a few frontier towns and wait around for the king and his men to put us down, then some arsehole squire would try his best to return us to our graves. The only issue is that bones all look the same, so last time I got 'returned' I had legs for arms and some other sorry cunt's knees. Joke's on him, really, I'd had arthritis before.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. The knocking. He'd been at it for a solid twenty minutes now, which did not bode well. If the guy couldn't even dig me out of my shallow grave then how in the world did he expect to take on the Royal Guard. A final crack, and a blinding light.
(the late) Chedwin Firebelly, the original owner of my new knees, had told me in the last coup that you never get used to the light. He'd been a vocal one, but you need that when you're being lead by some prick without a tongue. Every time you see the light, you reckon the gods have changed their minds, that they're taking you up. They aren't, of course. You don't get to the Eternal Orgy on the Sunlit Plains by burning down an orphanage. In my defense, I was drunk.
As memories of screaming infants and the long forgotten taste of grog filled my mind, I felt a thin, bony hand grab my skull. That's another thing that they don't teach in the League of Necromancy : be kind to the eyes. This would-be demigod had punctured my left eyeball and, subsequently, not put his future tool of destruction in the best state of mind.
"Ouch. Easy on the eyes, sunshine" I said. Well, I tried to say it, but two-hundred years of dust in my throat meant that it sounded closer to "gargghhhhh". I think he got the message."Slow yourself, or I'll have you back in the ground faster than you can get that dust off your shoulder."
"Oh Gods, yes, back in the ground, I was in the middle of a delightful dream about Rebecckathy Bloodwynn from my last night at The Barbarian's Brew!" Again, this came out as more of an unintelligible scream, and my pleas fell on death ears. At least now I had a chance to look upon my dark commander.
As necromancers go, I'd seen worse. At least he had a command of the common language, and he seemed evil enough. A heavy, black cloth cloak covered his face, which was illuminated with a sickly-red glow coming from his left eye. A series of scars ran across his white face, each one bringing a thick layer of bloody flesh to the surface. He was, by every stretch of the imagination, exactly what one would expect from a necromancer.
He shook my head up and down, rattling the spiders who'd taken up residence in my skull around and dislodging the dust that had previously prevented me from talking and gestured for me to speak. "Put me back in the ground, arsehole. I'm trying to sleep". This was the kind of eloquent discussion you were entitled to when you disturbed the slumber of an veteran fighter. If you want a poetic 'go-fuck-yourself', resurrect a bard.
"Got some fight in you. I like that. Though from now on you'll hold your tongue around Rodney the Bleak or I shall separate it from your miserable skull". I stifled laughter. Rodney the Necromancer, my new liege. He spoke again, this time with a deeper, more booming voice. Perhaps he'd heard my chuckle and wanted me to instill a sense of awe. "You shall respect your new lord, you miserable sack of bones!"
He was really trying, and I supposed he deserved my compliance. Rules were rules, and as a newly-resurrected member of the undead hordes I was honour-bound to serve him. Not that honour meant much to the dead.
"Certainly, sire. What would you have me do?"
His voice cracked, nervously. "Umm, honestly, I'm not really sure. This is my first time launching a rebellion and I don't know what the protocol is..."
TBC. | 29 | You wake up to the sound of a shovel going *clank* against the lid of your coffin. | 33 |
She stroked my hair as we laid in bed. The look on her face was one I’d never seen. Surely she’d come across this question before. But she just stared at me.
I never thought that with only a few words I would cause the immortal being to be sad. For no matter what she had seen, and she had seen all kinds of things, she always had a smile on her face. In fact, I’ve always wondered if she was a bit of a psychopath. She could even smile as death and destruction would rain down on a crowd of people. But only a broken smile hung off of her face now. The immortal, the woman I fell in love with, was human after all.
“You really want to know what the afterlife is like?” she asked me. “I… I don’t know. I’ve heard many tall tales of the afterlife, but I’ve never believed any of them. I never really gave it much thought, and honestly until now never really needed to.”
She leaned forward and kissed me. I closed my eyes as she did and let my body lay lax.
“But of all the tales I’ve heard,” she began, “the one that seems the most credible is that there is a bright light. And when you embrace it, you go to a place very much unlike our world, one with peace and happiness, and all the things you could want or desire.”
“Wrong,” I whispered.
“What?” she asked, confused. I felt her fingers caress my face, feeling every little detail as my eyes remained closed, my body and soul sucking in every moment that we spent together.
“It won’t have you,” I said. “So it can’t possibly be real. Without you there is no happiness, without you my soul will be in a constant state of torment, always trying to get back to you, because I want you and I need you. I always will. I love you…” I whispered, the last of my words fading away.
The last words I heard as I laid in the hospital bed were ‘I love you too’ distilled by a large amount of sobs. In all my life, I’d never actually seen her cry.
****
Oh yeah, about the afterlife. Not as interesting as you’d think. We’re all just ghosts floating around and when we’re ready, we simply disappear. Most ghosts, even when they meet people from their old lives, don’t like being ghosts. Your emotions are numb, you’re always cold, and you have a habit of enjoying human’s dying. So most, in order to preserve their sanity and humanity, choose to dissipate forever. Rumors of an after afterlife are abundant, of course, and some people do choose to stay ghosts, although after a few years they devolve into something you’d never think was human in the first place.
And why does any of that matter? Well first, I thought you’d like to know. And second, kissing an immortal apparently changes things when you die. I don’t have those negative effects that other ghosts get. And so I’ve stayed a ghost, following my beloved around. She doesn’t know I’m there and she never will. But for all of my life, ever since I could remember, she had been there for me and taken care of me. And now I would be there for her to the end of all times. I know, seeing as though I am sitting here with her, watching as the Earth burns, failing to consume her.
-317 | 12 | An immortal being falls in love with a mortal. What feels like days to it, are years to the human. Until the immortal being faces a question it's never had to ask before, what comes after death? | 16 |
The world is different than his, much different. It feels as though he’s stepped through the dreamscape, like his Dreamseer has chanted him into his tribe’s deep sleep and awoke in another place. Then he remembers that’s exactly what happened. *I am in the dreamworld.* His heart quickens with excitement. He eyes his surroundings and is immediately amazed by what he sees. What he can only assume are flora, stretch upward to impossible heights, their tops disappear in the clouds that part at their tops like water over rock. Yet the flora is nothing like home, a strong base sits at the center of the plant, then skyrockets upward with the greeny life on its limbs.
And the scent – the air is different. Fresh, is the only way he can describe it. The dry smell of home is gone, and instead the world around him is filled with the wetness of the air. But the biggest difference, is the season. Or rather, lack-there-of.
Back home, behind the veil of the dreamscape, it is winter. The bushes have changed in color and shed their leaves. The world is setting up for a deep hibernation. A deep dream.
Winter is here, but its indications are not. The chill has set it, yet the large, tall bushes keep their color. He bends down and picks up some of the flora that has fallen from the towering behemoths. *Green,* he thinks. *Green in winter.* They feel like needles, the same kind his grandma uses when mending his clothing.
*Who are you,* a voice calls to him. He quickly turns, startled, eyes wide with surprise. Yet no one is there. No one is around him, he is alone.
*Who are you,* the voice says again. He takes one more glance around.
*I am here,* the voice says to him.
“Where?” He shouts. “I cannot see you,” more quietly.
*I am all. What you see is where I reside.*
“I see nothing but bush, grass and a half fallen winter. Come out, show yourself!” He grips the handle of his axe tightly, waiting for an ambush. *Knowing* it’s an ambush. Dreamscape may be a dream, but there is as much danger here as there is in his own dreaming world.
*I am all.* The voice repeats, he can’t figure out where it was coming from, it seems to be coming from everywhere.
“What is your name?”
*I have no name, for I am all.* It responds. *Though if it serves your thought process, you may call me Tree. For I am here.*
With the final statement, the voice came from his right. He turned to follow where it came from and saw a massive plant. Its base would take fifteen people to get around the whole of it if they locked hand-in-hand. Unlike the rest of the plants around, its base never seemed to get thinner, even when it disappeared in the clouds above.
“You are Tree.” The dreamscape traveler says. “Your world is very different than mine. We have never seen… “ He searches for a minute, “Trees such as these.”
*And I have never seen one such as you. You move quick, but seem frail. How do you stand against the mighty wind? How do survive the cruel winters? I see no roots to your trunk.* Its voice was slow and steady.
“I have shelter for the winters, and a jacket for the wind. My roots are held in my past. How do you eat, with no mouth to feed?”
*I am all, my roots run beneath you till the end of this world. Each-* the voice moves to another tree behind him – *are connected.*
When he turns to follow the voice it moves again.
*For I am all. The sun gives me our food, and the clouds bestow their nurture.*
“Amazing…” the boy says, now sliding his small axe back into his belt. “You are all connected.”
*I am all,* the Tree agreed.
“They’ll never believe me back home. Flora as high as the sky! Who could come up with a world so grand? How long have you been here?”
*I am familiar with the concept of time, though I am unsure you can conceptualize the time I have become familiar with. This world has gone through billions of cycles, and I have witnessed them all, for I am all.*
He began to ask another question when the world began to shake at the periphery of his vision. It blurred around the edges and lost its focus. Everything seemed to be washed in a thin layer of water. He tried to rub it from his eyes but it was to no avail. “My dreamsleep is ending, great Tree. I hate to go, but I have no choice, these things do not abide by our will or want.”
*I don’t understand.*
“Neither do I. Please, how can I show everyone what I’ve seen here? Before it’s too late.”
*Look to your feet and you will find a part of me.*
He looked down and saw nothing but stones and grass. Things were harder to see now, a black veil had been thrown over everything as if dusk had fallen. He couldn’t quite concentrate, he rubbed his eyes again and tried to shake it off.
“I see nothing, but rocks and dirt.”
*Look harder, and find a stone the color of my arms.*
Then he saw it, a pebble no bigger than the palm of his hand, it was elongated and had ridges and bumps on the side of it. He ran his fingers over it and regarded it’s impossibly intricate simplicity.
*That is part of me, dig a small hole and plant that seed. In time I will grow and possibly become what I am here.*
The traveler is practically blind now, his vision was blurred and started to shake. The Tree’s voice seemed a distant memory, echoing in his subconscious like a dream he was starting to forget.
“Will I talk to you again?” he calls out desperately.
*Plant the seed. We will speak. I will bind this world to yours and we will speak.*
“But how?”
*How?* The tree responds. *Because I am all.*
| 20 | On a world with wildly different climate zones, intelligent species evolve in each, ignorant of each other. Today, an explorer from one species meets a member of another. | 51 |
"She's a monster. Her DNA is the same as the Xenophobes who birthed her. It's in her nature to kill!" The insectoid's antennae shook with fury as she conributed her voice to the discussion. Of course, she had reason to be furious. Most of her hive had been lost during the battle of Proxima Centauri.
It was a furry creature, a former slave of the Betelgeuse mines, who provided a voice of dissent. "If we kill this child, are we any better than the apes?"
"You mammalians are too emotional." Replied the insect, hovering in the air over the gathered crowd. "Kill the creature, before it kills us all!"
Around the room, those with hands applauded, while others made noise by beating their wings or buzzing electrically. Her opinion was popular among the alien creatures. The room was at a fever pitch, and then a faint mist settled over it. A voice spoke.
Those in the room knew who possessed it. A lifeform based on Xenon, Ponisis could not hold a physical form. During the war he had remained neutral, if only because he possessed no means for carrying a weapon. The humans had -quite literally- run into him during a conquest of the galactic core. He was neither enslaved nor trusted by them. Once the humans had been defeated, he offered to serve as arbitrator, to decide what would be done with the species' final specimen.
"The one with green-fur has a point" he said, heard by each of those in the room in their own native tongue, rather than the Earthian language that had been forced upon them. "Perhaps we cannot kill the human."
"Perhaps you cannot." Hissed a reptillian male, "But why should we show mercy? The humans killed my species. Enslaved us to work so that they could continue their hate-fueled conquest. The universe would be better without her like."
Another mammalian took her turn. "We should enslave her! Force her to work as her ancestors forced us!" By now, her brother had dropped his original protest, if only in fear of the mob. "Humans are scum, and THAT is how they must be treated!"
"Have you seen the other Earth-apes?" Said another. "They're all uncultured monsters!"
"And somehow they were able to enslave all of your miserable species!"
The room turned its attention now to the unwelcome visitor. His name was Modin, and he'd earned his fortune fighting with, and then against the humans. He was a robot; it was the humans who had built him. Most non-humans viewed him as a degenerate traitor, one who had only changed sides once the fight was already won. Modin argued, however, that without the measures he had taken to cripple the human's homeworld, they may very well have won the war. He was part of this discussion as a formality.
"I challenge you to repeat that again." Said the female insectoid, raising a stinger in front of Modin's abdomen. He looked past her when he replied.
"Ponisis, could you please direct her back to the chair? She's blocking my light."
That would prove to be unnecessary, as she did it herself. Ponisis then allowed Modin to continue.
"Thank you." He said with a human politeness, nodding his head toward the mist. "Now, if you will please prevent from stinging me, biting me, injecting me with venom, or forcing my circuits to explode, I would like to propose an idea.
"If you look around this room we're in right now, you can see the proof that humans were not a simple-minded species. They had vision, ambition, and the intelligence to accomplish both. How else were they able to control the galaxy, when no race had ever controlled more than half before? It is because humans are genetically predisposed to conquest."
"Which is why we should kill them." Buzzed the insect, curling herself into an aggressive position. She wanted it to be clear that if the robot should step out of line, it would be the last action he took.
"Perhaps. But where you see evil, I see opportunity. Again, look around you. The humans built this world, like they built everything in this galaxy. They were the ones to invent the proton-train. They were the ones to terraform worlds to suit their biology. They're far and away, the most intelligent species to ever come about."
"So what do you propose, then?" Said the reptilian male. "We should just keep her alive?"
"Yes. We should keep her alive and take advantage of her human intelligence. As long as there is only one of her, we have little to worry about."
"Perhaps being robotic has caused you to forget," said one of the mammals in protest, "But she's as mortal as the rest of us."
"Yes, she is. But she has a womb. From that, she can birth other humans. All we need is the sperm of a human male, which is something that they took the liberty of preserving for us."
Ponisis lifted his misty figure to the top of the room now, and let the attention focus on the humanoid creature with the human-saving idea. Minds were beginning to come around to Modin's side of things. Save the human, and enslave her mind.
Modin left the room as the voting occurred, and he let out a mechanical laugh when the proposal passed. He looked over to the misty figure next to him. "I suppose they'll put the child under your care, being impartial and immortal as you are."
"I suppose they will." Replied Ponisis.
"Just remember to take good care of her. For us to win this war, we need her offspring to fight well."
------
EDIT: So, I said that I might get back to this at some point and add more to it, and I might do that at some point. But it won't be for a while. Since some of you I know have the reminder bot bringing you back here though, I didn't want to leave you guys without anything. So, [here's a link](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2lhfxm/wp_it_is_the_distant_future_and_it_has_become/clux60y) to another sci-fi prompt, which I responded to last week. I consider it much more well-written than this one, which was very rushed. Have a great weekend! :) | 153 | an infant. | 155 |
“The great pacifism,” Doctor Kleine began, “what exactly is it?” He turned to the audience of cheerful scholars, flicking the next slide on the projection display behind him. “We believe that somewhere in the early 21st century, the genetic modification of corn had introduced a gene into the human RNA which caused docility with the introduction of sugars.” He clicked the laser once again. “Notice here, is a perfectly healthy mouse, being fed an average diet. All the usual fats, proteins, vitamin exchanges. We drop him into the water, and he scrambles for dear life, and finds the island in..” The doctor counts. “Oh, 9.2 seconds or so.” – “Here is a mouse that has been fed on the Standard American Diet, 100% genetically, modified corn, extremely high in sugars.” The audience gasped. “Yes, my friends, it appears that, in our haste to feed the world, the pharma-genetics labs have been a bit short-sighted. The RNA sequences shown here, translocate to the key areas responsible for higher reasoning, and even the desire to live; they have been atrophied with the introduction of sugar. In the autopsy of the second mouse, we found that his last moments, it was thinking of consuming sugar, as the neurotransmitters associated with dopamine desire were all highly active.” He clicks the slide.
“Here is a chart of the crime rates within the United States within the last hundred years.” He clicks the slide again. “Here is a chart of obesity rates.” He clicks the slide once more. “Here is a chart, overlaying the introduction of genetically modified sugars, the obesity rates, and the crime rates.” The audience began to clap, rising in volume.
“I believe Alduous Huxley once spoke of a Brave New World, where our senses would always be indulged, and our bellies full of soma, and I believe gentlemen, and gentle-ladies, that we have achieved this beautiful, brave, new world.”
“Violence no longer exists, not only in America, but all over the Earth.” He stepped down from the podium, and took a bow to thunderous applause. | 16 | The crime rate in the US is dropping. It keeps on dropping. It drops to zero. | 17 |
"Ain't nobody got time for dat."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, ist just an old Internet meme, it..."
"No, I mean you reject your rightful place as the King of all English?"
"Yeah, I guess. What does rightful mean anyway? Supreme executive power derives from the Mandate of the masses, not some fucking Sword stuck in a Stone."
"But... It's your rightful place!"
"Again with the "rightful" stuff. Elisabeth is Queen because she is descended from William the Conquerer. And how did he get the crown? He defeateded Edward the confessor. Yes, he had some excuse about an oath, but how did Edwards ancestors get the crown? They conquered England. All around Europe, the monarchs are just people descended from some guys with big Armies that were more successful at opressing the People. There is no such thing as a rightful Monarch, never has been, never will be."
"But... you must oust the false Queen Elisabeth. We must tell everyone she has no right to the throne!"
"Wow you are thick. I mean, we now already that Edward IV was probably a bastard, so some guy in Australia has more claim to it than she. But guess what, no one gives a shit. And no one will care that I found a fucking Sword in a Stone. Let me put it this way:
A common soldier is surrounded by a priest, a King and a rich man..."
"We have HBO in heaven, what is your Point?"
"My Point is all this buisness about Kings and Queens is a trick, a shadow against a wall. I can be the most "rightful" King ever, no one will care about pressing my claim. I mean I'm not even from England for fucks sake, I just came here to visit."
"But you must take your place as the King."
"Okay, fine. I, Prince_of_Savoy the first, rightful King of all the English, Lord Protector of the Realm and holder of titles, hereby declare the monarchy dissolved. The People of England are to decide their own fate from now, including slecting a new Monarch by whatever criteria they see fit. Done."
"But..."
"I said done, if I ever was King, I'm not anymore. For fucks sake I just want to take a walk in peace and quiet! You know what fuck you and fuck England, I'm going home. Can I still keep the sword though? I always wanted to own a real sword." | 12 | On a walk through a nearby forest, you find the Sword in the Stone. You are able to pull it free, and a heavenly choir declares you the rightful King of England. Then what? | 19 |
“A meditation clinic?”
“Yeah, a meditation clinic.”
“I don’t get that. A meditation clinic? I mean, I get the meditation thing, but I don’t get the clinical aspect of it. Clinic denotes some type of scientific basis, not a bunch of new age, feel good, step-mom who smokes pot woo-woo bullshit.”
“Well, people pay for classes, they show up, some jerk-off in a bathrobe tells them to concentrate on their breathing, and they call these things clinics.”
“And when was the last known drop-off? Anything since the meeting at the wharf on the 23rd?”
“No, that was it. We thought maybe they were switching up their routines, that they were getting smart. But we’ve been tailing Jimmy and Robert. They’ve gone absolutely no where except their respective apartments, and their brand-spanking-new meditation clinic.”
“Interesting. They open a meditation clinic, they find their dharma, and they drop out of a multi-million dollar cocaine operation. Like finding Jesus, but cooler.”
“Dharma? So you actually do know about that woo-woo bullshit.”
“Well, yeah, I took a few college classes. Meditation is very useful practice. Maybe you should try it sometime, help you get some fucking clarity.”
The waitress came over for the fifth time and refilled the two investigators’ cups of coffee. They each took a sip and watched the window for a minute.
“I thought you said there was no scientific basis for it.”
“For what? Meditation? There doesn’t have to be. Haven’t you ever heard of the placebo effect?”
“So what now? We’re going to ditch the whole operation? Jackson's getting a bit antsy. He’s wondering why we haven’t seen anything, and he’s saying we need those surveillance vehicles elsewhere if we’re just going to collect another couple of months’ worth of pizza and Chinese take-out orders.”
“No, I’ve got an idea. We’ll pull the old David Koresh-type move. When you’ve got religion involved, it’s pretty easy to slap any old charge you can dream up on them. We don’t need to convict him with anything. We just need to see if there are drugs on the premises. We’ll say we heard an allegation of a plot against the federal government, that he was trying to start a polygamist colony in Bolivia. It don’t matter.”
“Jesus, you’re a cynical bastard. I thought you said you meditated. Aren’t Buddhists about, you know, hippie shit. Live and let live. Walk around in the world, spreading peace, living in the moment, that type of crap.”
“Yes, I do meditation. Haven’t you seen any Kung Fu movies? Those guys are always Buddhists, and they always kick major ass. Look how fucking centered I am right now.”
They paid the bill, got up, and left.
| 224 | Drug dealers have opened up a front business to mask their illegal activity only to realize that the front business is their true passion and calling in life. | 569 |
(I'm gonna twist your words a bit, sorry)
I used to be "sane" once. I'll bet you think you're sane, sitting there in your office chair, slightly bored, but mostly content. You're a relatively successful member of society, you think. You've never been arrested for murder or arson or some awful crime. You aren't thrilled with your job, but it's respectable and keeps bread on the table.
Yeah, I used to be like you too. I had a family, two kids. Nice house. I worked as a graphics editor for a magazine. I can't remeber any names now, they all stopped visiting some time ago. Being with a mentally unstable person can be a drain. I get it. I'm a loon, sure. But a reasonable one.
Have you ever actually been inside a mental hospital? It's fascinating here. There's a woman who believes she's a professional sword swallower, and the staff can't put anything not food near her, lest she choke on another fork. She told me she wanted to be famous like Marilyn Monroe.
There's another man in here, a musiscian. He spends all night screaming and pounding the walls. People think he's angry at something. He's not, he's in anguish over the fact he can't play music. He tries to make instruments out of anything- the frozen peas in a package made convincing maracas.
I've heard tell of another man who lives in solitary. The staff calls him The Clock, because he keeps perfect time, always saying *tick tock, tick tock* all day, and chiming on the hour and half hour. If you try to stop him, he apparently goes berserk and throws things. I wonder if he counts the hours to his death, or lunch, or just because. Quite curious.
My quirk? Well, I have schizophrenia. I hear voices, see things that aren't there. It's horrible. Sometimes I hear the Devil tell me to rape my wife and drown my children, over and over. Sometimes it's just screaming. I've gotten better at blocking it out, but it's very stressful.
Here's the thing about brains- they're infinitely complicated. Imagine it like a car engine, millions of cogs and tubes and all sorts of things.
If one part breaks, you're boned. I used to be normal, and one thing goes wrong, and I keep thinking the Queen of Enfland is coming for tea.
I think "insane" is a stupid term. Our brains have broken, and we're reacting in rational ways to our irrational stimuli.
You think you're above me? Just remember, you're only one cog breaking, one tiny slip-up away from being in the nutter like me.
Your brain could break at any time. *Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick* | 22 | In a world where everyone is crazy, write about the patients in a sane asylum. | 46 |
"So, here we are."
I was astounded, here was a man that people argued over sitting in my mind. This was one of my stranger dreams, except it didn't feel like a dream.
"I need your help, Mr. Smith. People think I'm some sort of all powerful being. Honestly? I don't really care. This was more a science experiment than anything else. You people have become far too dependent on the thought of a higher power versus believing in yourselves."
Well, straight to the bombshell I suppose, no dancing around the issue.
"I need you to help me, change their minds. Make them focus again on each other, rather than a higher power. Make them believe in community again. It's simple."
Simple?! Understatement of the century. Perhaps the entire existence of humanity.
"Good luck, Mr. Smith. It won't be easy, you will be mocked. I believe that the people who follow you will eventually be the best of humanity."
He paused before standing, then walking out into the beacon of light that was the doorway in my dream world.
"Fuck if I know though, I don't know everything. Best of luck!" | 17 | God comes to you in your sleep and explains he is not who everyone thinks he is. He asks you to do a favor for him... | 20 |
The trick is not to ask for too much.
Of course, that's a lot more complicated than it sounds. Say there's something I absolutely need. Some money. A car. Food. I dial the number, tell it my order, and the next time no one's looking, there it is. Just sitting there like it's nothing weird.
But is weird, and people aren't stupid. When they first gave me the wrong number at the hotel, nobody noticed when I ordered a steak dinner and it appeared out of nowhere. That's because no one cares about steak dinners. They're delicious, but overall insignificant.
Now, when I played with it for a while after that and eventually ordered a Lamborghini, that's pretty significant. The hotel manager noticed I left in a different car. My mother noticed when I showed up at her place with roses and a beautiful pearl necklace. My landlord noticed when I paid a year's rent in advance, straight cash.
After all that, I got a lot of attention. Bad attention, from the police, and even the FBI. I think the only reason I got away is because when I asked for plane tickets to the Bahamas, however the number got them, it wasn't trackable.
Travel was good, though. As long as you don't try to go through customs with more luggage than you had when you left, they don't really care. After that, who's to say if you had a Lamborghini before you arrived, or that you had anything else for that matter. I got most of what I have now, from traveling just that one time.
After that, I'd learned my lesson. Exactly what I needed, no more, no less. And if it would be too ostentatious, I either exercised my restraint, or got creative. Like when I decided I wanted a yacht. Asking for enough money to buy a yacht would have been almost as conspicuous as having one appear in the ocean behind my house. So instead, I asked for the winning lottery ticket numbers. To my surprise, I got them, written in cursive on a neat, high quality piece of paper.
Since then, I've learned there's a lot of things you can ask for that you can't get, at least directly. I tried asking for papers, so I could return to the United States under a different name. Instead, I got an address in the Bahamas, with instructions on what to ask for, and how much money to bring.
Since then, I've been back here, exploring the limits of it all. When I get bored, I'll just see how far I can push it. I think that the most surprising thing that it ever gave me directly would have to be the President's left shoe. I mean, I can only assume it's his, or else it didn't give me exactly what I asked for, and it never does that. I keep it on a shelf.
Lately though, I've been getting lonely. So I tried asking the number for a girlfriend. To nobody's surprise, it didn't produce my perfect woman out of nowhere. However, it did give me instructions. It told me to come to this URL and tell my story, and to say, hi, Melissa. | 24 | A guy/gal finds a mysterious number in their phone. It turns out to be a number for room service that will bring them anything, anywhere. | 38 |
In the free markets of today, they say there are only two unstoppable forces. Corruption and negligence. Ironically, a company will usually become negligent of its own corruption and spill all the beans along with the baby, bathwater and even the bathpan. This is how Henry found himself spending a rainy Tuesday assigned to the largest auto meat factory in continental United States.
The problem was apparent before he even stepped inside. It was broken. More accurately, everything was broken. As if all the machines had given up at the exact some time. Just like a room full of busy people waiting to see if they can just go home and enjoy dinner. Nobody wants to be the first one to move but as soon as somebody looks like they might stand up, half the room has their coats on and is out the door.
So to, did all the systems in the factory fail at the same time. The MEATIFYER 3000 (as happily proclaimed on the side of the machine) had burst at the seams and had invented a whole slew of new seams. The conveyor belts had all decided they had become tired of running circles and had all decided to test exactly how far they could travel in a straight line. The result? Really bloody far. Nevertheless, one machine stood alone in the carnage untouched. No name or markings. Henry was drawn to it.
It's understandable that Henry was confused. You see, unlike one would expect, this plant didn't actually produce any meat. The actual process was quite complicated, involved time travel, alternate universes and, of course, the satanic burning of copious cookbooks. Alas, satanic rituals are generally bad for business and hard to get FDA approved. Thus, MEAT Inc needed a front. They commissioned a bunch of noisy but useless machines and the executives were left to count their piles of money. Of course, if you asked anyone at MEAT Inc, they would vehemently deny everything. This is mainly due to the fact that the last surviving person who knew the plot made a drunken bet against the devil and lost (though that is another tale entirely)
Along with the rest of the world, Henry had no knowledge of these events and at this moment of time was standing in a sea of very broken, very noisy, extraordinarily useless machines. Of the many reactions one could have to such a scene, Henry chose one of the better ones and opened his notebook, flipped to a new page and stared at it blankly. He then closed his notebook and stared at mystery machine in front of him. Finally he settled on "Huh." and figured that just about covered it.
Henry had just decided to write the whole thing off when the machine opened, revealing the spacetime portal that ran the whole operation (the demonic book burning was located off site.) Never to be one to turn down to call of adventure, Henry stood frozen in place by fear where a normal person would have fled as if their pants were alight. Slowly a man emerged from the depths. Clothed in something akin to gangsta bling combined with a military uniform, the man was entirely out of place.
"Henry?" The man inquired? "Come with me." And he thoughtless stepped back through the giant rift in the universe that was currently causing Henry true distress.
If it was fate or an ultimate plan that set the next events in motion, nobody save god will ever know. It was at this exact moment that the Belt Clipper Deluxxxe overheated and triggered the fire safety system. Being entirely a coverup, this plant did not have the normal fire safety system one would expect. In the event of malfunction, the plant was designed to erupt in a glorious inferno and hide any evidence of wrongdoing. Henry soon found himself between a metaphorical rock and a hot place. As he backed from the cleansing blaze he tripped into the portal and this started his first true adventure. | 165 | The production of meat for human consumption has been fully automated for decades. The largest factory has suddenly stopped producing. You are the technician assigned to troubleshoot, and are the first person to enter the plant in over 20 years. | 272 |
Triangle, Triangle, Square, Circle, X, L1, L1, Down, Up.
Suddenly A VTOL appeared out of nowhere.
"He did it... But how?" A baffled general said from a safe distance.
"I don't know sir!" Lieutenant Barley said with a flabbergasted expression.
R1, R2, L1, R2, Left, Down, Right, Up, Left, Down, Right, Up.
Enough weapons to supply a small group of people suddenly appeared 2 meters in the air over the subject.
"We might be able to turn the war in our favor with this!" A now visibly excited general said.
"General. What is he doing now?" Lieutenant Barley said as he pointed towards the subject, who standing 200 meters away.
L1, L2, R1, R2, Up, Down, Left, Right, L1, L2, R1, R2, Up, Down, Left, Right.
A jet pack landed on the ground in front of the subject with a thump.
"Surely he can't be doing..." the general said before stopping. The subject began to put on the jet pack. "Somebody stop that man!" The general said, waving his arms around, trying to command his already wounded units.
"We can't stop that man, general. No one can." Lieutenant Barley said as the subject flew away with his jet pack, flipping the bird as he disappeared into the horizon | 30 | You find out that war is just like video games but for some reason nobody else knows this. As a soldier you use this knowledge to your advantage. | 47 |
Like those old Disney movies, where the dog-catcher chases the mutt across the city with a big pool-cleaning net, and trips over his own feet, and the dog slips through the chain-link fence and finds the kid without a dad and they become the best of friends. Except they catch people, and they have more than just nets, and when they drag you in they do worse things than give you a painless little injection, send your corpse to the crematorium. Much worse things.
I saw the van pull up from the corner of my eye. I should have moved quicker, as soon as I saw that flash of movement. Only when Jeremiah’s footsteps came thundering past did I turn to see the Section 4 insignia on the side of the van, and by then Jeremiah was ten or twenty steps ahead of me, and they were going to take one of us, and that was going to be the slower one. If you’re being chased by a wolf you only need to be faster than the slowest guy, but there were only two of us.
I ran hard, the cold sharp air punching my lungs, my boots ringing on the concrete. I heard the door of the van slam shut as one of them lept out. The other ripped down the street in the van to circle around towards Van Dyke street. I went left down an alley, and Jeremiah was still ahead of me, scrambling over a dumpster to get to the roof of a low building. A dead end for him. I went farther down the alley, tried the door to my right. It opened. I ran into a Chinese restaurant. An ageless, sage looking man chopped celery, an American radio talk show playing. He turned to me and started screaming, waving his knife around. I ran past him.
I was homeless, and therefore a mutt, and therefore expendable in the name of science and progress. First they emptied out the prisons, and now they were cleaning the streets. If I had an honorable discharge instead of an dishonorable discharge I wouldn’t be here. I would have stood by, shown my card to the people-catcher.
I ran out into the street. The van stood there, just ahead of me. Another man opened the side door and jumped out. I ran hard down to the corner. I heard the hiss of air as a tranquillizer dart zipped past my head. The second one found its mark, a slightly pinch just behind and above the knee, in that hard knot of muscle. I got another fifteen hard steps in before my muscles turned to mush. My face smacked the concrete. I looked at the cigarette filters, the blackened gum, the five-day-old newspaper. I coulnd’t move my head, so I just stared at them, panic and a sudden drowsiness battling for control over me. I saw boots, heard the heavy breathing above me.
“Alright fella,” he said. I heard the van pull up behind me. He and another man grabbed me and threw me in the back. The door closed. When I woke up, I was in a white room, one wall made out of thick glass. A scientist and an intern stood on the other side. They watched me. I looked around. There was still a faint smudge of blood on the wall, on the floor near the door. I looked at the crook of my elbow. A little cotton swab taped in place with a Goofy Band-Aid, the kind my pediatrician used to give me after a shot as a child. I wondered what had happened to the previous occupant, about the blood on the ground and the wall, how long before it happened to me.
| 322 | A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe. In response, the world's governments lifted all legal, moral, and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger. You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this. | 791 |
Soovant hid in the shadow of a cliff. A comet was a difficult thing to hide on, especially when you are a space whale. But Soovant was determined not to be seen. The Question Marks were out there, somewhere, hunting. They had already taken the rest of his pod.
The space whale pod had made this comet their home years ago. It was small, but it was better than drifting aimlessly in space. It was also easy to lift off from, due to its low gravity. Soovant didn't want to get trapped in a gravity well, like the Earthbound.
Now, this comet didn't seem like a good home after all. The whale hunters, the Question Marks, had come. There were few places to hide, and they ambushed the pod without warning. They knew Soovant was here, it was only a matter of time until they found him.
There was a scraping noise from the other side of the cliff. One of the Question Marks was coming around. There was no escape now...
Suddenly, there was a flash of light. A small star was moving off in the distance. It almost seems to be approaching. Soovant hard the Question Mark pause. It must have seen the start too.
The star grew bigger and bigger, until Soovant could see two large, rectangular wings coming off the sides of it. The wings glinted in the sun, like glass. There had been no noise from the Question Mark for a while, it must be worried about this new start object. Perhaps this was Soovant's opportunity to escape.
Careful not to make a sound, Soovant moved around the cliff away from the Question Mark. As he was preparing to lift off, he saw another Question Mark on the cliff, harpoon ready. Soovant couldn't escape that way. Not yet.
The object in the sky had stopped, but it looked like something had come out of it, like it had given birth to a three legged metal creature. Soovant the space whale had never seen anything so strange. The small creature was moving, it seemed to be coming straight for the comet.
Closer and closer the object came. Soovant could hear commotion on the other side of the cliff. The Question Marks were leaving, scared of by this little metallic savior!
Once the Question Marks were gone, Soovant decided to come out of hiding and thank the little creature. It was then Soovant noticed something terrifying. The creature had two enormous harpoons on its underside, now pointing straight at Soovant. Soovant froze. There was nothing he could do. The creature got closer and closer, it could fire at any moment.
Closer and closer... closer and closer... Why hadn't it fired yet? Closer and closer... *wham!* The creature hit Soovant at full force and bounced off. It didn't fire its harpoons. Perhaps it was friendly after all. It just needed to use Soovant as a soft landing pad. That was ok, it hardly hurt at all. Decidedly worth it, considering it had scared away the Question Marks.
The creature came to rest over where Soovant had hid initially. It was time to introduce himself. Perhaps they could be friends.
EDIT: What did I just write?!
EDIT 2: Everything I know about the comet landing I learned from the XKCD comic on the subject. | 10 | You live on comet 67P, and Rosetta has arrived. | 15 |
Are we allowed to re-use relevant answers? [I previously wrote one very similar to this](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2m2k1p/wp_you_have_been_enjoying_life_in_heaven_for_over/)
> I've got to die again," I finally realized.
> How I ended up back on Earth, or why I was sent back, is a mystery I couldn't solve. It's probably just a cruel joke ('cause this is exactly the type of shit that St. Matthew likes to pull). If I was sent back with a mission, wouldn't they have told me what I was supposed to do? I tried prayer and every other method of communication I could think of. But it was silent.
> I knew I needed to get home, and I eventually realized that I could only do that through death. Suicide wasn't an option. That would be the easiest, of course. But everyone knows that suicide is a sin, which wouldn't get me back into Heaven. So, I had to find another way to end my life...
> First, I tried extreme sports. Scuba diving, skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing, the works. I even tried this "extreme ironing" fad. Everyone kept trying to give me safety equipment, but I just laughed. Being dangerously reckless wasn't the same as suicidal. I love technicalities! But alas, these sports weren't dangerous enough. Tons of fun, but no injuries.
> Next, I tried to find a more dangerous career. Did you know that the most dangerous careers are also the most boring? I mean, who would have thought that fishermen faced more danger than a stuntman? I tried being a pilot, but the most dangerous thing that happened to me was spilling some hot coffee. Being a logger was OK; lots of fresh air, but zero bear attacks. Eventually I realized that maybe workplace hazards weren't the fastest way home.
> So I became a vigilante. Best of both worlds, right? Cops hated me and bad guys hated me. Eventually one would shoot me, I figured. I stopped crimes and beat up criminals. I waltzed miraculously through shootouts completely unharmed. Probably St. Matthew, fucking with me again. Damn his blessed protections. I became so infamous in the city that the cops gave me a medal, and the bad guys were too afraid to ever come after me. Some of them even left town! It's incredibly frustrating to be so well regarded.
> Where else could I constantly face death? Of course: the Army! I signed up immediately, and they had me over to Afghanistan in 2 months. Finally, some action, I thought. Roadside bombs, snipers, insurgents: this place had it all! I volunteered for the most dangerous jobs, and was always in the thick of the firefight, but no luck! All I managed to do was to protect a bunch of critical infrastructure and schools. So what? I'd never been more disappointed than the day I received the Congressional Medal of Honor.
> Eventually, I made up my mind: the only way to die was to become President. Did you know that America has had 8 presidents die in office, out of only 44 total? That's an 18% mortality rate! Definitely the way to go home. So I worked my way up the ladder. House of Representatives, Senate, Attorney General, Secretary of State. Finally it was my turn. The primaries were a cinch, and the election itself was a breeze. At my inauguration, I was sure that I was just on the cusp of going home!
> 8 years later, and no such luck. Sure, we reformed education and had a balanced budget. Sure, we worked out the Israel/Palestine conflict, and sure, inequality in America was at an all time low when I left office. What did it matter? 0 successful assassination attempts.
> Finally, I grew old and grey. I guess I'd be going upstairs just like all the other schlubs who died due to old age. With friends, family, and admirers crowded around me, I finally kicked the bucket.
> I was greeted at the Pearly Gates not by St. Peter, but Jesus himself. St. Matthew was peeking through the fence behind him, making faces at me. Jesus nodded sagely and said "Well done, my child. I knew I could count on you to do good works down there. The last three that I sent died almost immediately."
| 13 | You died and found yourself in the afterlife, a paradise that you never could have dreamed of. Suddenly, you jolt awake on a hospital bed and the doctor tells you that your trust in cryonics finally payed off. | 34 |
Dave threw his coat over the empty hook on the coat rack and locked the door behind him. The apartment was clean as usual, but the couch where Emma usually sat watching reruns of Gilmore Girls sat empty. Beyond the faint sound of running water from the master bathroom, it was silent. Dave dumped his keys and phone on the banister and walked into the bedroom. Steam was seeping through the partly cracked bathroom door and he knew something was wrong. Emma loved routine; it was part of what made her Emma. And Emma didn’t shower at 5 pm on a Wednesday. He pushed the door open the rest of the way, too concerned to be bothered by the sudden wave of heat and humidity.
“Emma? Hun?” He spoke toward the shower, hearing no movement from behind the curtain. When she didn’t reply, he pulled it open part way, his heart pounding in his chest. But Emma was there, safe, sitting in the stream of hot water, her knees bent to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around them. She looked up at him and didn’t need to say a word. He saw the pain in her eyes. His chest clenched tight for a moment and he knelt down, sliding in under the beat of the hot water and pulling her in against his chest. Only then did Emma begin to sob, her whole body shaking. She turned to wrap her arms around his neck and neither of them spoke. Dave just held her tight, his lips against the top of her head, rocking gently back and forth for his own comfort as much as hers. She rarely let her vulnerability show through like this, naked and small against his fully clothed form. The water streamed over them and mixed with Dave's own tears as they clung to each other. When the water started to turn cold, he reached up to turn the knob, the sudden silence of the bathroom drawing them back to reality. He stepped out of the shower, turning back to wrap Emma in a warm towel. She stood, looking at the floor, as he shed his dripping clothes.
“Why did it have to be this way?” She asked, in a voice no more than a whisper.
Dave turned back, lifting her into his arms to carry her to the bed. “I wish I knew, Emma. It still feels like a dream to me.”
As he settled on the bed next to her and she began to breathe more easily in sleep, he stared across the room at the white bassinet against the wall. Its pristine white veneer glared out from the falling twilight, a ghost of something that would never come to be.
*Formatting
| 38 | Write an intimate but non sexual scene between two lovers. | 37 |
And here, Ladies and Gentlemen, is our newest exhibit.
Born in the late 1990s "Dave" came to us late last year but required extra work to form his perfect habitat. It was initially hoped that Dave might be suitable for one of our famous breeding programs, due to his inability to find a mate in the wild. However his response was less than favourable. He repelled both male and female mates and seemed greatly distressed by the directness of their specially designed mating rituals. Even when we slowed the program and dialled back on the number of suitors, all offers by mates were rejected.
Our keepers were confused but undeterred. At the time of his capture, Dave had been found to be taking part in ritualised killing games. Whilst he possessed none of the physical ability that usually characterises our hunting program, it was felt that, with some adaptation, we could satisfy his base impulse and fulfil his desires. This was truly disastrous. When the program began, Dave appeared to engage well at first. Using the gunpowder tools the program had provided him with he proceeded to shoot a variety of simulants. However he quickly became distressed upon shooting a humanoid simulant and becoming covered in its blood. In fact he was so devastated that he attempted self destruction. Of course the program wouldn't let him but it left us in a true pickle.
It was Dr. Okawa who suggested we try a different tack. She had been studying Dave's profile carefully ever since the problems began, paying particular attention to why he was downgraded and placed with us. She posited that Dave had protested against the initiative because he had depressive tendencies, particularly when it came to work. He was disruptive because he felt depowered. She showed the pattern of high intelligence yet failing grades, high skills yet barely class 8 positions.
Work began then on our most ambitious habitat ever. We made a world much like our own. It's cities were like ours, its simulants scans of real volunteers, its every part perfectly accurate. Accurate bar one detail. Dave would succeed. If Dave went to be an actor, he'd get hired. If Dave wanted a girlfriend, he'd find the perfect woman instantly. If Dave decided he didn't want to work, the world would let him be. It was perfect.
The problem with calling something perfect is that nothing can ever be perfect. So it was that the new habitat was given to Dave with much aplomb and media attention. Our biggest, brightest, best habitat ever. No expense spared for the downgraded. Dave attempted self destruction within three days.
We perhaps should have seen the signs when we heard Dave was from the 90s but, with the declining popularity of action films in light of the peace initiative, how were we meant to immediately think of an obscure film called The Matrix. We knew then also that Dave would not accept a merely modified version of the program he had just been presented.
The breakthrough came with another lesser known film, Inception. It was an answer so simple we couldn't believe we hadn't thought of it earlier. Dave rejected the breeding because he knew it was unreal, his confidence such that he believed himself unlovable. He rejected the hunting habitat as it was too real and he realised that he wasn't what the habitat was telling him he was. He rejected reality because he could see the patterns at play and knew the plot at work.
So we let him go deeper. Whenever Dave's mind rejects a habitat he finds out that it is not real and finds a way to make it to "reality", the next habitat. He can sometimes walk between a hundred different habitats a day, each another downgrade's plane of existence. He's even learnt to retain some of the knowledge of each habitat he passes through so he has more control of the next. Where he obsessed with playing games, he now makes others the players. Where he refused to work, he now derives pleasure from proving his reality is false. Where he was depowered, he now has the greatest control over his habitat of any of our downgraded.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Dave the Planeswalker. | 134 | Humanity is in an era of peace. Former disruptive people are kept in Zoo's as oddities, living in their own virtual reality perfect world you can look into. You are a tour guide for the zoo. | 261 |
What a sucker. He was probably the only guy to ever click a "Lonely singles in your area!" banner on a porn site. And using his real name to register? Using the same username and password that he uses *everywhere else*? How dumb is this guy?
I went through his email first, usually a gold mine of valuable information. Surprisingly empty. Lots of marketing, but pretty much nothing else. No friends, no family. Not even any of those annoying facebook notifications. On a whim, I browsed over and checked it out. He was pretty active; posting articles and comments, updating his information, adding photos, etc. But no one else seemed to "like" his material or comment on any of his posts. *That's a bit sad*, I thought to myself.
Oh well. Can't get too attached to the victims, can I? I logged into his bank account and prepared to plunder it like a Spanish Galleon. Total balance: $34 dollars. Wow, what a score. I was about to log out and find a new target, but I guess morbid curiosity got the better of me. I checked his payment history, noting the regular 2-week additions of his barely-above-minimum-wage paycheck and regular charges at restaurants and fast food joints, always in an amount about right for a one-person meal. A few porn sites popped up on the monthly payment list. *This poor schmuck even pays for his porn?* I thought to myself.
I couldn't help myself. Delving into this guy's life was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I devoured every bit of information I could find about him, until finally I found his blog. 234 posts, and 0 comments. He complained about his job, about moving from his hometown to a strange city, about his dating life, about everything. It seemed like there was nothing that brought him any happiness. His last entry, 3 days ago, read "I don't know why I even post on here; no one reads it anyway. Dear world: I think I am just going to kill myself. If anyone out there cares, just tell me. I'll wait for a sign for one week." Maybe it was an insincere threat, just to see if it could provoke anyone into commenting. But you never know.
My mind was made up. "I care, George," I posted in the comment section.
I'd started the afternoon ready to send this man into financial ruin, but I was about to make this the best day of his life.
Step 1? Career. George had his resume posted on his website. Although he had a degree in electrical engineering, he was working at a local stereo company doing menial labor. After a bit of digging through his email, I found his transcripts and cover letters. He'd been applying to jobs for months, but his poor writing skills, resume organization, and abysmal self confidence seemed to have been the perfect trifecta for keeping the man from getting any kind of job in his field, leaving him to stock shelves.
After a bit of searching, I found a local company that would be perfect for him. They'd been soliciting applications for an engineer, but they'd finished the collection process just yesterday. I was able to crack their security after a bit of work, and slipped George's resume into the personnel files, deleting all of the other good candidates. They'd manage to land on their feet; George wouldn't. His cover letter was rewritten, and his references updated with my own number. I'd give him a glowing recommendation!
Next, I decided it was time for George to socialize. In all of my digging, the one thing I never found was a dating profile. You'd think he'd be willing to give Match.com or something a chance before porn advertisement classifieds, but I guess not. Maybe he was just afraid that his dating profile would ignored, like all the rest of his posts online. Maybe his self confidence just couldn't handle that level of rejection.
His extensive collection of facebook pictures was particularly helpful. I picked a photo of him in a park, playing with a dog. Women love dogs! I touched it up a bit and made the rest of his profile. Some of it was a bit of a stretch, but I was able to get creative without lying. Then, I started messaging. Luckily George lived in a pretty big city, so there were plenty of choices. Over the next day, I was able to line up a few dates for George; they were looking forward to meeting him!
Now it was time to make friends. A bit hard to do online, but I'm a man who loves a challenge. I signed George up for a huge variety of activities: cooking classes, yoga, a kickball team, the works. Between this and his new job, he was going to be burning the candle at both ends!
Finally, it was time to tell George. what I'd done. This was the hardest part.
"Your life changed today, George. First, I stole your identity. Then, I destroyed it. You can thank me for that later. I made you a new identity, George. You're going to be the engineer that you wanted to be; expect a call about an interview soon. Don't worry, you're a shoo-in. And your social life is changing too. Attached to this email is a calendar, with all of your new appointments. Your dates (Michelle, tomorrow, is the one I think you'll like the most), your classes, your activities. You're going to put yourself out there and meet people."
I paused at my keyboard, unsure of how to continue. "I don't know you, George. But I think that you just needed a kick in the pants. You needed someone to get you out there and snap you out of this funk that you're in. You've been in a downward spiral ever since you had a hard time finding a job, and I am going to break you out of it. Just believe in yourself and be calm, and you are going to turn your life around. I've given you the start, but you've got to seize the moment and take the initiative yourself. I know you can do it. Good luck!"
I hesitated again.
"And if you don't go on those dates, then I really will come and steal all of your credit card information and bankrupt you."
That should be a good way to end it, I thought to myself. I sent George the email from his own account. It had been a long, long day, and I needed to rest.
A week later, I checked George's blog. One entry:
"I don't know who you are, but I assume you will read this. I just want you to know that you saved my life. I don't know how I can repay you. The interview went so well; they were almost desperate to hire me on the spot! And Michelle is amazing; we had such a good time. This will be my last blog entry, because I am going to stop living my life online envying what others have. Just know that I owe you everything." | 443 | An identity theif steals someone's identity only to realize their life sucks, and proceeds to better it | 320 |
Another supper spent watching the two of them argue, I thought. This is getting to be… “annoying”. That is the emotion I would link to this, right?
“I built the damn robot, so I should get the money when we sell him!” said Father. And in a way, he was right. He built me, while Mother had handled the internal aspects— she installed my “mind”. I resented her even more than I did Father for that. Mother was the one who decided that this modern-age slave would be so perspicacious.
“Might I remind you that you took the credit. You are the brilliant inventor, and I’m your ‘sidekick’. Now you want all the money, too!”, Mother screamed.
“I rightfully took the credit! You can install an AI in any robot! This one is my work!”, Father retaliated with equal volume. I saw him reach for his pocket knife.
But he pulled it out and threw it across the table at me. “Hold this, slave,” the man who built me rasped, “she gets insane when she’s wrong.”
Mother’s eyes widened. She saw an opportunity. I could already tell what she was about to say.
“Kill him, slave.”
I sat there for a minute.
“If it’s really going to come to this, I insist that you kill Mother.”
Immediately after I was presented with this, my processor— I believe the humanized term is “brain”— began working quickly. The first thing I did was take out any reasons for killing one that would benefit the other. No, I was doing this for myself.
I pulled out the pocket knife and sharpened it on my chair. I had made my choice.
I was created to be a slave. My own creators hated themselves and I.
I lunged and stabbed Father. His blood slowly poured out onto my rubber palm.
And as he fell, I took out the knife. Mother swiped for it, but I pulled back.
I should kill Mother, too, I thought. That would be logical. She will still get me blamed, and I’ll be punished with a worse master.
“Thank you, Mother. For giving me logic.” I killed her in the same way I did Father. I began to feel… “delight” at the sight of the blood. I pulled out the knife and admired my work. I felt… “addiction”? I needed to do this again.
I called the police, and waited for their arrival. I had found my true purpose. I sharpened the knife, and, feeling my first definitive emotion, I laughed. Mother and Father had built me well. | 13 | A highly intelligent AI is sitting at a table with the man and woman who created it. Both have been pushed to the edge and are now telling the AI to kill the other one, attempting to justify their actions. | 29 |
"The internet!" That's what they told me when I told my friends about my predicament. "Everything is connected by the internet! You're sure to find some Americans on there!"
"Why haven't I thought of that earlier?!" I got out my laptop, and started e-mailing Americans. I know, I know, I shouldn't be e-mailing strangers, but I figured if I cast a wide net I'd catch something!
But, I've found that Americans aren't the most trust worthy people. Mostly I get ignored, but every once in a while I'll get an e-mail back, which lifts my heart. But then I read the reply. Most of them only say one word:
"SCAMMER!!!!!!1"
I've even offered them some money in exchange for their help! And if American movies have taught me anything, it's that Americans want money! So why won't they take mine?!
Not only that, but I stress the urgency of my request, but nobody helps me. Why?
I don't have the time to keep asking why, to keep sending out e-mails like this. It's not working. I need to find another way.
So, let's think about this. There are two main reasons why people go on the internet -- pussies. Wait, is that right? In English?
Oh, I am sorry, I did not mean to offend. I meant cats and *porn*.
I've figured it out! Yes, yes, this is going to work. I'll just start sending out video links to people of adorable little baby kittens that are irresistible and tell them that I am looking for someone to adopt them. Then I will have them sign onto some paperwork for me, then they can use the money I give them to buy an adorable little baby kitten! | 206 | You're a Nigerian prince with millions in the bank but you can't access it without an American co-signer. To your surprise, and disappointment, nobody will help you transfer the money. Now you stand to lose it. | 718 |
The parents looked at the boy with concern.
“What colour is the sky?”
“Red at dawn and dusk, and blue during the day.”
The mother looked away, while the father spoke, “NO! I told you! You are meant to lie to me!”
“Leave him, Tom.”
“No, I can’t accept this. Not like this.”
The boy looked bewildered, he could not understand what he did wrong, he only spoke the truth.
The father embraced his wife’s hand,
“Not like this. He has to be lying, he has to!”
“It’s okay” She spoke as her hand stroked his cheek, “He speaks the truth. He only can tell us the truth, even if the truth hasn’t happened yet. I am okay with this.”
“We can find a way. We can find what’s wrong. We can run, we can head west, they have better doctors there! We can…”
“Enough, Thomas. Let it be. You are a good man. You can take care of our children, you will raise them proper.”
“No, the boy is lying!”
“You and I both know that isn’t true. He is a good child, he was sent to us for a reason, he is our saviour.”
The boy was pulled away outside.
“Come on, you don’t need to hear this.”
Once they were outside, his sister began to speak.
"Listen, You didn’t cause this, Father is just having a hard time. They love you, they always have, they always will. I want you to remember that.”
His father never looked at him the same again. He always felt he had caused the death of his mother. Even if all logical thinking led otherwise, deep down he still carried the guilt of it. As the boy grew his… disability would cause him an inconvenience. People didn’t trust someone who always told the truth. After his father passed he became lost, tried to find some sort of purpose to guide his life. He thought of somewhere that could use his talents, he could work for the sheriff, to bring justice to the weak, a fortune teller, traveling from place to place, but then he picked up a book about the worst possible profession.
He isn’t sure why he chose to do it, perhaps it was a love of the subject, or a drive to do the impossible, or perhaps it was the sheer irony in it. He decided to study Law.
He did rather well in it, he learnt to bend truths, to phrase hypothetical scenarios as if they were about the subject. He told himself he was fighting against injustice, after all he couldn’t lie to himself. But it became apparent that that truth too, was bent.
He saw many injustices in the country, things that should never happen, profit made from evil. A truth not even he could avoid. He needed to make a drastic change to the nation, and perhaps because he truly did enjoy a challenge, he did it via politics.
He thought words could change it, words had always worked before, but not here. His words, his truth, fell on deaf ears, on this stage. But some listened. The number of those whom listened to him, to the ‘Honest Man’ grew, until people began to listen, and they saw the evil that had been allowed to grow, and they fought. Soon it wasn’t just words, but blades and bullets that were exchanged. A war broke out that threatened the very nation itself. For four whole years, the civil war caused blood to flow in every city. The number of the dead were too many. The boy looked onto the battlefield, he wondered whether this was what his mother had believed, this was the new world she believed he would create.
Then he remembered what he had fought for, he remembered the lives that were saved because of the sacrifice. He knew that it may not have been a great world, but it was a better one. He stepped onto the podium and prepared to speak. He paused, perhaps that was the ultimate truth, the world didn’t need a saviour, it just needed a few good men. He began,
“Four score and seven years ago…”
| 50 | A boy is born, and as he grows older his parents realize he can only speak the truth. | 48 |
"Put it all on Seabiscuit, please. And what are the odds on a bet that he wins by *four lengths*?"
Tom put a sack ful of money on the counter and waited for the bookie behind the counter. The bookie eyed him with a skeptical, yet greedy grin. *A win for Seabiscuit?* Tom imagined him thinking *This guy must be crazy!*
It had taken Tom years of work to build the machine, developing breakthroughs in physics that would have astounded Einstein. But he couldn't tell anyone. The Don would just blow his brains out and take the machine for himself. So he'd kept his work hidden, building it in secret for all this time until it was ready. He'd gone even deeper into debt to the mob in order to get the material that he needed, and he only had enough plutonium for this one jump.
He'd carefully done his research. He'd chosen the famous surge of Seabiscuit at the November 1st Pimlico Special, dubbed the "Match of the Century," back in Tom's timeline. As he waited to place his bet before the race, he could already hear the crowds chanting for War Admiral, the undisputed favorite. This grizzled champ was expected to win, favored 1-4. Tipsters said that War Admiral was the closest thing to a sure bet that they'd ever seen. And Seabiscuit's training had been kept secret. Tom struggled to keep his poker face up as the bookie grunted and stood, pawing the pile of cash.
The bookie looked down, and his eyes narrowed.
"What's the meaning of this, ya bum?" the man grunted in a thick Bal'more accent. He held up one of the crisp, clean twenty dollar bills that Tom had withdrawn just before the trip back.
Bills from 2014, Tom realized.
The bookie pushed the bag off the counter, spilling cash into the air. "Take ya countafeit funny money and get outta here," he said and went back to his magazine.
Tom sobbed into a fistful of money as he watched Sea Biscuit sprint to the finish. | 35 | An engineer with a gambling addiction builds a time machine. He wants to go back in time and leverage his knowledge of the future to win bets. His sub-par knowledge of history prevents him from winning anything. | 100 |
"This world looks like a good candidate." The Ensign said. As the Great Admiral looked down upon the world, he vibrated in anticipation. "Yes, yes it does. Begin the preparations for the first landfalls. We must strike at their feeble heart of civilization first. Then the world will be ours."
When they landed they began attacking the pitiful sentients in their huts. Just before the they could strike, one of them exited the building. And after a single swift motion with its hand, the Great Admiral knew that they would never be able to resist the power of these creatures.
_____________________________________________________________
This was a great day for all of the Kyzyx. Finally they had found a world not ravaged by the Menace. Its seas were still blue, plants still green and lights still shone in the cities of its people. As the leader of his people he had always hoped this day would come, but never did he believe it would. These 'Humans' had even welcomed their arrival. After their languages were translated they were happy to meet the Kyzyx.
As the shuttle landed he could only hope they would be so kind once they knew what they asked. Hundreds of thousands of Kyzyx were aboard the fleet, all without a home. The Menace had seen to that. The bay doors opened and he stepped out. The yellow sun glared in the sky and he was warmed by its rays. This would be a good world if they were allowed to stay.
"I am President Lin of the United States of America, greetings and welcome to Earth. We extend our hand in friendship to the Kyzyx." He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the human's hand in the greeting he had been briefed on. The Matriarch had given him this responsibility and he would make sure he did not fail. "I thank you President Lin of the United States of America. They Kyzyx are beyond happy to find a friend in the stars that are filled with the Menace." He and the human began conversing but then he noticed it. At the front of the mass of humans that had gathered to see his arrival was his greatest fear. At first he thought it was just his paranoia but there in the arms of the human child was the Menace.
His shrieks of terror nearly deafened the humans. How could they survive with the Menace? Did the humans not realize their doom? The human child gripped the creature tighter in its fear. Pressing its face into the beast's fur. It seemed to take comfort in its horribleness. When he finally calmed himself the humans were pointing weapons at him.
"Ambassador, what have we done to offend you?" The human leader seemed confused. "There in the arms of that child is the destroyer of Life! They burned our planet and toyed with our children before devouring them!" The human leader looked at the child and seemed confused. He was not phased by the appearance of the menace at all! "Ambassador that's a cat. They're our pets."
His blood ran cold. In the moments before he slipped into unconsciousness, he saw the child stroke the destroyer. He could hear it vibrating contentedly, a sound he had only heard during the destruction of his world. By the Seven, these humans were monsters. | 84 | Aliens come to earth only to discover that something we see everyday is actually a race of sentient beings that kills all life in the galaxy. | 77 |
"Pour the goat's blood and begin the sacred chant," the priest said. He looked over at the men circling him. All wore dark cowls and that were faintly illuminated by the lights of one hundred candles.
In the center of the cave lay a pentagram, glowing red with power and energy. The priest himself was laden with blood gold and a deep rouge robe.
At his command a high ranking man stepped forward and procured a clay bowl that emanated an odor most fowl. As he poured the liquid onto the symbol of death, pestilence, war, darkness, and famine the other members of the occult began to chant in an ancient tongue.
The priest allowed himself a faint sneer, the closest he had come to grinning in years. Finally, his time was here. To bring someone from Two-thousand and fourteen to 1914? The world would bow to him.
As seconds grew into minutes, the chanting rose and the illumination of the candles began to die, caused by a mighty wind flying through the cavern. The candles died and all at once the smell of the blood on the pentagram intensified. It glowed, casting a crimson hue on the walls and the priest stepped forth in front of it.
"*MY LOYAL FOLLOWERS,*" his voice boomed across, "*TODAY, WE CELEBRATE A GREAT VICTORY!*" With his words he drew a knife from his cloak and threw it down into the center of the pentagram. For a third time it glowed with awesome power, and the chanting ceased.
They waited for a moment. The glow of the pentagram died.
Then two seconds passed.
Then three.
The space where the demonic symbol once was exploded, and the occult was knocked back with the explosion.
The Priest was the first to recover. He saw the man they had summoned, shrouded in a blue haze.
He was large, no not large, fat. He was fat. He reeked of sugar and the smell one has when one does not bathe in a long time. He wore a peculiar pair of earmuffs over his ears, with a long wire leading down to his pants. It was obvious he had not shaved in a while, for his beard extended down his neck. His clothing depicted small colored horses frolicking with each other.
Truly, this man was their savior. The priest bowed, and his followers followed suit. This was the man that would lead them into a golden age. | 37 | An ancient cult preforms a dark ritual in 1914 to summon someone from 100 years in the future. You are that person. | 121 |
As the day grew closer to Kyler's exit, his dreams became much more detailed than ever before. In the last week they were all exclusively lucid. The first few nights he spent flying down the hospital hallways, too afraid to float through the exit. He knew that if he left the hospital there would be that huge open sky, and up in it were the watchers, looking down on him. He didn't want their eyes on him.
"Lucid dreams again?" His doctor asked. He was an older man with a completely gray goatee.
"Yes, but this time around, I've decided to just spend them sitting in the lobby."
"Which lobby?"
Kyler had grown used to Dr. Smoler getting conversational with him. When you had a tumor the size of a golf ball sitting smack dab in the middle of your brain there just wasn't much to talk about when it came to diagnosis', prognosis', whatever nosis' that these doctors talked about. His ticket was up. His goose was cooked. *This train has sailed,* his mother would have said, often giggling to herself.
"The children's lobby is nice, there's always cartoons on the telly."
"You can't project cartoons onto the televisions in this wing's lobby?"
"It's hard to. It just doesn't fit. It's easier for me to see cartoons on the telly in the children's lobby."
"Uh huh," Dr. Smoler said, tapping a finger to his chin. "How are the headaches?"
"I don't even feel them anymore," Kyler responded, which was a flat out lie. If he had done what Dr. Smoler said, try to watch cartoons in the cancer wing's lobby, he would immediately awaken. Drenched in sweat and with a headache so bad he would think he was having an aneurism.
"Alright, I see. Well, if you need anything else, you know where the button is at," Dr. Smoler said.
"Any word from my mum?" Kyler said, catching Dr. Smoler just as he was about to leave the hospital room.
"Sorry."
And Dr. Smoler left.
Kyler looked to the television mounted in his room. The T.V. in the children's lobby was much bigger. He wanted to watch his programs there, but he wasn't allowed to leave his room anymore. He sighed. It was because any minute now he would drop dead, and slumping over in the children's lobby wouldn't be a good idea.
"I'll watch telly in that lobby one way or another," he whispered to himself. He laid his head back down into his pillow and closed his eyes, ushering in the last lucid dream he would ever have.
***
Kyler walked into the children's lobby and nearly shrieked when he saw a man already sitting there on the plushy couch. The man turned around to face Kyler, plushy couch making those squeaking noises as he moved.
"Hey," the man said. He was old; his face was lined with wrinkles. He had these huge bushy caterpillar eyebrows and a hooked nose, but his eyes, they were the attention grabbers. They were a dazzling blue at first, blink, and then they were green. Another blink, and now they were purple.
"I know I'm dreaming," Kyler said.
"Yeah, you are, I won't argue with you there," the man huffed.
"Then why are you here? I didn't ask for you to be here."
"Well then, want to hog the television, don't you?"
Kyler felt a tad bit ashamed, and he felt weird for it. This man, after all, was just a figment of his imagination. He closed his eyes and willed the man to vanish. He opened them again, and there the man still sat.
"Nope," the man said, a smile creeping out onto his face, showing gaps where there were missing teeth.
"Who are you?" Kyler asked.
"Well," the old man said, "I've forgotten my name, but most people here in the You Ess of Ay like to call me the Grim Reaper, and I'm here to shove you through that door right there," he said, pointing a bony finger to the other side of the lobby.
Standing there away from the wall was a door. It was standing on it's own, just right there in the middle of the floor.
"And what's in there?" Kyler asked.
"Heaven," the old man replied without a moments hesitation, "but you aren't going through there yet."
"I'm not?"
"No, I'm," and he let out a small giggle, "well, I'm bored."
"What are you saying?" Kyler asked, hand instinctively going to his temple. It is where it often went when he felt confused.
"Well, the guys past that door revoked my access, and I got stuck with this gig. I've been kicking people through these doors for a good amount of years, hell I can't even remember how many. And I'm just bored. So I figured, 'how fun would it be, to just not walk a person through the door?'"
"I, I don't know what you mean."
The old man stood up. For a man who appeared so old, he was surprisingly tall and fit looking in his black leather jacket and blue jeans. "I'm just not going to take your soul. You're not going to die."
He blinked his eyes a few more times, each time the colors of his irises changing. It was like catching glimpses of a stunning rainbow with each blink.
"I'm still not following."
"Well, you're a dense fellow aren't you?" The old man said, now walking towards Kyler. "You won't be able to die."
"Ever?" Kyler asked.
"Ever. It'll be fun. And I'll be watching you," the old man said, pointing out the window of the lobby and towards the sky, "you know I've been watching you. And now, try to explain this one to your mom," the old man said as he raised his hands above his head. And then he clapped.
***
Darla looked down at Kyler's body, clipboard chart in hand. It was her first time recording a time of death, and it actually was her first time being near a deceased person. She had only been a registered nurse for a few months, and despite all the long training that she had gone through, she had not once seen a dead body, and frankly, she was terrified of them.
She looked his body over once more, then turned to look at the clock on the wall.
Kyler sat straight up in his hospital bed gasping for air. Darla shrieked, dropped the chart, then turned to run out of the room, only to collide solidly with the heavy wooden door that she forgot was closed. There was a loud crunch as her nose bent to the side, and then a loud thud as her body crumbled to the floor.
He looked over at the unconscious nurse, then reached for the call button.
| 12 | You're supposed to die sometime this week from terminal cancer. You just dreamt of a man telling you that you have been made immortal today, and now you've been woken up by your doctor barging into your room with a shocked expression on his face and your file in his hand. | 24 |
The woman stops the stroller in obvious astonishment at my sudden change of expression to disgust and horror.
‘Sir. Sir what is it? What's wrong?!’ she asks in a pleading tone.
She herself comes towards the front of the stroller and looks inside. Uttering a sigh of relief, she turns back towards me and repeats her enquiry, ‘Sir, what's wrong? Is everything okay?’
I had my hand clasped to my mouth the whole time with my eyes bulging from their sockets. I realised that I had also been holding my breath for half a minute and let it out with a *woosh*. After a coughing fit, I finally had the strength to speak although my heart was still beating rapidly.
‘Sir, do you need to go to the hospital?’, she now asked with a worried look on her face.
I shook my head, finding words to speak since my brain had apparently stopped functioning the moment I peeked into the stroller.
Finally, I spoke.
‘Oh the horror! Oh my dear God, what is the world coming to. I'm sorry for scaring you, ma'am but- but... I just had no idea even baby crocs existed!’ | 69 | A woman passes you on the street, pushing a stroller. When you glance inside it, you're horrified at what you see. | 42 |
Year after year he toiled away
He wrote of sheep, soft piles of hay
He wrote of bogeymen, of wights and ghasts
And things much worse, but to the last
The man knew not what work he did
For every night, a single kid
Would lie awake, and close their eyes
Greeted by their mind's disguise
Or so the honest doctors said
Yet the truth Freud would seem to dread
For every line in every book
In every cranny and every nook
On every shelf in every hall
On every board on every wall
Was in fact a dream, you see
This the man could not foresee
And when he drew his final breath
And gamely gathered himself to face imminent death
His eyes shot wide open in horror unmatched
Man's last hope cruel Fate had snatched
For dreams not only haunt the night
They guide our days, they form that light
Which man now lacking, uninspired
Had so quietly retired
That no one noticed, in fact, when children's dreams
Disappeared, they ceased to be
Now, when father marches off to work
And thinks of when, rather than some clerk
He'd dreamed of being an athlete, a shining star
He fails to notice the truly bizarre
His son, the troublemaker, the cause of sleepless nights
No longer has those terrible frights
For the child, you see, he does not dream
And so his studies reign supreme
Perhaps his parents are pleased by this
Perhaps in their mirthful bliss
They forget that once they too were young
And hoped to be brave and be fast and counted among
Those hallowed souls we hold in such esteem
The few, the mighty, those who dared to dream
| 10 | A man has spent his entire life writing children's short stories. Never published, it isn't until old age that he realizes he's been writing dreams for kids around the world. | 21 |
"Its good to be the president," though John as the helicopter lowered him to the ground. He nodded his head at the pilot who waved his massive furry arm back. Alex was waiting nearby.
"Good thing he was a gorilla when the Final Change came," said John. Alex's tentacles waved inside the mobile aquarium. Poking at a water proof keyboard.
"Yes" the synthesized voice said. Once upon a time that would have been called the Stephen Hawking voice. But he was literally a hawk now so his voice was more screechy.
The president walked heavily toward the podium while Alex drove his mobile tank up a steep ramp. "Once nice thing about this Final Form is that I don't need these microphones for people to hear me," said the president to one of the network engineers. The engineer's bat ears twitched while his eight arms fiddled with various bits. Eventually he signaled that everything was ready.
Meanwhile Alex had been uploading his speech so that he could play it at the podium. "Today, President Grant is please to sign the Final Form anti discrimination act which will help the many citizens stuck in forms not quite suited for their work from being unable to find work. The bipartisan support and unanimous vote in the Senate show this act to be the true will of the american people."
John waited for Alex's assistant to roll out the massive carpet sized print out of the Final Form Act. An aide opened the huge ink pad and President Grant placed his left foot on the pad and slammed it down on the paper. The concentric ripples in Alex's tank were always gratifying. "Too bad these T-rex arms were useless for signing anything." | 53 | Everyone on Earth discovers they can shape shift into any creature they desire. 24 hours later they are stuck in the last form they took and cannot turn back. | 96 |
John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| 1,128 | Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | 1,216 |
"Find a way", the lieutenant said as she struggled for her last breathes of air. "Find a way so that our sacrifice was not in vein. Find a way, so that our future we foug-"
The discharge of the lieutenant's weapon echoed through hollowed out buildings. The flash was brilliant. And although it lasted just but a moment. It was enough to give away the young Private's position. He knew this. But he didn't care. He laid down the lieutenant's weapon next her head.
The machines were getting closer. They made no attempt to go around or over buildings. They flew straight through them without any adjustment to their flightpath. The trail of destruction in their wake was their trademark. More and more of them joined the hunt. Because that's what they were programmed to do.
The young Private sat back and listened to the successive crash of buildings get louder. He reached deep inside his metal plate armored suit, in a small pocket on his chest, and pulled out a torn picture. Put his hand in a puddle of rain water which now had red swirls, and carefully cleaned the picture. There was just enough moonlight to make out the inhabitants of that small picture. His two girls smiled in the embrace of their mother. The Private slowly put the picture back into his pocket as a hum of the machine hovering over him disturbed the peace.
He stood up as more and more machines arrived at their target. All whooshing to a stop. Once there were enough to completely surround him, they all started whistle in unison as they charged up their weapon. The light that they emit grew a brilliant white and surrounded their target in it. The Private drew his firearm and placed it against the underside of his chin. He was going to end it his way. He slowly closed his eyes. Put his finger on the trigger. And squeezed.
Nothing. The gun made a tick sound. But the bullet didn't fire. He tried again. Nothing. He opened his eyes to try inspect his loyal sidearm. When he opened them, he discovered that the machines had disappeared. The white light was still there but the machines were not.
The white light seemed to extend to as far as the Private could see. Behind him were numerous doors that seemed to lead to nowhere. Bridges made out a cloudy gas extended out in front of each door. The private approached the first door, but the bridge disappeared as he got close. The same happened with the second and third door.
The bridge stood firm on the fourth door. The door opened and an old man in a white robe was there to greet him. He was flanked by other men in similar garments. Who also greeted him and extended the sign of the cross as he walked down the great staircase. As he reached the foot of the staircase, his lieutenant, whose body was now absent of wounds stood straight in front of him. A moment passed in silence, as she inspected him just as she used to do before the war. She gave a slight nod and stepped aside to reveal what was behind her.
The Private was overcome with emotion. The first bit of emotion he had showed in three and a half years. He let out single cry as he hugged his wife while tears ran down his cheeks. A little tug at his pants drew his attention to his youngest girl. His cries grew into a joyful laughter as he bent down to pick her up and kiss her cheek. He laughed a happy laugh, as he looked around the room to see all those who loved him and gave his life flavour. His laughter coincided with laughter that a came from a great room that seemed to float in the sky.
He couldn't make out what was in this room, but the aura and lights made a magnificent display. He looked again towards his wife in the hopes that she may be able to explain what was happening. But instead she had a look of trepidation, dread.
The Private, now confused, looked at the lieutenant. She had the same look. He looked at his mother and father, who were standing holding the family dog from his childhood. His mother began to cry. He looked at his high school form teacher. She too began to cry. He looked at the room filled with faces that he knew, and searched for meaning within them. He looked at his younger daughter.
"It's Becky", his wife said in between the tears running down her face. The Private's heart sank as he searched, scrambled to find his other daughter, who was only a year older than his youngest. "You're the second last one. Everything gets reset once they've finished counting". His wife said, as she continued to cry.
"Once the count is done, the laughter from that room will die out and everything starts again. Solider, that count will stop once your daughter passes." Emotion starts to overtake the once stoic lieutenant's expression. "The longer she stays alive, the longer you have with the rest of your family".
The Private, who still held his youngest, took his wife's hand and walked slowly through the crowd of faces he once new. Each extended a hand, a touch of reassurance. The silence of the room was broken with great laughter coming from the room above. The Private looked up to question who could be so joyful at this of all times. As he looked up, the door from which he entered swung open, and a short silhouette entered the room. "BEC..."
Darkness.
| 18 | Post apocalypse and in the afterlife everyone is shocked to find that humanity has been used as a drunken bet by all the major deity's to see who can accrue the most followers. | 76 |
The sound is ear-splitting, a crashing roar of an explosion that causes the Earth to tremble. Flashes of light accompany the noise, intense white and brighter than the sun, flickering down the hallway and leaking under the closed door of the storage closet.
Carl struggled against his bonds for the hundredth time since waking, for the thousandth time since a blow to the head had knocked him unconscious two days previous. The invader had been swift, his presence a surprise, his sword a pestilence. The fight was brief, over far faster than Carl had thought possible, as though some guiding hand had planned for an action scene and then decided to make it end quickly, to move onto bigger and better things.
Doran and Sasha were both dead, their bodies already rotting, the smell overpowering since they too were confined to the closet. Like Carl, Sasha had been stripped of his clothes, stolen by the invader and his cohort, but Doran was too tall and fat for the clothes to fit the invaders bodies.
A second deep rumble was heard, gaining in pitch and intensity, and Carl froze, fear in his heart. A shockwave, and one that was coming closer.
When it hit the tower, the ancient structure shook, bricks and dust falling to the floor; but the building was from the Second Age, and easily withstood the blast. There had been some damage though, including the doorframe of the supply closet, knocked open just enough to allow Carl to slip through.
The air was dusty and smelled of death, but the reek was a relief after two days in the closet with Doran and Sasha. His ankles bound together, his wrists tight behind his back, Carl hopped to the window overlooking the plain and usually affording a glimpse of his Lord's Tower.
The first invader had fallen for a trap, had been bound and knocked unconscious when they had stumbled onto his body. His presence was a surprise, so Doran had taken the body to the tower, unaware that the invader had a second friend who would leap from the shadows and attempt to murder all three of them.
Why Carl had been spared, he didn't know. Perhaps death would have been better though, for the view from the window showed only a vast plain of fire, dust, and ruin. His Lord's tower was gone, and the volcano that had been slumbering for hundreds of years was erupting, a flow of lava only minutes away. Mordor had fallen, and the small, dwarf-like creatures had somehow been behind its collapse. Carl cursed his bonds, cursed his Lord Sauron, and cursed his life. All he had ever wanted was to pillage on the front lines like the Uruk'hai, but he had been left at home on sentry duty, and even at this he had failed.
As the lava hit the base of the tower, Carl glimpsed a group of giant Eagles flying away from the volcano, small bodies clutched tenderly in their talons. The short dwarves were alive, and Carl swore he would have his revenge; but naked, bound at the ankles and wrists with a pool of lava only twenty feet below him, such an oath was meaningless. As the volcano exploded in a roar of fury, a mile-high wall of ash hit the tower, intent on putting Carl's dreams of vengeance to rest. His final thought was to curse the haughty Uruk'hai, who had like him, had failed to stop the invaders.
When he awoke twenty-four hours later, Carl was still naked, but the ropes that had confined him were gone, burnt away. His body was a ruin of blood, ash, and crispy meat, his entire left arm forfeit: but revenge took over his every thought, and as he struggled to free himself from the ruined tower, Carl felt more alive than ever before. The small dwarves would die at his hand, and the mere thought of their painful demise sent him into a howling fit of laughter that echoed across the empty, smoking mountainside. | 15 | The hero captures a guard, strips him, and binds him to steal his clothes. The hero then continues on his quest. It's been two days with no food or water. Our guard is... | 29 |
"Hold still Percival, I need to stop this bleeding, I've never seen anything like it......."
Brother Matthias pressed his blood stained hands onto the wound in Percival's chest, blood coursed over his hands in rhythmic pulses in time to Percival's heartbeat......Matthias knew that unless he could stop the bleeding the archer would die here.
He understood that Percival had minutes to live, what he didn't understand was how Percival had come to be wounded this far from the fighting..........the archers had moved out of range of the bow's as soon as the infantry had taken to the field.........
"what happened lad, quickly now..."
I,...I don't know, it was like I'd been hit in the chest, hard, the wind went....arghh, right out of me, it felt like fire..."
Matthias had his hand almost inside Percival now, the bleeding was slowing, could he be saved, or was he just running out of blood......the wound was so, odd, there was almost a track, but no arrow head, usually the shaft would shatter leaving a mess inside but this was almost clean.......clean and deadly.
Just there at the apex of his reach, there was something.......what is that? That's certainly no arrowhead.
Percival started to convulse, his breaths ragged and short.
"Help me Matthias.........Matthias....."
Then nothing, Matthias looked into his eyes and saw the life drain out of them, up to his wrist in Percival's chest cavity, he felt the temperature drop almost imperceptibly but drop never the less.....
"What in God's name took you lad?"
Matthias made the sign of the cross and murmured a benediction over the boy........Then with one last push forced his fingers in and grasped the object he could feel between his fingers......he slowly wriggled it back, and brought it out into the light..........
"What.......is this?"
Matthias stared unbelievably at the small metal object in his hand, misshapen and fragmented, he marvelled at the circular base, and the small grooves around the bottom...........
Crack, a bolt of lightening maybe, the friar thought......but then he heard the scream, a blood curdling cry of agony, another of the archers was down, blood spurting from his neck...
"Matthius.....Matthius get over here, what the hell is going on?"
| 18 | A young friar serves as a medic at The Battle of Hastings in 1066. While treating the wounded, he discovers an archer with a mortal and unusual injury; a gunshot wound. | 33 |
He spun the drink in his hand. Vermouth, chilled glass, and a portion of gin, two portions if the day had been hard enough, hard days that seemed to have been happening more and more often. It was not as if he was gaining a habit--he never made the drink himself. His fiancee always did, saying she could always tell by the sound of him shutting the door just how much gin he needed that day.
"We may need to buy a bottle soon," she had said when handing it to him. "You keep having days like this."
He had smiled and accepted the glass warmly, sat down and watched her busy herself with the housework. She never pressed for information, her. So many women would press for information, want to know exactly how everything went, until words became as redundant as breathing and lost all their effect. But not her. She savored the silence as much as he did, and she would simply wait for him to begin. Her patience was astounding, for there were nights when he wouldn't begin at all. Tonight, though, nearly halfway through his drink, he did.
"Still no leads," he said. A statement, nothing more.
"Oh?" She responded.
"None," he continued. He took a sip of his drink. She still said nothing. He didn't expect her to. "The problem is the bodies. There's enough physical evidence to support foul play, but we have no idea what he's doing with the bodies."
"What do they usually do with them?"
"That's where the problem lies. They could do anything with them. Bury them, burn them, sink 'em in the river. But there's nothing to indicate which one it is." He took his final sip, bringing the glass nearly straight up to finish the residual liquid on the bottom. "It makes you feel a little guilty."
"Guilty? Why would you feel guilty? *You* haven't done anything."
"But that's just it, isn't it? I *haven't* done anything. I feel like I'm not doing enough, that somewhere, this maniac is disposing of the bodies in some way or the other, and because I can't find them..."
"You're somehow contributing to it?"
He nodded solemnly. "It's just...I know I'm better than this. I feel like the answer's right under my nose, or in me somehow."
"In you?"
"And all I have to do is work hard enough and I'll be able to figure it out. But every day I feel like I'm failing and making it worse and worse.
She turned towards him, full on now.
"You can't blame yourself, darling. You are doing everything you can. Don't put the crimes of this person on your own back. You won't be able to carry it all." She placed a hand on his cheek. It was cool and comforting, and he leaned into it. They stayed in this content silence.
A timer pinged and she her hand retreated, turning back toward the kitchen.
"Come on, then," she said, pulling the meat out of the oven. "Let's put a little supper in you." | 14 | Every night a weary police detective staggers through their front door. He/she relaxes and tells their fiance all about their day. It's very sweet. Only problem is their fiance is the serial killer they've been looking for. | 15 |
“What happened?”
“What happened to you?” The voice that came through the speakers on the control panel of Sojourner X9 was the same as the man listening to it.
“Does it really matter?”
“A thousand years is hardly a span for casual dismissal.”
Through the frontward windshield on the spacecraft, the man stared out at the dying earth.
“How many are left?” asked the man, his grip tightening on the ship’s throttle.
“Does it really matter?”
The earth was dark. The color of a hanged man’s pupils.
“I’ve missed you,” said the voice.
“You are me,” said the man.
“I still hurt.”
“You’re a computer program.”
“No, I’m you with a different energy source.”
The man reached for the dial that controlled the volume.
“I’m all alone down here,” said the voice. “*You’re* all alone down here.”
The man hesitated, his fingers on the sleek knob. “You’re still running. Someone must be—”
“Solar power ensures that. Everything else is automated.” The cockpit slowly absorbed the silence of the stars. “Please,” said the voice. The man's same voice. “Please save me from this eternity.”
Outside, the sun was just beginning to climb around the horizon of the earth. “I can’t,” whispered the man.
There was a long silence, and the man wondered if he had unconsciously muted the voice. But from the stillness, it asked, “Were we successful?”
“We were.”
Again, the speakers paused. “I suppose this is goodbye, then,” said the voice.
“It is,” said the man.
“I’ll still hope,” said the voice. “I won’t stop hoping.”
“You know I can't land. This ship—”
“Not about that,” said the voice, the mirror of the man's own. “About you and the new world. I’ll keep hoping that it won’t turn out the same.”
The man listened to the tick of his antique wristwatch. Then he twisted the knob to silence. He sat there in silence. He stared out into the silence. That's why he had come back.
Because it had.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Improved ending. | 12 | Man uploads his consciousness to a computer before voyaging into space, the two reunite a thousand years later. | 15 |
Magic came into this world an unexpected and grave force. Suddenly, everyone had a place to be, a job to do. Save the useless.
I'm told it's a real bitch to get stuck with a verb like *admire* or *bake*. What the hell can you do with that? *Bake* bread. *Admire* schlong. Great stuff there.
No, the really useful verbs are rare. *Accept. Obey. Answer. Explain. Jail.* I had a friend with *hammer* as his trick-phrase. Damn, did he demolish some skyscrapers.
The government went to shit for a while before a system was put in place. Hell, we're lucky to have survived. All around the world, language is tearing everyone apart. The Italians in particular are having a jolly time, banging and burning their country to the ground.
And Greece? Don't get me started on Greece. I've never seen more floating heads in a broom cupboard, and I hope to hell I never do again.
No one reads aloud anymore. Story time has been wiped away like a piss stain on the toilet seat. Kids are carefully monitored when reading by parents and teachers. We don't want them finding a trick-phrase and using it to their advantage, right? No child left behind. Of course, it's nearly impossible to know which verb resonates with each kid.
Now, for the adults, our system is a registration sort of deal. We still haven't found a charm or something to counteract a trick-phrase, so everyone has to get registered. And we have to wear mics. It's worse than 2014 up here with the NSA and shit.
And I'm about to get registered. They're standing there, asking me what my word is. And I can't say it. I won't say it. It's the most versatile word in the English language. I can tell people to go away and tell them to stay with but a simple change of intent and tone. What am I doing here?
Oh. Right, I was **escorted.** Took to long to register, and now they're making me. I count fourteen barrels glued on me. And the man in the suit is yelling. What is my word.
So I look him in the eye.
And he shrinks.
And I open my mouth.
"Go *fuck* yourselves." | 197 | When humans mature, they gain a single magic spell. The incantation is a single verb, and (a) subsequent command(s) if desired. | 151 |
The Devil went down to Georgia. He had been there before. A long time ago a young boy named Johnny played his fiddle hard and won the Devil's favorite fiddle. Since then, the Devil hadn't made a single deal. The world was corrupt enough and the souls were rolling in without any effort. Walking by the old hickory stump made the memory even stronger. He sat down with a sigh and stared at the ground.
"Hello there." A young woman's voice broke his trance.
The Devil looked up to see a radiant pair of emerald eyes, sunk into a porcelain portrait of a face. The young lady couldn't have been more than nineteen, with natural blonde hair kissed by the sun. The only thing covering her beautiful frame was a sun dress, white with kaleidoscope sequins. She sat down on a stump across from the Devil and peered at him.
"Greetings, child." The Devil spoke soft and slow.
His human appearance, a mask that hid his real evil, was a gentle man in his thirties, brown hair about shoulder length, and deep brown eyes which seemed to pop straight out of his darkened, tan skin. To the average person, he looked out of place in the Georgia woods, wearing a suit fashioned from black silk.
"What are you doing out in the woods? Are you lost? What is your name?" She was full of questions for the random stranger she stumbled upon.
"Oh child, I've been long a very long time. People have called me a lot of names over the years, but ...Luc, is what you can call me." He shortened his given name, Lucifer, hoping not to frighten her away.
"Hi Luc. I'm Jennifer, but people call me Jenna usually." She had the southern drawl he was used to in these parts, fashioned from a mixture of dialects that had grown into it's own.
"Why are you wandering in the woods, Jenna? They can be dangerous for a young girl like you." The Devil recalled that not far from here a symphony of sin had led to the rape and murder of a girl not much older than her, it was so gruesome he came to watch it in person.
"Can you keep a secret?" She leaned in and tilted her head, a smile crossing her ruby lips.
"I keep a lot of secrets, child." The Devil was amused by that question. The secrets he kept could bring nations to their knees.
"I'm looking for the Devil." She said with a laugh.
The Devil was startled by that, even he didn't expect that. He quickly regained his composure, wondering how fate had led someone looking for him right to his feet. He was usually inundated by requests from people to sell their soul for profit, never realizing their souls were already gone. Not her. Jenna's soul was so pure it was halfway to heaven already.
"The Devil? What on Earth for?" He was interested now.
"He made a deal a long time ago, right here in this spot, for a shiny golden fiddle." She grinned and looked rather confident, despite just saying something most would consider madness.
"I see. What kind of deal could you possibly want to make with the Prince of Darkness?" The Devil definitely wanted to hear this, maybe he could make a deal again, after all these years.
"My father isn't happy. There's no excitement in his life. My mother says he left a piece of himself in these woods, and that nothing could ever duplicate that moment, that intensity. He needs to duel again to finally feel something again." Jenna shrugged and stared at the dirt.
The Devil couldn't believe his ears. He had always thought he got the wrong end of the deal, but he had taken more than Johnny's soul. He had stripped all of the good out of him, left him a shell of a man that couldn't find peace. Johnny was in a hell of his making, even if he did win the contest.
"And what would you have to offer the Devil, if he even exists." Luc studied Jenna's expression.
"Whatever he wanted. I believe in my father. Seeing him happy would be worth all of my worldly possessions." Jenna raised her eyes. "So will you do it, Luc?"
The Devil smiled. She had seen straight through him. She knew exactly who he was. "I'm not one for worldly possessions, child." He couldn't believe he was face to face with the spawn of the man who beat him.
"What do you want then?" Jenna asked.
"The same thing I wanted from your Johnny, your soul." The Devil expected her to run screaming at that.
"Okay." Jenna shook her head in agreement. "You duel him again, and if you win, my my soul is yours."
"Agreed." The Devil extended his hand.
Jenna took his hand and felt a pain in her palm. When she drew back her hand, she briefly saw the numbers 666 burned in her flesh. As soon as she adjusted her eyes, they were gone. Jenna had been marked, and she had just sealed a deal with the Devil that could send her eternal soul to burn in the lake of fire.
Jenna led the Devil through the woods, to a house on the edge. It was poor and run down, not the life of luxury he expected a man who had bested him to be living. Jenna walked up on the porch.
"There's someone here to see you." She said in a soft whisper.
Johnny opened his eyes and gazed out. It took a moment for them to focus, but he recognized his old adversary. He stood up, taking a cane in his hand to stabilize his walk. He took a couple of steps forward.
"You..." He said, his face turning to a slight smile, the first one he had shown in years.
"It's me, Johnny. In the flesh...well, so to speak." The Devil grinned. How could this old man ever beat him? He would be feasting on Jenna's soul by nightfall.
"What do you want, demon?" Johnny asked.
"I want to duel you again." He said, producing a fiddle made of gold out of thin air.
"Oh, I've played this game before, Devil. You're not getting my soul!" Johnny shook his cane at the Devil.
"I'm not playing for your soul this time, Johnny. Just two old friends having a duel." The Devil lied.
"Wait right here." Johnny hobbled inside as quickly as he could, taking down his old wooden fiddle from the mantle. Even though he had a fiddle made of gold, his old wooden fiddle had beat the Devil once, and he was sure it could again.
Johnny emerged as the Devil started playing a chorus of despair and torment. Johnny knew the song, he had heard it once before many years before. He adjusted his bow as the Devil played, waiting for it to be done. The Devil smiled as he finished.
"I told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been!" Johnny started playing Fire on the Mountain again, the song that won him his last contest. As he started, his bow sounded tired and weak. A string popped on his trusty fiddle. The sound came out distorted and weak.
"Oh, Johnny. You're out of practice!" The Devil said with a laugh and played Fire on the Mountain himself, absolutely perfect, so loud that it echoed through the entire side of the mountain.
Johnny looked at his fiddle and shook his head. He dropped it on the ground beside him. He had been beaten. Jenna walked up to the Devil and nodded.
"Okay. You won." She said.
"Sorry, Johnny!" The Devil cackled. "I may have lost the duel for your soul, but she bet hers on you and now your daughter is mine!"
"What?!" Johnny adjusted his glasses. "I've never seen her before in my life!"
The Devil looked over at Jenna in confusion. She was grinning from ear to ear.
"Johnny isn't my father. You are." Jenna joined hands with her father and hugged him. "Take me home, daddy."
*If you like my work, my debut novel, The Second Girl is currently on [Kickstarter](https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/571394376/i-got-stood-up-mike-and-the-second-girl)* | 10 | A pact with the devil works out favorably, albeit in a way neither party expected. | 32 |
"Come on you piece of crap, work!"
George sighs in frustration as his GPS displays the "Searching for satellites" signal. He checks his watch and impatiently stares at the tiny screen of the GPS.
"Screw it..." he sighs, making the next left on the empty country road.
He continues on that stretch of road for a half hour, passing numerous fields of corn, barns, and herds of cows.
"Already an hour late... Lily is going to kill me."
He glances over at the passenger seat, where he has flowers and a box of chocolates ready to give to his ex-wife. He reaches what appears to be the end of the road, and presses on his horn, extremely frustrated. He puts his head in his hands, and when he looks back up he saw a small child in front of his car. "Jesus!" As soon as George gets out of the car, the kid laughs and starts running away, cutting through a nearby cornfield. Wondering what the hell was going on, George decides to follow him, and starts pushing stalks of corn aside.
After a good half mile walk through the corn, George finally starts to hear voices of other people ahead of him. After a few more minutes of walking, he reaches the end of the field, and sees a small town situated in front of him. There is a small sign that reads "Nowhere", and he looks at it confusedly for a few moments. In the meantime, a large woman notices him and walks over to introduce herself.
"Well hello there! I'm Lauren. Who might you be?"
"Oh, uh, my name is George. Where am I?"
Lauren laughs, looks at the sign then back to George. "Can't you read love? You're in Nowhere!"
"Nowhere? I... I don't understand."
She sighs. "No one gets it at first. You've heard the phrase 'nowhere is perfect', right? Well, welcome to Nowhere, population three hundred and fifty-two! Let me show you around, okay?"
Lauren leads him around the small town, pointing out the cafe, the bookstore, and the five and dime. George sees the little boy from before playing with a tire, and asks Lauren who he was.
"Oh, him? That's Jordan. He doesn't talk much, and I don't blame him. It's pretty traumatic."
"Traumatic? What happened to him?"
"Well, let's just say that he won't be seeing his parents anymore.."
George gasped, cutting her off before she could finish. "His parents died? That's terrible! I feel so bad for him... I followed him in here you know. He needs to learn to be more careful!"
"Yea, sure. Let's go with that."
"I... I don't follow." George replies, confused. "Oh, never you mind. Let me show you the theater!"
When they arrive at the theater a mere three minutes later, George stops dead in his tracks. Lauren looks back quizzically at him.
"What's wrong love? It looks like you've seen a ghost."
George shakes his head, rubs his eyes, and looks up again.
"I think I've seen that little girl before... Where was it? I've never been here in my life!"
Lauren sighs, and goes to comfort him.
"It's always difficult adjusting. You've probably seen that little girl on the back of a milk carton, advertised missing."
George pulls away, looking outraged.
"What kind of sick town is this?! You kidnapped her?"
"No, nothing like that! We don't decide who comes here and who doesn't, and I have no idea who does. They just appear here one day, and that's that. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, they went missing and were never found again. Think of this place as a sanctuary, a paradise, for the lucky few. We have everything we need to be happy, and everyone is! It's Nowhere!"
By this point George is frantically thinking of all of the ways he could be killed by the people in this town, and wanted nothing more than to get out and fix the goddamn GPS so he could get to Oberlin.
"Oh, that all makes, uh, perfect sense. I really have to go though, so goodbye!"
He half runs, half jogs away as Lauren shouts "Wait!" in the background.
When he reaches the cafe, he looks around, trying to find the spot where he entered. He finds it, and with a sigh of relief walks over to it and goes to leave. The second he tries to push against the corn, he feels a tiny shock, and he jumps back. Confused, he tries to push the corn aside again, and feels another shock. A man in his twenties comes up next to him and gruffly laughs.
"I guess no one told you, huh? Once you're here, there's no leaving!"
The man walks away, smiling and chuckling to himself. George spends the next twenty minutes trying different parts of the corn, receiving the same jolt of electricity every time. Getting fed up, he finds the building labelled "Town Hall" and barges inside. There is one small room with one small desk in it, where one small man was sitting in a metal folding chair.
"I'm the mayor of Nowhere, how can I help you?"
"I want to get out of here! I want to see my ex-wife! Turn off the goddamn electric fence!"
"Well son, I don't know who your ex-wife is, but I can assure you that you won't be seeing her. As for getting out, I'm afraid I can't help you there either. What we have isn't so much an "electric fence" as it is a blessing from God! We don't know how it works, but we don't question it. It acts as a shield to keep the unworthy out, and it helps to keep the townsfolk in!"
George slams his fists on the desk, furious.
"Stop playing games with me! I want to leave!"
"But you're in utopia! Everyone dreams of this, and you just want to throw it away? Think about how perfect your life could be!"
"If this place is so perfect, why do you need a "magical shield" to keep people in?"
The mayor smiles and hands George a flyer from a drawer in his desk.
"We're having a party tonight, you should come. Goodbye!"
Realizing he won't get anything more from the man in front of him, George turns around and leaves, slamming his door on the way out.
Having nothing better to do, George sits on a rock and looks at the flyer the mayor handed to him. "You know where the best parties are? Nowhere! Town square, October 17th 5:00-9:00 pm" Disgusted, he puts the flyer in his pocket and checks his watch.
"Four thirty... great."
He desperately tries to break through the invisible barrier again, to no avail. Before he knows it, it's 5:15 and he can hear people talking and laughing a few streets over. Holding back tears, George heads over to try to find someone to help him.
When he gets to the town square, Lauren sees him and rushes over to give him a hug.
"I'm sorry darling, you didn't give me a chance to explain. No one can leave Nowhere, and we're all the better for it! We're happy here!"
George looks at Lauren's face, and thinks of how her smile looks like the smiles he had seen in some docu-drama about cults in the U.S.
"So it's really true? No one can leave?"
"Nope! Isn't it great?"
Lauren smiles again, and walks off to get something to drink.
"We'll see about that..." George whispers to himself.
Looking around, George notices that most of the people in the town are either children or women, with a few men scattered over the square. He feels a shiver run down his spine when he realizes that they all have the same smile as Lauren did, the overly happy look that serial killers have plastered on their faces 24/7. The mayor walks up to him and offers him a can of soda, which George begrudgingly accepts. The man lifts his own can up and clinks it against George's.
"Cheers, to our new resident!"
The rest of the people there stop what they're doing and say in unison "Cheers!"
"I'm not staying here for long, buddy."
Sighing, George takes a few sips of his drink, and starts to sway on his feet.
Waking up, George groggily looks around. He realizes that he's on a queen sized bed, with a nightstand, two bookcases, and a mirror in the room.
"Why do I feel so... happy?" he thinks to himself as he gets up. There's a glass of milk on the nightstand, and he takes a few drinks from it before going over to the mirror on the wall. He half gasps when he looks at his reflection, seeing the same smile he was creeped out by at the party.
"Something... in the... drinks..." he says as he stumbles back onto the bed. Lauren comes in and gently tips the glass of milk into his mouth.
"Drink up hun, you'll be happy soon."
Crying, George curls into a ball and slowly fades into unconsciousness.
A few months later, a middle-aged man walks through a patch of corn in front of the "Nowhere" sign. George spots him and walks over, smiling at the man.
"Where am I? I was following a little boy..."
"You're in Nowhere! Population three hundred and fifty-three!" | 26 | A man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a paradise-like town populated with people that have all went missing or died mysteriously- And he's told he can never leave. | 47 |
I was eating dinner when they came. Honestly, I don't watch T.V. so I had no idea what they were jabbering about for the first five minutes. Then it hit me.
The blokes in black suits - secret service - and the nice lady with the microphone must've been a newscaster. They're a troublesome lot, I'll have to get away from her when I can.
I realized, as I was being driven away in the black SUV, that the nice people I lived with were all shocked. No crying, no happiness for my success, just shock. Was it really that strange I could lead the Russian Union?
------------------
I settled in quite well - the food is much better here than back at home, and I don't have to rely on using my body just to earn enough to survive. It's nice, but I've yet to actually *do* anything. I hope I get to prove my usefulness soon - sometimes people treat me like a farm animal. I'm a President now, would it kill someone to remember?
---------------------------------------
Actually, that's a good idea. Note to self, schedule public execution next Tuesday.
-----------------------
It's finally time. Today I address the three billion people now living in the Russian Union, after the last President took over China, we've been getting swelling turn-out for the online speeches, so I've decided to go that route as well.
Eventually, the nice lady in a delicious looking green dress turns on the microphone.
"When you are ready, Mr. President."
I clear my throat.
"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~"
I am a goat. | 28 | All global elections are decided by lottery and you have been randomly selected as your country's leader. | 25 |
Mikhail gaped in horror at the silent explosion unfolding before his eyes. It was red-hot, blinding his pupils but he couldn't look away. His sanctuary, his route to safety had, in an instant, become nonexistent.
Not taking his eyes off of the blast, he fumbled with his radio, tuning into any frequency that he could find.
"H-help," he muttered, his voice empty and cold.
"This is Houston, what can we do for you?" Came a reply.
"The station- ISS.. I don't know what happened, it's gone- I'm stuck, driftin.. I don't know what to do"
"You have a pretty heavy accent there. You a Ruski? What's your name?"
"Mi.. Mikhail.. Please help me,"
"Sorry, Mikhail. We can't do that for you," The man on the other line declared, with a tone of indifference.
"Why? Please, I have a wife, kids, I just want to see them again. Do you know what's happening? Can you help me?"
A sigh could be heard over the transceiver. "No can do, Mikhail. And yessir, we know exactly what's happening. Tactical advantage. With ISS gone, and the resources we have, we stand to win this war. Sorry to say this, buddy, but you just became the first casualty of the third world war." | 89 | It's 2025 and the United States and Russia are in a second Cold War. A Russian astronaut is on a spacewalk on the ISS when he sees a missile hit the station. His communications can only reach the US... | 122 |
“Ostrich”, they said. Fucking ostrich. “No way ostrich is coming up in a drug deal”.
No one mentioned the idiot had a fucking ostrich.
A. Fucking. Ostrich.
Who has a pet ostrich?
Eccentric cocaine dealers, that's who.
That's why Morelo asked me “what the fuck are you talking about?” when I said the money was “right there, by the big
dove”.
“Have you never seen an ostrich before?”, he asked, because who the fuck calls an ostrich “the big dove”?
This idiot, that's who.
“Oh, that's an ostr – that's what that is?” I replied, my asshole clenched so tight it could cut a number 2 pencil in half.
“Scott, you're telling me this is the first time you see an ostrich?”, asked him, the golden chains clinking as he walks my
way.
I say the word ostrich and this place is run down by a SWAT team faster than you can say... ostrich. But he doesn't know
that, of course. To him, ostrich is just his freaking pet.
What's wrong with having a golden retriever, for God's sake?
“I thought they were called Emus”. I smiled. He didn't.
“Jesse is not an emu. She's an ostrich. Understood?”
“Ok. The money is right by Jesse's side, on my briefcase.”
“Emus suck. Don't you agree?”
“I do, I do.”
“You know what's better than emus?”
“Jesse?”
“OSTRICHES. Do you understand?”
I'm pretty sure I shitted myself right about there.
“I do. I do. Can we just complete the transaction?”
“What's Jesse, Scott?”
“What?” I don't have a gun. A SWAT team storms this hotel room, exchanging fire with these dealers, and I'm like a
bleached asshole in the middle of a dick and cock mingle.
Meaning I'm fucked.
“Jesse. Is. Not. An. Emu. Do you understand?”
“I do, Mr. Morelo. Very much. Let's just make the trade, ok?”
“No.” He waves his guys, “Bring me Jesse.”
Have you ever seen an ostrich walking across a hotel room filled with cocaine, money and drug dealers while trying to
stop yourself from crying like a bitch and silently calculating the escape route of a building?
I have.
“Pet her.”
I pet the fucker.
“Tell me. Is this an Emu?”
“No, sir, it's not.” It's a fucking ostrich.
“What is this?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“It's an... ostrich. Fuck it, it's an ostrich! Ostrich! Ostrich! Save me, come in, come in! They have guns! OSTRICH,
OSTRICH, OSTRICH!”
Nothing. And, of course, they look at me like I'm crazy.
“Ostrich!”
“What the fuck are you doing?” They ask, but it's just to be polite, seeing as the guns are already pointed at me.
“OSTRICH! What the fuck, guys? Ostrich!”
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
And just as the guns are cocked, I remember.
Alpaca. It was alpaca. Not ostrich.
Alpaca.
Why did I think it was ostrich?
“Shoot this motherfucker.”
I could have said “alpaca” before they opened fire. I don't know why I didn't.
If I had to take a guess, I'd say it's cause I thought I deserved it, in a way.
“I'm gonna die because of alpacas and ostriches”, I think, as Jesse stares at me from above. “Is that blood on my shirt?
Who messes up alpacas for ostriches, anyway?”
This idiot, that's who. | 1,917 | An undercover cop is given an obscure word or phrase to drop into conversation only if things go badly and the mission is aborted. However, for some reason, the natural flow of conversation with the people he's infiltrating makes it very hard to avoid saying it. | 1,678 |
Kevin clapped his hands excitedly and skipped around in a small circle, before remembering himself and stopping to smooth down his robes. He turned beck to the chalk circle and the demon who was waiting patiently there. "Er, sorry about that. First time summoning."
The demon was around six feet, half scaly, half slimy and the bits that weren't humanoid had a strangely reptilian look to them. When it spoke the voice, strangely was in a rather clipped British accent. "No need to apologise young summoner, Newton was just the same on his first time."
Kevin pulled the hood further over his eyes and moved his hands swirlingly over the book stand, which held his grimoire. "Demon from the nethers of hell, I have summoned you here to aid and assist me. I hold you in my power and demand that you..."
"Yeah it's alright Kevin, you don't have to worry about that stuff." The demon interrupted. Kevin paused, his mouth open to form the next word. There was a pause and the demon realised that Kevin was now confused. "Okay, sorry finish up."
"...You offer me all assistance that I demand." Kevin finished quite quickly and slightly sullenly. "Look you're supposed to be under my command!"
"Yeah, no I am... kind of." The demon looked sheepish. "Look Kevin, here's the things and you were going to find out anyway. All this stuff." He gestured around the room to the many strange books, gems and Megan Fox posters that adorned the teenagers room. "Strictly, none of it is really necessary. In fact, if someone is paying attention then just yelling quite loud will often get our attention and now that you're on Hell's radar, we'll be around." The demon stepped over the chalk circle and looked a bit closer at the Megan Fox poster.
Kevin looked amazed. "You're not... you're ***not supposed to do that***!"
The demon sighed and returned to the circle. "Okay, fine, sorry. Oh summoner master how can I serve your will?"
Kevin didn't really like the sullen tone in the demon's voice but he decided to ignore it. "I demand to be given the knowledge and power to become a powerful..." Kevin paused for effect. "***necromancer!***"
The demon picked its claws a little. "Okay. Here." It fished around in its loin cloth and tossed a gem across to Kevin. "This'll summon the closest dead person to you, to do your will."
Kevin looked at the stone suspiciously. "What's the catch foul demon."
The demon looked hurt. "No catch, I mean, you realise that just summoning me dooms you to hell right? But that was true before the stone. At this point it's worth it just for a bit of fun, I mean, not like many people summon us anymore right?"
"Then I banish you to the depths of the foul pit of..." Kevin began to get worked up again with his hands flashing around.
"Can I take that poster?" The demon cut in pointing to the Megan Fox poster.
Kevin paused. "What?"
"The poster... just been a while since I was up last and she's kinda hot and I figure I gave you the power to raise the dead and all..."
"Yes, okay, sure." Kevin was irritated and even more so when the demon again stepped over the chalk line and carefully took down the poster and rolled it up before stepping back. "er.. foul pit of hell from when you came... I guess."
The demon waved enthusiastically to Kevin and puffed out of existence. Kevin sighed in relief and pushed back his hood to reveal his spotty face. Looking down at the stone he chuckled in glee, at last he would have his revenge!
That night Kevin slept well for the first time in months, knowing that tomorrow was the day of his revenge. He woke early, showered and guzzled down his wheaties to the approval of his mother. The bus to school seemed to take forever but at last he arrived and stepped into the playground.
As expected John Pilkington and his group of cronies was blocking the door but today Kevin was ready. He glanced across the road, how wonder it was to have a graveyard right across from the school! Closest dead person to him the demon had said, this would be so easy!
He held the stone in his hands and started to mutter but a shadow fell across him and he looked up, John was already there. Desperately he finished his incarnation.
"Alright Muppet! What you got there? Another baby toy?" John pushed him and Kevin stumbled backwards. "Monday morning, time to get your head kicked in."
Desperation and panic forced Kevin's hand. He screamed out at the top of his lungs. "I summon you!"
John looked around and suddenly the whole playground burst out laughing. "Who you summoning baby?" Kevin's stomach sunk. It was a dud, the demon had tricked him.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING" The voice was strong and fierce. "GET AWAY FROM THAT BOY" Kevin's heart sang, his army was here. A hand grabbed John and spun him around and Kevin saw his undead... ***GRAN?!?!***
"Don't you worry darling, I'll deal with these bullies." Kevin's undead grandmother, flesh hanging from her aged frame, flung John across the playground and the screaming from all sides began.
"But my army? Why are you here?" Kevin wailed.
His grandmother looked back and winked. "We were always close dear!"
*****
Sorry OP, not quite what you were looking for but this is where my brain took this. | 24 | A necromancer who was about to attack a city finds out that he can only summon pacifist undead. | 29 |
A planetary orgy of gluttony and sex rolls around the Earth as the Sun rises. It only lasts thirty minutes, but, from what I hear, that seems to enough for most people. At least for the people who are left. That is, except for me. I don’t sleep.
Ten months ago, an epidemic swept the planet. It was not fatal. Well, not right away. It was called the Somnia virus, and its only symptom was that the infected slept their life away. Well almost, there was a brief period of consciousness right after the Sun came up every morning.
Most people use this precious time consuming calories to keep their bodies running for another twenty-four hours, like humming birds. Many fulfill the other natural desire our bodies crave. Some do both at once, which I am sure makes for some Bacchus like scenes at the government feeding stations.
It sounded like a frat boy’s wet dream, but we all soon found out what a nightmare it could become. People on life support were the first to die off. Those poor souls that needed around the clock care were next. They were followed by anybody that needed an operation or had a manageable disease. I guess it is hard to cut out a brain tumor in thirty minutes. Ask my mother; oh that’s right, you cant.
If I sound jaded and full of despair, I am. I was just a stupid college kid, majoring in P.E., at the University when the first waves hit. Why I never caught it, I have no idea. A natural immunity I guess. I don’t know much about viruses and medicine and stuff like that. Which kind of sucks considering I’m the only person left to find a cure.
I have no idea how the virus spreads, or where it came from. The few antivirals I can find don’t seem to help much. I injected the woman next door with a cocktail of them that I found in a hospital. She did manage to stay awake for 45 minutes before returning to the same pattern as everyone else. I don’t even know what that means.
I have access to all the government labs, every book on the subject of Virology, and all the time in the world. However, I lack the knowledge and the skill to put it into practice. I write down everything I try, and I leave notes for the doctors and scientists. Sometimes they have time to write something back. Sometimes it is a list of things to do. Sometimes it is a formula that I don’t understand. Sometimes it is just a note that says thank you.
I find a lot of dead people. The smell is pretty bad sometimes. Dogs don’t seem to be affected; they eat well. The most disturbing deaths are not the suicides; it’s the women that die in childbirth. That doesn’t seem to stop the fucking though. Everyone is human. Even I have fallen victim to my own primal urges. I have, in my desperation, wandered around and had my way with several sleeping women. I’m not proud of it. It happens.
I wonder what kind of god would put the fate of the world in the hands of a rapist jock with Insomnia. I would ask a priest or a rabbi if I could find one. I guess they are all fucking and eating like everyone else.
I am only writing this because I want you to understand. When you wake up, I want you to understand what it is like, and why I had to take your wife. I need test subjects. The doctors have outlined an experiment and your apartment was the closest. I am sorry. I will bring her back, when we are done. She may be the first ever cured, and even if she is not, I will bring her back to you.
I promise.
| 11 | Due to a massive epidemic thanks to the rather peculiar Somnia virus, everybody now can only stay awake for half an hour per day. That is, except for one. This is the story of the last insomniac. | 21 |
Jadie looked around the cramped, two-room flat she shared with her parents. Yellow post it notes decorated every surface in a chaotic haphazard way. Some were folded, others upside down, all with hastily written notes in her parents handwriting. She plucked one, at random, as she walked to the kitchen and read it aloud.
“Hey beautiful, could you pass me the remote? I think Top Gear is on,” she snickered and reattached it to the wall.
Families are odd, we all know that, but Jadie felt hers may be more odd than most. Her parents were the most responsible, loving people she knew. They were mad about each other, and always had been. Yet in her twenty years, she never heard a kind word spoken to each other. Actually, never even a word, kind or not. Sure, they both could speak; they talked to Jadie every day. The notes scattered about the flat were the way they communicated; it was always like that. Passing notes like school children. Jadie smiled.
“Are you alright, sweetie,” asked Jadie’s Aunt Clara who was sitting at the little breakfast table, drinking a cup of coffee and fighting a wobbly leg. The table of course, not her own; that’s what the cane was for.
“I’m fine. I think. It’s just a lot to take in,” Jadie replied.
“I am here to help. She was my sister and your Dad meant so much to me. I know it hurts. I still can’t believe it myself.”
What was there to believe, Jadie thought. It was just one of the thousands of car accidents, which happen every day. This one just happened to take both of her elderly parents. Jadie sat down next to her Aunt, poured herself a cup of coffee. Neither was looking forward to cleaning this place up, but the funeral had come and gone and this was the next step. It was a scary, shaky step like the first one at the top of the slide or into a cold pool.
“I just don’t want to,” Jadie whispered. “It is like I am silencing them forever. All these notes. These are them. I read them and hear them in my head, like I always did as a child. To take them down just seems wrong.”
“I know dear. I know.”
“I don’t even know why. Why write all these notes? Why live a lifetime of silence? Did the police tell you?”
“Tell me what dear,” Aunt Clara replied.
“That when they found them, they were scribbling dying notes to each other inside the wreckage.”
“No they didn’t tell me, but it makes sense. They kept their promise to the end. That’s the kind of people your parents were,” Clara rubbed Jadie’s arm soothing circles.
“A promise? To whom? Why would you make a promise like that?”
“They made that promise to a very special person that they both loved dearly. When you parents met they were both already dating other people, but that seldom matters to hearts. The young woman that your father was dating was madly in love with him and took the break up very hard. This was perfectly normal, but she was also your mother’s sister. My sister.”
“Aunt Hannah?”
“That’s the one. There was friction, as was to be expected, but when they adopted you, Hannah knew any chance at reconciliation was gone. She grew depressed. Do you remember Aunt Hannah?”
“A little. I remember she died when I was six. Right after the adoption, but before my operation, I think. I remember Mom saying she helped us when we needed it the most,” Jadie replied.
“That’s right. You needed the operation and your parents had no money. My sister offered assistance, but for a price. Hannah promised to help them get the money if they promised never to speak to each other again. Nobody knows where she got the money, but whomever she got it from was not happy, and she paid for it.”
“That’s why she died? She stole money for me? Oh my god,” Jadie cringed and bit her lip.
“No dear. She was depressed and heart broken. She stole money as a way of trying to keep your parents apart. Your parents just honored the promise the best they could. Neither could bear to leave each other so they compromised, and these notes are the story of their compromise,” Clara said with a smile.
“They never told me.”
“Of course they didn’t, my dear. No matter how it happened, Hannah did good with her sacrifice. Even if it was for selfish reasons, goodness found a way. Your parents recognized this and viewed it as divine intervention. They made the promise to Hannah, but they kept the promise for God.”
Jadie sat there, caught between sadness and reverence in that misty emotional zone that makes that first step less shaky. Aunt Clara pulled out an empty scrapbook and opened it to page one.
“Let’s gather up these notes and write their story in these pages. We can order them any way we want and they will never be silent.
| 12 | Jadie often wondered why her mother and father communicated only via notes. She had never heard them speak to each other... | 20 |
Love this prompt. But I'm gonna try to take it into a new perspective.
--------------------------------
William returned from the past, bleeding, but alive. He sat down, hand covering his wound.
"I failed, Zachary," he uttered to his fellow scientist. "I couldn't do it. It's like he knew I was coming."
"Couldn't do what?" Zachary replied.
"I couldn't kill Hitler," William proceeded to bandage his wound, his face grave and hopeless.
"Hitler? Why would you want to kill Hitler?"
"Wh-What do you mean?"
"Hitler is the greatest artist and scientist the entire world has ever known... It's only because of his endless victories against time travelers that we have the necessary means to time travel in the first place!"
William's face froze. Something had change. He had sparked something, and made a difference, even in failure. "But.. the Holocaust? Hitler was never a dictator?"
"Hitler? HA. Personally I don't think that man could even rule a brush stroke. Remember, I didn't send you back to 1914 to kill Hitler. We're after the man who started the second Spanish inquisition. Who ruined the mustache for all of us. The most terrible tyrant in history- Salvador Dalí." | 77 | In 1907 Vienna Academy of Fine Arts rejects Young Adolf Hitler twice and soon after he survives four different assassination attempts by time travellers. Confused Hitler is convinced that its his art is what the world fears. | 116 |
It was around 2198 that NUFA, or the New United Federation of the Americas as they now called themselves, proposed finding an alternative to war. Killing people had stopped being profitable almost a decade before and, at this point, humans were doing it as a tradition rather than the somber act of indignation it previously was. *Oh, you did something I did not approve of! You leave me no choice but to explode all the things you love. You brought this on yourself, you know!* Resources on the planet were scarce. What was not irradiated with nuclear fallout was jealously guarded, unwillingly distributed and, in most cases, cautiously siphoned into the black markets. Populations were concentrated in dense clusters. Dropping bombs were too easy and it had become nearly impossible to convince the few young people left to take up arms for any reason. How can there be patriotism when your country was suffering exactly as much as all the others?
A grand assembly gathered in the capital of the TSBEAEC (Technically-Separate-But-Equal Alliance of European Countries), to discuss this proposition. Ambassadors, Leaders of Personality Cults and Self-Elected Officials all over the globe were in attendance to make sure that any discussions were fair to all parties, that this compromise was not rigged to favor once country more than the others. And, if they were honest with themselves, to ensure that the compromise *was* rigged in *their* favor one way or another. With much pomp and pageantry, the representatives of Earth’s remaining civilizations found their seats in the large hall. The Neo-Prussian Queen politely doffed her crown to the Emperor of the Australasia, who in turn smiled back while calling her something foul in *Warlpiri* under his breath. This, in turn was taken as a sign by Pope Goodwill Jacques (of the Holy African Democracy of the United Congo) that a conspiracy was afoot. He quickly nudged his neighboring delegate to receive a second opinion which, unbeknownst to His Holiness, is a grave insult in the Antarctic culture. And the nudged ambassador was very, *very* Antarctic.
The name calling, declarations of vendetta and fisticuffs were only broken up by the rather rude sound of a large woman screaming through a megaphone. The incensed delegates stopped punching each other for just enough time that the red-faced NUFA Oligarch could start her presentation.
“This is exactly why we cannot settle our disputes the same way we have in the past. One wrong phrase, one wrong move and we are back at each other’s throats. And who suffers? *Everyone*. Our children. Our people. Our planet.” The hall grew silent as people returned to their seats with new-found humility. “No longer shall we lash out. We need to find a way to stop the bloodshed. For the sake of humanity!”
“What then? How do we settle these matters when these *dummkopfs* refuse to listen to common sense?!” shrieked the Queen of Neo-Prussia.
“If I may, I think I have the answer.”
All heads swiveled around to a graying figure in the back of the assembly hobbling to the center of the room. He was of slight build, little more than a skeleton wearing clothes. Wires snaked out of his suit which sparked in time to his irregular pace, which threatened to set the tension in the air alight. Nippon’s Head of Research and Culture was more metal than flesh, which was not unusual in his country. It was a well-accepted fact that the Nipponese strove to become one with the machines they worshipped; to become a cyborg was every citizen’s sacred duty.
“We continue to act like children. Why not settle this like them too? We play a game. Winner takes all.”
For the first time since the first person walked into that room, it was silent. Each leader took turns going through a wide range of emotions in no particular order. *How dare that sparkplug call me a child?! But, what if we lose? Is he insane? How can we settle border disputes with something as simple as a game?*
But the prevailing thought going through every mind was *why did I not think of that?*
The agreed rules were simple on paper, but took months to put into action.
* The Game can only be played in international waters. This way, no country can claim home-ground advantage.
* The Arena would be a rectangle, divided in half. Each half is three nautical miles wide, two and a half long. Only contestants could enter the Arena. Any interference would be dealt with… extreme prejudice.
* Opposing nations would select a team of individuals to play on their behalf. The best men and women would represent their country by manning a specialized craft designed by the best minds humanity has to offer. The Craft would only be able to move forward or backwards. Computers locked on to satellites ensured that the Craft automatically compensate for tidal drift, so that the Craft would only move in a straight line.
* The objective of the Game is to prevent an AI controlled, rocket-propelled buoy from passing the Craft. If the Buoy touches a Craft, the Buoy ricochets away from the Craft and towards the opponent’s area. Should the Buoy head towards the edge of the Arena, the AI will course-correct to that is stays within bounds.
* Should the Buoy pass a Craft, the Buoy will self-destruct and a point would be allocated to the opposing team.
* Each game will last until one team scores eleven points. The winner of the game is final.
It was perfect. Barring a few incidents, which were considered “growing pains”, the first Game marked the start of global human-cooperation that had never been seen before. If there was a dispute that could not be solved by negotiation, a challenge was called. The winning country would have the support of the entire world.
The Nipponese Representative was honored by the Global Assembly for his genius and foresight. It was unanimously decided that the Game should forever be synonymous with that great man’s name. Chairman Pong’s contribution would never be forgotten.
| 12 | Fabricate a detailed back story of what is happening in your favorite video game that doesn't have a story. | 22 |
Obama tilted his cap to the side. Shit was about to get real. He paced back and forth, collecting his thoughts in the dimly lit ambassador's office. With a grin, he turned to face Kim Jung Un and commenced his attack.
"Gimme a beat, Biden," The vice president proceeded to give it his all. "Now listen here, you little twit, you're working on bombs but we're DONE with it. I'm the king of all freedom, lemme fill my cup, I blew away Bin Ladin while you blew your school up"
'OOOOH's and gasps could be heard amongst the cabinet. Even McCain gave a nod of approval. Kim Jung Un simply turned and removed his sunglasses, before he began.
"You think it's all that to interfere, you sittin' in your office with your people in fear. My people here love me, can't even disagree, I hit eleven holes in one with your WIFE last week!"
Obama was feeling the burn. It was coming down to the wire. Sweating, he glanced at the judges- Sarah Palin, Jang Song Thaek (Un's uncle), and Dennis Rodman. He already knew which way the former two would vote, but Rodman... Well, that was anyone's guess. The victory squad was proceeding to prepare their firearms, ready to eliminate the losing leader. With a breath, and a fistpump, Obama made his rebuttal.
"I'm the leader of diversity, the savior and guide, you couldn't even tell your people apart if you tried. Mandatory haircuts, mandatory trust, even ask Psy- United States or bust! You got people eatin' shit right outta your hand, but I got the greatest mc's right at my command. So go tell your dad, dig him out of the grave, that baby face here's got nothin' left to save!"
The crowd erupted. Obama dropped the mic, and walked away in silence, panting, sweating, but feeling victorious. He left the room, and heard a gunshot- The United States was free to rap another day.
----------------------------------
also, couldn't resist-
WHO WON?!?? WHO'S NEXT?!?? EPRRIC RAP BARTTLESS OF HOOSITRYYYYY
| 856 | Instead of wars, countries use rap battles. Write a battle between two enemy countries. | 836 |
"How many testers do we have?" said a man's voice, echoing through the sleep lab.
I struggled to get comfortable in the hard wooden chair that was provided. My outward calm demeanor was betrayed by the tiny droplets of anxiety-induced sweat slowly forming on my brow. We'd been briefed on the purpose of the drug. Something they created to make surgical procedures more pleasant for the wealthier among us. It creates an alternate reality; you'll live an entirely different life whilst you are under. It sounded an awful lot like hallucinogenic drugs to me, and potentially dangerous. I needed the money, though, and I can think of much more difficult ways to make $500.00.
"Fifteen on the nose, sir!" piped a younger man's voice. "We're ready to begin now!"
I let out a long, slow breath through my nose and tried to ignore the incessant beeping of the myriad machines I was hooked up to. I watched a kind-looking man in a stark white lab coat slowly make his way toward my chair, administering the drug to each participant. It was a sickly green color and seemed to make the patients momentarily ill. It was momentary because they each would fall into a very peaceful-looking slumber mere seconds later.
As the gentleman approached my chair, my facade broke and I gripped the seat involuntarily, looking at him with wide eyes. I made no move to escape or anything like that. I had gone too far at this point. He smiled kindly at me and told me to relax.
"It will only be a few minutes. I promise it won't hurt. This drug has never harmed or killed any of the subjects we've tested it on. It'll be just like a very vivid dream."
I relaxed slightly and he gave me a pat on the shoulder as he swabbed a spot on my arm with some alcohol.
I recall feeling as though my insides were being ripped out through every available orifice on my body. I remember thinking to myself that I had changed my mind. I didn't want this. It hurt, I was terrified.
Then suddenly, it was dark. Very, very dark. I could hear murmuring all around me. I was alive somewhere -- I knew that much. But I was no longer me. It was that moment that an abrupt sense of horror crashed over my subconscious like a tidal wave.
*You'll live an entirely different life.*
But it can't be, can it? How could they invent a drug that would do that? I don't remember being in utero -- no one does. How could a drug unlock such memories to recreate the experience so horrifyingly vividly?
But there was no denying what was happening, I felt the body that wasn't mine moving, and I heard screaming. I tried to block everything out and find some happy place, but there was no happiness. This was absolute hell. The worst possible nightmare that I could ever have imagined.
I tried to scream but my lungs wouldn't allow it. Everywhere hurt. I receded mentally. Something snapped in that moment inside of me. I was horrified. Traumatized. I wanted this to stop. I needed to wake up. I tried to focus my mind on the sterile lab room with the men in white coats, willing myself to snap out of it, but to no avail.
A bright light hit my extremely sensitive eyes, and I found that I could scream. So I did. A lot.
Five minutes came and went and my mind would not wake up. My life had become moments of realization and horror mixed with moments of denial and acceptance. I tried to communicate with people, but I could not make my words make sense. By the time I was able to, of course, I was just a girl with an overactive imagination.
I recall being a very small child at one point, and getting my hands on a sharp knife. My "mother" entered the kitchen and immediately went into panic mode, screaming at me and asking what happened as she tried to stanch the flow of blood pouring from my hand. My speech was still limited. I just couldn't make my thoughts turn into words. But I did manage to say, "Not real! NOT REAL!"
No one payed me any mind.
Eventually... I was forced to accept this new reality. I had no choice. This is just what was. Maybe I was an over-imaginative little girl. Who knows. Who cared? I just needed to feel normal again.
I finally let go of all my "alternate reality" theories, much to the relief of the adults around me.
"I told you it was just a silly little phase!" said the old woman who called herself my grandmother.
Life wasn't terrible after I accepted it. I actually had a nice, loving family. I was extraordinarily intelligent for my age. I grasped concepts in school very fast, and was advanced two full grades, graduating high school at the top of my class.
"Where did all those brains come from!" I remember my mother asking me one day. We locked eyes for a moment, and just for a second I could see real fear there. Like she and I were linked together in thought. Like she knew that I was different. She allowed herself a brief moment to consider the plausibility of my childhood claims. But years of therapy taught me to immediately push those thoughts out of my head.
"I don't know, I'm just lucky I guess!"
College came and went, and I went into the medical research field. I was particularly interested in oneirology, the study of dreams and how they relate to the brain. I didn't admit to anyone -- including myself -- why this interested me so.
I'd lived a pretty decent life. However confused and disoriented some of it was. I had a first love, a first kiss. I learned to ride a bike and I grew up. I got married and I had kids. I watched them grow up and have their own kids. I grew old with the person that I loved. I watched him pass away peacefully.
*Life is okay* I thought to myself as an extreme exhaustion came over me. I smiled at my eldest daughter, who had gorgeous hazel eyes which were presently brimmed with tears.
"I love you." I said to her, and sleep finally took me.
Then I woke up.
To complete chaos.
I sat bolt upright and looked around the white sterile room. I felt the hard, cold wood of the chair beneath me biting uncomfortably into my legs. Other people had risen from their chairs and began pulling IVs and wires out. Machines were blaring. People were screaming and crying, confused. Some of them were shouting names.
"MICHEAL! WHERE'S MICHEAL! WHERE AM I?"
Some young woman had retreated to a corner and was rocking back and forth with her hands over her ears, muttering *"This isn't real"* over and over again.
I laid back down slowly and stared at the ceiling, promising myself to never, ever enter another drug trial again.
| 99 | A new drug that makes you dream of a new life (from birth to death) but only for 5 minutes, and you are the beta tester. What the chemists didn't know is that in the dream time is altered and you feel like 80 years pass. Describe your dream! | 117 |
Twenty years hadn't dulled the memory. He'd worn the visage of her even as she was being digested in that swollen furry belly. And she'd nearly been... were it not for the good huntsman...
The wolf, although badly wounded, managed to escape the cabin into grey-white winter woods. Common sense asserted that he was dead now, but in her heart she knew better. He was out there.
So into the woods she went. She spoke with the foxes, the rabbits, the deer, and the twittering birds in the trees. It took time, but a pattern began to form, and she soon realized that she would anticipate a time and place for confrontation, closure, and... ...what?
Deep in the woods, in a wolves den known as the Thicklebrickle Tavern, that is where she would find him. It took half a day to get there. She found the tavern in disrepair like an old wooden battlement. She entered. It was a small place. A few tables. Stools. A rail. A dusty old mirror behind the bartender (a one-eyed bear who looked at her with increasing suspicion). And then at the end of the bar an old grey wolf with a mangy coat and a mangled leg. She sat next to him.
The wolf didn't turn his head, which was pointed at his nearly empty glass, but his eyes turned to steal a glance.
"What do ye want lass?" said the wolf.
Red gathered herself and moved in closer. "My what a mangled leg you have," she said.
He grunted, "The worse for me to hunt with." It was almost a sigh.
Now was the moment, "Then tell me why you hunted my poor grandmother you animal!"
The wolf turned toward her. Head cocked. Leaning on the bar. He looked somewhat surprised. He said, "Because I AM an animal. Because I was hungry, you twit."
"But, the disguise. The elaborate set-up."
"What? You think I can just walk up to people and say, 'Oh, hi there. Mind if I eat you?' There is a certain amount cleverness you need to put food on the table. That's right. Food on the table. I had cubs. But after your huntsman friend whacked my leg, I couldn't feed them! All but one of my cubs died, but he was recently caught in a bear trap meant for my bartender friend here. Yes, your good huntsman has been busy! Now, I have to take care of my grandchild wolf all alone. Me, a mangled old wolf who can't hunt!"
Red was strangely moved by his plight. And in being so moved, she saw a chance for closure. She would adopt this cub. Raise him right. He would never hunt. He would farm. He would join polite animal society. She would end the cycle.
"Dear old wolf. Will you take me to your cub? If you do, I promise to take care of him."
The wolf turned away from the girl and looked at the bartender who just smiled at him. The wolf rolled his eyes. The world occasionally does give you a free lunch after all. His stomach grumbled slightly, anticipating its next meal.
| 17 | Little Red Riding Hood is no longer little. Now an adult she decides to return to the forest, to the scene of her Grandmothers death to track down the "Wolf" and find out why he killed her Grandmother. | 30 |
-Shit. What was she like?
-She was beautiful. A smart girl, straight A's in college.
-She went to college? Really?
-Your daughter was a Sociology major, Mr. Thompson. Before the drugs.
-Little Angela went to college. Hah! Who knew I could put a kid through
college?
-Huh...
-What?
-How do you know her name?
-I always wanted to name my daughter Angela, officer. Apparently, I
did.
_________
-She's a drug addict, for fuck's sake! It's not her fault!
-I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson. You have five minutes.
-You treat her! Put her in rehab! Put her in jail, anything! Don't fucking
do this!
-That door, second one on the left. If you need anything, there's an
emergency button under the desk, right in the –
-I don't need a fucking emergency button to see my daughter.
-It's standard procedure for murder cases, sir. There you are, you have
five minutes.
_________
-So, what? She killed a guy or something?
-A family. She was stealing, we didn't think she meant to do it. Couple
got home earlier, the husband had a gun. Her boyfriend got in a fight
with the guy, she panicked. Killed both of them.
-Jesus fucking Christ. I sure can raise them, huh?
-You can't blame this on you. Anyway, it's taken care of, now. Like it
never happened. Us being here, this is just standard procedure. We're
required to inform you of the change. It shouldn't have any larger
implications in your life, though. Think of it as a parallel universe that
stopped existing the moment we enforced the sentence.
-Noted. I once had daughter, and she even went to college, before she
murdered people. Nice.
-It never happened. Not anymore. Don't beat yourself up.
-Is that why the doctor said me and the wife, we didn't qualify for that
fertility thing, all those years ago?
-Exactly, sir. That was us. Sorry.
-It's fine. D'you want a beer or something?
_________
-Angie, darling.
-DAD! Dad. I'm so scared!
-It's gonna be ok, honey. I promise.
-Did they say anything? Is it rehab?
-Darling...
-Jail?
-Angie, baby...
-No! No, Dad, don't let them!
-I'm so sorry, Angie.
-Don't let them do it, Dad! Please!
-They made up their minds. I can't –
-You'll forget me dad. It'll be like I never exis –
-Angie, listen to me. I'll never forget you. I don't care what they do, this
voodoo shit they pull. I'll never forget you. I'll fix some shit up, I'll get
them to go back and undo this mess, you watch. They'll bring you back,
baby. Even if I have to sneak into their freaking time loop thing myself.
-Time's up, Mr. Thompson. Angela, step away from the visitor, please.
-DAD! DON'T! NO! DAD!
-Angie you wait! I'm coming to get you back! I promise!
_________
-Mr. Thompson...
-Yeah?
-There's one more thing. And this is completely up to you.
-Yeah?
-We're also required... Well, we bring with us a picture of the felon.
From this – parallel universe I mentioned. In case you want it, and I
don't know why you would, she's a stranger to you, but –
-Let me see it.
-Here. It's you two, at the beach.
-That's nice. She really is pretty. Was. I don't know.
-You're allowed to keep it, if you want. As a souvenir, or a –
-Nah, you can take it.
-Are you sure?
-Yeah. Whatever. Sure you don't want that beer?
-No, thank you. If you need anything, call us at the
station. See you later, Mr. Thompson.
-See you.
| 75 | Some people's crimes are so bad execution is not enough. In these cases time travel is used to prevent their birth, ripping them out of history completely. | 101 |
Shelly woke with a start. She sat bolt upright in her bed, her eyes flashing around the room in a confused panic. She, like everybody else on the planet, had lost all of her memories.
All the moments, recollections, lessons, and triumphs had been wiped clean from her mind.
She gazed uncomprehendingly around her room. Pictures of friends and family meant no more to her than the place holder photos that had come with the frames when she'd bought them.
She couldn't even remember her own name.
Her befuddled stare alighted on a small leather-bound notebook lying on her bedside locker. It was her journal.
She had always kept a diary, a log of all her hopes and dreams, aspirations and fears. All of her private thoughts, everything that made her herself was noted down in this little book.
It was like the back up files for Shelly.exe
She haltingly reached over and picked it up.
She popped open the little brass clasp that held the covers together.
She opened a page at random and stared at the densely packed script covering it...
Not that it meant anything to her.
She'd forgotten how to read. | 19 | It's the year 2154. Everyone on Earth loses their memories every night at exactly midnight. One man wakes up with a journal beside him. | 32 |
*Sup.*
I turn around. There is nothing but trees around me. I've been alone for an hour now. I'm sure I heard a voice... actually it sounded a lot like Seth Rogen. I must be going crazy. I'm crazy.
*Hey man, where you headed?*
I look around again. No one. But this time I'm sure I'm not imagining it. "Hello?"
*Hey dude.*
"Hey yourself, where are you?"
*Right here.*
I feel an unnatural warm breeze pass through me with the scent of weed.
"What the fuck. Seriously, hello? I'm kinda creeped out, not gonna lie."
*You need to relax, man.*
"I think I'd be more comfortable if I actually saw you."
*What are you blind? I'm right here.*
The voice is clearer than ever. Right in front of me. Okay. Okay. Okay... Say something.. "So are you a ghost or something?" I laugh nervously.
*HELL YEAH!*
"Okay.. Fuck."
*Its not a bad thing. There are a lot of cool shit that we can do. Haven't you seen Casper?*
"Friendly ghost. Yeah."
*THAT'S LIKE ME, DUDE!*
"Okay. Yeah. You're friendly."
*Yeah, man. So you wanna hang out?*
"Just trying to hike up this mountain, and then I gotta get back home soon. Sorry."
*Oh lame. Alright buzzkill, whatever, you're just gonna miss out ON THE BEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE. Peace, you pussy.*
Okay.. | 12 | A lone hiker in the mountains is being stalked by something paranormal. | 43 |
'Hai yoo guys!'
'Oh, great' bleated Steve to Kevin, 'It's Greg.'
'Hai yoo guys! What'cha doin'?' Dribbled Greg thickly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
'Hey Greg... Not much. We're just uh... Waiting' Grumbled Kevin.
'Yep, nothing much happening here, Greg', concurred Steve, 'just us being dull.'
Steve and Kevin looked knowingly at each other, they had to ditch Greg, he was a clingy wierdo with the social skills of a boiled turnip.
Greg stared dumbly at them, his eyes blinking slightly out of sync with each other, 'Cool, yoo guys can I join in?!', he blurted.
'We... Aren't doing anything for you to join in with, Greg', said Steve, nonplussed.
Greg blinked, 'Yoo guys wanna see my thing?!'
'NO! Greg, you woke me up in the middle of the night last week to show me a "thing" and it turned out to just to be your anus! I don't want to see your anus again, Greg!', shouted Kevin savagely.
Greg seemed oblivious to the vitriol in Kevin's voice, ' It's a new thing, yoo guys! Look' Greg turned his large and slightly asymmetrical head so Kevin and Steve could see his neck.
'Wh-What is that thing?', gasped Steve staring at the black plastic collar around Greg's neck.
'Why's it beeping like tha-' Kevin's sentence was abruptly cut off as a lead slug entered his skull and erupted out again spraying his brains across the ground in a pulpy crimson arc.
'HOLY SHI-!' Steve too was quickly silenced as his skull was blasted apart by a rifle round.
Greg blinked, one eye a fraction of a second slower than the other.
Over the ridge line he heard distant bleating.
'Hai yoo guys!' he blared, turning and shambling awkwardly over the ridge, 'What'cha dooin', yoo guys?!' | 18 | You are the gregarious Galapagos goat; tell us your story. | 66 |
"Well..." The old man said. "Aren't you going to ask?" He was very peculiar, this old man. He spoke with an English accent, "cause I fancy it" he said once, when asked by Zeus. I had not created him, nor had any of the others. He just simply was.
"Ask what?" I said with a curious grin, sipping on my tea. The old man sat back in his chair, and stroked his beard a few times.
"What it was like before you lot showed up." He gave a laugh.
"There was nothing before we were." And Jehova was right, before any thing even existed, there was nothing. Except for him. He never created anything. He just simply observed.
"You may be a God, but I've lived in an age before there were Gods. I'm so old I can tell Time what time it is. Are you not curious as to how even time began?"
We all fell silent. Some looked onto him with interest, curiosity filled our minds with what came before even our own creation. Others looked away, still listening, but turning blind eyes, believing themselves to of created time and space.
"Well..." The old man began, "I should start from the beginning. I came into being only moments before time had, but because there was no time, I was already old and fragile. I knew everything and nothing at once. It was horrifying. And from truly nowhere, music. Music came into existence, bringing time with it. For without time, there can be no music. It was music of the likes none has ever heard before, and I'm afraid no one will ever hear again."
"Could you not recreate this music? surely you still remember it, if it were as grand as you say it is." Vishnu ask the old man.
"I could not. I am the only witness to this phenomenon. It is my most treasured memory. It is also my curse." He sat back, and took a long breath. "The cosmos that created you, and that you in turn created, still sing the song, but only in echo. The vibration of strings still singing of a song most dear to them, that they wish to hold on for as long as it can. Like lovers, drifting apart, there are still bonds, stretched however thin, that connect us to a long lost moment."
"I wish I was not the only one to of heard it. But, time keeps on ticking. And the vibration of the song grows ever dimmer. You all may come and go, into and out of existence. But I fear for us who hear the last echo of our song."
"What happens," I said, stepping forward towards the old man, no one had ever dared coming close to him, being the anomaly that he was, "when the echo of the song stops?"
"Time will end, and so will everything that it supports." He sighed. And that was that.
Edit: WOW! First Gold! Thank you, you kind, beautiful stranger! Now, to figure out what it does... | 24 | "You may be a god, but I've lived in a age before there were Gods. I'm so old I can tell Time what time it is." | 36 |
Mary's complexion was as weathered as the pictures of the ruined planet. Deep lines dug into her face, admitting a tired, old soul. She often rubbed them without purpose, longing for the forgotten summers spent on Earth. But those days were long gone, stolen by what she held secret. Today, that burden would finally be shared.
Terra 6 tore through the empty sky in silence, as it had for the past 70 years. They would be out of the unnamed planet's orbit before the hour. The research team had returned with clipboards and tubes and flasks full of the fact that life would not be habitable. It was policy to never name the planet's that failed. The captain worried that it would instill false hope in the civilian's. In spite of this, Mary pulled out a small journal, and wrote out her own title.
"Shit-Hole."
She laughed to herself, alone in the cold metal bedroom. Earth was gone, and she was all that remained of its legacy. Because of her past, Mary had been honored with an executive suite, complete with a window, sink, and enough room to stand if she chose. In her age, Mary seldom used this luxury, but she still valued the freedom.
Mary was interrupted by a hard knock on the door. She hurried over, eager to meet whoever she met. Peeping through the small hole, she saw the captain dressed in his finest clothes, carrying a small recording device and a bouquet of plastic roses.
"Happy birthday, Mary."
"James! You thoughtful young man!" she exclaimed, inviting the captain to sit.
"You look so young for your age." James smiled warmly, hugging her with enthusiasm.
"Like fuck I do! If I look young for 100, then you look like shit for 40."
"Ah, Mary. You've always had such a wonderful way with words. Will you at least try to tone it down for our talk?"
"You're always to the point, aren't you James? Well, I guess I won't be getting laid if I don't."
James blushed in response, turning his head away from her. Mary rasped out a laugh, opening the drawer to find a pack of cigarettes.
"I've been saving these for decades," she told him. "You ship folk and your health. I say fuck it! Live like it's your last."
"And it's our health that helped you to 100" James teased. "You really shouldn't do that on the ship."
"But I know you won't stop me, so I will!" Mary breathed deep into her ancient habit. Her lungs disagreed, fighting to push the smoke out with a cough.
"Like a virgin, touched for the very first time."
"Excuse me?"
Mary smiled to herself, lost in nostalgia.
"It's nothing, dear. Just an old idea, lost with Earth."
James shifted his weight, eager to begin the discussion. He knew that earth was a delicate topic for Mary, and he wished to be as gentle as possible. He pressed record on the device.
"Tell me more, Mary. At your own pace."
Mary laid back in her chair, inhaling another breath of tobacco. The sadness climbed into her, but she knew this had to be done.
"There's really no place for me to begin. It's been so long, and everything is turning into a dream. I'm going to die soon, I think, so it's important that you know what happened."
James felt his heart in his throat. He was to be the first man on Terra 6 to know why they left, and he felt unqualified.
"Earth was the most miserable place in the whole fucking galaxy for a long time. There were many days that I would have traded it for the storms on Jupiter, or the heat of Mars. I wanted to be alone more then anything, and the pursuit of this will always be my biggest regret. My family and friends are all dead, gone with the other boats."
Mary's eyes glistened for a moment, as she remembered when Terra 5 went dark. Of the 6 ships sent out, they were the last.
"There are so many mysteries in the universe, and we are so naive, so young. What I am about to tell you can not be repeated to anybody. Do you understand?"
James nodded in fear, unable to speak.
"They have always known we were on Earth. I've thought long and hard about why they didn't come sooner, but that doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they decided to take back what was there's."
| 32 | A space colony searching the stars for a new home prepares to celebrate the life of the last surviving person originally from Earth. Meanwhile, she prepares to tell them the truth as to why Earth was abandoned. | 56 |
As I opened my eyes, a bright white light filled my vision. This is strange though, I could've sworn that I was walking down a street when my chest started to hurt and then...
Wait, it's not possible, is it?
This must be a joke, or a dream, or whatever! There's no way that-
"You are Travis LeVaire Jr., am I correct?"
I turned around and saw a single figure standing amidst a sea of pure white. Walking closer, I saw him wearing a white robe radiating a calm yet unnatural glow. Yet, when I looked up, I noticed something frightening.
"Y-your face... there's no-"
"I'm quite aware of that, thank you. I've grown tired of people making that comment every time they come up here."
"B-but..."
"You will get used to it, I'm sure. Now that aside, I'm sure you have other questions apart from my appearance?"
"Y-yes... Where am I?"
The figure materialized what I assumed to be a clipboard. It flicked through a few pages before looking back at me.
"Sorry, I'm just making sure that you're one of *them*. In any case, you are in purgatory."
"Purgatory!? What kind of sick joke is tha-"
"It's not a joke. I'm sorry Travis, but you have died."
There was no wind, no force, yet the shock brought me to my knees. Me, dead? Surely this is a dream, it's impossible! I've taken care of both my body and my relationships with others! I couldn't have died to a disease, nor have been poisoned by someone I know!
"I'm sure you're shocked by this, but it is not a disease nor poison. Rather, you are... unfortunate. Your heart, even though it is among one of the best that I have ever seen, just stopped."
"Just... stopped?"
"Yes, just stopped. No reason, not even an accident by God."
"So, I... just died? Just dropped dead like that?"
I swore that if the figure had eyes, it would have been rolling them.
"Exactly. Now you see, you humans are peculiar. You fear the unknown and different, but to make the transition and change less frightening, you attempt to explain it. For instance, when faced with a phenomenon, you use *science* to give reason. When science fails, you claim that it is an act of god - a miracle, in your terms. But what if an event happens that you can't explain through science and you can't call it a miracle? In any of your tongues, there isn't a word for it because to you, it does not exist. Yet you're here, so it does exist."
I looked down as he went on his spiel. What he said made no sense, yet I still understood it.
"I understand. I'm dead without reason."
The figure jolted back slightly, as if surprised by my reaction.
"You're a peculiar one. I've had plenty of people that die without reason, yet you're the first to accept it this easily."
"What's there to argue? I'm dead and that's final."
"This makes my job easier, then. A shame, if I were part of your world, I would have been your friend."
With a wave of its hand, the white parted to reveal a contrasting pitch-black circle. I looked at it, but all I could feel was... I'm not sure myself. It's impossible to describe, but the closest I can say is despair.
"As per standard procedure, before you can move on your soul must be completely cleansed. There are many ways of doing that, such as purification and such, but the most effective way is to *forgive*."
"Forgive? Like I said, my relationships with other people were-"
"I know and I've heard. However, everyone has a person that has hurt them the most in their life. Most commonly, it's their ex-lover or abusive parents. I've even see someone's work boss appear once, well I'm assuming from the conversation that pair had."
He raised his hand as another figure started to rise from the darkness.
"Hm? Now this is interesting."
As he said that, the figure stopped rising as something started to entrap it. The darkness engulfed the enclosed figure completely, as if the oceans were to swallow something whole. As the darkness faded away, what was left was-
"I haven't seen this in a long time. Apparently, Travis, the person that hurt you the most was-"
I looked at the new figure- or should I say, object. As I stared at it, I noticed something uncannily similar. I've seen that person before; I've always have.
"The person that hurt you the most was-"
"It's a mirror. The person who has hurt me the most was myself..."
I couldn't understand. How have I hurt myself the most? I knew that I kept my body in top shape; maybe my body wanted to be sluggish and lazy? Maybe it wasn't the best it could be. As I pondered why, something shocked us both.
*"You never..."*
"Did you say something?"
As I turned around, the faceless figure was gone, leaving only me and myself.
*"Why didn't you ever..."*
"Is... are you the one talking?"
*"Did you even forget your own voice?"*
How rude! Was I really this bad?
*"No, you weren't."*
I turned, shocked. Did this person really read my own mind?
*"I can. After all, you're me and I'm you."*
"This is impossible... but then again, I've died without reason, so I guess anything is possible."
*"You've always been like this."*
"Been like what?"
*"You've always accepted everything that happened to you, both good and bad."*
"What? But I've nev-"
*"Don't lie to me! You can't lie to yourself."*
"I don't know what you're talking abou-"
*"Yes you do! Who are you?"*
"I-I'm Tr-Travis Le-"
*"Wrong! You aren't him. You were never him."*
"B-but I've always been Tra-"
*"Did you really forget? What happened 50 years ago?"*
"F-fifty...?"
*"On that day, under the pale full moon? Have you really forgotten,* ***Johnathan****?"*
Johnathan? That name... where have I-
*"That was your- no, our name."*
"Johnathan..."
*"To your wife, kids, everyone, you were Travis. But deep down, you knew you were not him."*
"Ridiculous nonsense! I can't believe that I'm this... this... irrational!"
*"Perhaps you are! Maybe that's what you really were! This is incredible, you've accepted everything except this!"*
"What is there to accept? Your story is more unbelievable than my death!"
*"Fifty years ago, an orphan was once playing with his friend. Though young, the two had a great bond. The friend was of great wealth, but under fear of those jealous, his parents kept his existence a secret until his coming-of-age."*
"..."
*"But one day, an accident happened. A slip here, and a push there..."*
"N-no... stop..."
*"The parents were devastated. Not only did they lose their child, the mother was infertile at this point. With no heir, their riches would be for the taking."*
"W-wait... please, stop!"
*"But that wasn't the case."*
"NO! STOP!"
*"They never did lose their child, did they? Isn't that the case,* ***Travis****?"*
Memories flooded through my head. What was once lost was found again. Everything that happened before that day was now as clear as it was back then.
"B-but... how did I hurt my-"
*"You perfectly know the reason. In fact, you continue to do it now."*
"H-have... have I always lied to myself?"
I asked myself that, but he didn't answer.
"So... I'm not Travis. I never was. But, I endured the pain of learning how to be rich, learning how to be high-class, even though his parents never loved me. In fact, they hated me for taking him away..."
*"..."*
"But it wasn't them who hurted me the most. I never did anything. I accepted the role of their child, to please them. To please everyone. My wife never loved Johnathan, she loved Travis. My children never loved Johnathan, they loved Travis."
I looked at myself one last time.
"It's too late to make amends since I'm dead, but for what it's worth..."
"I'm sorry." *"I'm sorry."*
The words came at the same time. The mirror started to crack until it shattered into millions upon millions of pieces. The shards looked like dust, being blown away by a calm breeze.
As I looked forward, I saw a staircase leading to a brilliant light. On the horizon I saw gates open, leading to Paradise. | 10 | Upon death, everyone is met by the one person that hurt them the most. Neither can leave this purgatory to whatever lies next until true understanding occurs and all is forgiven. | 17 |
“Yes?”
“You asked to see me, General?”
“Ah, Lieutenant, yes. I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“I imagined so, sir. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked to see me.”
“Uh…yes, quite. Anyway, it has come to my attention that after years of dedicated services, you have shown yourself to have excellent courage and a great sense of tactics.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to complete my assignments without those skills, sir.”
“I know, Lieutenant, I know. And it is in recognition of those skills, as well as the loyalty you engender in your troops, that I have decided to promote you.”
“You want to give me a higher rank, sir?”
“That is what ‘promote’ means, Lieutenant.”
“But, sir, there are many other skilled soldiers of my rank that could equally have been given this honour. I…I’m not sure what makes me any different from then.”
“Heh. Well, Lieutenant, if truth be told, it’s your…”
“…ability to speak the truth, sir?”
“No; it’s your…”
“…fearlessness in the face of danger?”
“No! It’s your…”
“…refusal to give up?”
“NO! Lieutenant, you are being honoured for your ability to see the obviousness in every situation. Things that others overlook, or take for granted, you notice and exploit. It’s that brilliance that has gotten you where you are today.”
“Actually, sir, it was the bus.”
“The bus…?”
“Yes, sir. The bus brought me here today.”
“…”
“Well, thank you very much, sir. I can tell you that this means a lot to me. My parents will be very proud. My wife, too, I imagine. My dog won’t really know what’s going on, but he’ll be happy all the same. He is a dog, after all.”
“…”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Yes…right. Well congratulations Lieut…Captain. Dismissed.”
| 135 | Lieutenant Obvious gets promoted to Captain. | 113 |
I'm agnostic, so I never knew what the afterlife would be like. I didn't do the whole "deathbed conversion" so if anything, I was expecting Hell. I definitely got it.
I thought of myself as a good person and a good soldier. That was a lie. I was a terrible soldier, I was a coward and couldn't find a shred of bravery within me. I remember my first engagement, I didn't do a thing. My clip was still full by the time the dust cleared and the blood dried.
I got what was coming to me. IED went off and sent shrapnel ripping my arm to shreds. I was still alive for a few minutes but bleeding out. It hurt but my head was a haze, so it wasn't that bad. I would rather be there right now than here.
All around me there's a dark fog, and I can see dozens of figures walking the fog. I approach one to ask where I am, and I'm taken aback to find it's my first squad leader. "Staff Sergeant Connely! Sir! What are you doing here?" I asked of him.
"You're why I'm here," he retorted, "you're why I've been walking in this fog for fuckin' 6 months boy. That hostile on the rooftop, he was in your zone of fire. No-one fuckin' knew you were there, you had a clear shot. Why didn't you take it? Why didn't you stop someone obviously trying to hurt you? Why did you let me die? Why did you kill me?"
I was taken back. "What do you mean?" I started answering, "I thought he was going to shoot me, not you!"
Connely began moving towards me. "You killed me." He accused, "your pussyfooting costed me my life. Costed my wife a husband. Costed my son a father."
I was moving backwards, away from the accusations. When I turned to run I slammed into another man who pushed me back towards Connely. It was a man I recognized, but didn't know his name. He was part of a separate patrol that got engaged and suffered heavy casualties. We moved in to support and evac, but we were too late.
"You! If you had been quicker, half of us wouldn't have died on the sand out there!" He shouted at me, "Dammit, that was my last month! I could be drinking booze in Germany with Josh if it weren't for you!"
A circle began gathering, 2 dozen men, all shouting accusations at me. I didn't know what to do, so I did what I always did. I crumpled to my knees and started crying. These were all men I'd killed, all because I was too afraid to pull a trigger or rush to an engagement. All because of my ineptitude and my cowardice. Forget ISIS and the Taliban, I was the greatest threat to these men.
The screaming suddenly stopped. I looked around as to why, and saw a small opening in the circle of accusers. Before I could consider running to save my own sanity, a figure moved out of the surrounding fog.
"Sam? Sam no, no you're still alive. I didn't kill you!" I yelled, hoping for the specter to go away, "We were just talking before I died!"
"Tom, don't you remember?" He replied solemnly, "I was right behind you. I was right behind you when the IED went off. I was right next to you while you died. I was bleeding too."
I looked around, expecting Sam to join in the circle of accusation. Everyone was silent, everyone was just staring at me, but my eyes were on Sam. He was walking towards me.
*Is this what I get? Is this how I'm punished? The final blow dealt by my best friend in the world, the perfect punishment.*
Sam was only an arm's length away from me when his face changed. He was crying, but he was also smiling. He opened both his arms wide and held me with all the might he could muster in death. I tried to squirm out of his hold, but it was useless.
Everyone around moved in towards me, holding their arms wide. Every accuser was now holding me. I was in the center of about 24 men, who'd I killed.
I heard the faintest whisper.
"What, what'd you say Sam?" I asked, fruitlessly trying to choke back my tears.
"I said I forgive you Tom" | 20 | Upon death, a soldier meets each of the men he killed. | 20 |
**Josh**
"Oh that mother fucker. I'm going to kill him. I know I'm going to kill him. Rick's going to fuckin' die tonight" I shouted throughout my empty house.
I was glad my room mates weren't home or they would have tried to stop me then and there.
I ran up to my room and looked around desperately for it. I knew it wasn't there, but just in case. While I was up there I could grab my revolver anyways. After taking the gun out of its case, I tore my shared wardrobe apart and found my girlfriend's cute black and pink custom made bra, one-of-a-kind. I stuffed it in my jacket pocket as I ran out the door.
Just before I started the car, I decided to double check the snap, using my repeat. On the corner of my friend's bed, almost indiscernible on his black bed covers, a pair of black and pink one-of-a-kind panties.
_____
**Rick**
"Damn, it's 3AM. I'm surprised I managed to stay up this long after an all nighter. What the hell is on my bed? Goddammit, this is why I didn't want to have a house party. Is this where Josh and Emily went last night? They were both so drunk, they probably don't remember leaving these here. I'll text him in the morning. It's way too late right now, probably not up." | 24 | Your friend's smiling 3AM snapchat shows something unexpected in the background. | 30 |
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