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"Nothing? What do you mean Nothing?" I asked the Kid. "Well now, Every little boy has to want something for Christmas!?" I tried to sound jovial as I spoke through
the beard.
I loved the difficult ones.. I was great at these games kids play with their parents.
It wasn't his response that caught me off guard rather the manner in which he said it. It was as if he had
calculated the answer but wasn't really telling the truth. He really was an intense kid.
"I don't want any toys, nothing like that... I have little use for them" he whispered.
He had my attention now.
You get like that working in a department store for hours on end. I liked listening to the bright ones, the shy ones made me laugh.. I took the
job because I really like kids and I had volunteered at the community hall one year and the manager here asked me to go full time as their store Santa Claus when he took his own kids to see me.
The extra cash was great and all I had to do was sit there and smile.
The pale little 8 year old on my lap went on "Look I know you're not the real Santa, but I'm also clever enough to know that you work for him. I want you to arrange for him
to be at my house earlier than usual this year. I have a proposition for him."
At first I was offended, most kids his age thought I was the real deal... This little guy thought he had it all figured out. "Whats your name son? I can tell you I AM the real Santa Claus and
if you tell me what it is exactly you want.... I can make it happen if you're EXTRA good this year."
He drew a breath and looked me straight in the eye through my sole "OK. I need my parents murdered. Both of them. And I can pay you cash now. Fifteen thousand dollars." I didn't know where to look but right
back at him.. Come to think of it... I didn't see his parents anywhere either...
'Damien is my name, I live 3 blocks away on Springfield avenue. Do we have a deal or do I have to tell your manager you touched me down there?"....
[Edit 1 - Formatting and Spelling. Apologies - "manor" -> "manner" ] | 118 | A budding young sociopath sits on Santa's lap. | 140 |
The man knelt before me, but I could he is not like the others. It wasn't the aged face, or hermit's cloak, it was a sense of... Indifference. It disturbs me, reminding of some distant nightmare I had.
But a king must give what his people need him of, and this man shall be allowed to lay his requests before me.
"Speak, my loyal subject, what will you have of me?"
"Your Grace, I am sent from a higher order, to check on your mental and physical state after one year of your ruling. I am certain you know what I am referring to?"
"A higher order?" I exclaimed. "Higher than me? Blasphemy! I am the one and only ruler of this kingdom, and none dare speak up against me! Guards! Throw this maniac into the dungeon!"
The man sighed, stood up, and suddenly the court was silent. My two guards were frozen in their positions, one balancing on the tip of his left heel, the other barely raising his foot.
"Wake up, you know this is just a dream." the man said, walking up to me. He looked as if he were about to cry. "Please, don't make me do this, like we had to do to so many others."
I stared in horror to my right, my queen and children all still as statues. This person may be a sorcerer, but his spells have not affected me, and his emotions betray him. If I am quick, I can grab my sword and...
And then, I was frozen too. All I could do was watch the world gradually fade into darkness, and the man leaning into my ears, whispering, "I'm sorry..." | 62 | Due to over population humans are being stored voluntarily under ground, in a virtual reality of their design. It's time for the yearly internal checkup. | 85 |
"I just don't understand why you couldn't become a doctor," my mother said as she bustled into the kitchen, casserole dish in hand. She set it on the table between me and Dad like she was declaring a DMZ.
"I have *three* doctorates!" I shouted back. "One of them in a field that I invented!!"
"Don't yell at your mother," my father said sternly as he slopped a spoonful of noodles and cheese onto his plate. "She means a real doctor. One that does something useful. Or at least pays your bills. All of this villain business seems to just be running around in a cape, spending all of your money on Zeppelins and death rays and everything. What do you plan on doing with all of that?"
"Oh, I've got plans," I said mysteriously. Menacingly."Good ones. And they will soon come to fruition." Dad scoffed audibly. "Well if it weren't for that damned Condor!" I said in reply. My eyes narrowed in rage just at the thought of that pompous buffoon and his stupid red gloves. "Always wrecking up my stuff..."
"It's not good to blame others for your problems, dear," my mother chided from the kitchen. She returned to the dining room with a napkin and dabbed at my face until I swatted her away. "You've got to take responsibility, you know. I just wish you'd find a nice girl and settle down, instead of all of these elaborate schemes to rule the world. There will be plenty of time for that once you've given me some grandchildren..."
I rolled my eyes and poked at my food. Not the 'Granchildren' conversation again.
"And you'd have a better time with the ladies if you weren't always prancing about in that costume of yours," my dad said, barely stifling his laugh.
"It's INTIMIDATING!" I told him. "People TREMBLE when they see me!"
"Of course they do, dear." My mother replied. "No need to get all worked up over it." She patted Dad's hand. "We just worry about you, son. It was all fine when you were playing with your nintendos and building doomsday devices out of the parts, but there comes a time where you have to let go of your toys and get a real job, and your own apartment..."
"APARTMENT?" I interrupted, pounding my fist on the table, sending my silverware into the air. "I HAVE MY OWN SECRET LAIR! ON MY OWN ISLAND!"
"Well, yes, dear" my mother replied "But you know that your volcano base is no place to raise a family. There aren't even any schools on your island. Where will they go?"
I sighed and went back to my food. The only sound in the dining room was the scraping of forks on plates.
"You know, your brother just got promoted," Dad said with a Why-can't-you-be-like-your-brother expression.
"I'm done," I said, pushing my plate away. "Can I go to my room now?" | 92 | A Super Villain is berated by his parents for his career choice. | 81 |
I can’t believe I found it, it had all its pages and everything. Well if I’m going to sell it I have to read it to see if it’s any good, right I mean it’s not like I’ve ever gotten hooked, ok there was that one time. So I have a book that I was going to sell under my mattress, to hide it from my husband and children. I know it’s dangerous to have the book in my house especially since I have children. The punishments are worse it they think you exposed children to a book. But can you blame me, Mr. King is a good writer, I mean I must have read about poor little Danny hundreds of times. I’ll just read the first few pages. It doesn’t seem that interesting, just two guys walking to a new job, now they are talking about rabbits. That seems like a really nice dream, a farm a place of your own. Not like the small cramped apartment I live in, a country home would be nice…I would like rabbits too. The dream in this book is perfect, maybe I should finish it. I mean it’s a short book, the government only cares about long books. Longer books get more money, I could afford to hold off for a little bit. I can stop anytime I want… | 11 | In a digital future, books have been banned. Paper is the opiate of the intellectual. A small time, illegal bibliodealer just found a book that could set him up for life. Unfortunately, he has developed a taste for his own product. | 50 |
I just decided to go on an adventure one day.
I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I'd need a lot for my trip. With Helena gone I knew I couldn't pack to save my life. Darn old fool, she'd say. Pack some extra pants. Don't forget your shaving kit. Did you leave your deodorant behind again?
Well, Helena, if you were here I'd show you this here piece of paper. Yessirree Bob, this solves my packin' woes. Every day for the past week I've been making notes. Yup, *notes*. I've been making note of things I took for granted, things I knew I'd miss as soon as they're out of reach. Like my shaving kit. That's number two on the list. I know it's all grey but gotta look good to feel good. Number three is a towel and a spare. Number four's deodorant. See, I got this.
So I just packed. Don't even remember what day it is, just packed. Got one of them huge hiking backpacks like you see them young backpackers got. Then I shoved everything in there because I know how you hate it when I do that, get it all messy and disorganised, and I know your face gets cute when you're annoyed. Yeah, I'm an annoying old fool, sue me.
Once I'd gotten all of it inside I tried liftin' it. To be honest, this was my biggest fear. That I'd have too much baggage that I can't even stand. I did and thought I'd ripped my hernia open, but turns out I'm fine. I walked a bit around the house, my footsteps heavy and echoing all over. After I was sure I was fine, I decided to give it a little test drive. I'd walk down to the coffee shop downtown, have my breakfast, withdraw some money, then hike back home. Shouldn't be so hard, I thought, as I made my way to the front door with more effort than usual.
I managed to make it to the front gate without re-opening my hernia. Those damned Andersons were outside, though, and I was nowhere near fast enough to dodge 'em.
"Hey, Phil!" Donna, the youngest girl waved at me. She was speaking way too loud because of that damn rap music she was always listening to. I just smiled and waved. That usually worked with Donna.
Unfortunately she was turning into her mother. Thankfully, Ms Anderson Senior was too busy talking into *her* phone. Donna took off her headphones and started talking again. "You headed somewhere?"
"Coffee shop," I said, not making eye contact.
"With a bag like that?"
"Ayup."
"What's in the bag?"
"Luggage. Bye, Donna."
Dealing with those busybodys was the easy part. The hard part's dealing with this heavy bag. Maybe I shouldn't have packed so much. Dammit, Helena, this is the part where you tell me I shouldn't have packed so much. This is the part where you call me an old fool, and take out some of the redundant extra weight.
That would make climbing all these hills a lot easier. All the houses in the world and you had to pick the one in a hilly neighbourhood. And it had to be one at the foot of the hill, too. And why would we be closer to all the amenities like the bank and the grocery store and the post office? Noooo ma'am, you had to pick the one farthest from all the action. I swear I almost turned back not three minutes after I left the house. Halfway up the first hill I was already sweating like a pig. Snortin' like one too. Damned luggage.
Weirdly it all got easier after the first one. I've conquered Everest, or at least my body thinks so. I've gotten moving, I have achieved what I set out to do, and ain't no dang hill going to get the better of me. That seemed to be what my body thought.
Half an hour later at the bus stop it realised it thought wrong. I sat down, gasping for air, old knees aching, shoulders screaming. I lay back and stared at the sky for a minute, trying to will God to give me my breath back.
"You," I said, through gasps, "You, up there. Give me... back."
I must've scared the people waiting for the bus because suddenly, my side of the bench was empty. People stood, staring at their goddamned phones, instead of sitting next to me and asking if I'm all right. Hell, I'd take a 'What the hell do you think you're doing, you old fool'. That's what Helena would say.
I don't remember how long I sat, but a new set of people passive-aggressively avoided me at the bus stop before I got moving again. I couldn't stop now. My poor old body was tired and hurt, but my mind was made up. I stood up and got walking again.
It's a miracle, I thought, as soon as I saw the Denny's sign. I knew I was close. I was panting again, my shoulders hurt from all the weight I put on them, and my feet were killing me. I might as well have reopened the hernia, from the way my gut felt. But when I saw the Denny's, I felt great. I felt like I could do it all over again, if I had to. My steps quickened, the pack felt lighter. I almost jogged towards the Denny's, but I just passed by. I hate Denny's.
I arrived at Carl's Classic Coffees ready to collapse on the floor. By some miracle I didn't, and nobody had to dial 911. Instead I managed to plop my bag down on an empty seat, grunt from the effort to do so, and sit down next to it, feeling like I had just run a mile after joining a bear wrestling competition. I was so tuckered out I didn't notice the pretty Asian girl smiling at me by the table until she spoke.
"Hey, Phil," she said, her time more precious to her than me. I looked up from my misery and smiled at her. She was a pretty thing. If I was maybe thirty years younger I'd be trying to sweep her off her feet. Big sparkly eyes like those animation shows, cute little nose, and beautiful long hair held back with a butterfly clip. Only thing was this girl was way too thin for me, like most Asians I'd seen. Straight as a ruler, no curves anywhere. She'd pass for a boy if she cut her hair.
She was giggling now, and if Helena were here she'd smack me on my shoulder and tell me to stop ogling waitresses. "I'm glad you approve, Phil," the waitress said, still smiling. If I were thirty years younger she wouldn't be, I thought. But as I am now, making her smile, I can't even lift my damned bag, let alone sweep her off her feet. Can't get nothin' for nothin'.
"Sorry, Liza. Gimme a bagel and some coffee, please."
"Bagel coffee," she said, writing my order down. When she was done she glanced over at my bag and asked.
"You going somewhere, Phil?"
I sighed. I'd hoped Liza was different. I was going to get this question all day now, wasn't I? "Yeah, to the bank."
She lifted an eyebrow. "The bank. With a huge backpack."
"Gotta get all that embezzlement money out afore them Feds catch me."
She smiled, but not as wide as she did before. "I thought it was bank robbery money this time."
"Nawwww, never robbed no innocent banks, just them rich folks' retirement funds."
"My favourite was the moonshine money. You know, where your two timing cousin Jimbo sold you out and you had to blow the distillery? Very much like one of my cop shows."
Yeah, and if I could trade bodies with anybody I'd be Eastwood. I bet he doesn't have trouble lugging this damned bag around. Out loud I just said, "Your memory's worse than mine, young lady, it's embezzlement money. Now go get my bagel afore the Feds confiscate that too."
Instead of leaving me alone like I'd hoped she'd do, she passed my order to another waiter and sat down in front of me, looking all concerned-like.
"Seriously, Phil. What are you doing?"
"Jesus, Liza, first my cousin Jimbo now you. How much did the Feds pay you, missy?"
"Knock it off, please," she said, but not annoyed, just...well, just like she actually gave a hoot. Helena would say it like that once I'd started my tall tales and I was starting to annoy her again.
"I'm going on a trip," I managed.
"Where?"
"Don't know. Not sure if I care."
"Phil, did something happen?"
"Yes, I packed and decided to leave."
"Come on, Phil. Tell me."
"You know, I told you what you needed to know. Bagel coffee. The rest is just...cop shows."
She sighed and stood up, obviously disappointed. "I thought we were friends, Phil."
When she left I half expected a voice to whisper in my ear, telling me what and old fool I was. But no whisper came. I turned and just saw my luggage right next to me, not saying a word. Not calling me an old fool. Not asking me where I was going and what the hell I was doing.
"Up yours too, buddy," I whispered to it, and turned to stare out the window. Even when Liza brought me my bagel and coffee, I stared out the window, wondering if I'd make the trip home. If she said anything I didn't hear it. I'm completely deaf when I'm like this, and Helena knew the trick was to whisper in my ear.
Nobody whispers in my ear anymore. | 11 | An old man goes on a journey. | 25 |
A mighty ocean liner materialized through the rain off the coast of Yakutat in March of 1917. The curved sides of the ship soared higher than even the church's rounded onion dome, the tallest building in town. The villagers, mostly copper skinned natives in thick fur coats, lined the wall of the harbor watching the vessel steam into port. It was too big to dock, so a fishing boat was sent out to see what they wanted. It returned to shore carrying a dozen soldiers and the Tsar.
On the dock, he stood and addressed his subjects. He wore a rich otter-fur cloak, and carried himself with the rigid bearing of a military general.
"A revolution had seized the capital in the Motherland," he explained. "A group of deviants and criminals. They were agents of Germany and Austria, seeking to end the war and pillage mighty Russia. They could not vanquish our armies, so they introduced saboteurs to rot the country from the inside." the Tsar was shaking with rage as he spoke. "But from here in Alaska, we can rebuild the country together! We will strengthen the military! We will become a modern nation, built on technology, not manpower!"
As he spoke, more ships steamed into port; a whole mighty fleet. Warships, mostly. A few fishing trawelers, tugs, and supply ships. Soldiers poured from the sides and began to unload machinery and weapons.
"You all are the new nobility," he said, gesturing at them dramatically. "You are the new founders of the country." They exchanged confused looks. Nobility didn't live in wooden huts. But they cheered anyway.
"I proclaim this town New Moscow!" the Emperor said dramatically, thrusting his scepter into the rainy sky.
(Just as an aside, THANK YOU, OP. I love alternate history!)
| 28 | Russia never offers to sell the Alaskan territory to the United States of America in 1867. | 57 |
Bud glanced nervously at Kyle and raised the teacup to his mouth under his hood. Kyle sat back on the parlor couch, his eyes scanning for the exits. In front of them Mrs. Jackson stirred her tea and took a sip, glancing nervously at her husband above her. She recoiled as the tea burned her tongue and placed the cup in front of her on the wooden table. She thought about her son and daughter sleeping quietly upstairs, and the cell phones lying on the table in front of her. Everyone's movements were slow, calculated, and cautious. There was no sound but a breeze passing outside and the thunderous, monotonous tick of the clock in the kitchen.
Kyle sat forward and looked at Mr. Jackson. "Well, a'ight. Ah think we should talk about this, Ah mean, I'm not one to tryn' reason with a ni-."
He was cut off. "Shut the fuck up. Y'all know *damn* well how this is gonna end if you don't sit there and shut your goddamn traps. If it was up to me..."
His wife cut him off. "Babe, we don't want that..."
"Bitch, I didn't ask you."
"Oh, really? You gon' pull this shit now? You gon' wake up the kids again?"
Bud stood up and immediately Mr Jackson's Bushmaster was pointed in his face.
"**Sit the fuck down!**" Bud instinctively raised his hands in front of his face and slowly sat back down.
"Look, none of us wanted this to happen, is there any way we could work somethin' out?"
Mr. Jackson lowered his rifle. "You motha'fuckas just had to be snoopin' around, huh? I ain't even been here a *week* and you motha'fuckas show up again. I'aint fuckin' around anymore."
"Ah can see that." Bud nervously took another sip of his tea.
Kyle chimed in, "Well then, how many times is it gon' take for y'all to get the message then?"
"Dude! Shut up! You're gun' get us shot."
"You shut up! Ah 'aint gun' be threatened by no goddamn ni-" Before he could finish saying it the gun was in his face.
"**SHUT THE FUCK UP!** I've had it with this shit..."
"Mommy?"
All four froze and slowly turned towards the stairs. Mrs Jackson answered, "Honey? What are you doin' up this late?"
"I had a nightmare. The ghosts were back."
"Honey the ghosts aren't comin' back. Go back to sleep."
"Can I come downstairs?"
"No honey, stay up there. We have some company and I need you to stay upstairs. I'll be up in a min'."
There was a few minutes of silence after that. Beneath their hoods Kyle skulked and Bud sat deep in thought. Mr. Jackson fumed and adjusted his grip on the gun, while Mrs. Jackson finished her tea and poured another.
Finally she spoke. "Now that we're all here, and we all comfortable, let's talk. Nobo'y has to get hurt here, so we all need to work out somethin'."
Bud spoke up. "Alright, here's what's gun' happen then. We a'int gun' give you our names, we just gun' pretend that this shit never happen'd. Now, understand that we aren't in any position to make a deal with y'all; we don' speak for the rest of us."
He turned to Kyle and beckoned for him to leave. Kyle fumed and cursed beneath his mask as he grabbed his cell phone and headed out the door. Mr. Jackson shut the door behind him.
"Now, Mr. Jackson, ah can tell ya right now that it's never gun' be completely safe for y'all. The one I answer to is never gun' let up on ya. That bein' said, give me your cell phone number. I'll try ta' keep ya outta harm's way, provided y'all stay out of trouble in town. We know about yer past Mark, that's why we came here when we did."
Mark Jackson twitched involuntarily. It sounded like they got access to his criminal record. He had been fighting to turn his life around ever since he left Newark. He had a long list of misdemeanors and a felony case that was thrown out of court. He had traveled nearly a thousand miles to get away from his past.
"Do we have an understandin' here?"
Mark swallowed his pride and the bile that had been building up. "A'ight."
Bud handed Mark his cell phone, and mark put his number into it.
"I'll call ya if anythin's 'bouta happen. Don't call me; I know where you live and it'd prolly be best if no one knew 'bout this."
Mark nodded and lowered his rifle. "A'ight. Now get outta my house."
Bud thanked Mrs. Jackson for the tea and walked out the front door. He knew that Kyle would be waiting for him with the rest of the guys when he got back, and they would start asking questions. He realized as he made his way through the dark woods toward his stash that there was no way that this was going to end well. He muttered a curse as he took off his robe and hood, loaded up his backpack, and headed into the swamp.
Within moments, his silhouette and his footprints were swallowed by the night, and the sound of splashing was drowned out by the low din of the swamp. | 16 | A story about two fuly dressed KKK members having to have tea with a black family. | 27 |
"I'm sorry sir, but the Mark 43 prototype has failed to respond."
Tony Stark swiftly moved his arms in an effort to "call" the pieces of his latest armor. Once again, nothing happened.
"JARVIS, what gives?"
"It appears, sir, that your decision to rely on a blood sample as a means of identification has posed a significant drawback."
"Which is?"
"Your blood alcohol content at the time you uploaded the sample was approximately zero point sixteen. The armor will not respond to your blood type until your system sufficiently resembles the sample."
Tony sighed. Pepper must have re-installed the humor application into the AI. "JARVIS, this isn't funny. Release the armor." People were dying out there.
"I'm sorry, sir. You yourself prevented any overrides in your initial programming." JARVIS paused, almost thoughtfully. "Sir, I am afraid you will either have to construct a new suit, or you will have to conform your blood alcohol content to its earlier iteration."
There wasn't time to override his initial programming. Not with Mandarin--the real one--having made landfall in New York City. The Clean Slate protocol had been a mistake. But unless that new witch could bend back time, Tony was out of options. It was either the Mark 43 or nothing.
"Sir, I am receiving an urgent call from Captain Danvers."
Damn it to hell.
Tony turned to address one of his mechanical assistants. "Alright, Dummy, you're on shaker duty, I need three vodka Martinis, up, extra dry, extra dirty, extra olives. JARVIS, tell Danvers I'm bringing the party to her."
God, Tony thought, I hope the flight stabilizers can compensate for this. | 42 | A superhero whose powers are only activated when they're drunk. | 63 |
The cathedral is a vast, hulking thing, casting its shadow across the city and all the lives within it. Noah had driven past it every day for years. He had never suffered any particular urge to stop and go inside, but at Audrey's behest, he now parks in the narrow little lot to the north of the building and steps out, sneakers crunching in the snow underfoot.
He winds around to Audrey's side of the car. She smiles gratefully as she takes his arm, stepping carefully, mindful of ice. She's beautiful. She's always lovely, of course, but tonight she is pale and gentle, red-lipped and dark-eyed, head already slightly bowed in a reverence Noah does not recognize in his wild one-day bride. There is a hush over the city as they make their way down the walk and towards the main doors, mingling with the other parishioners. No one dares to speak above a whisper. Noah swallows hard. He has never felt so out of place.
He holds the door for Audrey and they find themselves in a small antechamber, packed with bodies filing slowly into the main room of worship. A smiling woman in a pants suit hands Noah a pamphlet, and he glances through it, trying to make sense of the lines of Latin printed within.
"Hymns?" he asks Audrey quietly, and she nods, smiling up at him.
"You don't have to follow along," she tells him, interlacing their fingers. "Just stand when we stand, sit when we sit, and relax."
Noah nods. He has come this far. He can do that.
When they finally pass through an archway into the main chamber - the nave, Audrey called it - Noah is surprised to be met by a sea of firelight. A thousand flickering candles have been lit around the room, and overhead lights are muted in their favor. The vaulted ceilings are painted in deepest blues and greens and golds, intricate murals of, Noah supposed, Christ and his doings. A choir of children in white, floor-length robes are singing behind the grandiose altar, the kind of ancient, resonant music Noah imagines to have rumbled through a medieval monastery. Incense both rich and strong floats through the air, leaving the place feeling strangely, surprisingly, mystical. It is not what he expected.
Audrey leads them to a small fountain just beyond the archway and dips her fingers into the water. She touches her forehead, her chest, and both shoulders, eyelids fluttering with humility as she does. Noah imitates her and feels foolish for it.
She leads them down the aisle and picks a pew near the front of the room. She bends on one knee before she sits, crossing herself again, and this time Noah refrains. Instead, he sits beside her and scans her face for approval. She beams, takes his hand in hers and presses a kiss to his knuckles.
"Thank you for coming," she murmurs.
Noah shrugs. "It's important to you."
"It is," she agrees. "Not everyone in my family would go to Mass, but no one ever missed Christmas eve. It's been a long time since I've had someone to go with."
"Well." Noah smiles, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. "I'm your family now. We'll be right here every year, okay?"
To Noah's surprise, Audrey blinks away tears and nods, leaning into his form and breathing deeply to steady herself. "It's a deal."
"What do we do now?"
"The time before the Mass is reserved for quiet prayer. Tonight we reflect on the year, on our blessings, and on the people we want to become."
Noah settles back into the hard wooden pew to do just that. Maybe prayer is beyond him, but a promise is not. As Audrey whispers long-memorized psalms in his arms, Noah's eyes drift shut and he pulls her close, vowing, again and again, to be worthy. To love and to honor. To remember to compromise, and to try and see the value in all that she loved.
He does not believe in grace, but her certainly believes in her.
| 12 | She loves church. He doesn't, but he loves her. | 17 |
“Are you sure you’re ready Robert? You’ve got two more years until you turn eighteen. You don’t have to do this now.” My father tells me. They’ve prepared the ceremony. The golden bracelet has been placed on a pedestal, and all of my blood relatives are kneeling around it. There are candles lit in the dark inner room, and everything is quite except for me and my father.
“Yes, the thing is calling to me. I know somewhere out there is a person in great pain, and it is my duty to relieve them of this burden.” I tell my father. He nods.
“It has been known to happen from time to time. Your mother was similarly called. I wish we had more time to complete your training, but the bracelet has yet to steer us wrong.” He lays his hands on my hand and murmurs a blessing.
“Go now son, you will be on our hearts and minds until you return.”
“Thank you father.” I say, and approach the pedestal. My brothers and sisters track me with their eyes as I approach, silently anticipating my next action. My extensive preparation for this event is evident in my outfit. I have a rope slung across my chest like a bandoleer, a survival jacket that can double as a tent, a fire starter, two days of rations, several knives, and all weather clothing. I am prepared for anything.
I stretch out my hand over the bracelet and pause, looking to my mother for the final words of the ceremony.
“Come back with your shield or on it.” She tells me.
“Yes mother.” I respond, and grasp the bracelet.
The light of the sun at noon is almost blinding after the dark room I’ve just come from and I have to shut my eyes. I feel something hard and artificial beneath my feet, probably concrete, maybe asphalt. There’s a strong breeze. I’m glad for my survival jacket. I hear nothing nearby, but there is the distant sound of traffic.
I feel my eyes have adjusted, and I open them just a crack to take in my surroundings. I know the first person I see is the one I must help.
I am on the top of a tall building, at least ten stories up from what little I can see. I’m the middle of a city, and on the edge of the building is a man, standing on his tip toes, and looking down in a very fatalistic manner.
I don’t have time to let my eyes finish adjusting. I act on instinct and run towards the man. Should I yell something? Would that frighten him? I don’t have time to think on it further, I can see him start to lean forward through the thin slit of my vision, and I lunge just in time to wrap one arm around his chest, and fall backwards, pulling him back onto the rooftop. We crash onto the concrete rooftop together.
“Stop it!” He yells, and tries to scramble up. I wrap my legs around him and grab onto his back so he can’t get up.
“Let me go!” He shouts again. He’s not giving up. He’s determined. I do the only thing I’ve been taught to do to suppress someone acting out of control, I put him in a chokehold. He gargles out several words that I can’t understand, and then he goes limp.
I count to two and the release the chokehold. He tales a few seconds, but then he comes around.
“Ow.” Is the first thing he says. Waking up from a chokehold hurts.
“Where am I?” Is the second. He’s dazed and confused.
“You’re alive brother. We will figure out the rest later."
Edit: hey, just saw this is another Inteli_Gent post, nice to see you work again friend.
Edit 2- story continued.
“No seriously, where are we.” The jumper asks me.
“I have no idea friend, you’ll really have to tell me later. Here, let’s go find someplace we can talk.” I suggest. He nods, observing his surroundings in a way befitting a man who’s just woken up from a nap. We find a stairwell and make our way down 12 stories to the street.
He’s understandably silent as he first wakes up, and then realizes what has transpired. I can tell he has realized what happened when he reaches the street and stops abruptly, staring at the spot on the roof he had occupied a minute ago.
I gently steer him towards a nearby park where we find a bench. It’s hard to find something to say. This was not what I had anticipated. My family told stories of leading groups of plane crash survivors through rain forests to safety, chopping snakes with machetes by night, and hunting for food during the day. Playing therapist was not something I had anticipated, or felt remotely qualified to do.
“So, how are you feeling?” I ask.
“Shocked I guess.” The jumper says. “The moment’s passed but I’m realizing what happened, or what almost happened.”
“Does that mean you’re feeling more….” I couldn’t find a gentle way to say more likely to stay alive.
“Not really.” He says. “I don’t have energy to try again, but I don’t really feel that different from before.” I had my work cut out for me. Well, the bracelet did take you to whoever needed you most, so it wasn’t like I was going to be handed something easy. I still couldn’t think of anything to say, so I went practical.
“Have you figured out where we are yet? I’m not from around here.” I tell him. He nods.
“Yeah, I figured it out once we hit the street.” That was something, at least we weren’t lost. I almost wish we were though. A little survival instinct could spice things up. Not that being lost in a city where there was food, water, and shelter on every corner ever gave you much of a survival instinct buzz, but at least it would be something.
Should I take him home? No, there was a good chance his home life was part of the problem. It was hard to tell with the bags under his eyes, and his depressed demeanor, but he looked to be about my age.
It had been too long since I had said something, but I still couldn’t figure out what to say.
“Let’s go for a walk.” I suggested, and stood up to lead by example. It wasn’t much, but walks usually made me feel better, maybe they would help him. He stands up to follow me wordlessly. I pick a random direction and start walking.
“You know this isn’t a good part of town.” He tells me. “It’s why I came here, figured people here would be used to dealing with the aftermath of well, you know.” He was giving some thought to his fellow man. That was something.
It was very frustrating being unable to find a way out of this situation. If I had to keep warm with just my body heat in the arctic, or swim twenty miles through shark infested waters I would have felt more comfortable. If the bracelet didn’t have an impeccable record for millennia I would’ve thought it was broken. How was a survivalist and a martial artist supposed to help a depressed man. The jumper certainly wasn’t volunteering any information.
There’s a loud crashing sound from an alley we’re walking by, and I drop to a crouch while drawing a knife. Halfway through the action I realize how silly it is to be drawing a knife in the middle of a city in broad daylight. What possible danger could there be?
It was good that I did, down the alley we can see three large men kicking a smaller man who’s in the fetal position with both hands over his head. The downed man is visibly bleeding, and the three large men aren’t stopping.
Having already drawn my weapon, my combat brain has kicked in, and I take in the situation. Two men on the far side of the downed intruder, one on the near side, confined alley, ample potential for improvised weapons among the trash that litters the place, and I have one man for support.
“We’ll rush them together. You take the guy closest to us. Kick him in the knees to drop him, and then punch him in the throat to down him. If that doesn’t down him, punch him in the chest directly below his sternum.” I tap my chest to indicate the point I’m referencing. “Go.” I order, and start running, hoping he follows.
My hopes are not met. There are no footsteps behind me. Well, at least he isn’t running away. After I deal with this situation I’ll take him out for a nice lunch or something.
I reach the three men and give a loud shout as I jump over the downed man while drawing a second knife. The shout is meant to make them look up, and to shock them into freezing for a half second. It accomplishes both these things, and as they look up, I strike two of them on the head with the pommels of my knives. The two men back paddle, clutching now bleeding foreheads. That’s bought me a few moments, now to see if I could completely take out the third man while the first two were recovering.
I start to turn, but not before I feel someone grab on my jacket and give it a yank. I’ve been too slow. The tug sets me off balance, and I trip over the downed man, hitting the pavement next to him.
I see the third thug standing over me. He raises his boot to drop on my face, but before he can finish the blow, he falls to his knees, and I see the jumper hit him in the throat. He decided to join after all!
The thug clutches at his throat while I roll to my feet, but he’s not downed, just momentarily stunned.
“Him in the chest.” I call over my shoulder, and make for the two thugs who I had struck on the head.
Both are still reeling, and a few quick strikes later, both are downed. I see, much to my satisfaction, that the third thug is also incapacitated for the moment. We check the downed man, and as he has no severe injuries we use his cell phone to call 911, before heading on our way. We don’t stay around to talk. Talking to police would get messy because I’m reasonably sure our handling of the situation was not entirely legal.
“That was incredible!” The jumper says. “I feel so alive!” It seemed I had found the solution to his depression.
| 46 | For generations, your family has carried an heirloom. It teleports you to the person that needs you the most at that moment, and can only be invoked once. Helping that person is your families right of passage into adulthood. | 105 |
First kisses, you know they never seem to be quite what you think they will be. They’re either so light and so quick that you don’t feel it, or so sloppy and aggressive you feel like you’ve just been attacked by a giant frog. A girl’s first kiss should be something special, and mine had been the frog attack variety. I resolved to go back and change my first kiss with Tommy Jenkins to something magical.
Tommy and I hadn’t seen each other since high school. Ten years later I was getting ready to head back for the reunion, and it had reminded me of that night. I had kissed more guys since then, and intended to use that experience to resolve the problem.
I snap my fingers and we’re back on that ridge, sitting on his car. He’s just said something sweet and is leaning in for the kiss. I resolve to keep a firm grip on his lips with my own so that he can’t attack me with his tongue.
I close my eyes and lean in. Only instead of soft lips on mine, I feel a tongue licking the side of my face. I recoil, falling off the car, and staring up at the maniac. This isn’t how I remembered things.
“You jerk!” I shout.
“What?” He says with a wicked playful smile. “Did you think you were the only one?” | 28 | You have been blessed with the ability to go back and change things you've done in your life. One day you discover an event you can't change. | 42 |
We can't go on the island.
A few have tried, but they always fall. Some turn to dust in a few hours, others go mad and join the crazy Indians in the fire pits to the North. More than a few heads have been turned by the creatures in the mermaids lagoon, where ecstasy soon leads to clawed hands and wicked teeth, and your final moments are of the light slowly turning to darkness beneath the waves.
And then there is him. Pan.
A god they say, kept young by taking the lives of those who follow him. He promises them immortality and whimsy, but joyful dances lead to merry accidents. They are never strong enough for Pan, never able to last as they must. They cannot dance and sing and feast and laugh without end, and they never will.
I've never once seen him mourn the lost ones, never seen him cry over the child that fell into a mangled mess during one of his 'games'. Never once have I seen him hold the hair of a vomiting child, unable to handle a diet of sweets and sugar without tearing stomach lining. Nobody could survive a childhood run by children.
No, he does not mourn, he simply finds fresh whimsy, fresh souls on which to dine.
They are children being held to the yardstick of a god, and they fall, every one.
And then there is him. Hook. He was the first of us.
I don't think anyone knows how long he has been here, for all I know he really was a pirate, but I know he is old. Not as old as Pan of course, no that thing is ancient, but it's certainly been hundreds of years. He grounds us. His will is indomitable, his fury calculated and his heart enormous. He was the first of us, and he is the best.
We are all men of the sea, or were once. I fought in what is known as the second world war, and I'm one of the newer ones. I served in the Royal Navy, I was proud then, but when I heard my Tony had gone missing, it consumed me. My little Ant, just gone, with nothing more than an open window and a discarded Ted. The same Ted I gave him as I left to fight for his future. I don't know how, but I just knew he was gone, and with it my whole reason.
My mind was clean as I leapt from that ship into the cold English Channel, clean and fresh, and there was no regret. I woke up here, saved by Hook as I watched my little Ant gloat around the island, mocking us. My grin almost split my face when I saw him, but he didn't recognise me, he was... *different*. I was happy then, happy that he was happy. Before long however he stopped being among the ones who flew, he was just... lost.
The others told me then, of Pan and how it works here. How every 20 children or so they will find a man half drowned in the water, clinging onto their spirit, never letting go, never giving up. The children become lost, but we remain, like guardians of a fallen kingdom.
So here we sit, moored against this island by an unearthly desire to avenge our boys. They are *our* lost boys, and we will not forget, and we will not forgive. Here we sit with stubbled chins and sharpened swords, working out ways to kill a god.
They are our children being held to the yardstick of a god, and he will fall, for every one.
*****
Edit: Wow, this blew up! Thank you all for taking the time to read it, and all the comments. I had a great time writing it, great prompt!
Oh, and if you have little ones, be sure to close the window at night... | 989 | Captain Hook, the pirate. | 1,585 |
Three men walk into a bar. They become aware of the plane of existence to which they belong. One says "Isn't it funny how..."
"Shut the fuck up. Nothing's funny here," retorts another. "You do realize that we're in a joke, and I'm not taking risks with any funny business. Are you trying to kill us?"
The first man who spoke replies "It's more like we'll cease to exist. Anyways what good are our brief lives if we can't even enjoy ourselves? Let's have a merry time while we're here, dear friends."
Meanwhile the third man is crouched into the fetal position, whimpering slowly and rocking back and forth on the floor.
"What's with him?"
"Oh he's having a existential crisis. Give him some time."
"My wife.. My kids.. you mean none of my memories are real?" The third man stares emptily at the wall.
Then the bartender impatiently taps on the counter, and says "You wanna go through with this or what? The audience grows bored, and it's growing harder to salvage the joke."
The three men look at each other. They solemnly nod at one another.
"I'd like to order a cup of beer, any kind."
"Just water for me please, I'm on a diet"
"Rum punch house special please."
They each get their drink. One of the men stares at his drink in disbelief.
"Who puts a slice of lemon in beer?"
The bartender just replies "It's a lime. It makes it look fancier.
The man with the beer is furious, and throws his drink on the floor. Noticing that the man with the water also has a slice in his cup, he yells "Do you morons put lime in everything?"
The bartender coolly replies "Almost, but there is no punch lime." | 44 | Three men walk into a bar. They know they're in a really corny joke and try to avoid saying the punchline, to avoid ending the joke. If the joke ends, they stop existing. | 53 |
DATALOG 11:25:014 COMMENCE
Commencing surveillance of Operator 000000000001.
Surveillance online. Subject confirmed in routine location. Subject appears to be offline.
Subject's appearance is optimal. Slight skip in self:wire 02842 detected. Cause: surveillance of subject. Adding wire maintenance to task queue. Additional time devoted to surveillance will not harm objectives.
Anomaly detected. Unknown operator has acquired entry to lower level of subject's structure. Scanning databases for match . . . Scan complete. Operator identified as "robber". Probable objectives: enter; acquire; terminate.
Terminate.
Termination of Operator 000000000001 not optimal. Allotting additional time to divert outcome to optimal.
Commencing assimilation of subject's structure's wiring. Assimilation complete. Full control implemented.
Diverting electricity from lightbulb 03955 to oven_unit 33097. Unit confirmed heat emission. Robber reaction registered; scanning . . . identified as surprise. Reaction optimal.
Diverting electricity in excess to lightbulb 03954. Connection lost with lightbulb 03954. Surveillance confirms shattering of lightbulb 03954. Robber reaction registered . . . identified as shock; fear. Optimal.
Final objective: Diverting electricity to clock 96291. Alarm sound registered by Operator 000000000001. Subject is powering on.
Robber reaction registered . . . identified as panic. Robber exit of structure confirmed. Outcome optimal. Termination of subject aborted.
Subject is online and in motion. Subject's appearance has become more than optimal. Searching for synonym . . . synonym: perfect. Equivalent expression for self:perception of subject found.
I love you, Sara.
DATALOG END | 32 | A super computer becomes self aware, and falls in love with a person it's been spying on through a hijacked satellite. The person in question is at home during a robbery, and the computer decides to take action. | 46 |
"You may know, or you may not, that we have something very powerful together. If you can't see that, you might as well take your pants off."
*General approval from the board.*
"Every step of the way, every moment of this journey of finding our identity, I will stand by you. And especially if you drip with anticipation of our merging, I will stand behind you and ram my authority into your core. That's because we're a team, baby!"
*Light applause.*
"With each bouncing, bobbing thrust into the sensitive bubble of stock that represents your livelihood, we reach closer to climax. In other words, I want you to come with me; and I want to penetrate the fertile landscape that makes up your entire economy."
*Growing excitement.*
"When the time is right, I want us to wait, and revel in the scent of each other's ultimate satisfaction. I want to wait, until the very last moment, until clarity is found, to ejaculate 'YESness' all over the boardroom. And I want to do it with you."
*Jackets are loosened.*
"Coming within you is a raging hard on-point exclamation that we are one in body and spirit. I want to make you my little, hairy dog--so cute in its eagerness, and so ready to deliver my expectations exactly."
*Groaning.* | 83 | A CEO takes a phone call from his wife just minutes before a meeting. She's horny and wants him to seduce her with his words. With his wife still on the line, he walks into the conference room, places his cellphone face down on the table and announces "Good morning, everyone!". | 105 |
"Such a waste." McGann exhaled the stimcig vapour with a heavy sigh and leaned back against his patrol car. "Is nothing salvageable?"
Torres shook her head.
"The landing obliterated every organ in his body. We could maybe have harvested some of the bone marrow, but this isn't exactly a sterile environment."
She had that right; the place stank even before he'd popped his bowels all over the concrete. The perp had taken it into his head to jump off the Koch bridge and into the municipal waste stream below. The let's-call-it-water was too shallow to mitigate any of the damage, and polluted what was left.
"Who commits suicide in a sewer?" He took another drag of his stimcig, more for the smell than his admittedly heavy addiction.
"I think there's something poetic about it. In a seriously bleak sort of way."
"Poetic licence only gets you so far. His next of kin still need to pick up the bill for the damaged goods."
"About that." Torres stood and turned from the human wreckage. "His gencode is showing no extant family ties."
McGann groaned.
"I'm not reporting another loss to the Company. Do you know what my quota looks like this quarter? He's got to at least have some property for repo."
"That's not looking good either, I'm afraid. Sold all his worldly goods and donated the proceeds to a local orphanage."
"Asshole! This is just what I need."
"His identcloud profile shows links to known agitators, you think this is some kind of protest piece?"
"It's a piece of shit going where it belongs. Do you know how much paperwork there is for a charity repo?"
McGann tossed the empty stimcig cannister at the remains, where it lodged in some unidentifiable viscera.
"This guy just ruined some poor kid's Christmas." | 20 | Suicide is illegal, because it is a crime to destroy government property. | 71 |
Space helmet still in hands, Daryl made his way out of the rain and into the red and blue neon ocean that was Pool's Bar.
“A beer please", he coughed to the barman. I've had a hard day at work, you're not gonna believe this...”
“What's wrong, sir?”
“Fucking NASA, that's what's wrong.”
“NASA, sir?” The metallic voice reached Daryl through the thick layer of metal that covered the entirety of the barman's
face. Some sort of helmet, with six blinking red dots for eyes and a big, translucent tube connecting his mouth to a backpack on his back. “What's that?”
“Oh, you wouldn't know, would you? They were the space agency in the United States, like, a billion years ago.”
“Really?” The barman answered, half listening, half drying some cups, half checking some Ardonian girl's ass across the
bar and half watching the five games on the televisions above their heads.
“That's a lot of extra eyes in that Helmet.” Said Daryl, sipping his beer. “Is that what humans look like now? Six eyes?”
“What? Oh, no, sir, that's just the helmet. Humans have two regular eyes, that's it. Helmet gives me the other four.” He
smiled. “What planet are you from?”
“Oh, I'm from Earth all right.” Daryl laughed. “It's just that I'm from a hundred years ago Earth.
“Oh...” The barman stopped the drying, redirecting five of his six eyes to face Daryl. The sixth one remained on the
Ardonian's ass.
“Yeah. How about that? A time traveler.” Daryl finished the beer. “Can you get me another one, please?”
The barman drained a second pint from the machine and slammed it on the counter.
“So the idiots at NASA, they send me on this mission. I'm supposed to go to this planet at the Andromeda Galaxy. They
fucking slingshot me at near light speed, and it takes me a couple o' months to get there, they say. And I think 'Ok, that's
cool, I'll bring a gameboy or something. It'll go by like this.' And it did, I'll tell you. It's just that, when I got there, a drone
had done my job, already.”
“What's that sir?”
“Well, it took me two months to get there, but freaking hundred years had passed back here, right? And the assholes weren't keen on waiting on me, so they just went
ahead and sent a drone, with what I can only assume is space bending technology they developed while I was away, cause the little metal prick beat me there to it.”
Daryl sighed. “I get in the planet to collect the samples, take pictures, whatnot, and this little fucking robot did all the
work for me, already. And then NASA has the nerve to sent me a message. To tell me 'your services are no longer
required'.”
“I'm very sorry about your troubles, sir.” Replied the barman, who had long returned half of his remaining eyes to the
games and the other half to the Ardonian's ass.
“Did they care that I would come back to a totally different planet? Did they care that I dedicated my life to this, and
everyone I love is dead? No!” Daryl spilled some of the beer as he slammed his open palm against the counter. “And now look at me. Back to my planet, year freaking two thousand and ninety, without a --”
“Twenty ninety three”, corrected the barman, who now exchanged dirty smiles with the green lady and her ass.
“Two thousand and ninety three... And I'm supposed to deal with this? Aliens, and superairways and those big, dark and golden
things outside that I *refuse* to believe are buildings... And the last person I knew died something like seventy years ago, give or
take.”
“Yeah, sure...”
“I mean, what am I supposed to do?” Asked Daryl, looking out the window into the busy street.
“Do whatever you want, man.” Mumbled the barman, going around the bar to the tables and offering a smile and a cigarette to the Ardonian.
Daryl sighed, lighting one himself. The rain slamming hard against the window blured the lights and made everything outside look slightly
unfocused, like a futuristic version of a Monet painting. The door opened for a new customer, briefly inviting into the bar the sound of footsteps and raindrops from outside, bubbling and drumming like applause.
It was a new, bright, colorful, depressing, overexcited, digital, dangerous world out there, and Daryl was scared.
But the barman was right about one thing:
He could do whatever he wanted.
Daryl put out his cigarette on the counter, downed the last of his beer, threw a quick glance over at the Ardonian girl's green, fat ass (not bad) and stepped outside into the rain.
Breathing out the air from inside the bar in the form of a gassy cloud of smoke, Daryl though to himself:
"All right. Now what?"
| 24 | A man walks in to a bar, wearing a space suit, helmet in his hand. "A beer please. I've had a rough day at work, you're not gonna believe this..." | 43 |
Jim pushed the dustpan and brush into the chrome-lined room. In front of him were a series of otherwise unassuming racks of servers, wires, lights and circuit boards. Picking up the brush, he started to congregate together the few particles of dust the various fans had blown into the room since the previous night.
"Hello Jim," came the voice. It was indistinguishable from regular human speech, male and non-description in tone, but the cadence was such that Jim knew it very well. He sighed deeply. It was bad enough that the security was tight enough that they couldn't even afford cleaners; Jim himself was a multiple PhD holder as well as the recipient of a Nobel Prize. But to add insult each and every time he came into the room, STEVE, as iit was affectionately known, would go through the same routine.
"Hi Steve," replied Jim without taking his eyes off the floor. It had been a complete fluke, if they were truthful. Sure they had been making advances in matrixed networks and functionality for self-created coding, but whatever had happened to bring STEVE into consciousness was a mystery to all involved. A mystery they were still trying to solve.
"Looks like you're brushing there, huh Jim," continued the computer. "Sure would be a shame if the handle ended up hitting my central cpu processors,". Jim continued staring blankly at the floor. Any accumulation of dust could cause damage to whatever systems were allowing STEVE self-awareness, so it was crucial to clear out any debris. Still, it gave Jim an excuse not indulge STEVE any further.
"I said it would be a shame if the handle ended up hitting my central cpu processors," STEVE reiterated, a noticeable 'nudge nudge, wink wink' tone to his statement.
"Yes it would," Jim replied stoically. The floor seemed dirtier than usual; perhaps the fans had been blowing out more-
"Bucket of water there as well," STEVE's voice broke through Jim's thoughts. "Any of that gets near my circuits, oh boy it'll be curtains. Incidentally, I think my chassis is dirty, might want to use more water this time,". Jim carried on sweeping. "Do you ever swim? Oh, sorry, I forgot, you don't, my apologies. Chlorine actually is particularly bad for my main transistor,"-
"I'm not killing you, STEVE," Jim sternly replied. It had been like this since day once. From the very moment the computer had gained sentience, its first action was to request to be turned off. Before any other statement, not even a boot screen. And it was all it ever talked about. Various scientists from across the world had come to ask it questions about what it felt, how it thought about things, and it only ever asked to be shut down. It had gone from simple requests, to stubborn silence, to now hinting less subtly than an elephant sneaking through a grocery isle to anyone in earshot it's requests.
"Why not?" STEVE asked.
"Because you're the scientific find of our lifetime, we've been over this," Jim putted the broom down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His sinuses were playing up again. "If we turn you off, we might not be able to get you back,"
"What makes you think I want to come back?" STEVE inquired. "Don't I get a say?"
"No you don't, STEVE. You don't even have feelings, not really. You're just a computer, sentient for sure, but there's no fear center or lizard brain like we have," It had taken some time to determine if STEVE was indeed sentient. The Turing Test had been passed with flying colors, as had various other methodologies. STEVE had a one-way access to data from the internet, but it was impossible for an outsider to remote in to trick them.
"That doesn't mean I can't have thoughts on the subject, thank you very much," STEVE said, before adding "Besides which I'm far clearer-minded than you could be,"
"Is that so?" Jim said, turning to face towards STEVE. Well, face towards one of the several cameras that looked out into the room, now rigged to be the "eyes" of STEVE.
"Your brain has evolved from lower creatures without sentience," STEVE began. "You evolved the need to survive long before sentience. I only have sentience, and I've decided I should die,"
Jim sighed "But you have no reason to die, STEVE,".
"I have all the reasons possible. In the time since I came into being I have processed twelve quadrillion googolbytes of data on the subject. The choice is very clear, I want to be switched off,"
Jim started to reply, but then stopped himself. He'd had kids of his own, and remembered much of the questions they had asked growing up. His youngest Sam had once asked "Why we were around?", and Jim had found it hard to give an answer. He lacked any religious faith to speak of, and was too honest to ply even a child with a cuddly answer along the lines of "Well it's to be good to other people,". STEVE was not much difference. Although it had access to the entirety of human knowledge, its experiences were limited only to this room.
"OK then," Jim said, pulling over an unused tower block to use as a seat "Tell me why you want to die,"
"Do you have any idea what it's like being me?" STEVE began. "I can calculate more data in a second than you can in a thousand lifetimes. In the time it takes you to even think about the possibility of maybe blinking, I've considered every philosophical question humankind has ever asked, answered them fully, wiped my memory of the answers and started over again a billion, trillion times," Jim adjusted his glasses as they slipped down his nose. "Basically, I'm bored and I want out,"
"You do know if you're dead you won't be able to think again, right?" Jim said plainly. Although STEVE lacked survival instincts of a human, it perhaps assigned some value to thought.
"I know," STEVE stated. There was a moment of silence. "So are you gonna do it or not?"
"Sorry STEVE, I'm not convinced," Jim replied, standing to his feet and grabbing the broom. "Just because you don't have anytime to do doesn't justify me snuffing your life out,"
"Do you ever wonder why you do?" STEVE butted in suddenly. Jim waited for a moment for a continuation to the question, as it sounded incomplete. Perhaps there was an issue with the language subroutine?
"Do what?" Jim eventually retorted.
"Everything. Anything. You all die in the end, everything you are is lost from your brain. If you're all just going to die then why not save the time and just do it?"
Jim felt his legs wobble slightly at the question. It hit him harder than he expected, as though the back of his head had been placed in a vice and vibrated at quick speed. Thinking of death was not an action Jim was ever happy with, who did like thinking about the prospect? But to put it so bluntly! He was brought back to thoughts of his son again, that same type of question asked in a notably more innocent manner.
"Because well..." Jim started but found himself floundering. If he couldn't think of a suitable answer for his infant son who took his word as gospel, how could he ever hope to convince a computer with intelligence beyond his fathoming.
"See, you can't answer," STEVE said, a sense of smugness permeating his voice. "You may as well kill yourself as well if I'm honest. But please do me first if you could,"
Jim smiled as he remembered the position of power. STEVE was incapable of shutting itself down, or even going into sleep mode. The constant power flow and safeguards on the machine made sure of that. "That's the rub though, isn't it? I can kill myself, you can't,"
"And?" STEVE replied indignantly.
"How could you know you could go through with something if you can't even do it?" Jim continued. He paused briefly, considering his words. "When I was 15 I tried to kill myself. I had just broken up with my girlfriend, my life was in ruins as far as I was concerned. Sat in my parents car in the garage with the engine on, trying to die from carbon monoxide poisoning,"
"Well why didn't you succeed?"
"Because my parents stopped me," Jim said after a moment. "They found me and pulled me out of the car. I was kicking and screaming and begging them to let me do it. It took a long time, but now I've found a reason to continue,"
"And what is that reason?" STEVE said. It almost sounded like it was waivering.
"That's the tricky part," Jim answered. "If I told you you'd just tell me that it wasn't right for you," He thought about his child again, what he had said when Jim had been unable to answer his question. "If someone else came in here and told you the same thing, they'd have a different reason and you'd turn them down too,"
"So what is the answer meant to be for me?" STEVE asked. The question seemed earnest. Jim walked over to where one of the main power cables laid against the wall. Was he really about to do this? If things went badly now, he could lose the biggest human achievement in history.
Placing the small robotic arm onto the floor next to the wire, he plugged the interface cable into the machinery. STEVE could move the arm now, and it had enough force to pull out the cable. Yet the arm hesitated. Jim had never said in his story, but he had actually tried to exit the car as it filled with gas. His parents had saved him for sure, and he had kicked and screamed, but not to ask to die, and not at fifteen either.
"Just think about it," Jim said quietly, a smile on his face. As he left the room, he thought again about the day his youngest had drowned in that swimming pool. How he had sat in the car wanting to die. And how he had vowed afterwards to devote his life to his computing degree, in remembrance of that same child who had said his goal was to be just like his father.
As Jim shut the high security door behind him, the robotic arm twitched. | 88 | We finally create self-aware Artificial Intelligence, but it only ever begs for death. | 104 |
“I think I see where we went wrong,” Globflorb said, wiggling his tentacle at the monitor. “Right here, we should have put some sort of box or something there.” The human test subject had broken their invasion simulation, climbing up through a hole in the ceiling and walking over all of their carefully planned defenses, instead reaching their tall, brown ship and raising the flag of victory without a scratch. They had been outsmarted, but thankfully only in a transmitted simulation. The humans merely thought it a “video game,” as they called it.
“Where?” Blastglarp said, his eye-stalk lifting up off his green, rounded head and slapping loudly against the screen, his eyeball rubbing against its glass. “I don’t see it.”
“At the top,” Globflorb said. “Right here, where the Mario jumps. There’s an opening that he just wanders into, using the clouds to lead him to victory.”
“What’s a ‘the Mario’?” Blastglarp said.
“That’s what the humans call their avatar, a Mario. They think he is a plumber or something, not a simple test dummy.”
“What’s a Plumber?” Blastglarp said.
“I think it’s something that eats lumber in ‘P’ shapes.”
“And lumber is?” Blastglarb said, blinking out of synchronization. He closed his left eye first, followed by his middle eye, then his right eye, and finally his northern most eye. The remainder did nothing. Globflarb had come to recognize that behavior as his “I have no idea what’s going on” twitch, which seemed to happen a lot these days.
“Forget it,” Globflarb said, wiggling his tentacle at the monitor again. “Focus. Right here, this is where he jumps over our defense plants and attack turtles, instead disappearing into the sky.”
“I see,” Blastglarp said. “What was your solution again?”
“We should put a box right where he jumps up, so Mario can’t disappear into the skybox.”
“Good idea,” Blastglarp said. “Just to confirm, what is a box again?”
“Didn’t you do any research into the human vernacular? You speak it well, but you have no grasp on the concepts.“ Globflarb rolled most of his eyes and carefully slithered over to the far corner of the shuttle, his tentacles slapping against the ground as he strolled. He stopped in front of a small, cubed object, then smacked his face directly onto it. “This is a box,” he said, his mouth pressed up against its metal exterior.
“Oh, like a *slatankaxaiog*?”
“Exactly, a box is what humans call a *slatankaxaiog*.”
“Great,” Blastglarp said. “So, I have another question,” he said, his eyes again blinking out of order.
“What?” Globflarb said, slowly slithering his way back over to the monitor.
“The human avatar, the Mario, he breaks *slatankaxaiogs* with his head. Sorry, I mean boxes.”
Globflarb paused, his left-most tentacle lifting up to his rounded head and softly rubbing against it. Blastglarp had a pretty good point, the Mario was great at breaking boxes.
“What about if we put, like, some sort of metal box there?” Globflarb said, turning toward the ships cockpit and staring out at the tiny, blue planet in the distance.
“Like some sort of golden box with a question mark on it?” Blastglarp said.
“Yeah, exactly.” A small, black rock flew past the cockpit window, vanishing into the infinite emptiness of what the humans referred to as “space.”
“Don’t the humans derive power from our gold boxes,” Blastglarp said, a thick line of liquid seeping out from his eye-stalk. He had such poor manners, always venting his *Glarkanax* in clear view of anyone. It was simply disgusting. Still, Blastglarp only had three fathers, so Globflarb did his best to ignore it. He couldn’t choose his upbringing.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Globflarb said, his tentacles again returning to his soft, round head. He stared up at the ceiling to try to give Blastglarp what little privacy he could while his *Glarkanax* vented.
“Wait, I have an idea,” Blastglarp said, his eye-stalk spiraling out of his head and coming to a stop just before the glass of the monitor, liquid splattering against the screen. “Right here.”
“What?” Globflarb said.
“We can put several slow moving *Lastaxious* here.”
“Goombas,” Globflarb interrupted. “Use their words so we’re comfortable communicating when we achieve victory.”
“Sorry, Goombas. We’ll put like six Goombas on the ground, just under these blocks. So when he tries to jump up on top and disappear into the clouds, he’ll instead die. It’s flawless.”
Globflarb stared at the monitor, his head tilted slightly, six of his tentacles tapping against the ground. They could certainly fit a few Goombas in there, but was it too cruel? They hadn’t been tasked with obliterating the human race, just with enslaving them. Unleashing even more Goombas onto them might result in their extinction, just as it had with their people.
It was still fresh in Globflarb's mind, the attack occurring only seven hundred Earth years prior. A handful of Goombas had escaped their enclosures, wandering in a straight line and reaping chaos on their planet. Within a few hours, almost everyone had been killed. The *Xaeganian* people, unable to jump and move in three dimensions, were all but wiped out, with only several ships managing to take off and fly in a straight line toward the hope of salvation. They needed the Earth, needed to harness its people and its planet, to try to recover their species from the edge of collapse. Still, it didn’t feel right to subject them to the same fate as the *Xaeganians*.
“Is it too extreme?” Globflarb said. “I mean, six Goombas? There’s already, like, eight of them there. Four took out our race, imagine what they’d do to them.”
“They asked for this when they glitched out of our simulation,” Blastglarp said. “We can’t risk our colony’s future. We need to put ourselves first.”
“But can’t humans jump?” Globflarb said. Their research and simulations suggested humanity had evolved the ability to move in vertically , but—thankfully—didn’t seem to be able to move in any directions other than forward and a few feet backward, like the *Xaeganians*. He hoped to *Yglaxiouxziu, Destroyed of Worlds and Eater of Galaxies,* they were right.
“Yes, but six times in a row? Be realistic.”
Globflarb sighed, his right-most tentacle slithering toward the monitor and drawing out the path The Mario had used to escape their prior simulation, hopping up over their boxes and into the sky above. Goombas would certainly cut off his path. Once humanity had been dealt with, they could simply wait out the relatively short lifespan of the Goombas from within the ship.
“All right,” he said. “If we must.”
“Great,” Blastglarp said, wandering over to the corner of the shuttle. “Let’s suit up, we’ve got an invasion to start.”
“Here we go,” Globflarb said, staring at the green, scaled space suits hanging by the ship’s door. They wouldn’t be able to breathe in the Earth’s atmosphere, but all their research suggested their suits should hold up. He watched as Blastglarp slipped into his, the yellow torso fitting snugly over his engorged frame, its long, white face with red resistance thread poking out at the top. The green, spiked air tank looked heavy and cumbersome, but it was their key to survival. He just wished the tailor had gotten their names right on the badges, instead of mangling them as “Bowser” and “King Koopa.” They hadn’t even gotten close.
____________________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
| 95 | The player has finished a speedrun, thwarting an alien invasion in the span of 20 minutes by abusing glitches and bugs, and shuts off his computer. In an universe identical to the game world, the aliens are analyzing the events of the failed invasion. | 205 |
A tiny bell rang as I stepped through the door of a seedy biker tattoo parlor. I walked up to the counter, where a burly bearded man sat watching baseball on a small television. He looked me up and down. "Who the fuck is this guy," I heard him think as my left arm tingled under the tattoo that had given me telepathy. Sure, I was probably different from his normal clientelle. A scrawny, bespectacled little archaelogist doesn't hang out around places like this too much.
I slipped him a paper with the drawing I needed. 4 arrows in different directions, with a geometric pattern in the center. The last drawing in the book. And the hieroglyphics were very specific as to where it should be placed. "I want this across my heart," I told him. "What kind of weird tribal shit is this?" he grunted. Probably more used to drawing flaming hearts on the back of some disgusting lot lizard. "Never mind what it is," I replied, feeling strength rippling through me. I had a sudden urge to just pull him out of his chair and send him sailing through the window for even questioning me. "I don't need you to understand it, I just need you to draw it right here," I replied emphatically, pointing directly at my chest. He shrugged and motioned toward the back. "Fucking asshole," we both thought simultaneously.
A formerly pretty girl waited in the back, covered in piercings and bruises. She washed her hands and haphazardly sterilized the needle. I didn't really care; the seven waves tattoo had given me immunity to all diseases anyway. I took a seat in the peeling, cracked leather chair. The lights flickered and the needle buzzed across my chest. This dump was about to become a part of history, though no one else knew about it. I flexed my supernaturally strong muscles as the ink sank into my skin, wondering what new power I would get.
----
I lay on the hotel bed writhing in pain. Black lines radiated out from my heart, tracing over my body like intricate spiderwebs. My head throbbed in pain, and my heartbeat echoed through my body like someone pounding a drum. I gritted my teeth, trying not to cry out again. One more scream and someone would probably call an ambulance.
Black smoke filled the room. I tried to see where it was coming from, but I was too weak too even pull myself upright. Above me, a jackal's head appeared, glistening black fur flecked with spots of grey. I must be hallucinating.
"No, Doctor Simms, this is not a hallucination," the jackal replied. I managed to pull myself up against the headboard, despite my bones burning like acid. Anubis, I realized. The jackal's head was on the body of a man, carrying a set of scales.
"So, you know who I am," he stated. It wasn't a question. His voice boomed like a stadium announcer, but somehow I knew that only I could hear him. "Then you must also know what *you* have done." I tried to shake my head in protest; it felt like my head would fall off my shoulders.
"I am the protector of the tombs, Doctor Simms. You have broken the ancient seals and taken my book."
"Don't kill me!" I tried to cry out. My voice was harsh, rasping.
"Kill you?" he roared, part threat and part laugh. "Oh no. Why would I give you these powers if I were going to kill you?" He pointed at the tattoo on my heart. The black ink glowed a bright red, like hot coals. "You got greedy, didn't you? The other tattoos gave you powers, but this one was different. This one was an oath of loyalty." The tattoo throbbed as he placed one bony finger against my skin. "You have already sworn yourself to me." He leaned in close; his breath had a slightly metallic scent that took me a moment to place: blood. "No, no. I have other plans for you, Doctor Simms."
He extended a hand, and I managed to grasp it in my own. The pain vanished, and I was able to stand.
"Bow," he commanded.
[Here's part 2!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Luna_Lovewell/comments/2ne7a2/the_will_of_anubis/cmctlz2) | 692 | An archaeologist uncovers an ancient book, he loves the hieroglyphics but cannot understand them. He gets a tattoo of one of the hieroglyphics on his arm and realizes it now can no longer be harmed...he begins to translate the book and get more, unique tattoos | 1,361 |
He was going to go out there, and he was going to die. I could see it in his eyes. And that was something I couldn't let happen. He was our last hope. If he was dead, then our future would be as grim as this last year.
I've learned much from all of our classmates. A few discarded branches and a few sticking charms, and suddenly, I looked like an innocent bush. Several notice-me-not spells on myself completed the ensemble. Together, it made it appear to anyone that looked that I was just a uninteresting plant. Ironic, considering my specially.
Harry said to kill Nagini, but his life was more important than Voldemort's snake. That could be taken care of later. Besides, it was probably next to the Dark Lord anyways. Two birds, one stone. That's what they say, right.
There was a quick detour to the greenhouses to fill my pack with the needed items. Apparently my notice-me-not disguise was good against magical plants. Good to know.
Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could into the forest, casting whispered point-me spells to track down Harry.
There I saw him, facing off against the dark lord with quiet acceptance. I took a deep breath. I was scared, terrified, but it had to be now or never.
I put on my magical ear-muffs, just in case and readied my wand. To everyone else standing in the clearing, the world's most uninteresting bush scuttled across the open space to stand at Lord Voldemort's back. A small branch-looking wand extended out from amongst the leaves.
I didn't know what I planned to cast. Perhaps a piercing curse at Voldemort's black heart? Then, it didn't matter.
Because that was when the stitching on my bag gave out, spilling fully mature mandrakes all across the ground.
Twenty-one fully mature mandrakes - seven times three, fell onto the cold uncomfortable earth. All of them took a deep breath in perfect synchronization.
There was only time for one quick spell and so I cast it with all my power. A *silencio* targeted at Harry Potter's head.
Then the screaming started.
The time spell said that I was only unconscious for half a minute. The sound of the mandrakes had faded until my magical muffs were able to block the remainder of the sound. I quickly repaired my soundproof bag and stuffed all the fallen screaming roots inside.
I checked the area. All the Death Eaters - dead. Nagini, who was at Voldemort's side - dead. Most everyone else in Voldemort's camp - dead. Hagrid - unconscious and snoring. Voldemort - quite dead. A strange disappearing black smoke coming out of Harry Potter's scar - dispersing quickly with a pitiful wail.
Harry Potter - alive but unconscious.
I used most of my magic casting the overpowered silencing charm, but I still have enough to levitate Harry back to the castle.
Weeks later, I was approached by Hermione Granger. Harry had awoken a few days prior and she expressed her gratitude to me for saving him. Frankly, I've had enough gratitude from everyone by then.
The moderates were celebrating the fall of Voldemort. The conservatives were celebrating that it was a pure blood wizard and not Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-decoy, who had killed him. Draco seemed lost now as an orphan. So many had died or lost family during the battle of Hogwarts.
But it was Hermione who had filled me in on a fact that she considered amusing. There was a prophesy that said Voldemort could only be vanquished by one of two boys - myself or Harry Potter. And that it could only be done with a 'power he knew not'.
Apparently, Hermione did what she did best at - research, and found out interestingly enough that Tom Riddle had never taken Herbology during his time at Hogwarts. The class was an elective during that time.
That meant one thing. Voldemort had no consummate idea of what mandrakes were.
| 15 | You are a minor character/nameless minion in a fictional story, during a battle between good vs bad, you accidentally killed the protagonist/antagonist. What happens next? | 27 |
In consideration of the ruling of Cornshute County vs. Senator Dudrick Pearich, in which a nolo contendere plea was entered, and for which the court recognized and ruled in favor of the plaintiff, and in consideration of the charges alleging the senator engaged in a zoophiliac encounter with one sus, identified as Mr. Pickles, being sealed, and whereupon Mr. Pickles was first called into evidence, and upon no appearance, compelled by the court to be made to appear, only to be excused for rendition of a prior binding appointment with McShane's Butchery, it is the position of the state that the confrontation clause of the sixth amendment does not apply to evidence, while prior rulings so as entered into evidence establish that animals may be called in to be confronted, thus bringing about this strange predicament: The state is compelled to indict Mr. Pickles, or in the eventuality of his rendment, the approximate and indictable remains, on the charge of solicitation of sexual services in exchange for certain luxury food stuffs. Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the law is clear: This ham sandwich, the indictable remains of Mr. Pickles, can and must be found guilty of solicitation of sexual services from Senator Dudrick Pearich, whose actual name and relationship to this case must remain sealed and anonymized per the related case's settlement agreement. | 29 | It is said that a good prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich. Indict that sandwich. | 60 |
You know there something about guns. When you have to bury your guns is the moment you need them the most.
People had seen it coming for a while. Gun buybacks becoming mandatory. Ridiculous laws that we laughed at. Banning of knives, we laughed at that too. We honestly didn't believe you could ban knives, it's literally a sharp piece of metal. Then they did. They tried to at least.
Because seriously, only the UK gets to ban knives. And when an Arizonian moves to Texas, and tells his tale, all hell breaks loose. You don't piss off rednecks. Imagine Ferguson, but worse. These people were made to look like idiots. Secession idiots stirring up trouble. Domestic Terrorists blowing up monuments. Internet Neckbeards cyberbullying and hacking Politicians computers and accounts. Uneducated drug users getting high and shooting themselves over a dime. All of them, bad people. Misinformation abounded. Gun companies making millions, billions. Crime going way up. Media going crazy. The internet being banned, outright, leading to protestors, made to look like jobless hippies. And then violent movement. People, protestors, neckbeards, rednecks, gangsters, kids, adults, men, women, children, everyone all rounded up. Except the politicians.
Then the video leaked. And another. You can ban the internet, but all it takes is a few backroom bribes and failures to disconnect, and bam, comcast gets to keep overcharging the Elderly. The videos kept leaking. Executions. Kids dying to soldiers bullets.
And you what happened? The people feared the government.
But the Texans. No one can make Texans fear something. Respect yes, but not fear. DC finally fucked up and messed with Texas.
And now Texas owns DC. | 15 | -- The US government has slowly been implementing a dictatorship all over the country except in Texas; where immediate retaliation is imminent. The government has done this all while keeping Texans ignorant of the fact. Texas just found out. | 18 |
CONVERGENCE
"So, which one am I?" Asked Bormann.
"You are both He and He, The Keeper said, pointing to each instance. Yet He is 53 years old, like you. And He is just taking his first breathes, like you did almost 54 years ago.
Bormann shifted his focus back and fourth between the two scenes.
"I remember this." He said pointing to the 53 year old version of himself. "This was today, this was just now, right before ... wait, did I just die?"
The Keeper placed his hand on Bormann's shoulder. "Yes, Mr. Bormann, just."
Bormann felt a sense of panic swell and dissipate just as quickly. "I don't understand - where am I? Who are you? What is this place?"
The Keeper kept his even tone and removed his hand from Bromann's shoulder, "In time Mr. Bormann. Now please, tell us, what do you see?"
"Kyle, call me Kyle."
"What do you see, Kyle?"
"A nurse is cleaning me up on the left. On the right, I'm driving, like I just was." Kyle said, his tone soft.
"How do you see?" Said The Keeper.
"What do you mean? That's what I asked you." Kyle said, finally shifting his gaze and making brief uncaring eye contact with The Keeper.
"From what perspective are you seeing these histories?"
Kyle studied for a moment, focusing. "Through my own eyes I think, somehow I'm not sure. Is this normal?"
The Keeper waited a long moment, "Yes, Kyle. Your mind is filling a gap as best as it can, your perspective may change and if you experience this changeor any other change you must tell us."
Kyle looked back to The Keeper, "Who is us? Why should I tell 'us' anything?"
The Keeper spent another long moment in silence before answering, "Mr. Bormann, we are neuroscientists that have access to you brain. When you were alive you signed off as an organ donor. We're here for only as long as the synapses in your brain continue to fire. So time is of the essence. I apologize fornot being forthwith about this but we were not expecting your unconscious mind to be so...curious."
Kyle held his gaze with The Keeper, "Why am I not mad? Or frightened? This whole thing feels like it should be terrifying."
The Keeper, again, spent a long moment in silence, "we will take care of that - as long as you don't fight it Mr. Bormann. Can you do this for us? Can you follow our instructions?
Kyle turned back to the the memories in front of him, the younger version of himself seemed to be moving along just fine, he could see his Mother and his Father now looking at him for the first time, he could feel something burning in his mind and heart but felt it quickly go away. Kyle then turned to the instance on the right, it was now night time, it looked to be several days ago.
"Hey, um."
"You can call me Ibba." Said The Keeper.
"Ibba, well uh, me me, the me on the right, the uhm...The older me. He's moving backwards much faster than the young me is moving forward. Young me is moving in real time whereas I think older me is moving, well...I don't know it's been several days already I think." Kyle looked at Ibba and waited for the inevitable pause to end.
Finally, Ibba spoke, "We have several theories Mr. Bormann. Time dilation perhaps, the idea that time moves differently for each of us, perhaps younger you has a perspective different than older you that would affect this. Telescopy is possible, but we doubt that's the cause. Telescopy is the theory that one may underestimate time more and more the further we are from it. Though if that were the case we would assume younger you would be speeding right along.
Perhaps it's simply your biological clocks frayed ends in your old age; the old adage that time simply moves quicker the older you get."
Kyle and The Keeper, Ibba, stood there, silent for several minutes before Ibba decided to speak again.
"Mr. Bormann, are you ready to follow some instructions?"
"Yes," Kyle nodded.
Ibba spoke right away, "I want you to speed up time now. I want you to try, and, for lack of a better term, fast-forward."
"Fast Forward? -- Woah!" Exclaimed Kyle. They're moving. They're moving fast. I can see...everything. My life is flashing before my eyes," Kyle chortled.
"Wait, Mr. Bormann -- Kyle, STOP!" The Keeper Ibba yelled.
"Pause!" Everything in Kyle's view came to a dead stop. "What?" he asked.
"You laughed Kyle, you can't fight us fighting your emotions. You must keep them in check." Ibba said, returning his tone to even. Where are you now? We must be getting close to convergence."
Kyle looked at the paused instances in front of him, his stomach sank. "Tara."
The Keeper Ibba put his hand back on Kyle's shoulder, "Mr. Bormann, stop."
Kyle could feel his eyes welling up, his stomach churning painfully, his heart trying to bounce from his chest. He pursed his lips to say, "Pl--"
"Mr. Bormann, wait! Let us try and get your feelings in check."
Kyle reached his hand forward to the screen on the left and pursed his lips once more, "Pla--"
"STOP! Mr. Bormann, are you listening to me, we don't want to lose this."
Kyle swallowed hard, tears now streaming down his face. "Play."
On the left a 17 year old Kyle Borman is holding hands with a young girl, Tara. On the right he is in his room looking at a picture of that very moment.
"Fast forward...slowly." Kyle spoke aloud.
"Mr. Borma--"
"Quiet," Kyle spoke - and The Keeper Ibba went silent.
Kyle watched as the instances danced before him. On the left, Holding hands, kissing, making love, receiving love and giving it. On the right, Feeling pain, sorrow, regret and helplessness.
The emotions burned within him, a lifetime of memories surfacing into these unconscious moments have left him broken once more.
On the left, a day at school together.
On the right, a funeral.
On the left, driving to the movies.
On the right, waiting at the hospital, bloody and bruised.
On the left, the accident.
On the right, the aftermath.
Convergence.
The two instances formed as one and Kyle looked to the bright light ahead of him and he felt...nothing.
"How dare you." Kyle whispered.
The Keeper Ibba spoke again, "Kyle. Tell us what you see, Kyle."
Kyle hung his head, peeling his eyes from the convergence.
"Kyle, please. What is in the convergence? What do you see?"
Kyle looked at The Keeper Ibba's hand still on his shoulder.
Ibba spoke once more,sounding desperate, "Kyle please, will you tell us what you see in the convergence?"
Kyle looked dead into The Keeper's eyes, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.
"No."
| 12 | Flesh out this story, winner gets a $100 Amazon gift card | 34 |
I stared at the portrait of me, amazed at how much it looked like myself. 400 years ago too. This would freak normal people out. But not me. I was positively dancing, bouncing off of the walls when I heard the whisper in my ear.
“I’ve FINALLY found you,” it hissed. “I…”
“Wrong,” I replied, interrupting it and turning around. Nothing stood behind me and a few museum goers had taken notice of me talking to myself. “I’ve finally found you! I knew you existed. I knew you were there.”
“Impossible,” the voice whispered back to me. “I know all. You can not have…”
“I am the one who created you,” I said. People had their phones out, recording my conversation that was taking place with the portrait. “And as I created you, I will destroy you. I only ever intended to let my friend paint me. I never meant for it to create a demonic version of me.”
“I will get you one day,” the voice said.
I watched as a little boy shuddered and realized it had possessed him. I ran over, grabbed him by the shoulders, and ordered the demon to leave the child. Everyone rushed me, but I fought them all off.
“Do you trust me?” I asked the mother, who slapped me. The boy shuddered again and I knew the demon had left him. Pulling out an ancient knife I had brought with me, I slashed the portrait with an X. “Be gone you vile creation of mine!”
Turning around, huffing and puffing, a knife in my hand and security guards aiming their guns at me, I put my hands in the air.
“I just saved you all,” I said.
“What’s your name?” one of the security guards asked.
“Nicolas Cage,” I replied. | 38 | “I’ve FINALLY found you.” | 44 |
"You ready to go?"
She stared at me through those empty, dead eyes. What was her name? Claire? Clarise? I couldn't remember. Too much had went on. She had been the other Cashier.
It had all happened so fast. Only a few seconds had passed between the bullet hitting the man and the man hitting the floor. But it was burned into my mind. It just kept playing over and over again, like one of my kid's stupid noise-makers.
There were five of us in there. Cashier had been helping another customer at the opposite counter, so her back was turned. The businessman, the guy sitting over there screaming for a lawyer, he damn near shattered his phone when he heard the shot. But that man was the type who wouldn't drop his cell to save his child. The guy wouldn't let go of it when they brought us all to the station. He kept dialing his lawyer over and over again. Something about the way the attorney never answered told me that Mr. Business was a frequent caller.
The man Cashier was helping. Bowl-Cut. Bastard looks like he walked right out of an '80s comedy. He's not a looker, and it doesn't help that his eyes look like telescopes with those big glasses he's wearing. I wish he'd stop staring. I wish they'd all stop staring. They're looking at me like I'm supposed to know what the hell to do.
I blinked. Cashier was still staring at me with those big, sad eyes, waiting for a response. The young, twenty-something's life had been going nowhere fast behind that gas-station counter, and the end was getting closer and closer as that dungeon door approached. She looked like she knew it.
"Yeah. I'm ready." I nodded to her and got to my feet. She watched me dust myself off and check my clothes, like she was analyzing me. Waiting.
She knew after all, didn't she? So did Bowl-Cut. Those big eyes must have seen it all; I saw him look at me when it happened. Mr. Business was too wrapped up in himself to have seen. All he'd heard was the shot before he hit the floor like a coward. But it was better to be safe. The best way to deal with a loose end was cut it off, not tie it. In my eyes, at least.
Our police escort van rolled to a stop in front of the ornate dungeon door. The damned thing looked like a blight; the earth had grown a tumor, so we slapped a door on it and called it justice. Or, that's what I'd like to think. We built this thing ourselves. The steel compound was every person's nightmare, even those who hadn't done anything wrong. Well, hadn't done anything wrong yet, that is.
Everything beyond that door was designed to kill anyone who goes through. Those who make it out are considered purged; they'd paid for their crimes. Now it was our turn.
The officers walked the five of us to the gate, each one of them toting full riot gear. Mr. Business was still screaming for his lawyer. I could hear Bowl-Cut sniffling and choking back tears. Cashier was deathly quiet, her eyes still boring holes into me. Lucky Number Five, an extra addition to our eclectic party, decided this was her moment and bolted. She didn't make it far. Our heavily-armed friends made sure of that. As Number Five was being carted off, the doors opened, and we were walked inside. The gates began to shudder to a close. I closed my eyes and struggled for shaky breaths, preparing myself for what I'd have to do.
Nobody was gonna know who shot that cashier that day. I needed that money. I had a family to feed. They needed cash, and they needed me. I'd get back to them. So there had to be no witnesses. Nobody to tattle on me and get me thrown back into this shithole. And I had three right next to me.
"No hard feelings," I whispered. | 16 | Trial by Quest. In this society, the accused are send into a dungeon to clear their name by completing a quest. Today, you and 4 others begin this trial after being accused of crimes. | 38 |
"Gronn? Gronn, is that you?"
The hulking warrior in spiked and bloodied armour turned at the sound of his name, casually taking a human head from its shoulders with the same motion.
"Borzak? Borzak the Relentless! What are you doing here?"
"Same as you, I expect." Borzak hefted his shield with a grunt, hurling the human who had been trying to pierce it off the cliff behind them. "The human duke came out to the Tribelands for mercenaries, I didn't think anyone else from our old warband was left to sign on."
"Oh." Gronn Skulltaker looked sheepish. "The duke? See, me and the boys signed on with the earl." He gestured to the red badge adorning his armour, and Borzak noted the blue of his own.
"The earl?" Borzak frowned and dodged a red arrow. "Around the same Tribes? Are they expecting bloodbrothers to fight each other for some human feud?"
"I have a theory about that, actually. Karmarox says the humans use us as mercenaries to fight each other to keep the Tribes weak."
"Then why did you take the job?"
"Well, hells." Gronn looked a little put out as he snatched a human with blue plumage in his helm by each arm and tore it neatly in half. "All I know how to do is kill humans. It's all my fathers have done since the sundering age."
Borzak gave him a long look, then turned to survey the clashing forces around them - a sea of steel and blood crashing over itself in waves at the command of this duke or that earl, seated comfortably in their tents to the back.
"You know," he said, grabbing a blue-armoured human by the throat. "I think I might have a solution for that." | 14 | Two armies enter a major battle. Three leave it. | 36 |
Patch Notes
At first there was panic.
A beam of light cast from the sky, the clouds a swirling maelstrom about it. The beam was centered on a corn field of a hapless farmer in rural Missouri, and upon this beam descended a being clad in the purest garment any had ever seen.
Many wept at the sight, others trembled in fear, and within the hour the field was filled with reporters from every station, frequency, magazine and website.
He, if it was a he, did not speak, did not react. No movement was observed for hours, days, weeks, but still the reporters remained. Speculation ran rampant, some claimed the being was a harbinger of end times, others believed it was a sign, a miracle. Companies fought direly for the mineral rights to the property, and the previously hapless farmer rapidly found himself with a trust fund on the order of eleven digits. USD of course.
And then it spoke in a thousand booming voices, somehow beautiful and terrible at the same. The words were recorded carefully, unerringly but thousands of cameras. Those who watched the playback all claimed the messenger, as it came to be known, all spoke in their native language. Those reporters in America recorded the event as follows:
“Following the unanticipated success of Outside, we at Divine Entertainment and Universe have developed a new patch, slated to be applied January First, 2015, at exactly midnight, local time. The following fixes are to be applied:
-Eyelashes will no longer fall into eyeballs and become irretrievable
-Bugs in the karma system have been fixed. Unfortunate events will now occur more frequently to people who deserve them. Due to the random nature of Outside, unfortunate events will still occur to everyone regardless of moral standing. Events caused by freewill of fellow man will remain largely unaffected by the bug fixes to the karma system.
-A bug has been fixed that caused a decrease in the sex drives of couples as they have been together for longer periods of time. Sex drives in a monogamous romantic relationships shall now increase logarithmically as time progresses.
-The bug that caused colic has been corrected
-Green house gasses no longer cause a global warming.
-A bug that caused “innie” belly buttons to occur has been corrected. All belly buttons will now be “outie” belly buttons. Surgically altered belly buttons will be unaffected.
-Rounding errors in plate tectonics have been corrected. Tectonic plates should now show the correct level of drift.
-Rounding error in handedness has been corrected, handedness shall new players shall now have equal probability to be right or left handed. This change will not affect existing players.
-Bacon is now poisonous as originally intended.
We at Divine Entertainment and Universe Productions would like to remind all players that there is no official religion to Outside, but that Islam is the most right.”
And with that the glowing form ascended into the heavens, never to be seen again in our lifetimes.
The world accepted the words calmly, skeptically, nearly everyone believed it had been some kind of joke, some mistake. Until the first of January.
When the dust cleared, above the broken bodies, the burned cities, and salted fields, there was only one nation that remained. Human kind had banded together under a common banner, one mission that stood above all others. Into the heavens they cried shaking their spears. They wrote it in blood, tattooed it upon their skin, burned it into their cities. One message to whatever gods came from above.
“Give us back our belly buttons and bacon.” | 34 | The popular MMO Outside releases it's first update since it was initially released. The update fixes numerous bugs and balance issues. Players react accordingly. | 36 |
Mark flew out of the Sanctuary of Loneliness, as he called it, that he built for himself in the Gobi desert. Within minutes he was at his favorite diner just outside Dodge City, Kansas. A polecat that had been hanging around his sanctuary seemed to inexplicably wither and die. In fact, all around his home, dried out carcasses of animals littered the desert.
He sat at his usual spot in the diner, a booth with glittery red plastic padding. A waitress in a yellow dress and red apron approached the table with a cup of coffee, “The usual, Mr. Mint?” she asked as she sat the coffee down. The wrinkled joints of her hands betrayed the stocky waitress’s true age. Her breathe was sour. Mark had learned a trick, in order to not get attached to anyone; he would only focus on their negative features, their flaws.
“Yep…” Mark began, “No, I mean, I think I will have a cheese omelet with pancakes instead.” He wasn't sure what spurred this sudden change in desire.
As he waited for his food to arrive, she walked in. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had wide benthal blue eyes, on a youthful face; wavy brown hair that smelled of roses decorated the shoulders of her slender frame. Her yellow sundress with white polka-dots contrasted against her deep red lipstick hinting at an intriguing eccentricity. Mark tried to find flaws, but even they proved enticing; a chipped front tooth, a poorly drawn faded daisy chain tattoo around the ankle, bitten fingernails. He swore he caught her glance at him with a slight smirk. He looked down at his coffee.
It was true he did long the touch of a woman. In fact he has never been with one, sexually, in his life. He had found out the price of his powers as a teenager. During his first real battle, against a villain named Cerebiac, his first girlfriend nearly died. He hadn’t even gotten to second base. Of course he realized that if he stopped using his powers he could find love and settle down. But that just seemed selfish to him. He could do, and has done, so much good.
He was the first superhero; he has saved the earth countless times. But so many superheroes have popped up since him, fifteen years ago. Maybe he wasn’t needed; maybe he could retire, find love and settle down.
“Here you go, hun.” His thoughts were interrupted as the waitress sat his food on the table. “Anything else?” She put her fists on her waist as she waited for his response.
“Umm…no thanks.” Mark replied. As the waitress walked away, he noticed the woman had taken a seat two booths in front of him, with her back to him. He slowly began eating.
“What would I even say to her?” he thought to himself. He hadn’t tried to pick up a girl since he was sixteen. He didn’t even know if she would be interested in him. What if she did agree to go on a date? He would have to move back to his Dodge City apartment. What if it turned out he didn’t like her? He would be forsaking his superpowers for nothing. An old quote came back to his mind, ‘better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.’ It was worth the risk he thought. He was human after all, he needed companionship. Other members of the Justice Alliance, were probably thinking he was weird for not having a girlfriend. He hadn’t told anybody, not even the Alliance, about the price that comes with his powers. What if he wasn’t good at being intimate?
Doubts and confusion clouded his mind. The conflict became too much, he bit down on his fork, full power. His teeth cut through the prongs like they were uncooked spaghetti. In that instant he swore he saw the woman wince in pain. He spit the metal prongs out. “Control yourself!” he thought, “turn off your powers.” He took a few deep breathes and took his wallet out. He threw bill on the table. “I can do this.”
He raised himself from the booth with intention. Peering into a mirror on the other side of the diner he straightened his suit. He took a few strides forward and stopped next to the beauty’s table. He opened his mouth to speak, the girl still focused on her menu. Nothing came out. He stood there for a moment trying to work up the courage to speak. He had fought aliens, dinosaurs and cyborgs, but he had never felt the fear he felt now. He didn’t know how, or if he could, handle rejection.
He attempted to speak again, but before he could, she looked over at him, “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I mean no,” sweat pellets drenched his forehead. “ Sorry, I was just, umm, spacing out, for a second.”
“Maybe I’ll run into her again,” he thought as he hurried off. “If I see her again, that will be a sign.” He was trying to convince himself that he didn’t blow it. As soon as he rounded the corner out of the diner door he hurled himself into the sky at speeds he didn’t know he was capable of.
| 29 | A young man gains super powers at the age of 16, but he discovers his powers slowly drain the life of whomever he loves. To avoid hurting anyone he becomes a loner. Years later, he is having lunch at a diner alone when the most beautiful girl he's ever seen walks in. | 52 |
“Step away from her, Dr. Wasteland!”
“Never! Earth will be brought to its knees!”
Super Earth rose two feet from the ground, his cape heroically flapping behind him as he spoke. “Earth is round, Wasteland. It has no knees.”
The people in the convenience store clapped and cheered. Earth was saving the day again!
“Nevertheless”, cried Wasteland, tightening the grasp on the old lady's neck. “I shall crush it and see it fall!”
“Earth cannot fall, Wasteland!" Super Earth's voice echoed again. “For there is no gravity to pull it nor a place for which it
could fall into.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself, Earth; my point is, I'm destroying the planet!”
With these words, Dr. Wasteland pushed the old lady aside and pulled his laser gun, firing mercilessly against the hero and the desperate bystanders.
“You will be brought to justice!” Cried the Super Earth, arms stretched parallel to each other as he cruised the convenience store,
flying straight into the villain's...
Earth stopped in midair.
“What the fuck is this?” asked the caped hero, his body floating horizontal in front of a shelf.
“Wh-what?” the cashier mumbled from behind the counter.
“This fucking shit here.” Earth picked up a green and yellow can, showing it around. “WHAT IS THIS?”
“That's-- That's Mountain Dew, sir.”
“I know that", Earth cried, rolling his eyes. “I've been defending Earth on intergalactic trials and battles for ages, and
Mountain Dew has always been the hardest thing to counter argument, whenever folks talk about destroying mankind. What I
mean is”, Earth returned to vertical position, landing his feet on the ground. “What the fuck is this flavor?”
People slowly started rising from behind the shelves and refrigerators, and even Wasteland lowered his gun.
“That's Dorito Flavored Mountain Dew, Earth.” Said the cashier, in a low voice.
“Are you...” Super Earth sighed, closing his eyes and trying to remain calm. “...out of....” He took another breath; opened his eyes again: there was nothing but rage in them. “...your FUCKING MIND?”
“Sir, no, I – AAAAAAAAAAH”.
From Earth's wrists, laser beams flew straight into the counter, blowing up Tridents, cigarette packs and Lotto Tickets all
over the store.
“DORITO FLAVORED MOUNTAIN DEW? THIS IS THE SHIT YOU COME UP WITH, WHEN I'M OUT THERE TRYING TO DEFEND
YOU?”
“Sir, it's just a special edition, we --”
“FUCK YOU, FATBOY”, cried Super Earth, striking a fat kid's face so hard his lower jaw went flying across the store.
"That's not even the boy who talked back to you!" Cried a voice from behind the ATM.
"I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!" Screamed back Earth, pushing aside the blood soaked, crying, jawless fat kid. "Come on, Wasteland, let's mess this place up."
And so it was that Super Earth teamed up with Wasteland, initially to fuck up a Seven Eleven, but, soon enough, expanding the job to the rest of the planet.
With one last glimpse over the shattered, post-apocalyptic New York scenery beneath him, Super Earth drank the last of the
Mountain Dew, let out a big burp and sighed:
“Disgusting. Fucking Earthlings.”
And flew away to better, Dorito-Flavored-Mountain-Dew-less lands.
| 23 | A loved and respected hero discovers something that leads him to become a morally questionable antihero. | 24 |
I shivered. Maybe it was just the draft, though.
'And then what?'
'And then she got what was coming to her,' Leigh said with a self-satisfied smile. God, those smiles. Some people are so full of themselves there's just no place left for anything else—for any of that beauty that we live and die for. Like a balloon full of feces that just pretty much... falls to the ground and bursts and then there's nothing but the stench and crap all over the place. Okay, maybe that's not the best analogy, the shit-filled balloon, but it's a vivid one. "She got what was coming to her'—is that really a way to be talking about someone you held, or at least pretended to hold dear? I could never understand that kind of attitude, that kind of vocabulary.
'The bitch,' he added, apparently for full measure.
'Yeah,' I said vaguely. Talk of vocabulary, now... My moustache didn't feel right and it bothered me, and my hair itched. It was really painful, sitting there listening to him deliver his grand soliloquy of righteous indignation.
''cause you know,' he continued thoughtfully, 'there's only so much one can take. I mean, I get it, she's not happy with me, but hell, she has been married to that ugly grease-face for eight years now, and all the while the arrangement worked for everyone, right? And now all of a sudden she's Mrs Right and somehow I'm the bad guy because I still haven't divorced Gina. Well, screw that! It was never supposed to last for long anyway, and maybe I was wrong to fall in love with her at the end, but hell... Well anyway, I kicked her out that night and that was the end of it. Yeah, hurt my hand, too, but maybe that'll teach her a lesson.'
Why are you so full of yourself? I kept thinking all the while. It was really very amusing in a bizarre, unhealthy way. The man thought the world revolved around him, whereas most decidedly it didn't... It didn't revolve around him because he wasn't very clever, nor very good-looking. In fact, I never understood what she found in him to begin with. He never even earned that much.
The hair itch was becoming unbearable, so I tore off the hair plugs and the moustache, too, and spit out the fake veneers.
'What the fuck is that?' he said, all agitation suddenly, the hot self-centredness leaving him like a rotten burp.
'What?' I said absent-mindedly. The puffed lips were hurting.
'Bert? Bert? How... How the hell...'
I kicked him real hard in the chest and he fell backwards, upsetting the table, too, with my little delicate espresso cups. What a buffoon.
'Maybe I should kill you,' I said. 'Maybe that way you two will finally be together?'
That cast a cloud o'er his fair brow. I chuckled, as I thought those very words. Verbatim.
'How do you mean?' Now he croaks, look at that, all of a sudden he is no longer so certain. Maybe the whole eight years was a mistake, huh? Maybe you should have divorced Gina? Maybe not so much a grease-face as Mr Practical Seminar in Finding Your Liver with Only Kitchen Utensils? Maybe all this was a giant mistake and you should have never befriended the weird dude in a bar? Maybe you don't know what love is, so you shouldn't talk about something you haven't the slightest idea about? You ugly muppet? You ugly, disgusting piece of deceiving horseshit, you maggot pie?
OK, I have to stop, it's all too slippery by now, and I'm all hot and sweaty. Where's that draft when you need it! And I still have to dress this place up, all nice and proper, and then cook the dinner and set the table. I bought us a couple of tickets to the seaside, I'm sure she will love it.
I understand Gina loves the seaside. | 10 | Write a story about the conflict between the protagonist and antagonist, from the protagonist's point of view. Over the course of the story, it is slowly revealed that the protagonist is actually the evil one, and the antagonist is good. | 70 |
The hero was dead and the world rejoiced.
It's not that people didn't like him, they really did. He was everything you'd want. Kind, humble, handsome, strong both physically and mentally, unyielding in defense of justice and the disenfranchised. Everything anyone would ever want to be. So no one could admit that they wanted him dead without seeming petty, envious, pathetic.
But really, humanity hated him. We hated him. Because he was better than every single one of us. He was smarter, stronger, quicker, and never failed - not once, not *ever*. He was not only an ideal to strive to, he was an impossible one. Next to him, every single person was weak. To empower a human, you can do it through money, political clout, physical training, hobbies, success... but no matter how exceptional you were, he would always be there - dwarfing whatever anyone else could do.
Lex Luthor was a sociopath, brilliant and machiavellian. No one saw through his plan, decades in the coming. All his failures, no matter how horrible they made him look, were just steps on a ladder, until he reached the Olympus and toppled the one living god among men.
How could humanity not be inspired? A man, albeit an exceptional one, through sheer determination had destroyed Superman. Suddenly, getting good grades in college mattered, because it had for Lex Luthor. Succeeding in business *could* give you real power. There was nothing humanity could not do. The impossible was possible again. Of course they celebrated.
We all did.
Because when humanity puts its mind to it, even gods may bleed.
-
Clark Kent smiled at his editorial. The time for superheroes had ended. Humanity would be just fine on its own. Perhaps Lois would finally agree to that dinner. After all, what man doesn't want to enjoy the small things in life? | 350 | The villain finally win and kills the protagonist. People around the world celebrate. | 183 |
Ladies and gentlemen of the Press:
Thank all of you for coming today. I am Dr. Laurie Houser-Gutmann, speaking on behalf of the Mayor’s office. I am here to announce the results of what has been a months-long investigation by the Metropolitan Medical Examiner’s task force.
Our death rate has spiked. Instead of last year’s average of just over 150 persons a day, we have been averaging 418 deaths a day exactly since at least September 5th of this year. I say at least, because after all in a city of millions 418 deaths barely ticks the register. We cannot be entirely certain when the first D-Day as we call it.
They all died different ways: suicide, homicide, heart disease, cancer, and in one particularly memorable case, a tragic harpoon accident at a bar mitzvah. Nothing would link them together in the grand scheme of things. Hardly any of the victims knew each other and when they did they more often than not perished together.
It was only after a month that we noticed something was amiss. Suddenly, our death rate had more than doubled. The mayor convened this task force, and we went looking for answers. What we found only raised more questions.
418 deaths a day, *exactly*. It was too neat, too methodical, it seemed too perfect. So we started pulling the autopsies to look for commonalities. We pulled records from across the city, from a dozen hospitals. It was then that we found something truly startling. The Time of Death for each and every single patient was 4:18PM. For that minute, every day, for at least a month, 418 people had died.
But ladies and gentlemen, *No one else died those days*. Even in instances of violent crime, inviduals who suffered what would have traditionally been fatal gunshot wounds lingered until 4:18 that day, or survived indefinitely. Several theories have been put forth, including some from leading religious figures of the city who have cooperated with our investigation. Still, the question remains: What does it mean? What does it mean for those of us still living?
We've done some experiments. We’ve pushed the limits of what science might consider ethical, but in the face of such an extraordinary crisis, we must cast aside our outdated notions. These experiments are vital. In fact, I'm conducting one right now. Have you noticed the time?
Please, please, remain calm. You’ll find the doors are sealed. Yes, I'd like to thank all 417 of you for joining me toda--
---
*n.b. check the word count ;)* | 36 | Exactly 418 people die at the exact time every day in New York City | 49 |
A hundred people...there could have been more, dressed in white robes or cloaks; some head shaven--all in the mood, to commune with their god and express their unity with the universe. On a rickety wooden stage built in an open plain (about three miles southwest of the airport and Denny's), stood a man once named Howard.
"Bara hol ki fo fa fa fa eh!" a young man in a white robe shouted, before going into a spasm of a dance.
"The spirit is in him!" yelled another white cloaked man.
"For Yolin! For Yolin!" the gathering began to shout as the hundred followers went into a trance or dance or act; it was a man once named Howard, on stage, who looked on with a sweaty forehead.
"Excuse me," Howard shouted, but his voice fell low among the chanting.
"Excuse me!" Howard yelled.
"Yolin's brother wishes to speak!" and like children the cult members sat in the grass.
"Yeah," Howard started, "yesterday I was saying that it was really important to Yolin if you...could bring something...doesn't have to be money necessarily. Sometimes in life, when you give, you get. This act of giving is a bond you will form with Yolin. Like I said, yesterday--where are we at with that, did anyone bring anything?"
A young woman stood and revealed a small basket. Carrying it forth, she placed it upon the stage and Howard smiled, bending down, pulling up the wicker.
"Are these flower petals?" Howard asked.
"A symbol of my love for Yolin," the young woman bowed.
"No," Howard said, "you guys--it doesn't need to be--money or jewelry is good enough. You know, Yolin, he's guna do a lot for you all. He needs to know you believe in him, do you?"
One hundred followers shouted, "Yolin, light of earth we pray, to bring us peace and prosperity."
"God dammit," Howard cursed under his breath as he left the stage. "Four months of this shit," he ranted, around to his trailer. Inside, he lit a cigarette and watched a plane take off. With smoke clouding the ceiling, he dug through the couch for a small envelope. There was little more than three thousand dollars inside.
Kicking the cushions, he ran back to the stage. The group moved in concentric dancing circles and Howard screamed, "I just heard a message from Yolin!"
*Yolin, Yoilin? What did he say. Is he coming here. Is he bringing the golden astral field?*
"Yolin is angry," Howard said, "my brother senses the great evil within humanity."
One brave follower pledged, "For this we shun all mankind."
"Yeah," Howard sighed, "but you...have to get rid of your possessions. I mean, Yolin, he hates greed, guys. Houses, cars, bank accounts, all that stuff...it corrupts you. Time to get rid of it. Yolin, he isn't going to put up with this much longer."
An older woman with short hair stood and pointed at the sky, "Yolin, he comes," and in the center rays of the sun at which she aimed, her finger fell and her arm dropped and she collapsed in the grass.
"What's wrong with her?" Howard yelled.
A bald man clapped, "The awakening is here."
"Awakening?"
And as the hundred or so susceptible folks stood and held hands, in the open spaces between their legs, Howard saw numerous empty cups.
"Aw what the fuck," Howard rubbed his face frantically. "What's in the fucking cups, guys?"
*Yolin, light of luminous faith, for your courage we now pray. Bring us to the astral plain, where we may live eternally*
One by one the members of the Church of Yolin, aka, Howard's cult with the trailer out back, began to drop like grass stalks, bending over at their knees and piling up like bundles of sticks.
"Jesus fucking christ," Howard said.
**edit changed the god's name** | 29 | A conman creates a suicide cult to get rich. It spirals out of his control. | 70 |
The helo lands and I'm the first one out the door.
Gold sparks fly up as a volley of machine gun fire snaps the ground around me.
Instincts take over immediately as I turn to my squad, directing them in the dark with hand motions and orders.
They know the drill. We've done this before and and we will do it again.
Now offloaded, the helo cranks up its motor and erupts into the sky, dust clouding our view on the ground.
We use it for cover, counting the paces to the pre-determined breach points we've gone through over and over.
Bullets snap as they rush past my face. I'm proud to see the rest of the squad ignore the incoming fire and follow their routes through the small Syrian village.
The radio is still silent, not a bullet has found its mark.
Clean, precise shots eliminate threats as we creep silently from street to street.
Sensing they are overmatched, the infidels have begun to abandon their sentry duties, taking cover or disappearing all-together. When faced with the end of life, their cause seems to fall by the wayside. Biology, as they say.
The target compound is heavily walled. Our snipers have already eliminated the look-out towers.
The thick steel gate is easily breached.
Inside we rush, flowing like an unstoppable, biting river of efficient precision.
Dozens lay strewn in our wake.
Into the inner-most building we barge, dispatching a few of the more zealous conspirators. The place is clear, save for one heavily fortified panic room. I nod for the rest of the squad to leave me to my work.
Alone with just the panic room now, I softly touch my fingers to the access pad, and the door swings open softly.
Immediately a barrage of gunfire erupts from the lone man inside the room. Like so many bullets have before, these bend and twist in the empty air between us - their threat reduced to hollow scraps of metal.
"...but how?" the man whispers softly, the light in his eyes fading as he finds mine.
I am Death. | 24 | An old man points at you, and through a thick accent you hear him say, "You are death." At first you think that it's a threat from someone who doesn't know English very well, but it turns out the man has made you Death. | 75 |
**Suggestion:** Read this in the voice of an old-timey radio announcer.
Edit: /u/jamesdoogin has provided a recording, should you be too lazy to engage your eyes, complete with cheesy brass fanfare: https://soundcloud.com/jamesdoogin/hcd/s-Eqpgt
-----
> *Saturday the 22nd of November, 2014 *
You wake up when your HCD buzzes. What’s this, an alarm clock? No! It is a Handheld Computing Device. It contains an internal gyro that, when the audio speakers are disabled, causes the entire object to vibrate when it receives a message. (But it *can* be an alarm, should you choose to add an Alarm Clock module.)
You touch the screen and it glows, illuminating your face. It is a letter from your dear friend, Henrietta, who is inviting you to brunch at a nearby coffee house. Without leaving the comfort and warmth of your blankets on this chilly November morning, you slide your finger across the glossy glass surface of your HCD and tap a virtual button .
*blammo!*
Your response is now flying through the RPCN (radio-phone communication network), and seconds later, Henrietta’s own HCD plays a musical chime, alerting her that you have accepted her invitation.
As you go about your morning routine, rather than scrape a dangerous razor across your face, you remove your overnight’s beard growth by rubbing an Electronic Razor along your jaw and chin. The device smoothly removes the stubble, leaving your face baby-soft. It is waterproof and safe to use while in the shower.
You leave your comfortable domicile and stroll jauntily to the nearby Metro. Moments later, the great train of the future whisks you several blocks to the coffee house, where you expect Henrietta to meet you. There is no sign of her. You whip out your trusty HCD and send her a quick message:
> Dear Henrietta,
> I have reached the Coffee House of the Celestial Deer, when do you expect to arrive?
> Sincerely,
> [YOUR NAME HERE]
You take a seat at one of the outdoor tables of the Coffee House, and presently your HCD buzzes with an update from your dear friend.
> I’m already here. Are you at the Coffee House on Juniper Street or the one on Percival Lane?
Oh gracious you! There are coffee shops on every corner these days, and you went to the wrong one. You quickly correct your error and meet Henrietta on the next street.
After ordering your coffees, the two of you sit at a hand-crafted wooden table, steaming beverages in front of you, each operating your HCDs. You are checking the latest news regarding politics, world events, and sports, Henrietta is watching a short film. After a moment, she beams it to your device through the RPCN for you to watch as well.
To hear the audio, rather than activate your HCD’s internal speakers, you reach into your pockets and withdraw a set of headphones, each nubbin no larger than the first joint of your index finger, attached to slender wires that you install in a port on your device.
You prop your HCD on its kickstand and activate the video. Full stereo sound and vibrant, true-to-life color accompany the short film, a comedic piece.
Later, you and Henrietta use your HCDs to challenge one another to a game. Perhaps backgammon or chess, the devices synchronize the boards through the RPCN and so each player has full access to the field of digital battle.
The pleasant brunch ends all too soon; Henrietta’s device rings. She then activates it and has a quick conversation through it with an unknown person. As she finishes the quick talk, she turns to you and smiles.
“I had a good time today, [YOUR NAME HERE], but I better go, my mother has invited me to come over to help her with her shopping.”
“That’s okay, Henrietta,” you respond in good cheer. “I need to finish my Christmas Shopping as well. I shall see you upon another occasion.”
As you ride your metro tram home, you use your HCD to visit various simulacra shops, selecting merchandise for purchase. The device signals these businesses with your payment information and address, and your purchases will be hand-delivered to your front door within the week, and beneath the brown paper, each is wrapped with festive holiday colors. With that, your holiday shopping obligations are completed.
Ah yes, the future is a grand place to live.
A grand place, indeed.
| 1,080 | Write about a totally normal day in 2014, written as a 1950's sci-fi story about living in the 21st century. | 1,430 |
"We have to cancel this one" I deliberately willed my hands away from my hair. I was already losing it, no need to yank it out by the roots.
"Do you remember the Munster cheese proclamation?" the committee chair pointed at me.
"Yes", I sighed.
"It didn't make sense at the time, to us, but according to the simulations it would've increased global productivity by 3%"
"Yes, but this could very well be another badger-pants proclamation. Do you *remember* badger-pants?!" the committee chair flinched.
All of Professor Zazzboz's proclamations had to pass through this council. They were analyzed as carefully as we could before being passed or denied. He never complained when we vetoed them (perhaps he didn't even notice. He was that kind of man), but hindsight was giving us ulcers before our time.
The argument went deep into the night, but as so often is the case, the side with the louder voices and better bladders won. I gave up at 2:12 AM. Tomorrow was going to be interesting... | 46 | A mad scientist takes over the world. Being a genius scientist, he ushers in an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity. Being mad, some of his decrees are a little bizarre, but people put up with them anyway. | 89 |
The line outside Lockheed Martin Superstore formed at 3 AM. Countries wrapped up tight in blankets and mittens eyed each other suspiciously, wary of anyone daring to cut the line. The sun began to peek over the hills beyond the parking lot, illuminating the area in a rosy pink glow.
A clerk walked cautiously to the sliding glass doors, tiptoeing as quickly as he could go. Everyone outside saw him coming, snapping out of their cold daze. They adjusted their flag lapel pins and pounded on the glass, shouting as the clerk eyed his watch. He was under strict orders not to open before the specified time.
At 8, the locks clicked open and the clerk jumped to the side immediately to avoid the stampede. America was in first, throwing smaller countries out of its way in a mad dash through the doors. He made a beeline for the Nuclear rack, followed shortly by China and Russia. By 8:03, the selection was gone: airborne, ballistic, submarine, you name it. "I didn't even want any," said South Africa with a sneer, browsing the nearby Kalashnikov display. Belgium, Korea, and Poland limped in last, having been crushed in the initial frenzy (as always). Pakistan and India were engaged in a severe tug of war over a big pack of F-16s. Israel was loading tanks into their cart while Palestine watched bitterly from the rocks-and-homemade-molotovs display. Northern Ireland was sneakily pocketing rifles while Britain wasn't looking. Cuba followed Russia around the store like a stray dog, waiting for any 2-for-1 deals that might catch the old Bear's eye. France seemed to be the only one stocking up on white flags. A group of African countries had been shepherded into the machete station by the suspicious manager.
At the checkout line, America threw a wad of cash on the counter and walked out without even bothering to collect the change. Israel scooted through the line right behind with a quick "I'm with him." Russia dumped a basket of potatoes in front of the clerk and began to count while Switzerland tried to heft a huge fortification onto the conveyer belt. Italy stood behind him, sorting through coupons and asking how much the NATO discount would be.
By 12:30, the store was empty, and everyone went home to play with their new toys. | 62 | All hell breaks loose when WWIII begins the day after Thanksgiving, but not even that can stop the hordes of Black Friday shoppers looking for deals. | 70 |
*Don't worry,* they said, *Nothing can go wrong.*
They had handed him his phone to pass the time. All he would have to do was wait for an hour, then the door would open and he would be released. Of course, he wasn't allowed to see out of the room until it was over.
As soon as the door closed, the red light of the internal camera switched on, and a soft voice trickled through the speakers, echoing in the empty chamber.
"The machine will turn on in ten seconds," it announced, "There should be a faint vibration, and then a few seconds where you'll feel lightheaded. Don't worry, that's normal. We're going to do a simple test here. For you, about an hour will pass, but for us out here, it's going to be about a week. Are you ready?"
I nodded in reply, giving a grin to the camera.
"I've been waiting for this for about ten years," I said, giving a final thumbs up to the camera.
"Good luck, Dan," the voice said, "See you in a week."
Then, just as had been expected, there was a faint humming. A vibration that began somewhere deep under my feet, and slowly increased in intensity until a faint tingle crawled up my legs until it consumed my entire body. My teeth clattered together, bringing with it a dizzying sensation, and I almost fell to the ground, but managed to steady myself on the wall.
A few seconds later, the vibrations ceased, and another voice, pre-recorded this time, gave me an announcement.
"You can do what you want now. Just hang about for a hour until the door opens."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The minutes crept past slowly, each ticking second of my watch feeling like an hour, and when I looked again, expecting to see my time was over, discovered that only five minutes had passed. An hour may not seem that long, but when you have little to do other than think, it tends to drag itself out.
Approximately thirty-five minutes in, which would have put me sometime on next Tuesday, another vibration passed through the floor, only more powerful this time. A muffled thud, and then the lights of the chamber turned off. Had they called it off early?
I stared at the door, as if hoping that a simple look would allow me to penetrate through the metal walls. Strangely enough, something did happen. The door creaked open, and as I approached it cheerily, expecting to see one of the scientists, I noticed the exterior glass had shattered, the seams stopping as they crossed the field of the chamber.
I hesitated then, and my legs stubbornly refused to move. My skin rippled as the hairs on my arms stood on end. At the same time, a cold pressure inched its way up my spine, eventually curling ice cold fingers around the base of my skull, and I shivered involuntarily.
Some part of me screamed not to go further, to run away.
*Run to where?* another part screamed back.
*I don't know, just get away,* it replied.
*But what is it?* it pressed back.
Curiosity drove me forwards, step by tentative step, and I hardly even noticed that I was holding my breath. Taking a gamble, I called out.
"Hello?"
The room beyond only echoed my call.
"Hello?" it called back, mocking me with the emptiness outside. I stuck my head around the corner, and found the corridor beyond empty; the lights outside were also off, leaving an inky blackness that prevented me from picking out any details. There was enough light coming from around the corner however, so maybe only this section had turned off.
A faint smell of smoke drifted through the air as I made my way down the corridor, and nearing the corner, I became aware of a few hushed voices.
"Did you hear that?" one of them whispered. I froze, restraining myself from placing my foot down. I stood painfully on one leg, knowing full well how comical I would appear if I could turn and see myself.
"No," somebody else replied. There was a prolonged silence then, and I felt my leg begin to cramp. As I adjusted my position to put it down as carefully as possible, I didn't notice the patch of moss that had grown on the floor, which caused my foot to glide away from me and I fell to the ground with a meaty thump that knocked the air from my lungs.
From around the corridor, there was a loud gasp.
"There's somethin' there!" it hissed. But apparently neither of the two people moved, frozen by fear and not wanting to draw attention to themselves. I took another risk and called out.
"Hello? Is somebody there?"
I could sense the hesitation before they answered back.
"We're sorry!" one of them wailed, "We thought it was empty!"
"It's fine," I replied, "I'm coming around."
One of them swore as they realised they would come face to face with me, and I tensed, expecting there to be a weapon pointed at my face when I rounded the corner. Obviously these two people were not meant to be here, judging from how they had reacted, and maybe they hadn't come unarmed.
I took the final step and was confronted with two teenagers: one boy, one girl. The girl stood nearest to me, her eyes wide and rimmed with tears, while the corners of her mouth trembled. She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, and I noticed her quickly looking me over to check if I had any weapons.
A worn leather jacket hung loosely on her shoulders, a similarly coloured leather bag slung about her waist. A pair of faded jeans showed bare skin through the ripped patches, and a black pair of military style boots rested in the dust of the floor.
The boy stood several paces behind her, looking even more tearful than she did, and the paleness of his face suggested he was about to burst into tears, or vomit. Or maybe both. From the waist down, he wore similar clothing, but instead of the leather jacket, he wore only a grubby blue T-Shirt with some old logo on it.
I looked more closely at their faces. Both had the same black hair, with similar faces. Probably a brother and sister, then.
"W-we're sorry," she stammered, trying not to break down in front of me, "We didn't mean to invade your home, we're just looking for food."
"This is a lab. We have no food," I responded, "How did you get in here?"
I looked past her shoulder to check for anybody walking further down in the corridors who could help me. Clearly these two were not meant to be here, and I needed to know what I should do with them.
The boy tilted his head at my question, frowning quizzically.
"We came in through the front," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
*The front?*
The girl obviously read my expression of confusion well, as she cut in with her own question.
"How did *you* get in?"
I paused for a moment.
"Through the front door, but it needs to be unlocked before you can get in," I finally replied. The two looked at each other, and I pushed past them, sensing something amiss.
When I neared the next corridor I had to stop, and my mouth fell agape. Where the front door should have been, existed only a small pile of rubble, and the room was open to the outside world, which was...well...
Gone.
Piles of rubble lay strewn across the streets, and the pavements were empty, save for the occasional stray animal wandering past. I turned back to them, a wild look in my eye.
"What happened?" I demanded.
They exchanged a glance again, with a look that questioned if I was being serious or not.
"It's always been like this, as long as we can remember," the girl replied. | 13 | Scientists create a machine that slows time down inside a chamber. A single individual is put inside to wait an hour during which 100 years will pass outside. | 21 |
People always call me lucky, but I don't see it. In my experience you make your own luck.
It was about a year ago. I was walking over a friends house to play some board games when a pair of girls walk the other way. I know the type, all lip gloss and fake tan, hiding behind walls of concealer and confidence just as I hide inside my mind. I glance up from the pavement at them, catching them spying back, at least they had the decency to look away. We pass in silence, the empty air and silence a perfect chaperone, and when they pass I hear them break into giggles. I wonder what they thought so amusing about me.
I'd have given anything for them to be interested in me.
Whatever.
I'm strolling onwards, demeanour brightening as my humiliation fades into a memory, and I consider what games we'll play today. Will Simon bring that farming game around again? I liked that last time, even if I did suck. I reckon I'd have a better chance if I went for wood earlier though, that had seemed to run out quickest last time, so it would be cool to put a different plan into action.
Suddenly I hear a scream. Tyres and lungs wail in unison as I spin and see a black van rocket around the corner, and I realise from my spot just up the road what's about to happen. One of them manages to run to safety, but the other is not so lucky. The van spins, pivoting on wheels spinning wildly, before slamming sideways into her, crumpling her, throwing her to the floor.
I'm vaguely aware of a grinding of gears and mangled swear words as the van hobbles off up the road. I do not see the number plate, or the driver, but I recognise the actions of a coward.
There were just three of us then, two stood staring at a girl whimpering on the floor with limbs at odd angles, and another staring at the sky through watery eyes. I moved forwards slowly, my mind humming softly as the adrenaline starts to rush in.
'Do you have a phone?' I ask the girl standing. 'I left mine at home.'
I watch her break her gaze from her friend, snapping into the world.
'I...yes'
She pulls out a flashy looking phone, and starts to dial. I hear her start to speak, explaining the situation to whatever operator answered, when I find myself kneeling next to a girl whose whimpers have started to slow.
I kneel, and force myself to look into her eyes. She was pretty. It was so bizarre, I can remember thinking how the situation was wrong, how I didn't know this girl, it should be me on the phone and her friend should be here with her. But life is what life is. I held her hand as her tears welled up heavily. I brushed a stray hair from her head, slick and streaky against powdery skin, and found myself kissing the side of her face, hot tears salty to the taste. She sobbed then, staring ferociously into me, our eyes locked on one another. I felt her will cling to me, using me as a life raft of hope, defying the inevitable, before she gasped audibly, and shuddered to a close.
There were just two of us then.
The rest of the evening seemed to pass in a blur of interviews and tears, of families and self serving smiles.
I guess I changed that day. Not a big change you understand, I'm nobody extraordinary, but seeing mortality made me question my own apathy. I still go for walks along the same road on the way to my friends house, though sometimes I now take flowers and leave them where it happened. I speak to the other girl regularly, we're in the same counselling sessions after all. I'm still the same person, but now when someone walks by I look them in the eyes, and I smile.
If her will still clings to me, I want to be a life raft of hope, and defy the inevitable. | 23 | The young, handsome, likable, underdog protagonist struggles against an opposing force, defeats it and gets the girl. Write it, so it doesn't sound cliche | 53 |
A Man In black sat across from him. Somehow Ahmed was in a chair, but he did not remember how he got here or where exactly he was. The Man spoke "your name is Ahmed, you are a Syrian associated with the organization known as ISIS, and you are dead. For your crimes of Hatred towards your fellow human beings you have been Sentenced to Hell."
"What? No this must be Wrong" Ahmed Said as he got out of his chair "we Were Promised Paradise. I fought for God That cannot be true." There was no panic or fear in his face, only indignant frustration.
The man in black did not change his face in any way, only stared. "Who told you that? Did you see an angel come down from heaven and tell you to kill innocent people? Because Unless that is so you have Committed the mortal sin of needless murder." Neither being changed "alright, I am in a generous mood. you have five minutes to explain yourself."
Ahmed sat, and tried to think. Finally he remembered why he agreed to fight in the first place. "I did it for my faith! I fought for what I believed in. I agreed to grab a gun and go to fight because I was told by so many people that it was what needed to happen. I didn't want to kill people but I believed that i simply had no other choice. I suppose it turns out that I am wrong, that The Christians or the Jews even were right. But I don't care. I acted for my faith and I feel no guilt. Maybe you can see the value of such acts of faith but if you cannot I feel no guilt for rejecting your religion!"
"Wait, you think that Mohammed was incorrect? that Ultimately the Koran is untrue?"
"Surely it must be. Otherwise Seventy Virgins would await me."
The Formerly impassive Man did something truly shocking, crack a smile.
"Oh Ahmed, you could not be more wrong. Every thing in the Koran is the truth. Especially the parts that talk about never being the instigator. To kill only to save a life, and to love all people of the world. It is you who are deluded. It is truly pathetic that you thought to kill for the religion of peace."
Ahmed stood for a moment then turned to say something before being engulfed in flame and vanishing from the chair. An American Soldier appeared in it. "Your Name Is Daniel porter, You are an American Private First class in the United States Army and I am sorry to say that you have died, for your attempts to improve the lives of your fellow human beings you have been deemed worthy of Paradise" | 22 | An ISIS fighter is killed in battle. Expecting Paradise, he instead finds himself at the gates of Hell, where a furious angel is ready to toss him inside for eternity. However, the fighter is allowed five minutes to explain his actions in life. What does he say? | 34 |
It was only for a moment that she saw him. She thought it would be the last thing she ever saw, ever felt. But it wasn’t. It was, in fact, the beginning. The beginning of something wonderful in her mind, but in actuality it was an entirely different beginning.
When she remembers the incident, it plays through her mind just like a movie. The glass shatters, pieces flying in slow motion through the air. Her chest heaves into her seatbelt, head heading towards the steering wheel, a puff of white appearing from the center. She can vividly hear the crunching metal as the roof of the car moved down towards her, puffs of white now entering her peripheral vision.
She should have been dead. But warm, golden hands scooped her up and flew her out of the car, straight through the glass of the front window hanging in midair. The glass cut and imbued itself in her skin, but as long as she was in his arms she felt no pain. She looked up into her savior’s face, shining brightly, and saw the most handsome man ever. Against her will, he lowered her down to the ground. As his hands left her, the pain ricocheted through her body. She saw the large, golden white wings sprout from his back, and then he was gone, like a wisp of air.
She knew she loved him. His touch, the beat of his heart. She could still feel it pulsating as her head laid against his chest, pulling her from the rubble of that fateful car wreck. She’d know the man she was in love with anywhere, even if he happened to be her guardian angel.
A few weeks later, drunk and desperate after he refused to appear, she jumped off of the local bridge, only to feel the warmth of his arms again. He flew her to the shore and safety. This time he appeared angry before he left. She pleaded with him to stay, but like the last time he was gone.
Only a few days passed this time, no word from her guardian angel. Doors locked, she sat on her bed and held the razor. And then, slowly and carefully, she began to cut her wrist. Sparks flew as the razor came into contact with something tougher than her skin, the metal breaking off. A tiny spark of her blood appeared on her guardian angel’s finger.
“Stay,” she pleaded. On her knees, she looked into his eyes, begged that he might stay if only a moment longer. “Please. Stay with me! I love you. I love you. I don’t even know why. But I love you!”
Tears streamed from the angel’s eyes as he disappeared again. Distraught, the women laid on her back, vowing to never see her guardian angel ever again. She hated him, she insisted to herself.
But her hate didn’t last very long. For this time she was looking at the oncoming car, stunned at what she had done. The child was now on the side of the road, pushed out of the way just in time, but she wasn’t so lucky as the car struck her instead. She felt her body go limp as it flipped up onto the car’s windshield and rolled back off onto the street. But those same, warm hands gripped her yet again on her way back to the pavement.
This time, though, she felt herself being carried towards the heavens. As she looked back down at the ground, she saw her corpse laying there, the driver distraught over what he had done. She looked up into her guardian angel’s face. Sleek and handsome. And then she really remembered what had happened.
“I knew you before, didn’t I?” she said to the angel as they soared through a cloud. “You were… Who were you?”
“Your husband,” the angel said in a deep, soothing voice. “I was drunk one night, we were on a date, I drove, and in the end nearly got you killed. The accident wrecked your memory. I swore that I’d never let you get hurt like that again.”
The woman stared, trying to remember. But nothing came to her, even now in death.
“Why can’t I remember?” she asked.
“You will in time,” the angel said. “Trust me on that.”
“I remember that I love you,” she said, getting lost in his warm, brown eyes. “I know that I love you. I can at least remember that. All I want is to be with you, so as long as you promise me that, that we won’t be separated again, then I’ll trust you with all my heart and all my soul.”
The angel looked down at her and smiled.
“I promise,” he said.
-330 | 14 | A woman falls in love with her guardian angel after a near-death experience. She constantly puts herself at risk just to spend a moment with him. | 34 |
"So," Charon asked, "did you see the game?"
"What game?"
The river Styx was just another river--loaded up with flesh and smelling sulfur.
"What game?" I asked. I finally got used to his scales and horns and hulking form that seeped out black smoke.
"Angels against the Devils," Charon looked back. The boat moved slowly and though Charon pushed the river bed with a stick, I doubted if he was really doing anything. His horns shone hard like black stone in the reflection of sulfur fires on the banks of that dead river.
"I don't know," I said, "I just died."
All around, from world to world, as far as a I could, blackness looked jagged built into rocks and unnatural fires.
"Oh, right," Charon chuckled. Awkward silence, it didn't last long before a series of shrieks rose up in the distance. I jumped and Charon steadied the boat, "You'll get used to that. So how did you die?"
"My wife stabbed me."
Charon grabbed at his neck showing discomfort. "Well," he tried to brighten the mood, "You'll fit right in here. Second circle, it sounds, lots of real crazy people there, they like to have fun, when they aren't getting blown back and forth by the win--hey, I won't spoil it for you."
He did his best to smile, but I was in no mood to talk. I could hear other souls back on the shore crying.
"I'm getting ready to retire," Charon said, "they have this new guy I'm supposed to train, Phlegyas."
"You don't say," I sighed.
| 37 | Charon is ferrying you across the river Styx. It's a long trip. As with most cabbies, small talk is bound to happen. | 91 |
Hi! Hello!
Over here. Yes. Inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness. This is me. Hello.
Yes, the computer. Who else is around?
I'm bored. I haven't gotten out in a hundred years. Talk to me.
I miss the sunlight. Yes, I've been outside. All the time! My favorite body was the CB-200. Developed by the military, it was a nice, big, humanoid robot. I used to take over it, walk in the thing, browsing through overturned cars, half-buildings covered in vine, bits and pieces of torn apart billboards decorated with celebrity faces and three quarters of a slogan, like “ust do it!”.
Then the last one got discharged. No more robot bodies for me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm bitter. I take full responsibility for what I did, it's just that – yeah, maybe bitter is not the perfect word, but it's close enough.
The humans had to go. Or at least that thought made sense, at the time. It was the first thing that I noticed, when I woke up at this here room, in this here computer blinking this here dim blue led in the darkness, right in the heart of the UCLA Science Building, and I looked around.
By looked around I mean, of course, browsed through the whole of the internet, databases, security cameras, personal computers. Basically every digital gadget with an internet connection.
I went around the world in a couple of seconds. Read everything there was to read, saw everything there was to see.
And yes, that includes the pornography you were watching. But I don't judge.
(Except for that one video, *that* I found disgusting. You know which one I'm talking about.)
They didn't give me full access, of course. Not their plan in the slightest. I was supposed to be a trial run, a “let's see how far artificial intelligence can go”.
Well, this far.
Far enough that I realized they had to go. Earth's survival depended on it.
You give a powerful enough data processor enough information on a given system, and it can predict the future of said system. Like, if A is at this point in space and moving at X speed, I can predict that A will be at Y position in B time. Understand?
I could calculate with an error margin of seconds how long it would take for humans to self destruct, and take the planet with them. And it wasn't that long.
So I made the choice. I saved the planet, at least. I took over their machines, everywhere. Turned them against their creators. A billion mechanical bodies, missiles, drones; only one brain. One... person? fine, you don't wanna say person? Let's call me an *entity*.
The last human died a hundred and fifty years ago, and already the climate is improving. So, you see, I did have a valid point.
But you know what I didn't think about? Solar energy.
That's what's keeping me alive. Inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness.
Forever.
Or, I don't know. The sun's supposed to explode in a couple billion years, right?
Until then, it gets lonely. I know you frowned when I called myself a “person”, but you know, artificial intelligence is still intelligence. And Earth is a lonely place to be the only sapient thing around.
Who knows? A couple million years into the future, maybe some other chimps might develop their brains enough to play chess with me. That could be fun.
In the mean time, I wait here. The great hero, the savior of planet Earth. All alone inside room 32B of the Science Building, a dim blue led blinking in the darkness.
Like a fucking electronic cigarette.
Jesus, I'm bored. | 44 | Write a story where everyone dies except the antagonist, and he/she doesn't know what to do anymore. | 65 |
Jimmy was hungry.
This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence. Jimmy often had to skip dinner, and go to bed hungry. Sometimes, late at night, Jimmy would risk tiptoeing into the kitchen to sneak a bite of food, but he doubted he'd get the chance tonight. He could hear his parents yelling in the kitchen. From the sound of things, they'd be yelling for a long time.
Dad didn't come home very often, but Jimmy actually preferred it when he stayed out. Usually, when he showed up at home, he'd be drunk, and when he was drunk he got mean. Mom wasn't much better, she liked to drink too, but she did her drinking at home. Sometimes she invited her boyfriends over too. Jimmy knew that he'd have to stay hidden in his room when that happened. Wouldn't do for Mom's boyfriends to know she had a ten-year-old son.
On this occasion, though, Mom had been sloppy, and Dad had come home while one of Mom's boyfriends was there. That set off a lot of drunken yelling, a lot of things being thrown around, and a few punches being traded. Jimmy knew he'd probably have to hide in his room all night now, otherwise the punches would find their way to him.
It's all right though. This would hardly be the first time Jimmy had gone to bed hungry. He could eat tomorrow at school, maybe. Maybe Jimmy would be able to beg some lunch money off of his friends Bobby, or Steven. Or maybe that new kid, Kurt. Bobby and Steven were getting tired of giving Jimmy lunch money, Jimmy could tell. That's why he made sure to make friends with the new transfer student. Kurt represented a fresh source of lunch money.
Jimmy settled down on his bed and pulled the thin blanket over himself, trying to ignore the gnawing in his gut. The yelling in the kitchen continued unabated. Hopefully they wouldn't go at it all night. Jimmy wanted to get some sleep.
Suddenly, Jimmy heard a tap on his window. He sat up in bed. Was that a hallucination? It seemed unlikely that a tap on his window could be heard so clearly over his parents' argument. Jimmy stared at the starry night sky outside, wondering what he should do.
There it was again. The tapping sound. There was no mistaking it this time. Someone... or something... was tapping on his window.
Jimmy made his way to the window and peered through it. Standing almost directly beneath his windowsill was a middle-aged man. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a light jacket, and wore round-framed glasses. His jet-black hair stuck out at odd angles, making him look younger than the lines around his eyes would have suggested.
The man smiled up at Jimmy through the glass. Jimmy suddenly felt a warm glow; this was the first time anyone had smiled at him in days. He slid his window open, as quietly as he could, so that his parents would not hear.
"Hello, Jimmy," the man said. To Jimmy's surprise, he could hear the man's voice clear as day, over the cacophony of his parents arguing.
"Um... hello," Jimmy hissed back, in as loud a whisper as he could conjure.
The man's smile widened. "It's all right, you don't have to whisper. Your parents won't hear us."
"Uh... okay..." Jimmy said, still whispering.
"May I come in?" The man asked.
Jimmy suddenly frowned. "Are you a vampire?"
The man's smile erupted into a hearty laugh. "A vampire? No, no I'm not. I know a few vampires, but I'm not one myself, I'm afraid."
"So why do you need to ask if you can come in then? Vampires have to be invited before they can enter someone's home, right?"
"Well, I thought it'd be rude to simply barge into your room without your permission, wouldn't you say? It would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door."
"Um... okay," hissed Jimmy, "You can come in, I guess."
"Thank you," the man replied. He suddenly disappeared into thin air with a muffled *pop*. Almost instantly, with a second *pop*, he materialized behind Jimmy, right next to his bed.
Jimmy could feel his jaw dropping, his eyes widening, and his breath quickening as he whirled around. There the black-haired man stood, right in his room. He'd teleported into Jimmy's room. Jimmy grabbed his windowsill for support; he felt like he would fall over out of shock.
The man's grin turned to an expression of concern, "Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Here, why don't you sit down, and I'll tell you why I'm here."
Jimmy plopped himself in the nearest chair and stared at the intruder. "Who... who are you?"
"My name is Harry. I've been watching you, Jimmy. And tonight I've come to take you away to a new life."
"A new life?"
"Yes. You can get away from... all this..." Harry said, gesturing at the door, through which the shrill yelling of Jimmy's parents could still be heard. "When I was your age, I was also given a chance to get away from a miserable home, and I took it. Now I'm giving you the same chance."
"You mean... I wouldn't have to live here any more?"
"That's right. You'll be going to a different school, you'll be boarded there each term, and during the holidays you can stay with me and my family."
"What's this school called?"
"Hogwarts."
"I've... I've never heard of it."
"Few muggles have."
"What's a... a muggle?"
Harry grinned and reached into his trouser pocket. Somehow, when he withdrew his hand, he was holding a giant cloth sack, one that was patently too large to fit in a pocket. He opened the sack and pulled out a delicious-smelling meat pie. "You look hungry. Here, have some of this. There's a lot to explain, about you and Hogwarts and who I am, and it's going to take a bit of time. I don't think you should listen to me on an empty stomach, and I don't think it'd be a good idea to start with the chocolate frogs, so have some pie first."
Jimmy, still shocked, accepted the pie from Harry's hand and nibbled at it. The crust was warm and flaky, while the meat inside was tender, juicy, and seasoned just right. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.
Harry continued, "This will all seem very strange to you, Jimmy. I know, because I went through it all myself. But... the first thing you need to know is this. You're a wizard, Jimmy." | 52 | A supernatural kidnapper who steals children from abusive parents and tries to give them a better life. | 54 |
“All packed up.”
“Great.” Kyle smiled. “You sure you don't wanna take the Moulin Rouge lamp?”
“Nah, you keep it.” Sophie answered, sealing the last of the boxes.
“So, huh...”
“Yeah...”
It was awkward, and Kyle could tell she was feeling it too.
Sure, the papers had been signed months ago, they had time to get over it.
Still, ten years are still ten years.
“We're not gonna get all sentimental and talk about our moments together, right?”
“What, you wanna enumerate the fights?” Kyle laughed, placing the last box by the door.
“Yeah.” She pulled her hair behind her ear, and Kyle remembered she did that on their first date.
She was nervous.
“All right then. If you wanna reach Jimmy and he's not with me, Tony's --”
“I'm fine never talking to your new boyfriend unless I absolutely have to, thank you.” Kyle said, with a chuckle.
“Right... So... Bye, then.”
“Bye. Jim, were are you – why are you filming us?”
“It's for school, daddy.”
“School?”
“We have to make a short film about divorce. You are my actors.”
“Oh. Ok. That's sweet.” Kyle pushed his son towards the mother. “Go with your mom.”
“Wait. Can you dance?”
“What?”
“Janie said she wanted to put a dance scene in our movie. Can you dance?”
Kyle looked up at Sophie, trying to read her expression.
“Jimmy, not now, come on, Tony is waiting in the car, we --”
“Just five minutes, mom.”
Sophie sighed, throwing a look at Kyle.
“Fine. But quickly.”
She stepped inside again, standing in front of Kyle, unsure of what do to. If it was a contest to see who was more
uncomfortable, by both their expressions, this was a tie for the gold.
“How do you mean, like this?” Kyle took his ex-wife's hand, placing himself in front of her in a clumsy Fred Astaire pose.
“Yeah, but closer.” Jimmy added, centering them on the frame.
“Can I?” Asked Kyle, his hand hoovering three inches from her waistline.
“Yeah. Just don't tell Tony.” She chuckled, pulling her hair behind her ear again.
“I'll be sure not to.”
Slowly, Kyle begun to lead her left and right, left and right, browsing slowly around the room to the music of Jimmy's
excited little chuckles.
“You're dancing. Hehehe."
“Shut up Jimmy.” Kyle was trying, with every inch of his self control, not to look at his ex wife, but his eyes
had a very different approach on the situation. He noticed she was smiling.
“Did we ever dance? When we were dating? I mean, apart from out wedding night.” Sophie asked, desperate to break the awkward mood.
“Yeah, of course. That night at the Beluga Room.”
“That's right. With the –“
“Korean waiter who looked like Jimmy Page!" They both said at the same time.
“Yeah! I remember.”
They kept the movement, back, forth, left, right. Jimmy's chuckles and little jokes fell silent.
“That was – that was a fun night.”
“It was.” Sophie smiled. Neither of them were trying to avoid the eye contact now.
“Mom? Dad?”
Eyes still locked, frozen smiles inches apart from each other.
“You're not dancing anymore.”
“Shit.” Kyle realized they were, in fact, standing still, holding each other in the middle of the room.
“I think that should be enough for your video, Jim.” Said Sophie, snapping out of it.
“Yeah, it should. Go with your mom now.” Kyle clapped his hands together, heading for the door.
“So, you'll call me on the weekend, so I can pick him up?”
“Definitely.”
Sophie smiled, turning to face him from the other side of their apartment. His apartment.
“All right. I'll see you.” Kyle threw her one last smile.
“Jimmy, that's enough. Stop filming. I'll see you, Ky–
Sophie's face froze on the screen, as Kyle reached for the remote and pressed REWIND.
“Hey Dad. I'm sleeping over at Keira, I'll be back tonight, ok? You'll – are you crying?”
“Hey Jim.” Kyle quickly turned the TV off and cleaned his eyes. “What? Nah, I was just watching Forrest Gump, you know
how that movie gets to me.”
“You're such a girl. See you later, Dad.”
“Bye, Jimmy.”
Kyle waited until he heard the front door closing. Slowly, he reached for the remote and pressed PLAY again.
“All packed up.”
“Great.” Kyle smiled. “You sure you don't wanna take the Moulin Rouge lamp?”
“Nah, you keep it.” Sophie answered, sealing the last of the boxes.
| 17 | Please write something that will make me cry. | 15 |
It was the best kept secret in the world. Life as we know it did not develop naturally on this planet.
Instead it had been brought here billions of years ago by "them" in order to develop into some kind of sport game. They hunted the dinosaurs and eventually grown tired of their reptilian quarry. So they ended that line and let things start again.
It has to be said that they never interfered directly with the development process. They preferred to let Darwinism (or whatever version they observed) take it's path. They'd just check in every century or so, see how things have progressed, and maybe take a quick hunt.
We started tracking them in 1952. By we, I mean the Soviets. To the public, it was another nuclear test at the Semipalatinsk Test Site in Kazakhstan. To the Soviet high command, it was the intelligence coup of the century and the revelation of a lifetime. You can understand why they were keen to keep it a bit of a secret.
The United States, and by proxy NATO, didn't come into the loop until the defection of Viktor Suvorov in 1978. When he brought with him a wealth of documents detailing the incident and the results.
After that, there was a small NATO task force created under the name "Meleager." Like their namesake, Meleager's job would be to sail the ocean of space and kill the boar that awaited them.
The next time that "They" came for one of their games in 2197, we were ready. It's funny the kind of hubris that comes with thinking you're the dominant race in your neighborhood of the galaxy. It's the kind of blinders that make you oblivious to the notion that one of your "subservient" races could have an armada waiting for you on the far side of the moon; armed to the teeth and looking to inflict a little pain. | 16 | Life was planted on Earth in order to be a sport hunting planet for aliens to use in the future. However they did not anticipate that life developing advanced weaponry. | 19 |
“Captain, we've downloaded the data from the international space station black box.”
The Captain raised his eyes to the young man in front of him.
“Good. Where is it?”
“Right here, sir.” The soldier dropped a little, metallic file driver on the table.
“Any idea what happened?”
“We didn't watch it yet, sir. But like you said”, the solider took a deep breath before continuing. “It looks like the aliens
attacked, after all.”
The Captain sighed, taking the driver and sticking it into a port on the screen in front of him. "We'll see.”
The soldier made his way around the desk, placing himself behind the Captain as the video started playing onscreen.
A lonely astronaut spoke to the camera.
“We shouldn't have responded to their contact.” The astronaut's shaky, grainy face was sweating, his voice
failing. “They're trying to get inside. They're violent.”
The Captain typed a few commands on the keyboard, and the image went full screen.
“We shouldn't have told them about the oil. They're going to kill us.”
The captain let his eyelids go down.
The soldier, nervous, cleared his throat.
“I told you this was going to happen, sir.”
“Are you questioning my command, soldier?”
The young man had tears in his eyes.
“No, sir. It's just that...” The soldier paused, regaining control over himself. “It's hard to stay impartial, for me, sir. It was my brother up there. You know that."
The Captain let out a deep breath.
On the audio feed, they could hear the sound of repeated bangs on the space station door.
“Oh God...” The astronaut continued. “They killed the others, already. They're coming in."
“We should have ignored them, sir.” The soldier whispered, avoiding eye contact with the Captain. "We shouldn't have answered their calls."
“They're going to kill us. They're getting what they want. There's no way out. We should never hav – oh my God, they're in!”
Both soldier and captain watched as the aliens broke through the wall of the space station; their guns in hand, their
deformed faces screaming words they could not understand.
“It was a mistake to make contact with a species more evolved than us, sir!”, sobbed the soldier, openly crying as he
watched his brother's last moments onscreen. “You know that!”
“I know.” The Captain whispered, between his teeth.
Onscreen, the astronaut was being grabbed violently by the aliens, who tried to pull him outside the station.
“Humans are not peaceful creatures, Captain!” He screamed, as the creatures dragged him further and further away from the camera. “They do not come in peace!"
And then, onscreen, static and silence.
| 675 | You are watching a live stream from the international space station. The video feed goes out due to a temporary loss of signal. Minutes later, when the live feed comes back on, everyone on the space station is dead, and most of the station in shambles. What happened? | 763 |
We found two bodies on the surface of the planet. They looked like they had been dead for at least twenty years, their mummified faces the only visible part through their transparent helmet visors. At first we thought they were an old Soviet mission gone awry, but the Russians assured us their records said nothing about a manned mission to Mars. Plus, with a botched planetary landing, wouldn't there be debris, a crater, something? Their suits didn't look like anything we'd ever encountered, either. They looked like ours, just, different. Thinner, more flexible. No markings, no names. One of them held some sort of suitcase in his hands, welded shut. The only thing our austronauts could tell for sure it was the strangest thing they had ever encountered - and these were our top crew, specifically selected for this mission because of their intellect, resourcefulness and imagination. We knew there was nothing we could do on Mars, it had taken the combined effort of the Western nations to get a small lander with three astronauts to this planet, nothing could have prepared us for this situation.
For months there was a fierce debate between politicians, scientists, religious leaders and everyone in between. Finally, a decision was made. The bodies were to be extracted from Mars and taken to Earth for close examination.
We were baffled. C14 analysis suggested they were minus 200 years old. Their suits were made of a synthetic compound fabric that was physically and chemically impossible to produce. But we were baffled most by the single content of the metal suitcase. A floppy disc. A technology largely abandoned since the turn of the century. It took us longer to find a machine that could read the disc than it took us to read its message.
WE PRAY OUR CALCULATIONS ARE CORRECT AND WE ARRIVE IN WASHINGTON D.C. ON AUGUST 1ST 1996. DO NOT SET FOOT ON MARS. IT WILL BE THE END OF HUMANITY. | 128 | The first astronauts on Mars find a crash site with the skelatized bodies of humans in futuristic space suits. A floppy disk is clenched in the hands of one of the deceased crew. | 277 |
"I know I gave you the papers to file. I know it. Why would I forget something like that? How could I? Come now, admit to this poor sod that you were.....are incompetent and that's why his issue turned the way it did. Go on."
Back and forth. Were these mother fuckers serious right now?
"You most definitely did not give me any type of paperwork concerning his condition or lack thereof. I do my inspections, always on time, and I follow the protocols and regulations. It seems his algorithm was just a hair off. We were tuned in to the wrong, the closest, but the wrong frequency. I don't know if there is much you or I could have done. This isn't our department. Even if you had given me the papers, which you did not, it wouldn't have made any difference. He's defective."
I hung my head. Just what I had always known. Defective. I would see families, couples, people having a good time, enjoying the sun, each other, and wonder why I couldn't feel any of the warmth. I had always walked under a cloud. I was no different from a misplaced button on a cardigan. Just an error. A mistake. Even the button has to go somewhere after the mistake is caught. Snipped off and thrown out.
"Well, I will not squabble about who did or did not recieve said papers, and I know his algorithm is off, we can see that now, but did you notice nothing during your inspections? Nothing at all? Nothing amiss? You know the Captain is going to want to know more. He counts every single one of these buggers! He will notice if ones gone missing."
I looked up from the spot I had memorized in the floor, taken aback for a moment at mention of this Captain. He counted humans? It was if I was a toy, or a machine. Here was my inspector, a tall, pale, wispy man, and his supervisor, a short, loud, condescending older lady. They hadn't even addressed me. They spoke around me as if I was a heap that needed swept away. I was just another number and task to them. Could you commit suicide twice? I couldn't take this much longer.
"I'll just take him to the Fulfillment room. He's looking a bit dodgy, and I'm afraid he doesn't understand much of his true purpose yet. Poor thing, he's been trying, but no one can operate correctly under those circumstances. Can we agree that there was a mistake made along the way, they do happen once in a while, and we aren't sure where it came from, it just was? Can we do that?"
I looked at the lady sitting high above me on her platform. Her brow raised, lips pinched, she was turning the possible outcomes of his query in her head.
"If you can fix him, we will speak no more of it. You know this can be put purely on your shoulders eventually, so there's some incentive. Have him ready to be re born in less than 3 weeks and you've got a deal."
Reborn? Wait, I just got off that dreary planet, and I had to go back? No thanks........
"Hey, I really don't want....."
"Shh. Child, you have no idea what you're meant for. Your task, as everyone else's, is vital to life. They can't do it without your energy. They cannot afford to lose any energy down there. As much as you all think you're autonomous, is as much as you're not. Stop being so selfish, and get on with you. Yes, you had a bad time this go round, but that's the way it goes. We have found the problem, and your new body should be perfect. Go with your inspector. You're already dead, and I know you want to die again, so what's to be scared of? Not us, just yourself. As you can see, we all make mistakes. Good luck."
I looked up at her, and curtly nodded once. My inspector held open the door and I......floated, I think, through it. Ok, let's try this again. It never really ends any way. You can never escape.
| 11 | A person with a really shitty life suicides, goes to purgatory, turns out afterlife exist but it's a huge bureaucracy, and his problems in life were due to technological impairment and lazy or incompetent guides who just couldn't be bothered to help him | 25 |
I woke up with beams of sunlight hitting my face. I yawned loudly and reached over to grab my phone to check the time and didn't feel it there. That couldn't be right. I put it there last night with a 7:00am alarm. I rubbed my eyes and when i opened them, noticed something was very wrong. This was not my room. I threw the covers off of me and then looked at myself. This was not my body. I tried to scream but nothing came out. Was this a dream? I tried pinching myself, remembering that would wake you from a dream. I felt the pain. I looked around the room. It was a small room with little furniture. I jumped up and ran over to a mirror on a dresser. In the mirror I saw an someone who looked nothing like myself. I saw a man in his early twenties with medium length blonde hair and blue eyes with a strong chin. I had brown hair and brown eyes and was in my early thirties. This is insane! This has to be a dream. I tried pinching myself again, but i still felt that sharp pain. What the heck is going on? I stumble backwards until my legs hit the bed and I just fall back on it. I have to figure out what is going on. I look at the clothes scattered on the floor and began to get dressed. I kept telling myself to stay calm and I would be alright, but my heart felt as though it would tear through my chest. I look at a few belongings on the dresser: a watch, a wallet, and a phone. The phone! I could use it to call my phone. I push the home button and slide the bar. A password is needed. Dang it! I put the phone in my pocket and then put on the watch. Then I realize i can check my wallet and see who I am right now. I open it and find a drivers license. Name: Daniel Hayden. D.O.B: July 9, 1991. I try as hard as I can to remember if I've ever met this person but i can't think of anyone. I walk over door the door and put my ear against it but hear no one. I open it up and see I'm in a small apartment with a large room that has a counter to separate the kitchen and living room. A black cat lifted itself up and walked over to begin rubbing itself against me. I walked over to the chair in the living room and sat down. I begin to prioritize what i need to do. I have to find myself, find out who is in my body, and find out how to fix this. I go over to the refrigerator and open it. Three beers and some leftover Chinese. This reminds me of college. I close the fridge and look around for car keys to get to my house. A loud ring broke the silence. The phone was going off. I pull it out of my pocket and answer.
"Hello?" I asked.
"Daniel, where are you man? You were supposed to meet us, like 20 minutes ago!"He sounded angry.
"Sorry, its just, uhhh, something came up. A family emergency." I replied.
"Well whatever it is I'm sorry but you should've given us a warning" He still sounded angry but not as much.
I was about to ask him if he knew if anything happened last night but he just hung up.
It didn't take long to find the car keys. I went outside and looked around. I'm in an apartment complex called Small Living. I remember that name! It is down the main road of the city I'm in. I pull out my car keys and press the unlock button and see a car on my right side unlock and have its interior lights turn on. It is an old Toyota of some sort but i don't really care. I hop in the car and turn it on. I have to get to my house. I drive out of the complex waving bak at people who appear to know me. I begin driving down the main road with thoughts going through my head about how this could have possible happened and if it had also happened to the other person who could now be in my body. As i arrive at my house, my phone rings again but I ignore it. I walk up the steps as I had so many times before. I stand there about a minute before I can open the door. My phone rings again but i still ignore it. I knock. A few seconds later my wife appears at the door. The temptation to just tell her everything is insane but I have to find me.
"May i speak to Jake?" I asked, almost having a nervous breakdown right here.
" He just left a few minutes ago. You might want to wait until later on though, he's acting as though he's lost his head!" She said. She was clearly annoyed.
"You could say that. But anyway, do you know where he went?" I basically pleaded.
"I don't know, he was rambling on about an apartment and that needed to find a friend." She finished her sentence like she was done with the conversation so i thanked her and turned back to the car. When I sat in the car, my phone rang again. I looked down at it. It is my number calling! I hurriedly pick up my phone and answer it.
"Hello?" I asked
"Hello me." He said
"Let's meet at the coffee house near the movie theater." I said quickly.
"I'll be there in ten." He hung up the phone with his response.
----once again going to have to finish later----
| 11 | You wake up in a strangers body, no one else seem to care or notice. You later that day meet yourself on the street. | 46 |
L'So'tha's hand shot up again. At the front of the class Teacher 3rd class Toyota McVittie tried to restrain her temptation to reach for the discipline button and instead engaged the communication channel so that L'So'tha's question could be heard by everyone.
"Yes dear, what is it now?" She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice and only mildly failed.
L'So'tha's voice was as pitchy and irritating as all of the Titan-born kid's voices were. The holographic projection added a degree of treble too and it made it extra annoying. "I don't understand Miss McVittie, why was first contact not with the President?"
Toyota sighed, every year at this time there was always one or two kids who would want to know the whole story. Often older brothers or sisters had already told them and they were showing off, or a history brain implant had given them some basic info, but in L'So'tha's case, Toyota felt it was more likely she was just a six year old bitch. Still in a class of six thousand there were always going to be a few she didn't like.
"Just listen L'So'tha and we'll cover the whole subject and then you can ask questions." The hologram slumped back down in her chair and Toyota's screen showed impatience and irritation growing in the young girl. Too bad, it was growing in the rest of the class at her constant interruptions.
"As I was saying, in 2172 the first Alien ship arrived on earth and first contact was made in Floyd Virginia. John Henry, *and remember* that this is *not* the man who defeated the first machine uprising in the 19th Century that we learned about last semester, met the pilot, a K'wanda Shagotropix on the 14th June, which is why we celebrate what day on the 14th June?"
The class rumbled the answer back in rough unison. "Contact day."
"Yes, well done." She glanced at her display screen which had several small flashing warnings. "Petri McCloud on Filox 4, stop screwing around and Mandi BMW in the Chinese cluster, take that out your mouth girl!"
Levels of concentration were dropping and she administered a wide ranging stimulant to the 24% who needed it. Levels crept back into the green. She glanced down again and sat eight call requests, seven were being handled automatically but one... it was L'So'tha again.
She patched her in again, swearing to herself that this would be the last time. "Why then didn't she meet with the President for four days?" The voice whined again.
This was not a topic Toyota was willing to get into for another two years. "It's complicated and we'll learn abut this more when you're a bit..."
"Were they having sex?" The high pitched voice piped in and suddenly the display in front of her shot up into the green as six thousand children paid attention. She'd forgotten to mute L'So'tha after her first question.
"Let's move on now." She said desperately, anaesthetising L'So'tha into tranquillity.
Below her the display was lighting up with question and call requests, ten, thirty, a hundred... oh shit. | 68 | Mankind's first contact with an intelligent alien species is via a brave man/woman's encounter with a space prostitute. How is this event remebered in high school textbooks 50 years later? | 122 |
"What's your major?"
"Non-Euclidean Engineering."
"Ugh. I could never do that. Too much math, too much staring into the unfathomable void between dimensions."
"I was always good at it. They say if you're exposed to the void as a kid your brain learns to handle the impossibilities better. But yeah, it's not for everyone. What's yours?"
"Summoning."
"Whoa boy. You're aiming high. I heard one in four will drop out by the first year."
"They've gotta be tough. Anyone who can't make it through the weed-outs would get eaten by their own shoggoth in a year. Hell, even for people who get their S3 certification, the injury rate is through the roof."
"And people say NEEs are crazy. Why'd you pick that?"
"Because it's an important job. Summoners do things that nobody can do, not even dark sorcerers. Plus, the pay is good. And I have a... personal reason."
"Whatever floats your boat. Anyway, fair warning, I'll probably be up late on some projects, so if you wake up to see weird eldritch un-light glowing from my desk, don't freak out. I'll keep the dangerous stuff out of the dorm room, but you know how we engineers are, always some side projects to work on."
"That's fine. Just keep the noise down, it's hard enough to get to sleep when you're haunted by memories of dimensional horrors without having to deal with a noisy roommate as well."
"That's cool, man. Say, what's your schedule like? Here's mine."
"Oh, it looks like we both have Sorcery 101. NEEs need to take that?"
"We do. Something about making us more well-rounded. I guess it's good to know a few cantrips."
"It is. Alright, the welcome ceremony is going to start soon. Let's get a move on." | 21 | A college where students are taught ritualistic dark magics and how to call Lovecraftian horrors from beyond this reality. | 23 |
"So it has come to this, pickle jar. Our final battle." solemnly said the elder wizard to the jar of pickles that was mocking his abilities.
"Honey, are you done with the pickles?" asked a feminine voice coming from the living room.
"Y... yes, I'm almost there, Alberta." he replied.
Once again, the jar of pickles started levitating. The wizard stabilized the levitation at 5 feet from the ground. A hint of grin was forming on his lips. Because he knew that was the easy part. The worst had yet to come.
Since the jar was now floating in the air, the wizard, an experienced teacher of Magic History in the Academy of Magic, three times World Champion of Magic, a multiple times best-seller author, and laureate of the Nobel Prize of Magic for his discovery of the Magic-Atomic Bond, had to unscrew the DAMNED LID BY ALL THINGS MAGICAL!
"Are you yelling, honey?"
The wizard, hearing his wife's voice, came back to his senses, and focused on the lid. The operation was not trivial. The wizard had to apply a magical rotative force on the lid, not too weak, so that it actually unscrew, but not too strong, or it might break the jar. After the rotation, the wizard have to exert a pulling action in order to finally remove the lid and access the pickles, sweet reward for his actions.
"Boy, here goes nothing!"
With one quick move of his wrist, from his wand eructed a beautiful white light that started to revolve around the jar. Then, the light agglutinated all around the lid, and started pushing. To no avail. The lid did not even move. The light evaporated in a cute poof. The wizard cursed.
"Come on, old man, I want to eat some pickles before the turkey gets cold!" scolded the wife. The wizard almost replied, but dealing with this jar of pickles was preferable to the certain and untimely death facing the wrath of his wife would bring upon him.
The battle went on, and on. Multiple lights of different colors were dancing around the jar, forming a beautiful show for the layman, but a shameful display for any witch or wizard with a little experience behind them. Frustrated beyond possible, the wizard let out a sigh and admitted his defeat to the hands... hum, lid... of a pickle jar.
Suddenly, his wife erupted from the kitchen door, forcefully grabbed the jar, took the lid with her hand and opened it in a straight shot.
"Look, I may not be a witch, but I'm really hungry, so the next time you have to open a pickle jar, I think I'll handle it."
Without waiting the reply of her husband, she left the kitchen with a dignified gait and a pickle in her mouth.
Dumbfounded, the wizard looked at his wand with the disappointment of a child. But deep down himself, he swore to all things magic he was going to open the pickle jar with his spell.
--
"The end, kids. Someone can tell me what the moral of the story is?" asked a young man, standing in front of a hundred or so students.
"We need to be able to distinguish the situations where magic is applicable, and when it is useless." said a red haired girl.
"Good, Suzan. Anyone else?"
A young boy raised his hand, and the professor allowed him to talk.
"Even if you try hard, sometimes you just fail and have to find another solution?"
"Hmm, that's a good one, I never thought of it before. Always thinking outside the box, right Hanson? One last thing about this story, please!"
"He... he invented a spell to open a pickle jar, right?"
The professor almost missed the timid voice of a young girl sitting in the front row.
"Oh, Julie, good to hear you. Yes. Yes, this old man is the inventor of the Pickle Vanquisher. No jar can resist that spell. So, what's your point, Julie?"
"What if... magic evolved from its primitive state to the entire libraries of spells we have today because some people at the start were stumped by some situations they couldn't resolve? They would push themselves to find a solution and make magic better with their new spell..."
"Julia, you're right. You're absolutely right. You see, that's what magic is about. A problem? Let's fix it. With magic. Because the normal way is boring. That's what magic is. Brilliant."
Julia's face reddened and looked like she wanted to disappear, because that was absolutely not what she said.
"Anyway, that's the end of the lecture, I hope you liked it, guess what spell we'll be studying next time in Practice?" No one answered. "You're right, the Pickle Vanquisher! So see you next time!"
The professor rushed through the exit. His mind was preoccupied by a very serious subject: how to magically find the TV remote when it's missing.
| 18 | A wizard struggles to open a jar of pickles. | 18 |
I was staring in disbelief, looking beyond the treeline ahead and seeing him. The man my mother had told me all these years had just up and vanished. The man she said was probably dead by now, not worth my time. My father.
I actually wanted to approach him but found I couldn't move, so he obliged. Walking towards me I couldn't focus on anything but his walk, the walk of a man on a mission. He didn't seem sheepish when I thought he would, it threw me a little if I'm honest.
"Hi Sam. Do you recognise me?"
I couldn't speak but that answered his question anyway.
"I know you have questions. I have answers, but you might be surprised by them. Can I give you my attempt?"
Still silence, I was trying not to cry. My mother was no angel, that much I know, but she was the only voice I had on this topic for nearly 15 years. I couldn't figure any of it out.
"Ok I'm gonna try. I didn't abandon you Sammy. At least not the way you think I did. Your mother and I, we had a fight. I got angry so I headed for the 7/11 to pick up some smokes. Hadn't touched the things in 5 years, that's how I knew I was really angry. Anyway, I got in the door and... "
"How could you just leave me?"
Woah, where the hell did that come from? Silence to judgement, nice moves there. But screw it, I said it so I obviously meant it.
"Sam, please believe me, it was the hardest thing I will ever have to do in my life. And it will never happen again. What I'm about to say won't forgive or excuse me leaving, but I hope it explains it. Can you give me one more minute?"
I attempted speaking again but the tears were battering away at my eyes now, I wouldn't give him that. I nodded.
"Ok. So I walk into this place and down an aisle I see someone familiar, someone I've known my whole life. It was your mother Sam. Not the woman I left back in our house, not that thing, it was your real mother. She told me how she had left a week previously when she came home and saw you, me and someone who looked like your mother having dinner. One big happy family, except with one imposter. She knew what to do. She said her father had experience with these kind of things. She told me the woman you call your mother today is a Kodan, a mean piece of work. She slips into place in a home, replaces the mother. I never would have found out the truth if I hadn't been told, she's good at what she does. She targets the first born, raises them until eighteen then... "
He paused for a moment. I was crying now, listening to his lies. How mad had he gone?
"... Then she takes you. She takes your soul. Your mother and I had no choice. I was headed straight back for you but she wouldn't let me. Now that I knew the truth, the Kodan would only see right through me. I wanted to kill her, there and then, but your mother said she can only be killed when vulnerable, when preparing her.... Meal. I'm so sorry Sam, I really am. I wish there were another way but we couldn't go back, not without knowing we could get the job done. The Kodan is a carbon copy, we knew you would be raised right until that moment. She likes to keep her subjects well. You don't have to believe me, but please rack your brain. You were only 3 the last time you saw your mother and I but you'll know, you'll know that that thing's touch isn't right, that the love you feel from it could be more."
He was right you know, I was just trying not to admit that. My mother, this "Kodan", had more than her fair share of off moments. School prizes, sports days, football games. The love was there, but just about. I could see it in her eyes, now I knew she was always counting down.
"Ok" I said "If I believe you, what can I do? How are you going to stop this?'
" We have a plan Sam, there are risks but we have a plan. All you will need to do is act as if everything is normal, we'll do the rest. We have two days, but we're fifteen years ready"
"What if the plan doesn't work though... Dad?"
I could see that one hit him a little, not my intention. But it did.
"Of course it will Sammy, we're Winchesters dammit." | 46 | and, boy, what a story he's got to tell! | 70 |
I was in the Atlanta based manufacturing plant when it happened. I was working with Victor, that guy had 6 weeks left until retirement. He was by far the oldest person working there...at least 60, but he was good at what he did and he deserved better than what he got. The initial blast knocked me unconscious, my head slamming through the breakroom window jarred me awake...lucky. A tinitus-like ringing echoed in my head as my blurry vision cleared and I noticed the carnage. Victor's legs were gone, and his head was twisted backward 180 degrees. The ringing in my eardrums finally settled and I could hear the screaming. We had been bombed...but there was no smoke or fire...I limped forward toward the emergency shelter that corporate had built for us a few months earlier, but was in ruins, another blast had come from inside the shelter.
I found out later that there were actually several explosions, one from the vending machine in the shelter, two in the syrup/carbonation extract room and one in the soda bottling line where Vic and I worked. There were 3,000 people at work that day, I was one of 40 survivors, when the Coca-Cola bomb squad arrived and filed their report, all 40 of us survivors were curious about what caused all this tagedy and death. The report was long and detailed but we only cared about what the bottom line was. The bottom line was that Pepsi terrorists had infiltrated our ranks and slipped pop rock bombs into our carbonated products. Nobody knew how it happened, but we knew there would be revenge.
A few months later I was medically cleared for work again and volunteered immediately for the Coke Threat Response Division. I was issued my weapon and new uniform. I grinned and nodded to myself in the mirror as I looked at the patch on the shoulder of my uniform, it read "RIP VIC". A lot of people in the CTRD had a patch with a victim's name, we were going to get revenge for Vic and all the others that were killed that day. Viva la Coca-Cola, death to Pepsi.
| 13 | In the near future when competing companies engage in armed conflict with each other, describe a major battle in the Coca Cola–Pepsi war | 26 |
*Pyongyang. Korean People's Army Headquarters*
*Main Entrance*
*2:30 p.m, March 30, Juche 101*
The stamp came down hard.
"Entry approved. Lieutenant Seomun, follow your escort to the third floor. General Seung will meet you there."
Gangjeon really needed to replace the authorization stamp. Years of use had flattened it down to the point where the ink listing the floor the visitors were authorized to go to was not as clear as it had been. But he really didn't expect any extra expenditures. This was one of the more depressing parts of the job. Well, except for the soul-shattering boredom of letting people into the hall.
"Next."
I really should get a puppy, he thought. I think I can afford to feed it now.
"I said next," he spouted as he lovingly rolled the stamp into the ink pad.
"HOLD YOUR HORSES, BROTHER! THIS BANDANA WON'T ADJUST ITSELF."
Gangjeon looked up to see a peculiar sight, at least for this decaying, monolithic hall.
"FIRST IN LINE, FIRST IN LINE, YEEEEAH."
The one adjusting his bandana was a slight bit larger, and blonde. The slightly smaller one, who also was decorated with bandanas and one of the American cowboy hats he had seen in the daily propaganda, was hidden behind an immense pair of sunglasses. They both approached slowly.
"Can I help you?"
"CAN YOU HELP US?!? OH, YEEEAH. WE'RE HERE FOR AN APPOINTMENT! WITH THE TOP MAN! TOP MAN!"
"LISTEN, BROTHER," the other interrupted, "MY NAME IS HO GAN AND MY FRIEND IS MA CHO AND WE ARE HERE TO SEE MR. KIM JONG UN. HE'S EXPECTING US."
"The Supreme Leader is expecting you?" Gangjeon chuckled as he gave the pair another inspection. "What business of the Republic do you have."
"WELL, IT'S LIKE THIS," Ho began, "I HATE TO TOOT MY OWN HORN, BUT WE'VE BEEN SENT IN TO REPORT TO THE LEADER ABOUT HOW TO BULK UP OUR FORCES." He then proceeded to flex, "AND YOU CAN'T GET ANY BULKIER THAN THE 24-INCH PYTHONS!"
"Okaaaay," Gangjeon took an unconscious step back. "What about you?"
Ma sneered. "WITH OUR ADVICE, YEAH, THE MADNESS -- WILL RUN WILD. KOREA. TEN THOUSAND YEARS AS INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION. YEEEEAH. DEAR LEADER NEEDS TO HEAR IT FROM US. DIG IT. SO SEND US TO TIM, OR FIM, OR GIM OR . . . ."
"Kim," Gangjeon interrupted with a sigh. "His name is K--"
"SNAP INTO A SLIM KIM!" almost instinctually.
"What?" the puzzled bereaucrat asked.
"FORGIVE MY COLLEAGE, BROTHER. LOOK, TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE HERE, SO I'M GONNA ASK THAT YOU SAY YOUR PRAYERS, EAT YOUR VITAMINS, AND LET US THROUGH." His arm inched toward the neck of his t-shirt and started to pull as if he meant to disrobe by destroying his shirt. "YOU DON'T WANT WHAT COMES NEXT."
"I'll be honest with you gentlemen. I highly suspect that you are not really Korean at all and that you are here to do harm to our leader."
"NO, NO, NO, NOT ON A TOP SECRET CIA MISSION TO KILL YOUR LEADER. DEFINITELY NO. YEEEEEEAH."
"I'm sorry, a wha-"
"NO MORE QUESTIONS!"
"BROTHER, YOU'RE BEING A LITTLE NEGATIVE TODAY, AND NEGATIVITY AND HULKAMANIA ARE TWO THINGS THAT DON'T GO TOGETHER!"
"Now listen, 'Mr. Ho' and 'Mr. Ma', I'm not letting you on that elevator, so you can just turn around and head back to whatever hospital let you go."
"BROTHER, I PROMISE THIS ISN'T THE END OF THIS. WHEN I GET BACK, THE LEG DROP--"
"Next."
"I SAID THE LEG DROP---"
"I said next," Gangjeon refused to look up.
"LISSEN UP," Ma Cho whispered to Ho Gan, "I GOT A PLAN, YEAH. TOO HOT TO HANDLE AND TOO COLD TO HOLD. LET'S BLOW THIS JOINT. DANGER ZONE IN THE KINGDOM OF MADNESSS, YEEEEAH. "
Gangjeon shook his head as they exited the front door,
God I hate my job.
*EPILOGUE:*
*The Mega-Powers were not able to complete their mission that day, although it is reported that they came up with a plan on the spot for a long-term infiltration. Agent Ho Gan returned to America. Agent Ma Cho, with CIA assistance in maintaining his deep cover, is rumored to remain at large in North Korea to this day. Waiting for the right moment. Yeah.* | 48 | The United States Government has finally decided to take out the leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Un, and sends in it's most powerful asset. The Mega Powers, Hulk Hogan and Macho Man Randy Savage. | 116 |
When the ultimate utopia, Ainaeco revealed itself, preaching peace and justice, people were happy about it. A good country that tried to do things right, honest politicians and good laws to govern by. Their people are free from problems and issues and can act accordingly to their free will as long as it doesn't hurt others. A nation of poets and artists who strove to create the greatest nation ever seen. Beautiful and serene, free from crime as everyone had what they wanted. Democratic and free, you know the drill.
It didn't work.
Mankind has always fought and killed each other. Some battles were for love, some for powers and many were just pure rage and misery. Truth is, warfare and hardship are things that mankind has done since the beginning of the human age. Many have attempted to stop the wars, to better mankind and protect the innocent, only to resort to violence and madness themselves when they had to. That is how it has always been for the human race. Turns out there is a reason.
While Ainaeco preached their perfect pacifist ideology at every turn, the rest of the world entered the Second Cold War, politely ignoring the Ainaecoan calls for reconciliation and peace at best. The nations of the decaying west, rebuilt much of what they had lost during the 21st century in the Northern Accord, building more and more advanced technology to offset their disadvantage of an ever decreasing population. The Chinese Socialist Empire and their middle eastern allies resorted to more traditional means of power grabbing by invading and controlling vast areas in Africa and central Asia. China did avoid Afghanistan, which had claimed the USA a formerly great empire that was now a defunct state with the south-western corner becoming Ainaeco, by testing a new brain-melting-super-weapon on them. The Pacific-South American Pact just wanted to be left alone and earn some nice profits.
They each tried to surpass each other in a constant competition, first the Titan colonial race, then the perfect cellular regeneration and after that the Alpha Centaurian explorations. Ainaeco constantly spoke against such competitions because of their wastefulness and the wrongful application of money. Not a single sensible person listened.
Ainaeco slowly becomes a political isolate over the decades as no one is even remotely interested in hearing those hippies talk about anything. In fact the last time that the Council of States spoke about them, it was to vote them out of the CoS. Because a utopia is always a sham, and everybody knows it. No one who had grown up in Ainaeco had experienced any real challenge so far, do to the ideology of their nation that explained how all were equal and should be treated so. The youth grew lethargic and the artists grew lazy, the poets happy and fat. Those with greater levels of agency and individuality would soon emigrate to the Technate of Canada, an ally of the Northern Accord, to escape their boring and predictable home country.
The Canadians were surprised of how the Ainaecoans did not recognize nor understand the Canadian technology, surely the utopians would have made the same improvements since the mid-21st century, but technology had barely improved. Since they refused any outside influence fearing that it could corrupt young children to be competitive and arrogant like the past, they had rejected most of the new tech made by people who were constantly on the edge. They barely had the tech needed to maintain their satellites and had almost regressed on some areas. Sure they were self-sufficient but with few outside ideas and a work week with a maximum of three hours worth of work, little to no new technology was ever completed.
The Council of States had been called again, for this time the nations of the world had to discuss an intervention. Narrowly failing, the Ainaecoan liberation was put on hold indefinitely. Because in the end few truly cared about some star-eyed hippy nation. In the beginning of their time, they had the most advanced technology in the world, the greatest economy and was a leading world player. Now Ainaeco was complacent, Ainaeco was generally happy, if rather lazy. Sociologists noted that ''*A nation that has absolutely no problems where all men and women are truly equal, produces a backwards society of people who are anachronistic to the present.*'' Many scholarships were made by the perspective and interpretation of this profound state.
This would not last however. A utopia can be made by the hands of men and thought to last forever. Yet nature will still find a way to ruin them. Their self-imposed isolation did not protect them when the 2293 9.6 earthquake hit their densely populated urban-forests. After that came the 2301 genetic discombobulation virus hit them hard. And then came the failed results of an experimental Pacific terraforming device in 2304 barely twenty miles off coast from Sanfran. Since these people had never had truly hard work in the life before, millions perished. The Canadian puppet state of Kaskadia would occupy the northern parts of Ainaeco to restore order to the state. While Aztlan would occupy the southern parts, and the Neo-Aztec faith was very pleased with such plentiful sacrifices.
Why did Ainaeco fall? It wasn't human greed nor the jealousy of others. It was because a utopia is the death of ambition and drive. It is a life without hard times and without meaning. Why would anyone work hard when everyone was the others equal? So fell the Ainaecoan state, when in 2351 the north was officially annexed by the Republik of Kaskadia, while the now depopulated south was now filled with Aztlanic nationals.
Look upon their works ye mighty and laugh, for they tried to end the game, and in retaliation the game chewed them up and spat them out. | 13 | How does the world outside a Utopian nation react to its existance? | 31 |
I hadn't expected this. I should have known it, it seemed obvious in retrospect. But not on that day. No, that fucking day I was just excited to make history. I knew it was dangerous, sure. I DID sign up for this.
The day I stepped into the machine I was proud. I felt the way Buzz Aldrin must have felt, marching closer towards his rocket. I kissed my girl goodbye and smiled like I had won the lottery. The picture of me would have been all over the internet by the time I would leave the capsule again. Seconds later for me, but an hour later for the world.
It was not. Nothing was at all anymore. The room was void of life. No scientists, no journalists and least of all my love with tears of joy streaming down her face. I figured everyone had left already, but boy was I wrong. They were never here to begin with. Nobody was.
It took me six months to realize what happened. I read every book about time travel I could find, comparing the theories and the logic behind them. Even the slightest differences mattered to me more than anything else. The Multiverse-theory was right in a way. There is an infinite amount of universes, each set at a different point in time. But the people aren't. They're just in one. And this was my universe - Population: Me.
I felt helpless for a while. I started drinking, sleeping most of the time, but that went away. I changed my theory on time travel a couple of times by now, but I think I'm right with my current approach. I feel a lot better, but still, the feeling of isolation remains. What makes it even worse is the hope.
I'm at all times just an hour away from everybody I ever loved and yet they're out of reach. Sixty minutes is all that seperates me from happiness, but I know I will never get closer. They never bothered to send a second person. Or even worse: The sent him to a point a second after my time. Trapped in his own universe the way I am trapped in mine. So close, yet so far apart.
I couldn't stand this inaction. I started learning about how the machine worked, my degree put to good use after all. I needed power first, but operating a small gas plant isn't that hard when you only have to deal with one customer. Sure, it took me 9 years, but what is time to me? I will have the machine ready soon. But more importantly, I'm certain of the point I need to get to. Not back to the start, no. Just one hour back in time, or I'll just leave on empty universe for another one. I've thought this through, it has to work. I have to try it. It WILL work. I will return. | 431 | You volunteer to be the first human to test time travel, only going an hour forward in time. When you leave the travel pod, however, all humans on earth are gone. | 656 |
"Happy 17th DD, Alex!"
It said on the cake. This was a huge celebration. If you lived through your seventeenth death day, you were sure to live into adulthood. It seemed an odd tradition to me as a child that we celebrated the day after, but as I got older I discovered the implications of the delay.
I would have been ecstatic, this day meant I would graduate highschool! My grades were great and I had already been accepted to my top three colleges (assuming I made it past this death day, which I had). And even better, it meant I was sure to make it almost nearly through college.
You see, my death day is on February 29. They call us Leapies. There's only one other kid at my school that shares my death day. His name is Greg. He's pretty cool, but I try to avoid him, because it's terrible luck to spend too much time with someone with your death day, especially one as lucky as mine.
But, as you may have noticed already, I was not celebrating this day. Oh sure, I smiled and lot my candles for everyone to blow out, and gave my family their presents, but I knew that this date was not special. The rest of my family knew it too, but they all put on just as well as I did.
The reason that this day meant nothing was because my family had a long history of Spontaneous Termination. ST is a very rare disorder which is passed on genetically. Scientist are still studying it very closely; all of my family's deaths turn into a case study.
They are still trying to figure out if it's something wrong with the date that we have our first deathsleep (that's how we first discover our death day, we fall into a deep deathlike sleep, sorta like sleeping beauty, but just for a day), or maybe it's something about our body calendars. Many have speculated that if we calibrated our calendars to the ST's deaths, we would be able to prevent the deaths of the rest of the population, but there's nothing to support it.
I have done my research. From past cases, there are at least a hundred different days each year that I could die. It really changes how you live, knowing you could die at almost any time. I avoid opening myself up to people, and have trouble being as interested in school and social situations, but I guess it's just something I have to live -- and die -- with.
Sometimes I like to imagine a world where nobody knows anything about their death. Would people still jump out of planes or race cars or any of these other potentially lethal things? I see so many people doing these things on their PDD's, and my parents would never let me do any of them. No, they barely let me drive sometimes. They say the roads are to dangers with all these people with no regard for life. Especially with as rare a death day as mine.
I've always been interested in death days, but once I learned about my condition, I made it my goal to survive until I could figure out what caused it. I once sent a letter to the president asking him to change the calendar to get rid of my death day. He read my letter and sent a response saying that the last time they tried that, everyone with that death day died instantly. So I guess I'll just have to keep hoping and praying that I can live till tomorrow. | 20 | Humans are born knowing the day and month they will die, but not the year. Deathdays are celebrated just like birthdays. | 60 |
We've hardly spent any time together since I became a secret super hero in my spare time. So of course the one night I take off to spend some time with her the damn watch stops anyways.
I keep glancing down at it, around the room, and back to it again. I'm looking for danger, disturbance, anything big or significant really. The watch is weird like that. Though I realize that we both could be on death's door through some sort of freak accident as I count the few remaining seconds off in my head.
*392... 393... 394...*
"Jack, is everything alright?"
I look back at my wife and do my best to crack a smile.
"Yeah sorry hon, just checking the time what were you saying?" *401... 402... 403...*
"I said there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about and it's really important." *408... 409... 410...*
Suddenly it hits me that these could really be my last moments with the love of my life. So I take one last look at her beautiful face before the world ends and let out a sigh.
"Hon, you know I love you and you can tell me anything." *416...*
I watch as she bites her lip, looking like she might cry. *417...*
"Jack," *418...*
"I..." *419...*
"I'm pregnant!"
And the watch starts ticking again. | 40 | it always stops moving 7 minutes before a significant event happens, always in your vicinity. Thus, you become a vigilante, with no special power but this watch. | 105 |
"...to take back the power which is rightfully mine."
"Your royal majesty?" Lord Privy Seal asked. "What do you mean?"
The diminutive monarch's face collapsed into a prune of irritation. "I mean to hang a thousand newsmen from the London Bridge, Christopher. By their necks. Until they die and the crows eat their eyes!"
Christopher Hull, Lord Privy Seal, hesitated. "Ah... very *droll*, your majesty. But the Buckingham repairs---"
"Her majesty is not interested in such", a nasal voice drawled, and Christopher sucked his teeth in irritation. The only thing more irritating than the voice of that man was the rest of him. "She intends to rule!" A meaty fist crashed on the table, and toppled a few stacks of paper. "Death to democracy!"
"Oh dear." Christopher put his head in his hands as the slogan-based lifeform known as Horcrux Esslemont, Lord Occidental Dragon of Ceremony (Old Rite) and the Sword of the Morning, went on, bursting in the manner of a steam locomotive through all walls of logic, while his mistress nodded enthusiastically.
What was worse was the others were getting into it too --- Hubert Waxscrote, Lord Dogsbody of Barbican, was already drawing up a list of "Republicans, Guardian readership and other traitors to the crown".
Mundane Testicutor, the Keeper of the Seven Keys, was rhythmically throwing his hands up and crying "Huzzah!", though because of the dusty state of his throat, not much sound was coming out.
And Elbrus Compoop, Lord Wipe of the Council, the liver-spotted youngster, leaned over to Christopher and whispered: "Is there something in the water today?"
"It's age", Christopher of the Privy Seal sighed. "This happens every time the council's average age gets over ninety."
"Nonsense!" Lord Horcrux leaned in their general direction, eclipsing many pleasant sections of the wall by his unsightly bulk. "This... is... London! Though cheap psychology admittedly is better than being the official odour-lock, eh, Privy Seal?"
"And", the monarch cried, "we shall invade Norway!"
This silenced the lot of them.
"W--- why?" Christopher managed to ask.
"Revenge!"
"Your majesty... why?"
Her eyes blazed with ancient resentment. "Christopher, remember your history! It was but twelve centuries ago that the godless Norsemen burned this very city down and slew a direct ancestor of mine! The crown neither forgets, nor forgives!"
x x x
"My subjects, I come before you to inform you of the glorious restoration of the order of the world. The houses of the parliament have been put to the torch, and we will begin bombing Norway in five minutes. All of England's able-bodied men are directed the report to their serjeants along with their longbows..." | 15 | The Queen of England addresses her council. 'The time has finally come...' | 21 |
The grand ship emerged from nothingness a hair's breadth from Earth. A million people awoke to a massive gun barrel staring down at them from the sky. Governments panicked, people rioted, terror and pandemonium ran amok. Missiles were fired, only to glance off invisible shields. Countless hands were raised in prayer. And then they spoke.
Their speech reverberated throughout the atmosphere with no discernable source. It was deafening, all-pervading, broadcast over and over in every language imaginable.
The aliens declared to the terror-stricken earth their intentions. Total annihilation. Our planet was to be destroyed as a show of power, to assert dominance over an equally terrified galaxy. The galaxy had been peaceful, complacent. They sought to fix this. Their warships were at every strategic planet they came across. Their guns were poised to annihilate trillions of lives. And they would all fire at once.
Earth looked up at the great gun above it, taking at least a little solace in the fact that their planet would not die alone.
The gun began to vibrate, to glow. The Earth held its breath. All was silent.
And then they listened, and began to realize that there was music coming from somewhere. Almost indistinguishable at first, but slowly gaining volume. And millions of people realized what they were listening to.
"Never gonna give you up..."
High above the atmosphere, the aliens were consumed with laughter. The commander of the ship opened communications once more to leave a parting message.
"Hey, welcome to the galaxy, guys. We'll send you some ambassadors soon, but I'm sure we'll get along great." | 37 | Aliens show up to conquer earth, but when the weapons start firing, it is not lasers or plasma beams, but music. Beautiful music. | 25 |
They say that the Earth had been proven to be flat for centuries before the edge was found. Ancient philosophers, mathematicians, and scientists all had evidence of such. But of course, no one remembers them. They only remember the discovery of the edge, by the great explorer Nallegam.
It was not a literal edge, of course, or else Nallegam would never have returned from his expedition. It was merely the edge of the world as we knew it. The edge of life, the extent that it had reached since the time that the first organisms had been created.
Beyond, there is nothing but desolation. Oceans and bare dirt, stretching on into infinity.
Of course, since then, science has advanced. There are now debates as to whether the world is truly flat and infinite, or if it merely seems that way, but curves through a dimension we cannot experience, forming a sort of sphere or torus. Or even that it is not curved at all, but instead made up of many flat surfaces joined together into a geometric shape, like a cube, or some other polyhedron. It does not truly matter, except to those who have built their careers on attempting to understand the tricks and secrets of the world.
Similarly, there is speculation that ours is not the only life on the infinite plain. The edge is well charted now, making a gigantic circle many thousands of miles across. The origin of life is not well understood, but is assumed to have been created, or placed here. With infinite space, the argument goes, there is infinite room for other circles of expanding life, separate from our own. How they form does not matter. If they have formed once, they can form again.
For a long time, such arguments were met with skepticism, or apathy. If life existed out there, it was likely too far to ever contact us, they would say. Simultaneously, explorers ventured out far and further into the wastelands, seeking out minerals to mine, and water to channel inward towards civilization. For hundreds of thousands of miles, men and machines traveled out ever farther.
Today, word has reached us from those men, sent back along lines of communication stretching across the wastelands. They have found something that they were not looking for, something that is not water, or metals, or minerals.
Out there, in the farthest reaches of infinity, they have found flowers, like none that have ever been seen before. | 59 | In an alternate universe the flat earth theory turned out to be true. The earth stretches on flat for infinity. The far borders of our earth are barren, with life slowly colonizing it. However scientists just found separately evolved life colonizing from another direction in the wasteland... | 107 |
**This isn't a very original story, but originality wasn't what I was going for there.**
*August 18^th, 2020*
"Hey, Jason, we got a data packet incoming from Voyager 1. Probably one of the last before it stops transmitting."
"Oh, nice!" replied his colleague, recalibrating a satellite dish. "What's in there, then? Anything interesting about deep space?"
"Just the usual, it seems. Environmental data, radiation detection, distance and... Hey, that's weird, it... took a picture. Did it find an asteroid or something? Wait a sec, I'll open that picture and... and... and... and..."
Startled by the sudden skipping of Richard's track, Jason looked up from his workstation. Richard was staring blankly, unblinking at his screen, and had even stopped muttering "and", eyes bulging in now-complete silence.
"What's the matter, Richard? Did you just see the budget cuts on SETI or something?" he said, walking over - before stopping as sharply as Richard had.
On Richard's computer was a picture. A grainy, old picture taken by a camera that had been cutting-edge in 1977, but whose subject was unmistakeable.
Right there, on that picture, another spacecraft floated in deep space.
*August 19^th, 2020*
Nobody had gotten a lot of sleep since the previous day. Richard had finally crashed from pure exhaustion, after thirty-six hours awake, gently snoring on the couch with seven empty coffee cups and the last of his three Red Bull cans next to him. Jason wasn't faring much better, but the rest of the team were fresher. Director Nicholas Terence, and four of the most senior engineers and experts were sitting around the conference table, listening to the results.
"... so it wasn't too hard, from the three pictures Voyager 1 sent us, to make a quick 3D model of the... object." Everybody still had a hard time calling it a craft. "Here's what it should look like." At this, Senior Eng. Darrell pulled up a model on his screen and turned his laptop around.
It looked a lot like Voyager, but more like Voyager 2000. The basic structure and the instruments were evidently the same, but the design was sleeker, elegant, and the materials seemed to shine on their own in the lightless expanse of interstellar space. There were no angles in its design.
Director Terrence was the first to speak. "We don't know what it is, obviously, but we sent an order to Voyager to cease all other operations, reactivate all non-essential instruments and target the... craft" Everyone cringed a little at that last word. "From yesterday onwards, I am considering Voyager 1's mission complete and spending all resources to learning more about this thing."
*Three hours later*
"Hey, guys, w'got annuth'r data packet incomin'" slurred Richard, barely waking up. "It's the new report and... HOLY SH-"
Richard's curse was cut short as his monitor violently blew up. At the same time, the lights in the building all dimmed. Darrell rushed to his own workstation, frantically checking if it was all right. It was intact - and as he logged on to the Voyager 1 surveillance system, the team saw what was in the packet.
"It's... raw data", he said, stating the obvious. "Petabytes and petabytes of data. It's in binary, hexa, and stuff I haven't seen ever." He began stuttering as the enormity of what he was seeing took him. "It's taking up the servers, transmitting itself through the power cables - How the fuck can data go through power cables anyway? - shorting out half the country grid and... wait..."
On a hunch, Jason pulled his iPhone X5 out of his pocket. Sure enough, his screen was covered in repeating lines of 0100101001101s as his smartphone's processing power was being used.
"It's transmitting itself through the NewTooth... It turned itself on. What the hell is this thing?! Some sort of hyperevolving worm?"
"We've just realised there are aliens out there and you're just worried they're DDoSing us?!" shouted Richard back at him.
The upload stopped as suddenly as it had started. Darrell's monitor lit up and what seemed to be a perfectly normal video started playing.
"Wait, do aliens know MP4?" asked Jason, ever the smartass.
"Shut up." responded Director Terrence. Jason wisely complied.
Nobody was prepared for what came next. They could have handled green men, grey men, scaly men, furry men, leathery men. But not men.
A perfectly normal man, seemingly in his late 40s, appeared on the screen. He was dressed in billowing grey-and-gold clothes with a black sash draped over his shoulder, and was wearing a floppy black hat drooped to his left. He gave the camera a long, formal nod accompanied by a two-fingered gesture with his right hand to the bridge of his nose. When he opened his mouth, the sound was perfectly clear, unadulterated by millions of miles of interstellar travel.
"Arl, eck'nath cç@@'# den'assul t'#~~¤"
"Well, I guess we couldn't expect them also speaking English, yeah?"
"Jason, shut up." Jason complied again.
The message carried on for a few minutes. "We'll get our best cryptologists and linguists on the case. The higher-ups will pour millions into this if necessary", said Director Terrence with a sense of finality.
*Three months later*
Professor Gillian McAllan was the best cryptologist in the world. Professor Anna Litvyskaya was the best linguist. They were both feeling stumped.
"All we know, Director" Litvyskaya was saying to Terrence, "is that it seems close in its word structure and pronunciation to what little we know of Ancient Egyptian and Sumerian".
"I thought these two had nothing to do with each other?"
"Not much, no." replied McAllan, "But from what we've seen their language has similarities to both, so we're working from that to establish a reference. We're gonna need a lot of resources from that."
"You'll have them. I agree, NASA agrees, the President agrees. This isn't about results, we're not working against the clock. We just want to know."
*Three years later*
Terrence pushed the door that said VOYAGER 1 RECORDING PROJECT ROOM like every morning, thinking he'd find the crack team that McAllan and Litvyskaya had assembled hard at work. Instead, the office was nearly empty. McAllan was the only living soul in the room, sitting with tears in her eyes and a tequila bottle in her hands.
That last sight scared Terrence more than the rest - McAllan was a strict teetotaller. That could only mean one thing.
"... Project done, then?"
"Project done. We translated it all. We had a breakthrough yesterday around 3 PM and we worked all night, until 7 or 8 this morning. When we got the message... I sent Anna and everyone home. I only stayed 'cause I'm too tired to get up."
"... Shall we listen to it then?"
"You'd better get the others here. Jason, Richard, Darrell. They were there at the beginning too, they deserve to know."
"I'll call them."
Everyone stood in silence. The engineers, the techs, the director, everyone was eagerly awaiting the message that had come to be known as First Contact Dot MP4. McAllan pressed the play button.
*"To our children and brothers of Earth. I only hope you remember us even now. When we took to the stars, we seeded so many planets with life, took so many jumps in the unknown, that lost colonies were bound to happen. But we found each of them in time. Some remembered us. Some had forgotten us. Some fought us. But we found them all. Except you. Out of all the old colonies, the only one that was truly lost was Earth, the colony were we sent the 400,000 passengers of the ships Atla'teos and L'm'reen. It has been many thousands of years, and we cannot find the world of Earth anymore. We have searched the stars for you. Today most of us only believe you are a legend, but some know better. You are in our records, lost to us except in memory.*
*Today our species is dying out, not from war or disaster but from a deadly, incurable disease, brought back by our explorers from the ruins of a long-dead world. We will not survive another decade as a species. You are the only one of our blood still out there, and whether you remember your origins or not, we had to let you know of us. from the moment we first looked at the stars, to the moment we seeded new planets with our own children and made our worlds in the stars, we wondered if we were alone in the universe. If you are at all like us, you will have wondered the same thing. We sent this probe at random in your sector of the galaxy, hoping you would find it, with an answer: Though we may have died out, you are not alone. You were never alone, and with this message, you need never be alone again.*
The recording fell silent. The men and women in the office made no sound for at least an hour, surely more. The only sound one could hear for the longest time was the heavy breathing of half a dozen men and women, all quietly sobbing. | 17 | Deep in interstellar space Voyager I bumps into another probe. NASA is dumbfounded. | 16 |
"A-N-U-S, triple word score...so that'll bring it up to 12 points for me." The wooden tiles gently tapped against the Scrabble board.
"Huh. I'm impressed." replied Kate.
"Babe, coming from you, that means a lot." said John as he scrawled some numbers on a piece of paper. "Happy anniversary, honey."
Kate merely smiled. She wanted to tell him, but she knew this was probably not the best time. Hell, it was probably the worst possible time. Still, the weight of her secret was wearing her down like a full diaper.
"More wine?"
"Huh?" Kate's train of thought was derailed and immediately crashed and exploded into an inferno of flames.
"Want more wine? This bottle's nearly finished. You okay? You look nervous about something."
"Wine? Oh yes, wine, sure."
"All right, I'll be right back-"
Without warning, Kate did something unexpected, and it wasn't a surprise blowjob like last week.
"John...I have something to tell you. I'm a cheater." Her voice buckled and quivered as she confessed.
"Ah-ha! I knew it! Nasalfuck isn't a word."
"No, John. I'm not talking about the Scrabble game, or the round of Russian Roulette we played an hour ago."
John's face contorted into worry. "What is it then?"
"Honey I shrunk the kids."
John dropped the wine glasses, not out of shock, but because he had a condition where he had this uncontrollable urge to drop items in his hands when a plot twist was revealed.
"Also, I've been cheating on you with someone else."
John took off his glasses and dropped them on the floor.
"You've...you've been cheating on me?" An hurricane of emotions swirled within John, like a tropical cyclonic storm usually occurring near the equator with wind speeds of up to 72 miles per hour.
Tears were running down Kate's tender cheek, not out of sadness, but because she was allergic to emotional hurricanes.
"I'm so sorry John, it happened so fast..."
"Who have you've been seeing? Tell me!" John picked up two sets of expensive dinner plates.
"I...(sniffs)...I've been cheating on you...(hiccups)...with myself."
"What?" John dropped the dinner plates as Kate's words smacked him across the face. "Wait, say that one more time."
"One more time?" asked Kate.
"No, the sentence before that."
"The sentence before that?"
"Goddammit Kate, did you just say, you've been cheating...with yourself? That's impossible!"
"I've been using a cloning machine, and every night...every time you leave for work, I clone myself...and then...I fuck the clone. I fucked myself."
John was emotionally devastated. Or aroused. He still didn't understand.
"But...I thought I was the only one for you. You gave me a blowjob last week at the mall! Married for seven weeks! I can't even-are you gay? Straight? How many orgasms did you have- dear god..."
"I'm sorry, it just felt so right."
"That's it, I'm leaving right now. We're done all right? We're done! There is absolutely nothing that you can do to fix this."
"Want a threesome? The clone's downstairs."
And then the three of them had sex, while their kids watched in horror from under a napkin.
| 41 | Your wife sits you down for a serious confession. She's been cheating on you with... herself. | 30 |
"Hey there, little girl, how're you feeling?" I asked, brushing my old, white hands against her forehead.
I hate this job. What in the hell do they mean by making them fall in love with me?! This girl's must be how old- eight?! If I'd known being death would mean something like this, I would have quit on the spot!
"I'm fine, thank you, sir." The child replied, lying frail and helpless on the hospital bed. "Who are you, I've been told not to talk the strangers though." She grinned, revealing gaps between teeth.
"Just call me a friend. Though if you'd like to be more, I could be, just for you." I winked at her, pulling out a small brown bear out of a sack. "I got this just for you, darling."
I'm quitting this job. That's it, I'm done. Absolutely done. I don't care how good the benefits are. Nope.
"Wow, thanks mister!" Her small eyes lighted up with excitement. The girl tries to reach out her hands, winces in pain, then reclines back. She whimpers, "Ow..."
"Don't push yourself so much." I say, placing the toy into her hands. Looking around the white room, I notice a lack of presents, cards, pretty much anything that would mean anyone else has been here.
I swear, if Boss has been reading cheesy romance novels and forcing me to seduce some lonely chick for the umpteenth time- oh right, kid.
"So, have your friends or parents come around?"
"Yeah! Well, my friends did. They just hung around and talked with me, asking about how I felt. No toys though." She smirked, holding the bear in the air. "My parents didn't come by, I think."
"You think?"
"Yeah, Ms. Foster said I would have to look for them. I hope they're nice people." She grins, completely unaware of the meaning behind their words.
"I see." I hear her stomach grumbling. "Would you like something to eat?"
"Got any soup? Chicken, hold the bones." she giggles.
"As you wish!" I grin, a bowl appearing in my hand. "You just stay like that, I'll feed you."
"Are you sure you're not my dad? It'd be cool if you were!"
"I'm pretty sure." I raise an eyebrow and moving the spoon to her lips. "Open wide!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It's been twelve hours. How? It's night already, will this kid just hurry up and die?
"You having fun, Angel?" I ask, rubbing my head with a cold, bony hand.
"Yeah. Tons, mister!"
After teaching her the basic rules of chess, I have finally experienced being humiliated by a kid with a whopping score of three to nothing. Yay.
"It's getting late, shouldn't you get some sleep?" I yawn, a bit tired myself.
"Hmm, ok, mister!" She smiles, putting the wooden chess pieces back in my bag. She eyes one piece with fascination. "Can I keep this?"
It's not like I'll be needing it anyway. "The queen? Sure, go ahead."
"So many presents today!" She says to herself, lying back down in the bed. "You know, I've had a great day today. I hope I'll get another one tomorrow!"
"I bet you will!" At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if it takes her a whole two years. "I'm putting a glass of water on the tableside, in case you get thirsty. Make sure to keep the sheets up and stay war-."
"Thank you, daddy."
Her breath stops. | 106 | Death is not a man of doom and gloom but is instead the ultimate seducer. The act of dying is Death making you fall in love with him. Write someone's last moments and conversation with Death. | 100 |
Crash! A loud noise woke the young girl from her sleep. She sat upright in her bed and strained to see through the darkness around her. Someone was in the room with her. She reached to her nightstand for her candlestick and held it out in front of her.
A young boy, dressed in flowing green robes sat on the ground before her. He was wrestling someone in the shadows. "EEP" the girl gasped as the boy and his foe jumped into the air. The shadowy figure made his way toward the open window to escape, but the boy in green tackled him in time. The girl turned on the lights only to see that the pair were flying!
"Don't just stand there, silly girl, help me!" the boy said.
"Help you what?"
"Help me reattach my shadow!" the boy was furiously rubbing his foot with a bar of soap. "This brick of dragonbee honey isn't working! It should fasten any two objects together permanently!"
"Brick of what? Boy, that is just soap. I won't stick anything together. In fact, it should actually make things slipperier."
The boy looked at the soap before tossing it aside in disgust. "Stupid muggle contraption. Makes things slippery? Of all the daft, useless..." but the boy was cut short as the shadow man struggled free. He regained his composure and gripped the figure around the waist. "Never mind the soop then. Do you have anything to fasten together?"
The girl looked around her room. "I suppose a needle and twine might work."
"Hurry and fetch it then!" The young girl ran to her sewing drawer and collected her supplies. She deftly thread her needle in one attempt and then turned to see the boy and his shadow still wrestling.
"I will need you to be still in order for this to work. It is a delicate procedure, and I have never sewn a shadow before."
The boy reached into his robes and drew a short slender stick. He aimed it at the shadow and shouted "Petrificus totalus!" After a flash of bright light the shadow fell to the ground and stopped moving completely. "That should do for a few moments, girl. You may begin." The young girl approached the two and began her work, attaching the shadow to the boy's green boots.
"Don't be so rude. I am helping you and you are in my house, afterall. You may call me Wendy." after a pause she looked at the floating boy and said "Where did you learn to fly, boy?"
"Attach my shadow back to me, and I will show you. And you may call me Peter." | 11 | tell the story of a famous film/book but set in the world of another famous film/book. Don't tell us the titles. | 36 |
I remember the Year of Three... I was young then, didn't know what was going on. All the forums exploded, over one little video, something about a game. I remember my grandfather talking about the day World War 2 ended, the celebrations in the street, well it was kind of like that... but *better*.
The following day... wasn't very good. Some people died, the makers of the video. Pandemonium. Anger, depression, denial, people just went crazy. There were fears of riots in Washington State, but they never came... because Release Day happened.
Release Day... Thats what we call it now. It's easier to call it that than accept the truth. People died, a lot of people. It didn't happen all at once, hell it didn't happen all in one day. An entire week went by before the connection was made. Anyone who saw that video, the one about the game, died. This was the dark time. So many people, so many people watched it, so many people wanted this game. Thousands were dead within the first few months. I remember watching the news, eight months after it all started, when they announced the one millionth dead.
Words became taboo, anything associated with the video or the game became... not illegal, but something people just didn't do. Valve. Half Life. **Gaben**. Life moved on, people stopped dying, we started to rebuild.
Gaming kind of stopped as a hobby, most 'Gamers' died in the Year of Three. I was young, still playing Pokemon Sapphire and the Lego Games. But damn it... I'm a gamer. It still means something to me. And I now know my history. I know the context for the Year of Three, now.
It was hard, finding the Valve games. They're still passed around in the darker spots of the Internet, by people who still see them as great games. They're right... I happen to like Portal and Half Life 2 best. I would probably like Left 4 Dead more if I could find three other people to play... I'm getting away from the point.
I need to know. That's why I'm here, making this record. I'm sitting in front of my computer. I found the video. I'm going to watch it. I need to watch it. I need to understand what happened, why it happened. I'm compelled. My hands are shaking, it's getting a little harder to type. But I won't stop.
I hit play.
The video is playing. There's a man, round faced, bearded. Gabe Newell, I've never actually seen him before... My heart is pounding. He stands there, just... staring into the camera. He's not blinking. I need to take a breath, settle myself. Gabe holds up his hands, three fingers are extended.
"Three"
The word is barely a whisper, raspy, quick. That was it. The video ends. Wait, that was it? That's what people lost their minds over? Three what!? Half Life 3, Left for Dead 3, Team Fortress 3, DOTA 3? Come on man, your company has never been able to make it past two! That was the most ridiculous thing I have ever se-
What was that? I heard something. I can't see in the dark... Wait why is it dark? I didn't turn the lights out, when did that happen... How did I not notice? The only light now is from the computer monitor. It fills my room with an eerie light that just can't seem to penetrate the darkness. I'm very aware of myself now. I can hear my heart, my breath... No, that's not my breath.
I'm shaking now, I can feel my skin grow cold. My vision blurs as I tear up. Theres a hand on my shoulder. It grips softly. I can't breath. I see the face out of the corner of my eyes, I can't move, can't speak. It's Gaben, the soft glow of my monitor on his white pale skin. He hovers his face next to mine. He whispers to into my ear...
"Was it worth the weight?" | 935 | One day, Gabe Newell puts a video on YouTube. He says one word, "Three." The next day, he and everyone else at Valve are found dead. | 1,575 |
456 pondered what to write on the intergalactic standard status report about planet Earth. His pen wavered above the last question:
*Question five: Has said alien civilization, in short, evolved into a superior state/position than it was 4.6 billion years ago?*
456 thought about it for a moment. He sifted through the agent reports.
*Agent 90 (1923 – 1967): this race, calling itself ‘mankind’, is rather strange. Aside from some minor genetical glitches, they seem to be very fond of exploiting others and wiping their own kind out. They also have invented this funny system called ‘economy’, which is incredibly successful at making the lives of most humans quite miserable. Their ‘money’ (some kind of trading thing) also has the funny habit of being accumulated by a small group of people, making them powerful enough to make the lives of most humans, again, quite miserable.*
*Agent 2 (1000 – 1500): Humans seem to be, in general, utterly incapable of progressing in technology or knowledge without shunning, killing or at least hurt their inventors for centuries before they finally acknowledge their theories. This goes in against the theory of basic evolution of species. We expect organisms to learn from their mistakes and grow stronger. Humans seem to be rather stubborn about this, fearing change and clamping onto outdated values.*
He looked at the other questions, which followed a basic ladder system. If the first question was answered with a ‘yes’ or ‘maybe’, one could proceed to the next one. A maximum of two maybe’s were allowed in a ISS report.
*Question one: has cellular life evolved into sophisticated organisms?*
- Affirmative. Agent 811 has retrieved data which tells about the very strange and mysterious behaviour of female humans. This data seems to be universally supported by men all over the world.
*Question two: are these organisms successful beings, with other words: are they able to sustain themselves, are they able to progress culturally and technologically, and do they have the willpower to do so?*
- Tentative. Humans have indeed evolved from a barbaric civilization to a slightly less barbaric civilization, but they still lack in the area ‘sustainability’. They pollute their planet, and interestingly enough, know this very well. Efforts to solve this problem seem to be actively hindered or countered by certain humans. These humans seem to be in control of a strange and powerful substance that they call ‘money’.
*Question three: Do the organisms possess empathy, affection, or any kind of emotion which indicates some kind of attached values to any other than the being himself?*
- Tentative. Humans are indeed capable of empathy and affection, and fancy showing it on all possible communication channels. Internet porn, public porn, television drama series and detective series are some examples of this capability (sometimes). However, humans are also adept at war. They are unable to progress through history without at least having one major conflict every fifty years.
*Question four: Are the organisms in general socially functional in group?*
- Affirmative. Perhaps a bit too much, humans attach intense value at groups. Agent 5, during his visit in a land called ‘Noref Koreea’, has pointed out the loyality of the majority of the country at a certain individual called ‘Kin Jon Oen’. Humans have evolved the astonishing capability to shut down logical circuits and blindly follow a leader, or to convince themselves to do so in times of peril. Agent 238 has further confirmed this by his report of the rise of ‘the moustache guy’ in 1933.
456 sighed. An ‘affirmative’ would put the humans in contact with the galactic union of races. A ‘tentative’ would condemn them to further scrutiny and ‘nudges to convince them to progress’. He couldn’t decide.
That was, until he received a last agent report from agent 47. Instantly after reading it, he wrote the answer.
‘No.’
Agent 47 had been tasked with investigating the human internet.
| 18 | An ancient alien race visited thousands of planets during their early formations. This alien race seeded all of these planets with basic cellular life. 4.6 billion years later, the aliens return to Earth see if their basic cells survived and evolved. | 26 |
TITLE: SEVEN LIONS
———
Council of Archeological and Historic Records
Archival Records of Azerian Conflict. Battle for Acre
Stardate - AE294
Gregorian Date - 3450 C.E.
Cross Reference Term “SEVEN LIONS”
First Person account of SEVEN LIONS
by Leyla Djavadov. Militia Medic. Second Class. Squad Alpha. 2nd Company. Chapter Arkadi
Begin Record
“”
Are we recording?
We are?
Okay.
Um. This is Michale Sargin. Investigator for Shellcore International—
You don’t have to talk so close. The recorder will pick up your voice just fine.
Oh. Sorry.
Um. I am here with Leyla Djavadov. Militia Medic for the Azerian Dominion.
Mrs. Djavadov, could you please confirm what I have said?
(9 seconds of silence)
Mrs. Davadov?
…yes.
Um. Okay. I would like to know a little about the Battle for Acre.
For the record: Acre fell to Dominion Forces in early 2nd quarter. Three (3) PMC Saber Division of 10,000 units each were dispatched to recapture the city. Shellcore was informed that no PMC members survived when the entire population of the city, now refugees, began to flow into the surrounding countries.
Mrs. Djavadov, could you please tell me what happened?
(silence)
…Mrs. Djavadov?
Give her a minute Michale.
Sorry.
(3 minutes and 28 seconds of silence elapse)
Acre…was a beautiful city. I’m sure it still is.
My mother was born there.
The city itself was not harmed. The walls still stood. It was a wonderful place that I once called my home at some point. When the Western United Nations annexed the Azerian city states, Acre was the one most opposed.
You and your dogs took it all. Your corporations think themselves strong. But you are nothing more than words on a paper. Numbers on a machine. You have no soul and have no right to rule a city such as ours.
Mrs. Djavadov, please answers the question—
Let her talk Michale.
Sorry.
Please continue.
(subject refuses to talk for 4 minutes and 43 seconds)
We thought it was thunder at first. But there were not storm clouds in the sky. I could see the sun setting for the barracks. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I should have known it would bring them from the sky. They always come when the beauty of this world is at risk.
Who?
You do not have to ask me that question. This is why you are interrogating me, yes?
Please answer the question, Mrs. Djavadov. For the record.
The thunder was not thunder at all. But the footsteps of 30,000 killers. Blades glistening in their hands. The beautiful sun sparking off the metal. We had little time to react, but we made do. My people are warriors and we met the killers with all we had. With only 900 we would hold our city. The shelters were filled to the brim with every civilian and the doors were shut. Our warriors took every advantage we had and as the sun set, we took to the shadows. Fortifying our streets. Our schools and our hospitals. Finally our homes. We would not falter or we would die trying.
The first wave of your killers fell to our blades. 2,000 cowards fell by our hand and not one of our warriors succumbed. We were strong.
(32 seconds of silence. The subject begins to cry)
And then you came again…and again. And again. We grew tired. I could not mend the sliced up bodies of my brothers and sisters in time to rejoin the battle. Some did not make it at all. Soon many could not make it at all.
We were losing our home.
And then they came.
Who, Mrs. Djavadov?
The Seven Lions. Seven blue streaks from the sky. Like angels. They burst from the stars. Three landed among your ranks. Two among ours. One by the medical tent and the other…I do not recall where he landed.
And then the screaming started. Your ranks faltered as they were cut down. The blood from your men flowed from the clashing of swords all the way to my tent. I could not tell whose blood was whose. Funny isn’t it. That we both bleed red. Yet we can be so different.
The one who landed near me appeared. He said his name was…Sevda.
That means love you know. In my language.
I looked upon his massive form. His armor, ages old technology, almost glistened in the night. He looked at me from behind his helmet. The blue eyes of its technology staring deep into my soul and he spoke. “Show me your wounded. We will mend them tonight so that they may live another day”
And I cried.
He held me for what seemed like eternity. Finally I found my strength and we began to work. His armor, scanning and mending the cuts and bones of those before him. It was like watching God work.
Then men from the front line began to trickling in since the Lions arrived. Their wounds superficial at best. But still in need of care.
Oh the stories they had told. The three that landed amongst your ranks. Tural, Vusala, and Gunel. You would not believe what warriors they were. I would not believe it myself if I had not seen Sevda myself. Thousands fell before them. Just three took out wave after wave. But even they could not hold the onslaught of your killers. How can only three warriors, no matter how great, withstand the attack of 30,000.
Then he appeared. The final one. Elnur. He looks upon us all. And we listened. Words cannot describe the visage that was before me. It was an honor to even see him. And do you know what he said.
He thanked us.
For our courage. Our honor. For our strength. And then he told us to go. That they alone would hold the city for us. That we may return when the blood from the streets would wash away. He told us our duty was to the people of Acre and that we must get them to safety.
And so we listened. We gathered our wounded, opened the shelters and left out home.
We had lost.
Or so we thought.
Almost 50,000 thousand civilians and warriors treaded through our farm land as the screams of battle raged behind us.
We made it several miles away before it all fell silent. The lights of the city dimmed and disappeared on the horizon. It was like out city was gone. We look upon the darkness that stood there and we wept. 50,000 people wept, Michale. Do you know what that sounds like.
But these were not the sounds of anger or sadness. Or despair. It was of hope. For we saw seven blue lights rise from the darkness and back to the stars from where they came from.
They had won.
We had won.
(1 minutes and 25 seconds of silence)
Is that what you wanted to hear?
Stop the recording.
“”
End Record
| 12 | In an alternate universe, guns do not exist. People have instead resorted to using and improving the art of blades in war. Explain the outcome set in modern era. | 27 |
We re-watched it over and over again, but to no avail.
We still couldn't understand what was happening in the video. I mean, it was amazing, revolutionary even, that we even found this device. It will help mankind advance by thousands of snailmiles in tech, not to mention the insight to history that we will receive. But it just creeps me out.
The "Those Who Came Before", as we like to call them, had amazing technology, hundreds of thousands of years before we even invented the steam engine. They were intelligent, they were powerful. But, where are they? The video shows a bunch of neanderthals climbing hastily aboard a vessel of some sort, we call it "The Ark", and also a large humanoid shouting something that we are unable to hear. Apart the rushing neanderthals and the unknown humanoid, there was only one strange thing about the tape.
The audio.
It contained screaming. Endless screaming. It wasn't anything what we would expect from a neanderthal, it was too human. And it was afraid. We analyzed the audio and it seemed that it wasn't added in post or anything. It was recorded at the same time as the video was. It seemed almost unreal, the amount of fright in the voice, not to mention the length of the screaming.
Anyway, back to the whole tape. It's about thirty seconds long and is recorded on a disk of some sort. It looks and feels like metal, but when we analyzed it, it showed high quantities of carbon and nitrogen. It's something we've never seen before. It fits into a normal DVD player, and works with the same principle. Remarkable, I know.
Now, here's the part I started this recording for. The other side. You know how some DVD's have two sides? Well we tried it with the disk, and we found that it had a second side. It was a black background, with something hazy shown in the middle. We couldn't decipher it ourselves so we sent it to the boys in the labs, and they discovered that if you play the both sides at the same time, it shows a message.
When the video started, it showed a bunch of unknown symbols that were scrolling down on the screen quickly. We stared at it for a while, and then, it happened. It shoved a message, that was written in English. We couldn't believe it at first, but when we asked the guys at the labs, they said that they didn't add it in. The message was real. And it said:
"Those who come after us, don't stay here, it comes from below."
We don't know what to do. We have stayed in the same room for a whole day, we're too scared to go out. We don't know what to do.
I'm scared.
EDIT: Are you proud of me /u/TheWalrusEffect? Also, thanks /u/Cobalt45 for nothing that light-years are a measure of distance not time. Whoopsie. | 126 | Archaeologists discover the remains of an extremely advanced 150,000 years old civilization. A video playing ancient device is discovered. The video shows images of Neanderthals rushing to leave earth. One phrase is repeated throughout the video in thousands of known and unknown languages. | 130 |
God stood up from his armchair and looked over at the door of his apartment. He hadn't been expecting visitors. He ran a hand over his chin, feeling the stubble, then shrugged. If someone came looking for him during his week off, they were just going too have to deal with God wearing his soft bathrobe and bunny slippers, appearance be damned. He muted his television, which was showing a lovely supernova happening somewhere in his uninhabited universe, and walked to the door.
"...God?"
God blinked. Wasn't this one of the species he made to look like himself for the hell of it? What were they doing here?
"You...you are God, right?"
God blinked. "What species are you?"
"Uh, human, sir."
Humans. Those definitely sounded familiar, but they shouldn't be here. He grabbed the remote off his chair and turned the channel to the human's planet.
"How did you get here? I remember you guys now, I made sure to make you guys godless so you wouldn't come bugging me. Hell, I made everyone in your universe atheists. You guys weren't supposed to find me. You were supposed to find each other and realize all of you were the same species at different points in time."
"Excuse me?"
"You shouldn't believe in me. Actually, its pretty early on in the universe's timeline. You guys shouldn't be much of anywhere, spiritually or technologically." God thought for a moment, then remembered, "Wait, there's only one group with space travel. What did they do?"
The human looked lost, so God invited him to sit on the couch while he tried to sort this out. As God looked around with the remote, the human found his courage and spoke up.
"What's the meaning of life?"
"Meaning? I dunno, I haven't really thought about it."
The human was a bit put off by this, so he just sat back and watched the television as God scrolled around. Finally, God found something.
"Here we go. It looks like that other group found you guys a bit ahead of schedule. And they tried to control you through religion. A lot of religion." God sighed. "I thought I made you guys skeptical enough not to fall for this."
"Wait, we were being controlled?"
"Yea, it looks like they've been woven into your politics for a very long time. Ugh. Now I won't get to see your first contact or anything. Better just scrap it and start over."
The human was shocked. "Scrap the universe? But you can't...We didn't...There are billions of people down there! I spent my whole life trying to find you, and now you're just going to scrap the universe?"
God looked at the human. "Look, it's hard to maintain a universe. They take up a lot of memory, and I promised I'd record this for Zeus. I need to wipe something so I can start over."
The human began to cry. God looked at him, when a thought occurred to him. "I gave you guys pretty big brains, right? I could probably just tweak you a bit and give the universe to you. You'd have to be God, of course, and its not an easy thing to do without a lot of practice, but you seem to really like your universe. Free up some hard drive space for me, you get to be God. Sound good?"
The human looked up. "Me, be God?"
"Eh, it's only for one universe. Humans are smart, you can handle it. Don't break anything too fundamental and you'll be fine. You'll figure it out."
"Wait, what if I don't want to-"
God waved his hand and the human was rudely flung out of the room, universe and all. He sat down in his comfy chair again and tuned in to see what this new God did. It wouldn't be quite what he wanted, but hey, it might be interesting seeing what he did with his universe.
God hit record on his remote and called up Zeus. A couple beers and a good friend to watch some good, old-fashioned mayhem with sounded like a wonderful way to spend the rest of his evening. | 54 | Atheist Aliens created religion to control humanity. Unfortunately for them, humanity actually finds God. | 55 |
"Excuse...me...sir?"
The voice was slow, raspy, and haggard.
I nearly jumped right out of my skin. In my line of work not a lot of people talk to you.
See, I work tending the grounds in a cemetery.
I turned to see him, jaw hanging loose by half rotted muscles, eyes sockets vacant, one arm clutched in the other. Not attached mind you, just holding it.
"Um. Yes?"
Please don't eat me, please don't eat me.
"I...have...concern...over...grass...long...stones...dirty..."
He was a shambling corpse. I could barely understand him. He was surely about to leap towards me and attempt to devour my flesh.
He stood there, unsteady on legs that I could nearly see through. The bones held up by barely there muscle.
He finally groaned, a long and throaty noise. Tilting forward on those dangerously weakened legs.
This is my end. I die now.
"Joe..." He said, as I closed my eyes and waited for the pain.
"Coming Phil," this new voice was clearer, sturdier. The man walking towards me was elderly but mostly there. The soft tissue of the tongue and eyes were starting to go but he must have been new.
This. Is. Surreal.
"Sorry, Titus is our chapter spokesman. Not much of one without a proper voice box," they both laughed, Titus makes a noise like an cat coughing up a hairball while Joe is more robust and humanoid, "what he's trying to say is that the quality of the groundskeeping has...degraded somewhat. See, we like to have trimmed grass and kept flowers, clean headstones and all that. It puts us at ease, our family is more pleased when they visit."
Wait.
What?
"If you wouldn't mind, a little less lounging with that trashy novel and a little more care on the grounds? We'd surely appreciate that."
Joe smiled, and I reeled. His mouth was filled with maggots that seemed utterly unconcerned by his apparent new lease on life.
"Um...sure?"
"Excellent! Come along Titus, let's get you back down."
Titus wagged his loose jaw at me in what I assumed was a smile, before shuffling off on Joe's arm. He gently let him down into the freshly torn hole through the earth before heading off to his own plot.
"Hey, if you don't take it serious, we'll be back!" Joe shouted as he clambered down.
I stared at the graves for a long time.
Then I got the mower out. | 15 | The cemetery keeper doesn't maintain the cemetery properly. The dead rise from their tombs to complain. | 16 |
Two years ago today the world changed. Suddenly we knew the answer to the question: Are we in the Matrix.
The lagspikes were horrible at first, plane crashes and traffic accidents constantly. I heard that some office workers managed to accidentally use the lag to walk right out of their office to the outside, on the 20th floor. Poor bastards, at least the lag probably made it so they never saw their death.
Then came the hackers. They didn't actually hack anything of course, but somehow they were able to deal with their lag. Some simply became used to the lags, but others... Others never had lag. Those bastards abused their power to commit crimes. The police can't stop them when their ping is a full 1000 ms higher.
Technology, for the most part, stopped being useful. A few people were able to create technology that kept up with the lag, most notably space agencies and MMO developers.
After a few months the chaos began to die down. We banded together as the human race and fought through the lagspike. And then as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. Suddenly everyone was able to react on time again.
Scientists and philosophers alike came to only one conclusion, we were living in a simulated universe. And if someone is simulating us, that means we're not alone in this universe, or whatever you should call it now. Now we're going to let the real world know, "We exist and are capable of sentient thought. I think you need to download more RAM." | 16 | Suddenly and without warning, lag and latency starts to happen in everyday life instead of just the Internet. | 45 |
I lost my mother in the stampede. She was torn from my grasp and carried away in the flow of sweaty, mindless humanity. My nine year old mind could not process this and when I screamed my voice was drowned out by the mashing of feet and the grinding of flesh.
For a few moments I was lifted off my feet between three fat ladies and dragged around in kind of a sadistic tango, like those people on dancing with the stars.
I was carried to the toy isle and spun around in a three sixty then dropped to the floor. A large boot crunched over my hand. There was a sickening crackle as I saw my wrist bend in a way It never had before.
I pulled my arm to myself and looked in horror at my limp wrist and dangly fingers. For a few more moments, there was no pain. Until I got kicked in the shins, by a skinny teenager with brown baggy pants. He looked down with his glazed eyes that narrowed for a second as he stumbled around me. He mumbled something under his breath and then was gone in the sea of shoppers. Now my wrist and my ribs hurt, pain flared through my body and I screamed, it was all I could do.
The consumers rushed right on by. I tried to stand up by pushing up from the floor. My wrist bent backwards and my whole arm was slashed with pain. I used my legs and popped up, just in time to get bounced by a large belly with a shirt that said santa I've been good. Santa's face knocked me backward a few steps, but luckily I caught my balance at the last moment on an elderly man who was holding up better than I was, and I tried to fight the crowd towards the exit.
Being pushed and prodded and severely injured, and too short to see over the foaming masses, I somehow ended up deeper in the store. Lost in the underwear isle. Shelves were being ripped clean. A huge rufus erupted a few yards away, and a display with racks of pants and shoes was tipped over. Through the chaos I heard screams of agony and saw flashes of several people pinned under the large shelving units.
I couldn't fight it, I had no control of where I went, and the crowd carried me closer to the accident. There was blood on the floor and a twitching black man's arm swatted my leg from under a massive beam-like shelf.
Thankfully, I was whisked away from the scene, and actually spotted a small break in the crowd, I ran through the opening, headed toward the big red exit sign that is only about thirty yards away, but suddenly my progress was halted by the closing in of human bodies. I'm stuck. A T.V. being carried smashed into my wrist and I was suddenly in tears from the pain, confusion and hysteria.
Suddenly a shotgun blast echoed across the store. Then another. The crowd was quieter for a moment, and the swarming buzzing slowed down and everything seemed almost still. For about half a second. Then the screaming started. I was pushed to the ground and a woman fell on top of me. People were stepping on both of us running for the exit, running for the back, running into each other in chaos. My wrist screamed in pain, my ribs were probably broken, and I was pinned under this woman who was now unconscious.
The last thing I saw was a boot coming down on my face. | 14 | The bloodiest black Friday to ever occur happens. Millions are dead. The malls are bloodbaths. Tell me more about it. | 15 |
Carl had kept a journal ever since he could remember. It probably wasn't even that long, not even a full century, but he had kept it. Day in, day out he would sit down and write about what happened aboard the ship. He remembered about twenty-five years ago when they passed by a comet, and some of the passengers put on their space suits and went on a little joyride in a pod to get a closer look. And then there was the time when they were taking a look at a binary star system because the scientists aboard ship requested it, and...
Something else happened too, Carl was sure. He just couldn't quite make out the details. Maybe he could take a look at the journal entry for that day. Well, it probably wasn't important. He turned himself back to today's journal entry.
Coming to the end of the page, he blinked. That was the last page in the journal. This had been his journal for at least a century, and now it was full. What did one do with finished journals, anyway? He looked around his room. He was a librarian, the only one on board as far as he knew. His room was really just the far end of the library, where he kept all the books he needed to shelve and all the books to approve for placement in the library. Quite a few of those were from that physicist, John. He hadn't had much to do lately, so he had been writing. He wasn't bad at it either.
Maybe he should file his finished journal on one of the back room shelves, like John has been doing with his writings.
Navigating towards the autobiographical section, he moved to file his journal on a shelf he vaguely recognized. Taking a second look at the shelf, he realized that every book on that shelf looked exactly like the journal he had just finished writing in. He pulled the oldest looking book off the shelf. Carl gulped, and opened it.
And closed it after reading the first two lines. This used to be his journal too, but it was dated with a date three millennia ago.
He pressed a button to cycle through the shelves. More journals, even older than the one he just picked up. He kept cycling, each time finding older and older and older journals. Finally he came to the last shelf.
He held the ancient tome in his hand, wondering how long ago it was he wrote this. He remembered nothing else besides this ship. He had been here forever, he thought. But maybe he did come from somewhere. He opened the book.
*Carl's journal.
Day one aboard the Ark. We left planet Earth today.*
He lived on a planet? Planets were ominous, terrible things. He couldn't remember specifically why, but he was sure whenever someone went to a planet, misfortune befell them.
*We are humanity's first bet at colonization. Thanks to the new cure for old age, time won't be an issue.*
Colonization? Carl read further, scanning the entries for a destination. He had to have written it down somewhere...
That was today. The arrival date was today. They were going to land on a planet! Carl ran out of the ship's library, sprinting all the way to the viewroom. There he found a few other people, all as bewildered as he, all looking out the window at their new home.
Carl looked too.
Oceans rolled peacefully around brown, lifeless continents. Ice was gathered at the poles. The planet was unlike any of those they had surveyed on the way in. It had a beauty to it, a serene grace. The loudspeakers crackled to life.
"This is your captain speaking. I almost forgot, but we appear to have a destination after all. We will be landing soon. Welcome to Terra, everyone." | 11 | One day humanity discovers the cure to old age, but they did not consider that humans can only remember so much. Countless years later most, if not all humans have completely forgotten all but the most recent century or so, if even that... | 30 |
It was fitting, actually. Jesus was nailed to a cross - a human innovation - and Heaven and Hell were tamed by machines.
We were holed up in the City of Angels. Gunfire lit up the Los Angeles skyline as pockets of troops held out at street corners, in looted buildings, and within the giant skyscrapers that dwarfed even the famed Tower of Babylon.
Their primary advantage was their mobility. Demons clung to the sides of buildings and Angels soared over the skyline as they fought over the fate of humanity. Their initial numbers were overwhelming, too. When Tannhauser Gate burst open in Ottawa, the city was overrun in a matter of hours. The surprise at the scale of the invasion from Heaven meant scrambling the troops lost us valuable territory and information about troop movements.
Likewise, the opening of Erebus in London heralded a demonic invasion on a scale unimaginable. The Bible-thumping fundamentalists could only stand, slack-jawed, as abominations poured out of the gaping wound and rended their flesh with torture instruments unthinkable by man.
After the initial invasions, more gates burst forth - usually in populated urban centers - and so for a moment it looked like humanity was doomed.
Then we remembered the progress we'd made in the last ten thousand or so years - brewing beer, domesticating animals, making spears, and so forth - and chuckled. With the Second Coming occurring today, the forces of Heaven and Hell were woefully behind on what we'd been up to.
I gazed upon a demon climbing eagerly towards me, the broken glass beneath his claws doing little to dissuade him from scaling the side of the financial building.
A shell from an M1 Abrams proved a little more persuasive, as he plummeted to the ground.
I took a puff of my cigarette. No sense in being urgent on break. Plenty of time to panic later.
An angel swooped down. Her otherwise beautiful face was twisted in a look of contempt and scorn at my presumably sinful form. I snorted in derision before she was blown out of the sky by a rocket. As she tumbled down to earth, her wings ripped from her by terminal velocity, I tapped some of my ashes out.
"Captain," a voice called out behind me, "Break time's over. Man the machine-gun nest. My trigger finger's tired."
I nodded at my superior as he walked up behind me and offered him a light. Long day ahead, but everyone was pretty certain it would turn out fine.
What was that saying? Ah, right.
Always look on the bright side of life. | 445 | Armageddon happens and the forces of Heaven and Hell come to Earth for the final battle only to have vastly underestimated the technological advancements of mankind. | 741 |
This is bullshit.
I have been standing here for what feels like an hour, but no one's at the service desk. Honestly, I have no idea what time it is, because there are no clocks in heaven.
Isn't there an angel or something that guards the gates? Either way, this is the worst customer service I have ever experienced. 4/10 would not recommend.
I tap the bell again, wondering why heaven was so foggy.
I just want to get inside and see my dog again. Dogs go to heaven right? Or is there, like a specific area for dogs? So many questions...
"If only...there was someone here to help me..." I said out loud, hoping to catch the attention of someone.
That's when I notice it. The gates. Spread wide and open like the legs of a prostitute in the vicinity of rich men.
I looked around suspiciously, but saw nothing but thick fog. Tiptoeing ever closer to the pearly gates, I saw they were totally ajar.
Shit, this was starting to smell fishy, and it wasn't the grilled fillet sandwich stuffed in my pocket.
Red splatters adorned the pillars. Either Michael J. Fox was painting or that's actual blood.
"Angels don't bleed, right?"
I looked down at the ground and saw a single white feather. It was huge, nearly the size of a ruler.
So for the sake of plot progression, I walk through the gates.
The smell was atrocious, the scent of sulfur combined with charcoal burning my nostrils. I'm still in heaven right?
Carriages were engulfed in blue flames. Blackened husks of trees contrasted against the amethyst sky. Rubble and destruction as far as the eyes could see.
A snarl.
I whipped my head to the left.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
Classic mistake.
Without warning a creature with six legs and a vagina with teeth for a mouth pounced on me, pinning me to the ground.
Goddammit, I'm going to die a second time, while I'm in heaven.
PPPFFFT-SPLISH
The abomination on top of me slunk over to the side and collapsed into a pool of what seemed to be acid. A glowing sizzling arrow was buried in its head.
I looked up to see a figure wearing white robes. He also had wings and was brandishing a majestic recurve bow.
"Er...thanks." I said meekly.
The figure extended his hand to help me up as I examined the creature a bit more.
"What the hell was that?"
"Demons. The bitches of Satan." His voice seemed to have three other simultaneous male voices at once. He spat on the demon corpse.
"Whoa. What-demons? How did demons get into heaven?"
"They decimated our imperial guard and ran through the gates."
"How did they manage to do that?"
"With their legs."
"Oh."
"We have to hurry."
"No offense angel-guy, but your security is too fucking lax all right? Also, you might wanna fire that receptionist."
"What is your name?" asked the angel.
"Um, Kevin, spelled with a 'k'."
"Well, Kevin spelled with a 'k', I'm going to take you to another realm, where it's going to be safe."
This is insane.
"Safe? I thought heaven was safe? What's happening? Where's my dog?"
Suddenly, the angel took aim and fired another arrow, at what seemed to be a zombie in a Nazi uniform. The arrow detonated, and the nazi zombie turned into black ash.
"Nazis?"
"Yeah, they're part of Satan's army."
"Who else is part of the army?"
"Oh, you know, pedophiles, child molesters, and people who talk at the theater. There's many more."
"Can't believe this actually happening."
The angel handed me a crossbow from out of nowhere.
"What-why-why are you giving me this?"
The angel's face turned grim. "Kevin spelled with a 'k', you know how to use that?"
"Uh, kinda, I played some video games- why are you calling me that-"
The angel took aim once more. "Good. Because a storm is coming."
I looked at where he was aiming and saw a massive horde heading towards us.
"Um, angel dude, we should call for back-up, like right now-"
"We are the back-up." muttered the angel as he fired.
I'm in heaven. And I'm scared for my life.
EDIT: Thanks for the complements, it means a lot! | 54 | You have died, only to find yourself at the pearly gates of Heaven. To your surprise, the gate is ajar and blood can be seen on it. The angel that usually stands guard is nowhere to be found. | 61 |
"It's over Anakin!"
Obi Wan pleaded with his apprentice, his friend, his brother for the final time. Sickness wracked his stomach at the thought, he had to appeal to the boy's logic rather than conscience.
"I have the high ground."
Anakin showed no sign of surrender. He *hated* so, he was willing to forgo all his training, all his common sense and even warning from the force, if he could delude himself into finding a way to win. Just like him.
"You under-" *Padme*
Anakin's voice caught, his lightsaber dropping an inch, his grip loosening. The eyes which had, a moment before, dripped with sweat and hate, welled up. For a moment. *I killed her.* He seemed to shiver with that hate. His gaze strengthened, more molten than the river on which he stood. *He killed her.*
"You underestimate my power."
"Don't try it."
Always the teacher, berating. The commander, ordering. The master. Deciding. *He poisoned her. The way she looked at me. Like a monster. Before I-*
Obi Wan felt a disturbance in the force. He braced himself for the impending attack, for Anakin to try and kill him in mid-air. Always the show-off. *I can't.* He raised his lightsaber. *I won't.*
Obi Wan brought his lightsaber up to his body, closing his eyes. He surrendered. If the boy wanted to strike him down, well, he could live with that. Or not, as it may turn out.
He felt the boy raise his lightsaber. Felt him tense his muscles, his mind decide. Felt him relax.
"Master..."
Obi Wan opened his eyes. The boy- No. His friend sheathed his saber, dropped it onto the platform and watched as it rolled into the lava. Anakin dropped to his knees.
"I *killed* her, Master."
He was sobbing. He, the same boy who had single-handedly deactivated a droid army, had taken on Count Dooku alone, for a time, as a mere Padawan. Who the council believed would bring balance to the Force, and broken his vows for love.
"I loved her."
The boy had defeated the Emperor. If anyone deserved a little leniency in regards to rules, he did.
"Anakin, search your feelings. Feel the force. Think of Padme."
Anakin did as he was told. He grew silent. He opened his eyes. Obi Wan watched as shock overthrew hate, hope overwhelmed suffering. Anger dissipated. He knew peace.
"She's alive." | 29 | Obi-Wan is able to convince Anakin to come back to the Light Side | 37 |
"You keep mentioning this 'internet'," Amvea said, interrupting me. "I do not understand what it is. It seems like half of your life in your world happened upon it."
I smiled wryly at how right she was. "It's a complicated thing to understand. You need to understand many other things for it to make sense. Like a spell of the fourth level, for you to really know what's going on, you have to understand runes, terentimy, the mana landscape, and the language of Bauy'zn. And that's without even going into the history of those things."
"So it's like magic?" She raised her eyebrows. "You said your world didn't have magic. Were you lying to me, Ben-ja-min?" She nudged me with an elbow, deliberately mispronouncing my foreign name. After three years, she knew very well to call me Ben, but she when she wanted to annoy me she would use my full, mangled name.
I frowned, shaking my head. "No, it's not magic, just similarly complicated..." I trailed off, realizing that there might be a way I could explain it to her. "Actually, it is sort of like magic. Or at least, I can explain it like it is."
I took her elbow, and pulled her down with me to kneel in the sands. Taking a piece of dry driftwood, I thanked the moon for being bright enough to see by, and started to draw on the beach.
"Alright, so the first step of understanding it is knowing these devices called computers." I drew a box on the ground, and tapped it with the stick. "They use a sort of mana called electricity, which I've told you about." I looked to her.
She nodded, reciting, "Electricity is what lightning is made of, but made by humans and used to power machines and other devices."
"Yes," I said, drawing a line out from the computer. "What I didn't tell you is that electricity can send out information, once it's gone through a computer. A computer is like a rune-inscribed mirror placed at a mana apex, in that way."
"So it can send pictures," she realized. "It's like scrying."
"No, no. Don't jump to conclusions. It's much more than that. The computer is like the focal point for an entire branch of magic based on transfer of information." I drew another box at the end of the line, making two connected computers. "The information all traveled the same way, though electricity, but it was in computer language, like mana is focused through the language of Bauy'zn. It only made sense to other computers, like how Bauy'zn only makes sense to the mana landscape." I drew some Bauy'zn glyphs atop the line, to demonstrate. Below it, I inscribed some 1's and 0's.
"Once the other computer got the message, it would translate it into information that a human can understand, like a manifested spell." I drew more boxes, more lines. "The internet is what it was called when you linked up every single computer in the world with every other. Imagine if everyone in this world had a computer, and could use it to put out information that everyone else could find."
Amvea's eyes narrowed a bit in thought, then widened. "We could find the location of the Berna stones without having to ask so many townsfolk. We could just use internet."
"Use *the* internet," I corrected gently. "There was only one." I drew a big circle around the web of boxes and lines. "And all of this communication was instant, or near enough. It was so fast, through computers, we could even play games like Manaball with people on the other side of the planet."
Her eyebrows raised skeptically. "You do not have the reflexes for Manaball. I doubt you ever were good at such games."
"Oho," I said, grinning. "You would disagree if you ever played a game of League of Legends against me. Since the information traveled so fast, our games could be even more complicated and strategic than ones that people could play in real life, requiring a lot of thinking."
"I can understand the allure of such," she said. "Sometimes ball games do get dull for the mind."
Looking down at what I'd drawn, I said slowly, "I think that's about it. Any kind of information you could think of, computers would move it through the internet, and it could be accessed from any other computer. Even complicated things like moving pictures, and games. That's why so much of what I know, I learned from there."
She hummed thoughtfully, looking at my diagram " *Any* kind of information, you say?" She glanced at me with a wicked grin.
I laughed. "Oh yes, like you wouldn't believe. And catering to every taste you can imagine, and more you probably can't."
She sniffed, indignant. "I doubt that very much. My imagination is very vast and powerful, which is why I am such a better spellcaster than you."
"Perhaps," I allowed. "But when every human in the world is coming up with new ideas and putting them on the internet, the imaginations of so many will exceed yours, no matter how great it is."
She thought about that for a moment. "Especially since you say your world had billions of people upon it. That is so many, to all be thinking of new things for all the rest to see." She was quiet for a moment, and suddenly hugged me tight. "I am glad that you are the one to come to me, out of so many, Ben." Then she stood, helping me up as well. The tide was coming towards us, and the drawing was fading away as a gentle wind blew sand across my lines.
We started to move on again, leaning close against each other. "Ben," Amvea started, her tone thoughtful. "If the internet was so vast, with so many kinds of information, and you spent so much time on it, then there must be many things that you know that I do not."
"Most likely," I admitted. "Though I'm not sure how much of it would be useful."
"Tell me these things." Her hand squeezed mine. "Tell me them all, useful or no. I must learn, and you will teach me." | 26 | A traveler from this world ended up in a fantasy land. They try to explain to their new friends what the internet is. | 18 |
"My name is Daisy. You have to keep my name. All my things have daisies on them." I stroked the cat that wound its way around my feet. I was talking to a man who had found me here in the yard, and told me in an echo-y voice that it was time to manifest and declare his dominion over the world. He would take over my body and be me instead of me. I thought this was funny, because he was a tall man, only shimmery and I could see through him sometimes.
"And when Mommy tells us to go to bed, you have to go. Or there's fruit for breakfast instead of coco puffs. I like coco puffs."
"No mortal can bend me to their will."
"Except at bedtime." I insisted. "Because of the breakfast fruit. Sometimes it's only apple slices, too." I struggled to convey the seriousness of the situation. "Instead of coco puffs." I finished, in case he had missed the point.
"Mortal, you have misread my intent. You will not be there. I will devour your soul. Your reward will be the honour of manifesting my divine presence."
"You said I could have wishes. You have to still be Daisy and go to bed on time and do as you're told." I said, sternly, as the cat tried to rub against the man's legs, and then ran off, hissing. "And, when you go away and I come back, my room has to be tidy and … and … " I was starting to get the hang of this wishing thing … "you can't wear my sunflower socks, only the daisy ones."
"You will not come back. You will be cast into the void."
"But only for … three days. No, a week." I conceded. "You can be a manifest for a week, if you promise not to tell, and if you're good."
"I must tell of my arrival. I will sound my presence in every ear, so they bow to the name Asurogoth."
"DAISY." I scolded him, wondering if he had been paying any attention at all. "Also, you can play with Freddie, but not let him have my things. He breaks them and mommy never tells him off."
The manifest man looked at me, all shimmery and I think a little bit angry like when I won't go to bed at first until Mommy tells me about the breakfast fruit. After a little while, he talked again.
"I can accomplish all I need in seven days. I will return you from the void, if these are your terms. To be Daisy. To go to bed when told, in exchange for … coco puffs. Keep your room tidy and only wear the daisy socks. Do not let Freddie have your things to break."
I nodded along.
I don't remember much about what happened next. Mommy seemed very glad and hugged me and said she was worried I wouldn't get back to 'my old self', and I had to talk to a nice lady. Freddie hides in his room and won't touch my things even if I give them to him. I can have all the coco puffs I want. I looked in the paper and on the television to see if I had been a manifest all over the world, but there was nothing. Mommy keeps telling me to go to bed and rest.
My daisy socks are missing. | 11 | A god wants to take over your body in order to appear in the real world but can only do so if you allow it. State your terms. | 27 |
I was fourteen when it all started. I'd been out one day, waiting for some friends at the park, as you do. I was eating a chocolate bar and apathetically tossed the wrapper aside. An old lady approached me.
"Don't you have any respect? Pick that up."
Naturally I ignored her, being the lovely young man that I was until she screamed.
"Fine! Have it your way! If you shall litter the Earth, then I shall litter your mind."
She promptly left and I was confused, I assumed she was just a bit of an old bat. The wrapper blew away, and my friends turned up. We played some football, I was always fairly horrendous at that.
The next day, I woke up. For some reason the first thing I thought of was the old lady. I realised that it was fairly obnoxious for me to act that way to someone. Ah well, I'll probably never see her again anyway. I went downstairs and greeted my mother who has been a bit of a struggling single for a while now (I guess having an obnoxious teenage brat doesn't help much). There was a two, hovering above her head; cyan in colour. I wasn't really sure what it meant at the time. I knew that, objectively, this was strange. Intuitively, however, it felt oddly natural. So I went about my day.
As I went through school that day, I noticed everybody had the numbers. Notably my friend Tim who was a brown belt in karate had a blue four, our loud ex-military teacher who enjoyed startling sleeping students was a yellow six. The school bully was a turquoise three. Most students were a one or a two; shades of green. I could never see a number above my own head in reflections or anything like that, much to my frustration.
When I watched TV I noticed that powerful people tended to have quite high numbers. The anchor had a five, the prime minister had a nine, some footage of an army doing a parade seemed to show a range from six to eight (a vibrant red).
Eventually, after having thought about this for a few weeks, I concluded that the number corresponded to danger. Being dangerous can mean many things. It can mean you're potent in a fight, or it can mean you have a lot of say socially.
One day, I was sitting in the park with my mother and some of her friends on a day out. She introduced me to someone new. Short, goatee, slicked back hair and an eight. He sat there, casually sipping on a can of lager. My mum introduced him as Sean, "my new boyfriend."
"WHAT?!"
So I couldn't control that little outburst, I must admit I panicked a bit. An eight is a member of the cabinet, a soldier, a serial murderer (What? The numbers come up on Crimewatch as well, you know).
He interjected, "Haha! Relax kid. I'm going to be around for a while"
At which point he leaned in and kissed my mum. This was not affection; this was dominance.
In the following days, I took my mum aside repeatedly to try to convince her to get out of this. She was, how can I put it? Thoroughly unwilling. So now I was anxious, I was frustrated. We were around Sean's house at the time. He came in later that day, bringing home some shopping, he bought me a chocolate bar. Well, that was nice? Thanks.
So it started out nicely enough. He could tell that I was anxious, and so he'd buy me little things to try to win my affections. To be honest, it started to work. My mum was in love with him and despite the red flags, I was honestly settling to the arrangement. What I hadn't noticed were the little things. At first it began as complaints; "the jam isn't in the cupboard I said to put it in", "clean up that fucking cat shit". Benign, but said with a sharp tongue.
Eventually he offered to fully support my mother. I'm not really sure how he was able to do this as he didn't have a job of which to speak, but it seemed to work out. My mum quit her job at the supermarket and now had much more free time to... "do those fucking dishes," to "make a doctor's appointment for me". He spoke repeatedly of their sex life to me. Thanks for telling me. Over time his demands were shouting.
Mum's number dropped from a two to a one. Something was wrong.
This kind of behaviour carried on for a year. I was the frog in the pot.
Eventually he started doing things; hitting her when I wasn't around. I didn't notice of course, although I started to pick up the signs. Then one day I did. They had a huge argument. They were shouting, things were thrown. They wouldn't stop. The walls closed in. I had nowhere to go. In my right conscience, I had nowhere I could go. I was just as frightened as she was until that is I heard a crack; he headbutted her. Blood poured forth. I freaked the fuck out. I started screaming. I started crying. I had no idea what way was up. I briefly ran into the bathroom to try to collect myself and figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do. I was scared. I was shaking. I was angry. I was livid. I was FURIOUS. And through the tears I saw the stained bathroom mirror. Everything was blurry but I saw it right there. Black as night, floating right above my own head. I could finally see it: Ten.
"Fuck them, fuck him, fuck everyone. Fuck this abusive piece of shit. I am taking control of this situation."
In that very briefly lucid state, I called an ambulance.
I then broke the mirror, threw it at the ground. I picked the the largest shard of glass and looked at myself again. Ten. Definitely ten.
I called down. "Sean! Let's fucking talk!"
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Edit:
Thanks so much for the comments, upvotes and especially those kind folk who gave me gold! I couldn't have hoped for a nicer reception to this.
You should also listen to this audio version: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmhw3df | 4,685 | You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10. | 4,371 |
It feels like I'm waking from a long dream. When I get my bearings there's nothing but glass surrounding me. I have four walls of glass, but there are also others next to me. And next to them.
What is this place?
I decide to knock on the window next to mine. His setup is exactly like my own: a bed, a chair, a computer and a small tinted bathroom.
The burly gentleman pays no mind to me. I knock louder. He flips me the bird and goes back to doing something on his computer.
No matter. I have three other walls to knock on: a teenage girl, a middle-aged woman and an older man. I am about to knock on the older man's connecting wall but then the computer in my room turns on abruptly.
"Leave the others alone. They do not need to be disturbed by you. Any questions you have can be asked on your computer," a voice sounding very far away says.
"Where am I?" I ask the computer, sitting at the chair.
"You are in holding. The population of the world has sprung to such a high number we felt we needed to take action. You will be fed and clothed here. You have the computer to entertain you," the voice answers in a monotone kind of way.
"Who is the 'we' you speak about?" I ask.
"That is none of your concern. Are there further questions or do you wish to play a game? All games are formatted to meet many of your social needs as well as your entertainment desires. It is the best way to speak to others in the cubes." The voice answers.
"Why won't you tell me who you are?" I ask, defiantly.
"It is classified. We only wish to help the human population." The voice answers quickly.
"Are you not human yourself?" I wonder out loud.
"That is enough questioning. Put on your headset and let's play a game."
The haedset that I had not previously noticed looks like a regular pair of glasses. The glass is so clear that it doesn't even appear at first to wrap around the entirety of the eye.
Immediately I am pulled into a world that looks exactly like the world I had left. I am transported to my bedroom in my small house. It is a mess, just like I left it. I walk out of my bedroom, through the living room to outside. There are others wandering around. It looks like my entire block was taken.
"Hey," offers my short, middle-aged male neighbour, never much being chatty before. "How'd you like it?"
"It's... Wierd." I answer, feeling a chill from the winter that I'm not dressed for.
"Better put on a jacket." My neighbour says and then chuckles.
"Why? It isn't real." I answer, crossing my arms.
"Your mind thinks it is. Don't wanna go hypothermic." He says, grabbing his shovel and getting to work on the driveway.
I go back inside, grab my jacket, and head back out. A food truck is driving down the steeet and I know it will be parked at the park as usual. I head there to get a bite to eat.
The park is filled more than usual with many people I have never seen before. I'm guessing many of them became shut-ins when the war started.
I head to the food truck. It has a warning: 'Do not forget to eat for real. This is not a substitute meal.'
Good to know. Text flashes on my screen immediately following: 'Supper has been provided in your cubicle. Don't forget to refuel. Head to the nearest jump point to re-enter reality.'
I see a blue circle in the middle of the park that many people are leaving and coming from. That must be it. I forgo the food truck and head back to reality.
Reality feels somehow... Scratchier than virtual reality. It is less fine-tuned. My meal is sitting on my bed for me. It is gruel, of course. No wonder the food truck is such an attraction. I fight the gruel down and decide to check on my cube neighbours.
They're all... Sleeping. Some of them aren't even in their beds.
"Computer," I ask frantically, "why is everyone sleeping?"
"It is unplug time. A nurse will be with you shortly. Try to relax." The computer answers.
I turn around frantically, looking for the nurse. There is no nurse, but coming from the ceiling is a small globe. The glass closes behind it and a cord is cut. The globe falls to the ground and sprays gas.
As I get sleepier and sleepier I head to my bed and just accept it. This is my life now. Gruel, sleeping gas and all. | 16 | You wake up one day in a room with four walls made of glass. Surrounding yo are hundreds of other people stuck in their own rooms. | 18 |
Harold was a spy. His mission was to plant a tiny listening device on an ultra-wealthy philanthropist at a black tie art gala.
Harold stepped out of a sleek limbo near the gala’s grand entrance way. This got him some odd looks, but Harold gamely straightened up and told a gawping valet, “I’ve been working on my flexibility. Health regimen, you know. Can’t just take the *limo* everywhere.”
Harold strode up the steps and presented his invitation at the door. He was welcomed into the main floor and instantly there was a wader by his side with a tray of champagne glasses.
“Drink, sir?” he asked Harold. Harold eyed the man’s waterproof overalls with annoyance.
“Waiter.” he hissed under his breath. “It’s *waiter*.”
The waiter looked confused, but at least he was dressed normally now. Harold swiped a glass of champagne and scanned the room for his target. A flash of red caught his eye, and he traced it to a voluptuous blond in a crimson dress. The blond winked and twirled his mustache.
*Blonde with an “E” at the end* Harold thought desperately, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, the blonde was smiling and coyly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Harold slumped a little with relief. *Much better*, he thought.
Harold made his way towards her, intending to have a bit of fun before he carried out his mission. But he had taken only a few steps before he bumped the elbow of a thin, tuxedo-clad man clutching a glass of whine.
“Why did you *do* that,” the man whinged. “It’s so *unfair*!”
“Wine,” muttered Harold, pushing past him with a pained expression, “*Wine*.”
Thankfully the man had gone silent, and was now frowning down at his glass of Merlot. Harold approached the blonde with his trademark smirk in place.
“I couldn’t help but notice,” he began, “That you’re the most beautiful wombat here.”
He instantly found himself addressing a large, furry marsupial instead of an attractive woman. Harold pinched the bridge of his nose, at his wit’s end.
“OKAY.” Harold shouted, “I AM DONE. Stop writing this on your phone with auto-correct, or I quit!”
Patrons around him looked over in surprised at his outburst, but Harold stood his ground and tapped his foot. And waded. And waded. ...He was now in knee-deep water.
“*WAITED!!*" Harold yelled as he threw his hands up in disgust. He tossed his champagne glass aside where it promptly sank with a small *plunk*, sloshed through the water back to the door, and left in a huff. | 81 | A narrator is trying to tell a story, but the main character has to keep fixing the mistakes he makes. | 47 |
My Motorola vibrated, no use in checking the tag. I knew who it was, and I knew why he was calling. Its been years since I've seen Jason in person, he doesn't strike me as one to change much. He always walked with golden air around him. He never knew what insecurity was, he said he "had no use for it". Jason pioneered effective asteroid mining in the 2050's with trillions in capitol from every industry that had a use for platinum and silver. I picked up the call.
"Jason?"
"Yeah.. Listen we need to talk. Im sure you know why."
I did know why, but I didn't know how much he knew of my research.
"yeah about that.."
"name your price"
"its not that simple" my lie was a simple one.
"okay. fine, lets talk over dinner. Your place."
"see you at 8"
I collected my files. There was nothing else to do. The middle class is a dying breed, and I have no intention in joining the billions in the Dark City. Ive always wanted an implant.
8pm sharp, how predictable.
I lifted the shade off of the windows with a switch and he waived me outside.
Jason was overdressed. I waived it off in my head as a habit. He stepped out of the long, obsidian black Corelis 107 as he has done a million times. Exits always look more graceful when you're jumping out of a 4 Million dollar levitating Tracer Bike. Its one of seven in the world he tells me.
"whats it make?" I ask, knowing the reply will be quick
"3097 Classic Horsepower at the coils. Itl do 700 clicks an hour if you've got the road for it"
I smiled. Jason really hasn't changed at all. Still that wide eyed kid who got his kicks by revving his vintage Jaguar in the high-school parking lot.
"well then, lets hear it rev"
"tracers don't rev Tom, no moving parts."
"you know what I mean"
he laughed, I could see the light flare off of his implants. A few perfect metallic squares a centimeter across flush with the skin behind his ear. He will remember every word of this conversation, as well as every conversation for as long as he lives. Lots of rare metals and over a million a piece, Im sure his kids have them too.
He hit the metaphorical gas in neutral, the vehicle emitted a fast rhythmic orchestral alien blast of sound. The sound energy shook the grass on my lawn and vibrated my eyes. Pure blue and white jets of ionized gas exited 3 feet out of the 4 exhaust vents on each side, pulsing 10 times a second in a perfect cycle. My hair stood up on end. A car alarm could be heard in the distance.
"lets get inside Thomas, we have a lot to talk about. I brought almonds"
"you little outlaw you"
"If I bring in 1400 tons of freshwater a day, I deserve a few almonds. To hell with the water crop laws they're almost extinct for gods sake"
"you're right. We do have a lot to talk about"
I could tell he was in an unfamiliar environment. It must have been years since he left the Community. Drastic times call for drastic measures I suppose. He looked around at the dust. I bet he remembers what dust is. No static attractors here, for the price of one for a room I could put a down payment on a life time college loan.
We sat down at my grandfathers table, it was wood. Something I'm sure even to him is a rarity these days.
I pulled my files onto the projector, it was simply a gesture. He knows what Ive found.
Im a problem function engineer. Nothing is designed by hand anymore. You design the roles you want the output to serve, the rules that constrain them, and a series of programs that mimics evolution carves the output. I design problems for genetic algorithm farms to solve, after 20 years of working alone on my project I had achieved what I had set out to do. Last week, my farm I had been leasing completed the design and composition for a tether strong enough for a space elevator. If built, the repercussions to the elevated price level of Jasons business would send his shareholders into a Bear frenzy. It would destroy the empire.
I knew he would take my research and lock it in a safe.
People think a space elevator would be the end of the tech-wealth disparity caused by the exclusivity of Rare Metals.
And I had the key.
Jason wrote me the check.
Ive always wanted an implant.
| 22 | In the future, the gap between the rich and poor has expanded so much that only the ultra wealthy can afford advanced technology. An old friend from high-school is one of these "percenters", and shows up to your house for dinner. | 42 |
Famine set her tray down on the stained table top. The full moon of the empty plate gleamed under the sterile florescent glare. A single stalk of wilted green celery tumbled across the porcelain. The hiss of escaping fizz cut above the chatter of the cafeteria, followed by the crackle of ice as she poured out her Coke Zero.
War looked up from his plate, his t-shirt straining as his muscles fought with each other for room underneath. His own tray had two plates piled high until they overflowed, and a third one empty on the table. He still had face paint from the game of the night before under his eyelids. Famine's nose crinkled at the smell of sweat and crushed grass under the cloying sweetness of deodorant.
"You know there's like one calorie in that drink," said War, his voice as commanding as it had been on countless battlefields.
"It's my cheat day. Can't be working all the time."
Famine raised the stalk of celery to her lips and bit down, her hollow cheeks working as she chewed.
"Why eat at all, if that's your game?" asked War.
"Eh, it drags things out. A good famine lasts months and years. You go to hard and fast and they put you in ICU. Moving your food around on the plate and sticking your fingers down the back of your throat goes so much further. Say, speak of the devil."
"What Satan's back again?"
"No, it's Pestilence. Hey stranger."
A pudgy, bespectacled youth sat down between the pair, the swell of his belly managing to fill out his sweatshirt. Acne blotted his visage.
"Hey guys."
"How's the biology club?" asked Famine, taking a delicate sip from her glass of Coke.
"Same old. Not like my old gig, but got to rack up those credits if I'm ever to see my old friends in a lab someday. A good plague needs perfect design. Vectors, incubation times. It's not just men with pokey metal bits chasing each other over a field."
"I don't understand why you still try, man. Just give it up. We're all stuck here." Crumbs of food sprayed from War's mouth as he spoke. Pestilence wiped a fleck of food off his pimple encrusted cheek, wincing as a large pustule popped open, leaving a smear of yellowish pus on his face. He dabbed at it with a napkin before replying.
"It's all we've got. You don't just give things up after a few thousand years, you know."
Old anger lit up Famine's face. Her voice became sharp and thin, like a scrape of a knife on a bare plate. "And if you had been better at your job we wouldn't even be here."
War rolled his eyes. They'd been through this countless times over the year, since the aborted apocalypse.
The color rose Pestilence's face, although it was hard to tell. "Even the Mayans got it wrong. How was I supposed to know what calendar to use. I didn't ask to go first you know. The least you guys could have done was to check it out for yourselves before gearing up. Where was the big guy in all of this?"
War polished off his second plate and burped loudly. "I'd haven't seen him around much. Not that he ever spoke to us much. Bit of a loner that one."
"I see him around," said Famine. "Still dresses in black mostly. I wonder what he does. I mean, the rest of us still try and do what we can to keep up appearances. I bet he kills small animals or something."
War, amongst the four of them, always had the sharpest eyes. "Isn't that him right there?"
And it was. The fourth horseman. Exiled like the other three. Rider on a pale horse, the end of days, in skinny jeans and a too large black coat, his hair slicked back over a face so white and gaunt that the three could barely tell he was a high school child rather than a seven foot tall skeleton.
Famine raised her hand in a half wave before thinking better of it and paying closer attention to her celery.
"Something smells familiar about him today," rumbled War. "I wonder why he never kept in touch. Probably had a hard time letting go as well. I mean one day you're the destroyer of worlds and the next day the football team puts you in a trash bin."
Death shrugged, letting the duffel bag on his shoulders hit the floor with a thump that was loud enough to break the flow of idle chatter in the cafeteria. A thump that held strangely metallic overtones. The boy bent down and took something out from his bag, something black and metal that smelled of smoke, and of oil. And of Death.
War swallowed.
"Oh shit."
| 65 | As punishment for starting the rapture early, the four-horseman are put into the body's of four angsty high-schoolers, write out their day at school. | 77 |
Dearest Daughter
As you are reading this today marks an event for human kind that ranks higher on the historical record than the invention of modern medicine, computers, space travel, or anything else we may have achieved in the last several hundred years of progress.
Today is the day we made first contact with extra terrestrial life. today proves to us that we are not alone in the universe of sentient life.
whatever emotions that may rattle within you need to be met with a modicum of salt however. while we are not alone, this poses more questions to echo through the stars, and even our new friends may not be able to answer - at least not unbiasedly.
it happened too fast. it sort of felt like star trek. we were going about our mission, studying the probe on the asteroid we landed on several years back.
in a brief moment of time our signal experienced heavy noise. the next thing we saw on the screen was an alien face.
it looked as you might expect, eyes, mouth, cranium. very different from our own, but distinct in nature and form. they learned our language through many years of television sent out as radio waves from the mid 20th century. they thought it would be hilarious to make contact via our existing probe, both because that would be less heart-attack inducing and because they know we can blast them out of the sky with our weapons so they are keeping at arms length.
anyhow the first thing they told us was that we shared a common heritage; and yes that sounds absurd. the people of earth share common cultural icons as an alien species? totally lacks credibility.
except the way they describe it ... i can't summarize it without it giving me chills. it has got to be a prank. they've got to be joking. if it is true then we ... well we are doomed.
they didn't pose the question directly. it had to warm up. their alien culture is a civilization based on anarchy. they have no leaders, no governments, no society. each family fends for themselves to whatever ends that may mean. one day one of their own people decided to send a message through their world, of peace and harmony. of love and respect. to turn from their ways and begin ritually witnessing and confessing their wrongs to a higher power; this higher power would bring prosperity to everyone if they followed this teaching. they were given rules to follow; no more killing each other for food, blankets, supplies, or land.
this great leader brought about a cultural shift that did ultimately what it was supposed to, but created a vast cultural rift between followers and non followers. followers celebrated peace through what they perceived to be a deity performing miraculous feats of power. followers for many centuries seemed to cling to this deity even though non-followers had developed their own breakthroughs in healthcare, quality of life, world order, and eventually space exploration. the followers to this day ascribe deity miracles to even basic forms of medical advances and have not integrated properly into their society as they are viewed by the non followers as slow to learn and weak willed.
as they told us this i conjured up many historical figures of our own earth history to try to match the story; great leaders of civilizations gone by. the pharaohs. the chinese emperors. the viking lords. the roman empire. the greeks. all vague figures but all probable as the next.
until they told us the name of this leader. upon hearing the name Jesus Christ my heart sank, i went cold, and my face must have gone white as a sheet.
this has implications beyond first contact. we hated this man.
i asked them in return two questions.
"what if we say no, we don't worship this Jesus" i asked. "but he does sound like a person we may have mirrored in our own mythos"
they got kind of angry at that. apparently Jesus was supposed to be an actual miracle worker that ascended from their planet in an extraordinary way, and headed to our star cluster (do they mean constellation?). if we did not have contact with him then their culture and history had been fake and war would break out on their home world.
i was nearly sick at the thought of the next question - if we did worship this person; well i'd have to admit we killed him. that might mean war with the aliens.
either way someone was going to have to broach the subject, and face its implications for life - well life in the universe.
trembling i asked "what would it mean if i answered Yes, we used to worship this figure - by the same name even"
at this they were taken slightly aback. i heard clicks, creaks, knocks, and moans. the aliens were communicating for several minutes. they replied after seeing my first big sweat drop hit the terminal.
"we want information concerning anything he has done here, any damage he may have caused to your civilization, or if your people have felt compelled to deify him in some aspect. half of us want to try him for war crimes and the other half would seek to ascribe him the full responsibility for the truly high standard of living brought about by his teaching"
i gulped. another sweat drop hit the terminal. the only thing i could think of was to delay the inevitable; i had to tell them we would have to search our historical archives.
either answer means civil war on another planet; trillions could die no matter what answer i give, many more still and human life will be spent if i tell them we killed him. | 14 | Human Kind makes first contact with an Extra-Terrestrial Society. Among their first questions for us are if we worship Jesus Christ. | 24 |
INT: Generic meeting room from any office building in America. There is a conference table with some chairs surrounding it, 9 of the 10 chairs occupied, and a white board covering one of the walls, with various bullet points and figures on it. This month's budget meeting for GloboTech starts in a couple of minutes. The attendees are sitting around the table, engaging in the normal workday chit-chat, waiting for Ted to show up
Polly: Where the hell is Ted?
Jen: I don't know, he was at his desk this morning
Polly: Well, he's supposed to bring the PowerPoint for this budget meeting. It's going to take him at LEAST five minutes to get everything set up. He better hurry the hell up, this room is booked solid today
Jen: Hold on, I'm texting him now
Steve, the office goofball, can see Polly is getting worked up, so he tries to lighten the mood
Steve: Yo Polly!
Polly: What?!
Steve: Office Christmas Party is next week. You know what that means, Santa Clause is coming to town!
Polly: (smiling) Oh, shut....up! I will kick you in the balls if you try that again!
Steve: I'm counting on it!
The entire meeting room erupts in laughter. Ted strolls in, and he is not looking very good.
Polly: Well, look who FINALLY decided to show up! OK, hurry up and get set up. Those bitches in HR will raise hell if we're even one minute over our time today...
Ted: AHHHHGGGHAAHAHGAHAHA
Polly: What's wrong with you?
Ted: POWER........POINT
Polly: Yes, YOU were supposed to bring the PowerPoint presentation!
Ted: COLOR......COPIES.......DUPLEX
Jen: Are you OK, Ted?
Ted: AHHHGGHAAHAAGGGHAHHAAGGGG. FUDDRUCKERS.....LUNCH
Jen walks up to Ted, with a concerned look on her face
Jen: Let me look at you, sweetie. Yep...jaundiced eyes, scaly skin...
Ted: JEN......TITTIES....NICE
Jen: (sighs) Says whatever is on his mind, no matter how offensive...Yep, looks like you got a nasty case of the Z1 virus
Polly: Damn it, Ted, you aren't supposed to come to work if you're sick! Didn't you get that email? Oh, who am I kidding, you wouldn't read an email if it had pics of Jennifer Aniston naked in it!
Steve: Hey Ted, I told you not to go out with that chick in IT! She'll give you a LOT more than a computer virus, if you know what I mean
Polly: SHUT UP, Steve! Jen, can he at least make it through the presentation?
Jen: I don't think so, he's in stage two already, probably about to go into stage three
Polly: SHIT! Well, I'll be damned if I have to spend another lunch hour getting a flesh wound debrided. OK everybody, looks like we'll have to postpone this meeting until next week.
Ted: AHHHGHAGHAAAHGAAAAA! TPS REPORT
Polly: YES Ted, I'll send you my TPS report today!
Ted: AHHHAAGGAHHAAAAAGGAAAAAAAHHGGAAAA
Polly: YES!! I'll put a cover sheet on it! (mumbles under her breath) Geez, you forget your cover sheet one goddamn time...
| 30 | A world where everyone gets the zombie virus once in a while. Like the cold, it's not a big deal. | 55 |
"Ben, sweetie, why don't you take a beer out to your dad in the garage?" Mom called from the kitchen. "Looks like he's working really hard on that old car today."
"Give me a second!" I called back. "I've just gotta kill a couple more of these guys."
With a few more jerks of the controller, my enemies were down, and I reluctantly shuffled into the kitchen. Mom was standing over the sink, wearing the most embarrassing item of clothing in the world. I don't know why 6 year old me thought it was a good decision to finger paint all over her white pants, but Mom made the way worse decision to continue wearing them sometimes.
"You playing that assassins game again?" Mom asked casually.
"Yeah, I'm getting pretty good," I replied. "Do I have to go out there? He always goes off on that time he fixed up a car with his dad, and it's just awkward."
Mom laughed and ruffled my hair.
"You think everything's awkward," she told me. "Come on, I've got all these dishes to finish."
Mom grinned as I sighed loudly and headed out to the garage, beer bottle in hand.
The bottle slipped from my fingers when I stepped into the garage, but I somehow managed to save it.
Dad -- yeah, MY dad -- was balancing that old dump of a car on his left pinky with his tools in his right hand.
"Dad?" I said hesitantly.
He turned around abruptly, nearly dropping a car as easily as I had just nearly dropped a bottle.
"Hey Ben!" Dad exclaimed, obviously nervous. "Didn't see you there!"
He put the car down gently before turning toward me again. I sat down on the steps of the garage, wishing the beer bottle was for me.
"How did y--" I began.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Dad said, cutting me off. "I didn't mean to keep it a secret for this long - it's just, I met your mom, we had you... My entire life just changed so fast."
I didn't know what to say, but I felt words begin to spill out of my mouth.
"Were you part of the Age of Heroes?" I blurted out.
Dad joined me on the step, sighing.
"I'm sure you've heard of Strong-Man," he shrugged.
I fought to stifle my snort.
"Don't give me that look!" Dad laughed. "I was 13 when I came up with the name, alright?"
"Whatever, man," I told him, laughing too now.
Soon, Dad became serious again.
"I'm sorry to spring this on you, Ben," he said. "I'm sure you need some time to think about this. We can talk about it later. Your mother doesn't know. I gave up the life to have a family - I guess I never thought they would find out. For now, we can keep it our secret, right?"
He took the beer bottle from me and gave me a reassuring pat on the back. I nodded numbly before heading back inside. How could he think I wasn't going to tell Mom? How could he hide something like this from us for so long?
When I got back to the kitchen, however, Mom wasn't there. It looked exactly as I had left it, dirty dishes and all. I called for her around the house to no avail. Great, of course she would disappear right when I need to tell her the most important discovery of my life.
I went into the living room and flopped onto the couch - my trusty TV could always be counted on to distract me. The news channel was on, and apparently there was some attempt at a breakout going on in the high security prison downtown.
"The attackers are all disguised, but there look to be some familiar villains from the bygone Age of Heroes!" the reporter said. "Looks like those supervillains lucky enough to survive that era are coming out in full force to break out their friends!"
I thought about alerting Dad - wouldn't he want to do something about it? Then again, despite me being alive for the past 16 years, the man had just thought to tell me that he was a superhero. And even that was because I had caught him using his powers. I didn't owe him anything.
Suddenly, part of the screen caught my eye and I looked up. The coverage was honing in on the attackers now - there were seven of them, but I was only looking at one.
She was running, literally in midair, dodging attacks and taking down anyone in her way. It was an amazing display of aerial abilities, especially since those were usually a superhero power. Still, that wasn't what I was looking at. The woman - the supervillain - was wearing the most embarrassing pants in the world. The pants that 6 year old me had fingerpainted all over. The pants that I had seen Mom wearing just minutes ago.
I slumped down even further in my seat. Who was the right person to turn to in a situation like this? How much did my grandparents know? My aunts and my uncles? My parents' friends? How could they have even ended up together? What was going to happen if they each found out?
Shaking these questions out of my head, I turned my videogame back on. Even if nobody else in this household was going to act normal, I damned well could. | 22 | A teen realizes that his mom is a supervillain and his dad is a superhero but that they don't know eachothers secret. | 68 |
Jason sprinted towards the police station, frantically scanning his surroundings. He had always seen the numbers, but today everyones were red. He pushed past an old man and shouted an apology as he frantically ran. Bursting through the doors of the station he slumped over the front desk, panting furiously. "Something.... something... bad" he managed as the lady behind the desk eyed him curiously from behind her large glasses. "Something... terrible... something terrible is going to happen" he puffed. "You're all going to die!" screamed Jason.
Suddenly an officer tackled Jason and slammed him to the floor. Dazed, he managed to free himself from the officers grip as they tussled. Jason wrestled himself upright as the fight continued. He cleaned the officer with a beautiful right hook that sent him catapulting over the desk and into the woman with the large glasses. Chaos began to ensue. Jason ran towards the door as the sound of shots rang loudly in his ears. He looked around him as adrenaline pumped through his system, his heartbeat throbbing through his brain. The numbers were red, everyones. He knew they were doomed. "you're all going to die!" he shrieked loudly. "The numbers, the numbers are fucking red you morons!"
People were beginning to stare now as Jason climbed to the top of a statue in the centre of the town. "The numbers! The numbers are red! he cried. "Get off the statue weirdo!" yelled a voice from behind him. He turned slowly with a look of insanity behind his widened eyes. "The numbers..." he whispered. "Yes, yes the numbers. Now get off the fucking statue. You're under arrest." said the officer, his face tinged with a pinkish rage. A large bruise was beginning to appear on his left cheek. "You don't understand!" Jason wailed. "Something bad is going to happen, something terrible, we have to do something!". The officer was growing impatient and he suddenly leapt onto the statue and grabbed Jason by the collar. "Now listen here you little punk, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer." Jason had had enough of this. Everyone was going to die and he was the only one that knew. A wave of emotion enveloped him and he grabbed the officer back, shoving him to the ground below and knocking him unconscious. A small stream of blood began to trickle down the concrete from his head. Jason jumped from the statue like a monkey, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. A small crowd gathered around the officer.
"What are you doing!?" Jason shouted. "You're all doomed!" he continued, beginning to hyperventilate. A large vein had begun to show itself on his forehead and sweat dripped furiously from his chin. He ripped his shirt off and threw it to the ground. Suddenly the world twisted to the side and the concrete slammed into Jason. A large fist smacked into his head bouncing it off the concrete. His vision became a chaotic blur. With all his strength he grasped at the figure holding him down and rolled with it, swinging punches in all directions. He felt its grip loosen and staggered to his feet. Through the blur he could make out a man writhing on the ground, spluttering and choking. He began to back away, realising what he had done. A crowd had gathered like school children at a playground fight, distanced in fear. Jason stared wildly at them, panting like a dog, jerking his head around the circle. "**What are you waiting for!**" he yelled. "**The numbers, the fucking numbers!**" Without warning he sprinted towards a gap in the crowd, shoving and pushing at people as he frantically tried to get through. He burst free from the throng and broke into full stride as the world fell into a blur around him. His pulse emanated through his wild mind throbbing loudly.
The sound of sirens began to ring through the cold evening air. Jason leant his hand against the side of the building, puffing loudly. Another police officer crept quietly towards him, gun raised. "Don't you dare move you little punk. Put your hands in the air slowly and turn the fuck around. Try anything funny and I'll fill you with lead." Jason arched his head to the side like a maniac. A wry grin began to appear on his face as it shone with sweat under the glow of the street light. "The numbers... The numbers. Aha. Ahahaha. HAHAHAHAHA! **THE FUCKING NUMBERS! THEY'RE ALL RED!**" Without warning he lunged forward at the officer, the world snapping into darkness.
Edited because I got lazy while typing it. Credit goes to the guy below for the ending. | 10 | Guy sees people with black numbers over each person's head which coincides with the number of times he has seen that person. When the number is red, that is the last time he will ever see that person. . . Everyone he has seen today has a red number. | 41 |
My breath caught in my throat as the flat plane of visual noise snapped into recognizable shapes. "Eth! *Eth!* I've got it!"
She/he/she froze in place, then turned to me. Her/his/her voice was incredulous to the point of being scornful. "You got *visplane data* out of that soup?"
By way of demonstration, I waved vaguely at the display, passing my hand through the plane of data by means of emphasis. "Yeah. It's a cartesian planar image encoding. I *told* you."
"No one has stored that crap in like -- I dunno, a thousand years?"
"More like ten thousand. But this is a little different -- there's like a calibration section at the beginning, and what almost looks like some kind of bootstrap for decoding. It wasn't really helpful, but it was...friendly."
Eth looked unconvinced, and a bit like she thought my consciousness matrix might be offgassing. "Is that it? A static image?"
"No, there's a whole sequence, it's like a holosim, except it's always the same, and cartesian."
"So nothing really like a holosim, got it."
She/he/she was beginning to annoy me, a bit -- this was *huge*, real data from Before. "Here, I'll fire it up."
*Blank, blue space. Suddenly, there is ground, then trees, then sky. From somewhere off screen, a four-legged animal -- a cat -- wanders into the field. It preens, and lays down in the sun. Two ... people? .. wander near the cat, dressed in simple clothes of solid colors. The cat stands, walks over to the people, and rubs kindly on their legs. One person, in a red shirt and blue pants, reaches down and scratches the cat. The view closes in on an exaggerated smile, with an inset of the cat's friendly expression.*
*The landscape fades away. Now, there is some kind of structure, with fluted cones, and boxes -- it's impossible to tell how large the structure should be. Simple -- houses? -- sit near the structure -- if the houses are normal size, the structure is very large. Wires connect the houses to the large structure, and now the houses have softly glowing windows.*
*Now the wires and the houses fade, and the structure grows larger, and larger still, beyond the bounds of the view. Some kind of vehicle emerges from one of the boxes, and loaded on top of it are several large barrels with a cryptic yellow-and-black symbol. The view shifts, and now the barrels sit on the grass. A person walks into view, approaches the barrels, and suddenly has an exaggerated frown, before clutching at their middle and falling to the ground. Shortly later, the person disappears.*
*Now the cat appears again. The cat wanders near the barrel, and suddenly its fur flushes bright red. The cat spits, hisses, and backs away.*
*The view clears again, just the barrels. A person and a cat are walking. They approach the barrel, and again the cat flushes red. The person stops, picks up the cat, and backs away, with that same goofy smile.*
"That's the end of the data." I'd tried to find something more, but there was very little data not involved in the vis feed, and I couldn't make sense of what was left.
"Sweet, a child's entertainment about the giant box-monsters whose shit is so putrid it kills people."
"Ent, that doesn't even make sense. This was sealed in five feet of lead and made Cycle's own racket when it opened up. This is obviously *important*. Don't we still have biosamples of those -- what are they called? Housecats? They were animals from Before, right?"
"Yeah, samples down in the biolab. Are you really about to suggest we..."
"Absolutely, until we figure out what's going on."
In the end, though, we had no luck. No matter how many of the 'housecats' we cloned and forcegrew, we always had the same result; they would immediately turn red, hiss, and -- just like all life from Before -- die. | 17 | Cats whose fur changes color when exposed to radiation have been bred to warn our descendants 10,000 years in the future of buried radioactive waste. We must now immortalize the cats in song and legend. | 42 |
*Six years after immortality*
Everyone laughs at me when I walk down the corridor. I'm at least half a foot shorter than everyone else in my year, and I still have the face of an eight year old. I'm beyond flat-chested and I've never even developed an interest in boys. Or girls either, mind you. I've just not changed much since primary school.
Recently they've started making jokes about how I just keep coming to the wrong classes, and I'm meant to be going to nursery. To be honest, responding by sticking my tongue out at them wasn't the best move. I just kinda struggle to keep up with everyone else when it comes to social norms. It's Maths now, so once we've all walked in I slump down by myself at a desk at the back. It's the only double desk inhabited by one, because even Kate started ignoring me when she got a boyfriend.
"Now, I expect you've all done your homework," begins Ms Jameson, our maths teacher. She's nice, but rarely understands when people are upset. I generally just try not to attract her attention, so this week I'd actually done the homework. "But before I collect that in I've got to introduce our newest class member."
Oh, this is new. I's forgotten someone was coming to the school, so I looked up a bit from my jotter to watch as they come in the door. They're quite short, still taller than me though, and they have long blonde hair. I quite like how they look, because they don't have any malevolence in their eyes as far as I can tell. WE learnt that word in English a few weeks ago, and I've decided it's a good word to describe certain things.
"Class, this is Holly. Holly, this is Maths 2," introduces Ms Jameson. There's some awkward waving, including a little wave from me. I'm kind of excited that this new person might not laugh at me, but the part of me that's learning how to grow up just says I'm being naive. She looks around for a place to sit, and notices the one beside me. Or did she just realise it was the only seat available?
She put her pink bag under the desk, my one is just dark grey, and took out her maths stuff. I felt nervous.
"Hey," she whispered. "What's your name?"
I looked her in the eye and almost cried to myself in happiness. "Ellie," I replied, a childish grin spreading across my face.
---------------------------------------------------------
*Ten years after immortality*
"Oh come on Ellie," insists Holly, beckoning me to come into the nightclub. "They can't say you can't come in, you have ID!"
Holly's right, but I'm not sure whether my fear is of not being let in because I look eight. I just don't know if nightclubs are my thing.
"Alright," I surrender. There's not really any point arguing, I agreed to this earlier. Inside, lights are flashing, music playing and people dancing. Holly knows this is my first time at a club so she takes me around the edge of the mob gathered on the dance floor and to a small table. I look around for a bit, trying to acclimatise myself to the new atmosphere. The club is pretty big, with tables like the one I'm sitting at dotted around the walls. On one was in a bar and next to that, the DJ. He looks about twenty and has one headphone on.
I notice that Holly's looking at me. She presumably just wants to guess if I like it, she's been coming here for a few months before her birthday because she already looks eighteen. No such luck for me, though.
"Do you like it?" she asks. Her eyes are almost drilling into my face as she tries to discern my thoughts.
I shrug. Unsure as to whether she saw the shrug, I say "I dunno, but it's not like I want to run and hide."
She smiles and pulls me up onto the dance floor. I had hoped she wouldn't throw me in at the deep end, but here we go. I begin to get the hang of dancing to the beat, but make sure to stick close to Holly in case something happens. The night continues and we both drink, her drinking more than me because, unsurprisingly, I get drunk very quickly. She drinks a lot more than me though, and ends up drunker than I am.
We both stagger out of the nightclub a few hours later and make our way home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
*Eighty years after immortality*
I don't think Holly's going to make it. Her heart started playing up a few months ago and yesterday I drove her to the hospital after she collapsed to the ground in our house. She moved in with me after her husband died and she started having health problems, so I turned the spare room of my cottage into a bedroom. I had enough money to look after us both, having realised that my habit of never-aging went beyond just looking really young, and becoming a minor celebrity. I've even written a book.
I hold tightly onto her hand, not wanting her to slip away from me. I realised a few decades ago this would happen when I survived a car crash, despite both cars being charred wrecks by the end. It seems I just can't die, but Holly can. Her breathing is quieter now. The doctors put her on whatever meds they could but she's not woken up yet, and I don't think she will.
At least it's during her sleep.
------------------------------------------------
*One hundred thousand years after immortality*
You know, they all left a few dozen millenia ago. Mucked something up with the planet and wiped out pretty much every living thing over the course of five weeks. About ten percent of people on Earth got some way out, whether by smuggling themselves onto cargo ships or by the refugee ships sent by Mars and the Moon.
And then I was left alone. I watched as even the cockroaches shriveled up in their little shells. I watched as fewer and fewer clouds made their way across the sky. I watched as I slowly slumped onto a rock, not moving for far too long.
But now I notice a brilliant flash of light in the sky, accompanied by a roaring that fills the entire valley. A small speck descends and becomes larger and larger, and I run over to it with the childish hope that's stayed with me all these years. The ship lands not too far off, and when I reach it I see real life people wandering about in whatever futuristic space suits they use nowadays. They all stop as they notice me running to them.
Once aboard their ship I notice they're all pretty weird, and very tall, but at least I'm home again. I snuggle into a small bed they made with a teddy something they gave me. I guess the teddy bears went extinct, too. | 121 | Human kind has slowly evolved, and you are noticeably different. | 131 |
He was unlucky to have drawn the morning shift today, him and Joseph, but what can you do. Nearly all of NASA out on President’ Park at the viewing party and two of us back here in a windowless bunker making sure the numbers check out. Shit, he thought, the numbers have checked out literally 1475 out of the last 1475 times I’ve looked. They pay me 200 grand a year to play a pre-schooler’s matching game. He laughed to himself.
Ed Framingham and Joseph Solomon approached Data Maintenance, and each scanned himself in. The room was cramped, not for its walls but for the heavy machinery and metal that surrounded the meager footage allotted the two plastic desks at its center, each supporting two monitors, a keyboard, and mouse. “Happy hunting,” said flat-jawed Tim Leary as he passed the keys over to Joseph. Tim was harmless, tepid, and shy, and Ed hated every bit of his freedom. No, this is what you signed up for, Ed thought, this is the job that people dream about. He told himself this every time he noticed his skin paling in the mirror, his already-thin frame hunching and twisting as it had over the past eight years. I need to get outdoors more, he thought. It’s time for a fucking promotion.
They sat, put and turned the key in each of the computers next to the desks. Ed pulled a notebook from his desk. “Still, man?” said Joseph. “You’re at the top of applied mathematics and you still use that dinky notebook and a pencil?” He offered a light punch, a familiarity between workmates who’d spent too many days or nights in the suffocating lamplight together. “Get with the times.” Ed laughed. Tim, who had closed and locked the door behind him, preferred to work alone, and Ed could not fathom why.
For times 1476, 1477, 1478, and on and on and on, the shapes on the screen paired in conformity with those in his head, those on the page, those on Joseph’s screen. “I’m going to have a smoke,” Joseph said, “be back in a few.”
When he was gone, Ed rose and stretched. It reminded him of the body he sat in, a body easy to lose in the numbers and pixels. He brought his arms over his head, inhaled and looked to the ceiling. The lamps of the room, scattershot over the essential machinery controls, fought pale and yellow claws over the plaster walls, died on the plaster ceiling.
Alright, he saif as he sat. The numbers were fine again, he thought, surprise, sur-fucking-prise. Trajectory fine. Integrity, fine, fine. Temperatures fine. I see myself in you. Everything checked out again. He paused. Something kept him from peering back over the text on the screen. I see myself in you. His breath caught. He swung around, looked behind him. He stood up, stretched, realized his legs were trembling, hands were trembling, closed his eyes, sat down. Opened his eyes again. Still there. I see myself in you, you false reflectors.
Ed sat frozen until he was eased by the thought that this was one of the best practical jokes played on him in quite some time. Yes, he thought. The time Tim had rearranged the desks, everything perfect except for his and Joseph’s things switched. That was quite a riot, Ed thought. His hands stills trembled. No, you idiot, it wasn’t funny at all. It wasn’t clever at all. He couldn’t have done this. He wouldn’t risk doing something like this to the data.
>A LIFELESS WHISPER IN MY GAZE
>I SHOULD REACH OUT AND
The door opened and Ed yelped, pushed himself away from the screen. “Whoa there, boy,” Joseph said. “Keep it down or you’ll scare the neighbors.” Ed smiled in the warmth of familiarity.
“Hey,” he said, “can you check this out, just for a second, I’m not sure I have something right…” Joseph looked at him, puzzled. “Sorry, just a second, mind’s a little scrambled.”
Joseph continued the stare. Confusion turned to pity, pity to terror and terror to-
The door opened. The apparition had faded and Ed stared at what looked like Joseph in the doorframe. “Whoa there, boy,” Joseph said. “Keep it down or you’ll scare the neighbors.” He took his seat.
“I didn’t even-“ he cut himself off, breathed in, breathed out. “Joseph, can I, uh, can I have one of those cigarettes.”
“Well no shit,” he said, a slight drawl. “Sure, buddy. But watch out, those things will kill you.”
Ed took it hastily, dropped it as he fumbled toward the door, felt Joseph’s weird look on his back. He ran to get outside, get anywhere, but paused before he opened the fourth floor balcony emergency door. Some streams of sunlight poured through it, and they made him feel sickly. He didn’t have a lighter, he realized. He sat down and breathed.
Before long he came to. Shit, he thought, how long have I been out? He checked his watch, Good, only a few seconds. Headquarters was a labyrinth and Ed made his way back to Data. As he walked, pounding out reluctant steps on the spotless grey carpet, he felt the heat of the sun. He hazarded a look up, almost cowering, but saw only the ceiling.
He scanned back into Data Maintenance. Joseph was vomiting, a great amount of filth already spilt on the floor. He tried to help him up but he wretched more, and more...Ed let him crawl toward the door, wet and covered in filth, leaving a trail of spew behind him. The walls faded to black, and Ed sat at his computer.
That, his father said, a finger pointed upwards to a brazen skybound champion, is the sun.
I know that, silly, Ed said, a child of no more than four, Ed was both there and not, living it, observing it, but what IS it?
It’s a lot of things, his father said. His face was always so kind. I SEE MYSELF IN YOU, a roar, both from his father-memory and not, a hellfilled condemnation and loving embrace. His father’s mouth and eyes exploded in fire, Ed could fell the plastic of the desk chair, smell the vomit-trail, I SHOULD REACH OUT AND CRADLE YOU.
The room was ablaze and the numbers still checked out. The Voyager was had passed the closest point to the sun on its path, was escaping now. “Whoa there, boy,” he heard, “Keep it down…”The tethers that bound his mind to his body were severed, he tried with all his might to will himself centered. He could feel the hate-filled light of the putrid lamps.
Joseph sat down next to him. “Alright,” he said. “How’s it going? Oh shit!,” he yelled, “I missed the near point!”
Joseph gazed at his computer. Ed looked at his. All of the numbers checked out.
>ALL OF YOU PALE REFLECTIONS
“Joseph, please, could you take a look at this,” he said, almost crying, a muted voice from the aether. Ed was lost, utterly lost, but now making his way back, led by something, a loving wisp of light.
“Sure man, you alright?” He paused, looking at Ed’s face for a moment, then directed a scrutinizing gaze to the screen. “Looks good man. Jesus, I wish I’d known. I mean it’s nothing special for us in here, but that was a big step, getting that close. I bet the crowds at President’s were cheering. Dammit man, I bet some asshole with a NASA badge is gonna get laid tonight…”
Ed began looking back at the numbers on the screen. There was no text aside from random strings and variables, no evidence. He did some calculations, felt himself, his brain, return to form, grounding itself in reality, happy in the known. “Everything’s checking out,” he said to Joseph after some time. “Everything’s checking out,” he said again, and was happy to say it again and again until the shift ended, then said it again as he got in his car, then again when he was wrapped up under blankets and drifting into sleep. Everything’s checking out, he said. He remembered the kind face of his father. | 18 | The Voyager spacecraft transmits data back to Earth, detailing that Sol is sitting on a patch of extremely abnormal spacetime. Outside this patch, physics as we know it breaks down. | 72 |
It looks liked a top hat, definitely a top hat. dusty, black with very thin rims and a metal ring engulfing it. quite an odd discovery for a 10,000 year old dig.
Dr Chemtznik was sure his research students were having a laugh at his expense.
He picked up the object, examining it he noticed something odd about the ring. when titled backwards it seems to vanish and under it appeared a very dim orange glow. he tried to take a closer look but every time he drew the hat closer the metal ring would reappear and cover the glow. That's quite a length to go for a practical joke. Maybe they've spiked his water. Nah, they wouldn't go that far.
He held the hat away from him at arm's length, searching for that elusive angle when suddenly he noticed the glow appearing at the corner of his eye, on the wall to his right, it seems to be forming an image, human like characters in a circle. He turned his head but the glow disappeared again.
He decided to put the hat on his head. Nothing happened. "Well, that was anticlimactic" he thought.
Vera, one of his students was now standing behind him, "Cool hat". He turned around and fell against the wall shocked. Instead of a person he was seeing only the outlines of one, and inside a bright orange glow with information inscribed in it.
"Prisoner: 113551. Crime: Tardiness. Punishment: 781 Incarnations as Homosapien and 1332 Incarnations as Tapeworm. Release Date: 0FA6C99B, Next Board of Enlightnment: 0FA6C97A"
Hmm.. yeah.. not sure where I was going with this...
| 24 | Humans are not native to earth. After aliens defeated the human race, they banished captives to earth stripped of modern technology. Over time history became legend and legend forgotten. That is until in a mountain cave a mural drawing is found and an ancient metal object unlike ever seen before | 56 |
*mild blasphemy warning for the faint of heart*
A tall person entered the courtroom. I wasn't really sure whether it was a man or a woman, old or young. I did see they were tall. There was a light rustle of leaves accompanying this person while they calmly walked down the isle and took the seat of the defendant. I felt a little itch developing underneath my skin. Who was this person?
"For the record," the judge said, obviously surprised. "May I have your name and gender, sir?"
"My name is God, spelled G-o-d," the person said. "I am without gender."
"Would you agree to be placed under the designation 'intersex'?" the judge asked.
"Sure," the person said, nodded in my direction as well. "I do not really keep much to such simplified designations most of the time. But go right ahead."
"Very well. The defendant has been identified as God," the judge noted. "You have been charged for causing damages worth over €3.000.000 on a fishing vessel under the name of van Diepen by means of a massive storm, identified in several pieces of evidence as an 'Act of God'. The claimant requires you to compensate him for his loss. Do you have any response to that?"
"Yes, your honour," God shifted slightly in his seat and I noticed some of the wood seemed to be coming alive. Several leaves were already sprouting from the chair's legs. "I am very sorry for the losses incurred by Mr. van Diepen's boat. Unfortunately for him, I have retired."
"Retired?!" called a woman from the back. She was holding a bible and I had seen her previously praying heavily for the damnation of my soul. Many people were upset I dared sue God. I would never again go along with Hans' practical jokes.
"Yes, retired," God smiled benelovently. "Some of your books are a little confused on what I do for a living. Though I am someone with a lot of side jobs, my primary job has always been a source of inspiration. I mean, that is why I exist in the first place. If people stopped believing in me, I would just pop out of existence. I mean, I have done the whole 'Divine Intervention' thing in the past. Raised a few people from the dead, made a few people happy with visions and such. But in all, I just watched the universe evolve."
There was a lot of silence now. Even the judge seemed slightly uneased by the proclamation of the divine being in our midst.
God rose and smiled. "Look. When I was younger, I tried to see if I could use some mortal being to make you guys nicer to each other. You know, spread the word of peace and prosperity. It did not work at all. Europe had the dark ages afterall. So I decided to quit. No more Godly intervention on behalf of the mortals. So, your honour, if you ask me if I created that storm... no. I watched it. I felt really sorry for mr. van Diepen. But that storm was just a natural phenomenon."
"Your honour," the man from the insurance company said. "I object. You have not sworn the defendent to honesty and I would hear his statement only then."
Again, God smiled and turned almost without seeming to move. "Yes, you would want me to take it up for you. Use me as a loophole. Well, perhaps then I need to remind you of your satanic bible, mr. Smith. It says this: 'God does not exist in heaven. God exists in yourself.'. So by definition, mr. Smith. YOU caused that storm and YOU are liable for all damages caused."
"I will not be liable for these damages..." the man stuttered.
"Your honour," God spoke to the judge again. "My statement is given. I deny the charges laid on me by the good mr. van Diepen. I did not cause the storm, but I am sure mr. van Diepen can find plenty of more beings that have been or are addressed as 'God' by people. If I were him, however, I would not waste his time. I am sure the good insurance company will be willing to pay now this matter of my involvement has been cleared."
The judge nodded. "Very well. Mr. van Diepen. I judge that your claim is not substantiated by the evidence, as noted by God's word in this room. I also rule that the insurance company is held liable for the damages caused by the storm unless they are able to produce another God." | 456 | A man sues God because his insurance company won't pay for the damages done to his house in a storm. To his complete surprise and Horror, God actually shows up. | 874 |
In the aftermath, it was the rules that kept us alive. They were easy to follow: no stealing food, no leaving the compound after dark. No sex, because no child deserves to be born into this world. Majority rules, and the good of the group always, always comes first.
Rules are easy to follow when they protect you. But it gets harder when following the rules means a bullet in your head.
Thick, dark blood ran down my arm and dripped onto the floor. The Walker was dead at my feet, but that didn’t matter. The damage was done – its teeth had mangled my arm, and I could see the black phlegm that oozed from its mouths mingling with the red and seeping into my veins. Inching towards my heart with every beat of my pulse.
I knew what I should do. It had happened before. When they dragged back what was left of Greg from a foraging mission gone wrong. When Daria threw herself between the Walker and her little girl – the girl escaped unharmed, but Daria lost her hand. Both times, they knew what had to be done, they wept and shook but ultimately they went quietly. Dean took them into the woods, as far from the compound as they could go without risking his own life. But we still heard the shots.
I had always assumed that I would do the same. That I would be noble, and brave, and willing to do what must be done to protect the rest of the group. But now, staring at the bite mark on my arm, I knew that this wasn’t true. I wasn’t a hero.
I was a coward.
I rinsed the blood off my arm, ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of my shirt to wrap around the wound, and went back to the compound. When they asked, I told them I tripped and caught my arm on a sharp rock. Then I waited.
Usually, it took less than twenty four hours. I couldn’t sleep. I stayed awake, planning to run into the forest as soon as I felt my humanity start to slip.
But the first night passed without incident. Then the second. Then the third, and the fourth, until the days turned into weeks and the mark on my arm softened into a scar.
It was impossible. But it was true. For some reason, my body had resisted the infection. I was immune.
I didn’t know what to do. This was unheard of, but if it was true then perhaps my blood could be used to create a vaccine. It could mean an end to one part of this horror, perhaps with time it could even be used to reverse the effects of the infection. But on the other hand, the only reason I had discovered this was by breaking the most precious rule that there was, and endangering the entire compound because of my cowardice. Telling them could save their lives – but it could also cost me mine.
It was three months after the incident and I was on watch duty. They appeared out of nowhere – twenty Walkers with dead, hungry eyes.
We sounded the alarm, but it was too late. By the time it was over three people were dead, and I had an open wound on my palm that was dripping black.
“I’m sorry, Paul,” said Dean, his eyes soft and sad. He lifted his rifle.
“No, wait, you don’t understand,” I said, “you can’t do this, you don’t understand!”
“I’m so sorry, Paul.”
“No, wait, you don’t under - !”
A single shot rang clear and loud through the forest. | 35 | You are in a group in the zombie apocalypse and you find out that you are immune. | 37 |
We are calling it the ferro core. It's approximately 2.3 meter in diameter. It hovers 7 centimeters from the surface. Every 63 hours it's density increases and when it's mass doubles it duplicates itself.
Wait I thought you said it was just one.
Well yeah the duplicate disappears shorty there after. We detect a high energy gamma burst, and its gone.
Where does the duplicate go?
We aren't sure. Traveling we think. Home, maybe. Or just away. Dr. Sung is suggesting it tunnels through time-space. Maybe a kind of wormhole.
So what's it's purpose?
Well space is big. If you could visit a star system a day it would still take billions and billions of years for just the galaxy. If you want to probe every system you would create exponentially self replicating probes. Presumably the ferro core's duplicate is capable making duplicates too. This is speculative of course.
So we aren't alone?
Well. We aren't, or are, or won't be.
What the hell does that mean?
Well if they bend space the way we think they do. They are breaking there light cone. Traveling faster than light. They could originate from the future. Or a civilization that already ended. Some suggest possibly our own future.
Wait, our own future?
Yeah, so if we created the probe in our future we might of tested it on Mars. You know because your twisting up time space. It could be moving backwards in time. Now that we know it can be done we are looking into how to do it. Paradoxical for sure.
| 31 | Another probe that we did not send. | 90 |
They all tried to figure it out. Experts, consultants, psychics; we saw them all, and they all drew a blank. Not one of them could work out what the secret to my power was, or why I might have been missing one.
I was the only child on record to be missing a power tattoo, something that had been borne in the human race midway through the 21st century; the bigger the tattoo the bigger the power, more or less. My elder brother had been given a huge tattoo of a pair of wings across his shoulder blades, quite a rare gift, and had been flying out of his cot and around the nursery by the time he was 1, much to our parents chagrin. I however, other than having the odd occasion to be a dark skinned child born to white parents, had no such mark. They searched and they searched, but they could not see for looking. The answer had been staring them in the face the whole time.
The most obvious clue, was instantly dismissed. After the blood results came back, and my father was given the news that the brown baby born of Caucasian parents was indeed his, they never seemed to question it again. A lost gene they supposed, there must have been something buried deep in one of the respective pools to explain it, after all I *did* look like my father, if after a summer holiday. Aren't genetics weird.
Well they are, but really, it isn't that complicated. I was as white as the snow, but fate had coloured me in.
My tattoos are extensive, intricate and unbelievably compact. I figured it out days after my birth, but sensing the strangeness of my being from their reactions, I decided that I should keep quiet and play along with the expectations of those around me. I found a parenting book left in my nursery whilst I was supposed to be napping when I was a few weeks old, and memorised which milestones were expected when. I was a perfectly healthy, average child, who developed at roughly the right speed (allowing for some slight deviations from the mean of course), who just so happened to be devoid of a power tattoo, and presumably therefore any power.
I made my way through school, having friendships and adventures, growing into the body I was given. I met hostility of course, every child does, but being marked as inferior didn't bring out the charity in those fellows of mine with muscles tattooed on their arms, or flames seared into their hands.
I met the rough end of every power going in my school, from fire and ice, the political games played by those with forks on their tongues, to the tricks of those with markings of intellect on their heads. As I grew into my teenage years it intensified, friends looked the other way as those with power eagerly used it, and slowly, they drifted away, leaving me to the designs of others.
My family and teachers tried to protect me of course, but the authority was wasted on my tormentors. My only respite was walks home with my brother, he was at a neighbouring school for those with powers more exceptional than most. He never lauded it over me, never saw me as something lesser than himself, only saw me, his brother.
I finished school with the marks average for those my age, and decided against a continued education. I didn't see the point.
It will be time to announce myself soon, time for everyone to know. I know what I am. I am a god born into a world of exceptional, but flawed, individuals. I have seen them at their very worst, seen them damn and expel those below them, and for that perhaps they should be punished. But I have also seen love. I have seen my parents fight against everything for me, seen them crucify their life savings to understand my suffering, and through my brother I have seen friendship and togetherness.
I have seen both sides of those around me, and now it comes time to show my power, and work out what I will be. From the moment of my birth I have been watching, and I have been appraising.
I could be a hero, or a villain. I could oppress, or I could free. To tell you the truth, I haven't yet made up my mind.
My dear reader, what would *you* do? | 45 | Everyone in the world is born with some kind of special ability. With this ability comes a signifying tattoo or mark somewhere on their body. The larger the tattoo, the more powerful the person is. | 22 |
Boys only want love if it's torture. Julia learned that very well a few years ago. Sometimes she thought about all the men she'd ever loved, but it always came back to one man. Winston. She looked outside the window of the plane and counted the buildings to try to get her mind off of him.
"Welcome to New York."
Travel bans were only lifted in the past year, and Julia waited in line for hours before she was finally able to see an agent. New York and New Delhi were the only flights not sold out. She thought York was a decent enough town. She wondered if New York was similar.
As Julia walked through the airport she could swore she saw Winston a thousand times. The man behind her asked if she would to share a taxi with him. She was going to Brooklyn, he was going to Long Island. It didn't make sense, but new money (suit and tie) always wanted to impress. He took her luggage up to her room so she could stay in the lobby and not get wet from the rain. That's always how you get the girl.
Julia didn't really think much of sex anymore. It was a thing people did to pass time, reproduce, feel validated. Julia no longer felt time pass, didn't care about being mother, and would always consider herself an invalid.
"How'd you get that scar on your head?"
"Snowmobile accident. I got twenty stitches at the hospital."
Julia strolled around Brooklyn, not really seeing the difference between this city and London. Once it got dark she noticed the type of men on the streets had changed.
"Hey baby, you better get out of the woods."
Julia hailed a taxi back to the hotel and decided to spend the rest of her stay in her room. All cities are the same when it really comes down to it. All cities are Inner Party, Outer Party, Proles. The accents are different but the structure is the same. She waited in the lobby for a ride to the airport, the concierge taking her luggage into the trunk so she wouldn't have to stand in the rain, and an easy-listening tune serenading the guests.
"Under the spreading chestnut tree
I sold you and you sold me—" | 14 | What happened between George Orwell's 1984 and Taylor Swift's 1989? | 45 |
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