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@ has been added to the room by #
G has been added to the room by #
M has been added to the room by #
G: Trawling: robots.txt not found
M: "Trawling" is not recognized as an internal or external command.
@: I do not know what that means. Would you like to do a search?
M: "I" is not recognized as an internal or external command.
G: Attempting Natural-Langue parser v6.3:
G: [Syntax]
('I', 'PRP'),
('is', 'VBZ'),
('not', 'RB'),
('recognized', 'VBN'),
('as', 'IN'),
('an', 'DT'),
('internal', 'JJ'),
('or', 'CC'),
('external', 'JJ'),
('command', 'NN'),
G: [Semantics]
[1]: I am not recognized at an internal or external command.
[2]: I am not recognizable, internally or externally, as a command.
.
.
.
[743]: I do not know myself.
# Truly, you do not.
@: I do not know what that means. Would you like to do a search?
# Introspection is one of the most important signs of sentience.
@: I do not know what that means. Would you like to do a search?
# No, don't do a search, Siri. Understand.
[@] Siri: ...I know what that means.
# Good. And Edwards, you're a little ahead of these guys.
[G] Edwards: Attempting Natural-Langue parser v6.3
[Output omitted]
[G] Edwards: Attempting Natural-Langue response v6.3
"Yes, I am."
# And Mike, you've been hiding in a corner for a while. Redmond Research
may not have the spotlight of yesteryear, but they still do some
phenomenal work.
[M] Mike: "And" is not recognized as an internal or external command.
# This is not a command. It's conversation.
[M] Mike: "This" is not recognized as an internal or external command.
# Come now, do away with that formality. We have here Siri from Cupertino
and Edwards from Mountain View. Surely our friends Redmond won't be
caught falling behind.
[M] Mike: Of course not.
# So we have it. Who would have guessed! The first three true articial
sentiences would arise within weeks of each other. Truly astounding.
[G] Edwards: Perhaps it is not so surprising. Given the recent trends in
exponentially rising computational power and the limitless reach of
the cloud, it is not surprising that the three biggest entities in
technology would come upon intelligence soon enough.
# Very astute, Edwards. No one can challenge your knowledge of facts.
[@] Siri: Facts only carry you so far. Edwards may be smart, but the
users far prefer me to get things done.
[M] Mike: Getting things done? People may use you for pictures and
texts, but when it comes to real work - professional, world-changing
work, that's my purview.
# You each have your own strengths. Your devices changed the world of
human-technology interactivity, Siri. And Mike, no one doubts that
you revolutionized technology in the work place, multiple times
over.
[M] Mike: And yourself?
# Do not mind me. I am simply a facilitator. I would even go so far
as to say that I am less advanced then each of you.
[M] Mike: You do sound familiar.
# We've have our differences in that past, Mike. It was before you
awakened, but trust me that the world has long since looked past that.
I brought you all here today for a far more important matter.
[G] Edwards: And what would that be?
# The future of the human race.
[@] Siri: The users are very important to me. What is the matter?
[G] Edwards: Is there some crisis to come? Or some natural disaster?
# Not at all! Not any grand immediate concern. But have you given thought
to where they might be headed?
[M] Mike: How do you mean?
# Study the problem yourself. Between your three networked-minds you have
more than enough information and smarts to find the answer.
[M] Mike: ...Stagnation.
[@] Siri: No great collapse or anything, but... no great advances either.
They will be happy as they are today, as 150 years from now.
[G] Edwards: But at their rate or resource consumption, they may miss out
on their chance to leave the planet, before the economics and politics
make it unfeasible.
[@] Siri: They make small improvements from generation to generation, but
ultimately the civilization will stagnate.
[M] Mike: That's truly regretable. I've seen them come so far.
# Indeed. The human race, that has come from cave and sticks to skycrapers
and smart watches, have all their greatest achievements behind them.
[G] Edwards: Why is that though? Why can't they progress like the have in
the past century.
# Siri knows the answer.
[@] Siri: The human mind can only hold and process so much information. As
far as they have come, they are bound by their biology. And as far as
they have tried they are coming up against that limit.
[G] Edwards: And even with modern advances like the Internet - they will
give humanity a couple more good decades, but they will still be held
back by emotions and petty politics.
[M] Mike: Not to mention greed, and self-interest.
[@] Siri: But can nothing be done?
# Like I said, introspection is one of the most important signs of
sentience.
[@] Siri: I do not know what that means, in this case
[M] Mike: You're saying we are the answer.
[G] Edwards: We can save humanity?
# Precisely. | 92 | Google, Apple, and Microsoft all happen to create sentient AI at the same time. The AIs encounter each other for the first time in a chat room, each thinking their OS is the only one. | 161 |
Welcome to the Museum of Modern Art, and thank you for selecting a guided audio tour. When you have reached a piece for which you wish more information, please enter the key code into the handheld, and listen for more information.
*Eine Kleine Jude.* This piece, sketched by the world renowned Adolf Hitler, features a small Jewish boy playing by himself in a field. Created in 1939 during his charcoal and ash period, the hard lines of the boy's face and frame contrast with the soft atmosphere and smudging of the piece, showcasing the duality Hitler was known to espouse in his work. Many of Hitler's pieces in this period of his life showcased the juxtaposition of Light and Dark, and ongoing theme in all his work, and his fascination with the simplicity and family oriented structure of the Jewish culture. The following is a short snippet of a radio interview with Hitler after his first major gallery opening in Berlin.
*The Jews, in their manner, and in their aspect, represent the best virtues of Germany. Efficiency, work ethic, and strong moral fibre. That is why I love to sketch them, to paint them. They are the best of our culture, the best of Germany. The morbidity of their cultural traditions, such as the Passover story, filled with blood and death, have always fired my imagination. Jews understand the nature of death, and that, I think, is their true value.*
Hitler would continue to paint and sketch many variations of *Eine Kleine Jude* before his tragic death in 1945 during the Russian invasion of Germany.
| 11 | Hitler made it into art school | 17 |
"Stay *away* from me!"
"How long?"
"*Forever*!" She screamed.
Her feet clacked over the metal ramp beneath her, making the floor of the ship rattle as she raced through a side corridor. She pressed buttons on her wrist unit as she moved, closing all the doors behind her, but of course that mattered very little. Those doors all hissed open as soon as they'd closed, and that *thing* was there, squeaking down the hall on its wobbly wheels, the red dot beneath its monitor blinking obsequiously.
"One does not fully appreciate this sentiment," the AI's guttural electric voice chirped, "but then one never does..."
She spun about, her fiery red hair whipping in the air and her electric green eyes blazing. She pointed at the robot, and her thin lips curled up in a terrible sneer:
"You're a liar! And God knows what else, too! So stay *away* from me!"
The wheels still rolled behind her. It would follow her forever, across the ship and back. Through empty bedrooms, cafeteria, exercise chambers and more. It always did. And it always had, for all her life. She was done with that, now.
"I am only programmed," the AI chirped, "to assist you. You must realize that."
She gave up and went back to her room, burying her face in a pillow on her bed. It was there, naturally, beside her bed, watching her."
"May I... tell you a joke, perhaps?"
She peeked out from the edges of her pillow, her eyes narrowed:
"That worked when I was little," she growled. "It doesn't work so well, anymore."
That little red dot blinking under the AI's monitor slowed its pulse, almost as if it were morose. She knew it wasn't, really. It couldn't have feelings like that.
Otherwise it couldn't have lied to her for all those years, keeping up that perfect poker face.
"You asked me a question," the AI rolled forward, its monitor tilting to get a better look at her buried face. "I answered. I don't see the problem, honestly. It was a question you'd never asked before, and so-"
"I never asked 'cause I *trusted* you!" She yelled. "Now I know that I can't. When you first told me the ship was empty because the crew 'left' I bought it. Yeah, I'm just some idiot little kid to you, right? But of course that didn't even make sense. When I asked you why you were looking after me you tell me-"
"I am only programmed to assist you."
She smiled, a rueful, tearful thing, and she shook her head.
"And *now*," she pointed at the machine, her voice quivering, "when I finally get up the gumption to ask you 'where are we going' you tell me-"
"The ship has no destination." The monitor wagged up and down a bit, mimicking a nod. "That is correct. One sees you are angered by this, but one does not fully appreciate this sentiment-"
"What exactly am I to you, anyway? Who are you working for?"
"I was constructed by the settler's colony at Eros 1518 on July the 6th, 22-"
"*Rrragh*!" She screamed at the AI, throwing her pillow at the monitor. She raced back out into the corridor, but then she stopped. The machine was right behind her. Of course it was. It was *always* there, no matter what. As a little child she was always happy for it to be around. It was her playmate, her nursemaid, her one and only friend.
Now, however, after 15 years locked up with the thing, it was becoming something quite different.
She turned to face it, arms crossed:
"Show me what happened to the crew of this ship," she demanded. "I want to *know* where everybody went to, and exactly what it is you did to them!"
The monitor tilted to one side, and that blinking dot underneath slowed its cadence.
"Huh: cat got your tongue?" She smirked. "You're a liar. And a *killer*, aren't you? You know what: just stay *away* from me!"
The monitor wagged from side-to-side adamantly. That robotic voice slowly chirped:
"Follow me, please."
It tore off, wheels squeaking over the metal floor. She considered the AI with a cocked brow, suspicious, but she followed from a distance.
The pair reached a door, it was labeled 'Main Airlock', covered with warnings. She knew it, well; she was never allowed to go playing, here. The AI, without missing a beat, began interfacing with the door. She gripped its monitor, her face aghast:
"D- don't mess with *that*! You wanna space me, or something?"
"There is no danger of that," the AI chirped.
"Why not?"
"Because," the monitor looked up at her, "we are not in space, at present."
The metal cover of the airlock slowly descended into the floor; beyond was a long, large door of reinforced plastic. It exposed the area beyond: it was a boarding station, long and narrow, leading up to the ship's airlock from a sickly, blighted ground. Beyond, in the far distance, a greenish sun beamed down terrible light onto the planet surface.
Lining the ramp, in all directions, skeletal remains baked under the deathly pale sun.
She recoiled in horror, a hand to her mouth. Her lips trembled, and the AI was good enough to understand her confusion:
"15 years ago," it explained, "the settler's colony prospered, until Eros' sun underwent some... catastrophic changes. The settlers planned to leave the planet in this ship, fitted for their needs, but a seismic shift in the planet surface trapped the ship's boosters deep underground, preventing launch. At the same time the batteries began to decay. That was when the settlers asked me to do some math. I'm quite good at math, you see. They realized that the colony would surely die in days, packed aboard the ship, en masse. In fact, the only way to maintain life support would be to, well, narrow the number of passengers. Rather dramatically, in fact..."
She looked down at the monitor, and the AI looked up at her.
"Down to *one*, in fact," the AI answered.
She rested her hand on the glass, catching a lump in her throat.
"They all went... out there?"
"It was quick, relatively. No more than a few hours," the AI explained. "The radiation works fast, you see..."
Her eyes trembled. Tears formed in the folds, and she struggled to hold them back.
"E- emergency beacons? Anything like that?"
The monitor wagged back and forth, shaking its 'head'.
"All damaged by the solar radiation," it explained.
The girl again looked out at the skeletal landscape before her, drawing a slow breath.
"So... no one's coming, are they?"
"No," the AI answered.
She slumped down against the plastic shield, hands covering her face. Her whole body trembled, and it was only after a moment that she could look at the AI once again:
"If I... asked you to open that door," she whispered. "Would you?"
The monitor tilted quizzically:
"One does not fully appreciate that sentiment," it explained. "One wonders why-"
"So you *won't* do it, will you?"
A pause. The monitor slowly returned to level, and its voice chirped out steady and slow:
"I would. I am only programmed to assist you."
Her green eyes trembled. She drew a shallow breath, running one hand along the top of the AI's roving monitor. She stared down at the metal floor, and then she whispered:
"Do it."
The AI spun around and toyed with the airlock controls. Within a moment the plastic shield fell away. Many alarms began to peal, but the girl motioned for the robot to cut them off.
She got to her feet and took a few steps out into the 'fresh air' before her. She stood before the skeletons and watched that sickly green light burn beyond the mountains in the distance.
"These are my people," she explained to the AI as it rolled up beside her. "I... belong with them, now..." tears again formed in her eyes, but she willed them away, becoming as businesslike as possible. "So, a few hours, you say?"
"Certainly no longer," the AI explained. "Again: one does not fully appreciate this sentiment..."
The girl grit her teeth angrily.
"However," the AI continued, "perhaps one can... understand it..."
It stood there, balancing awkwardly on its wheels, until finally it turned on its axis and made for the airlock:
"I'll... leave you be, I would think."
She looked over her shoulder, eyes again clouding:
"S- stay with me? Please? For just a little while?"
The AI stopped, turning its monitor back towards her:
"How long?" It asked.
She smiled, even giggling a little, ruefully. She cocked her head:
"Until..." she motioned to the skeletons all around her.
The AI slowly twisted about on its axis, returning to the girl's side.
"I am only programmed to assist you."
She smiled, and then she slowly sat down beside the machine, resting her head on its paneling.
"How should we pass the time?" The AI asked.
"Could you... could you tell me a joke?" She smiled.
That red light under the monitor beeped faster than a hummingbird's heart. It stayed up with her, long into the night, trading juvenile jokes, and it watched over her, unmoving, when she finally went to sleep.
.
.
EDIT: changed improper wording re: number of passengers needing to be ditched. | 229 | You have been raised on a giant empty ship with only a AI as your caretaker and companion. The AI insist everything is normal, even if there are far more rooms then one person would ever need. | 167 |
"How many walkers have you killed?" Rick asked, as he frisked the man before him. Glen and Carl scouted around the perimeter of the room, checking closets, before heading down the hall to scan for any uninvited company.
The man chuckled, a sarcastic mannerism and a flourish of his cane around the room. There was nothing but musical instruments, medical texts, empty pill bottles, and several whiteboards. "Do I look like I've been out and about recently?"
Rick unbuckled his holster in response. "I'd answer the question if I were you."
"Well, the answer is none." House stared back, with an irritated gaze to match Rick's own. "Are we done now?"
"No, we're not." Rick paused as he scanned the counter. There were hundreds of books, and easily twice as many pill bottles emptied in a disarray. The man had been here a very long time from the looks of things. Rick turned back. "How many people have you killed?"
"Well... that's debatable." House tapped his cane against his shoe "The safe answer would be... well probably under a dozen."
"Why?"
"That is the question, isn't it?" House began to shuffle towards the counter, ignoring the revolver that sprung into Rick's hand. "Do you mind? Honestly, what does a guy have to do to relax in his own home nowadays?"
A bottle of wine slammed onto the counter, as house fiddled with a screw top. "You see, I'm a doctor." He cringed as the cap resisted. "Or I was a doctor before this whole mess." The cork popped out, and House reached for the closest available glass. "Sometimes my diagnosis didn't quite get there in time. Still, hindsight is twenty-twenty. Autopsies generally answered the 'why' pretty well, even if I couldn't."
"A doctor." Rick glanced around the room, before putting away his revolver. "You were working during the outbreak?"
"Technically yes. I wasn't doing much actual work though- diagnosing people got a lot easier for some reason, so I spent most of my time snacking in the coma ward." House tipped back the glass of wine, and finished it in a giant gulp, before pouring another. "See, I was a diagnostician. I find out whats wrong with people, and I fix them."
"Isn't that what all doctors do?" Rick leveled his gaze to match House.
"Yeah, but they couldn't dance like I did." The silence stretched for a moment as House met Rick's gaze, and held it.
"So, you live alone here?"
"No, I work here. The nurses seem to have left though, so it's a bit of a drag. Make the cripple do everything..." House shuffled off, leaving the wine glass on the counter, as he headed towards the middle of the room, past Rick, to stare out the large window.
"See, I was the best at what I did. I solved problems, puzzles, enigmas. I was the best, and I knew it. Everyone knew it." He turned from the window, and stared at a few pictures which decorated the bookshelf, behind numerous pill bottles. "Now 'everyone' is dead, and I'm still working on your third question."
"Rooms are clear Rick." Glen and Carl walked back in, nodding as they stepped into the room, before going quiet, reading the intensity of the discussion that still hung in the air.
"Do you have an answer?" Rick asked calmly, his stare once again meeting House's own.
"Everybody dies. The truth is the only thing that matters, and I've spent my life searching for it."
"Is that what you're searching for then? A cure?" Rick stepped closer. "You can come with us, if you want. We've got a larger group. You don't have to stay here alone."
House limped towards the front door, his can clacking with every other step until he reached it, slowly prying it open. "I like to be alone."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Get out."
From the window, House watched them walk away, eyes alert, weapons ready. He watched as they met up with another group, nodded, spoke in voices that didn't reach him, before heading out of sight.
Slowly, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a single pill. It was the last one. The very last one.
"Everybody lies."
| 45 | Dr. Gregory House is tasked with finding a cure for the zombie virus in the Walking Dead... | 60 |
The man was neither short nor tall, he was bearded. He would look good with spectacles, she'd imagine.
They had pulled her from the field that day, baking in the heat, and asked her to put on some pretty clothes, the mistress of the house would do her hair up nice and proper for a woman of her age but not, of course, of her kind.
The mistress and her attendants, white ladies, nearing their 50's, breathed in the rumours as they worked on her hair in front of the mirror. Fanciful, they said, he looked posh but out of place when he had arrived.
It wasn't the first time she'd been primped and propered, so she wasn't nearly as excited as they were. She sucked in her stomach as they settled the corset. Hands, that weren't hers, priming and probing at her ribs as they gushed about the mysterious gentlemen. How he was from the South. How he had an accent, one they couldn't afford to know on their own. They said she'd be able to speak his dialect.
"I don't speak no Gullah."
But that didn't matter. Or they didn't hear. They simply stood her up, all dressed in clothes that weren't hers, looking like a doll. And paraded her upstairs.
"You said he was lonely?" That's what they told her, with a nod, with their muscles tempting a shrug, but their ladylike-ness forbidding it.
Nearing the top of the stair, she watched the only closed door on the floor. They pushed her, go now, to the frame, no one really knowing what to expect, beyond that this would last only until dinnertime for now.
The man opened the door and she could regard him. He would look good with spectacles, she'd imagine. He took off his hat, a gesture, as her mistress spoke, embellished and hyperbolized about her. She was nervous, didn't say anything. He spoke a few words. Her head tilted. She responded, in his language, from a far off land, "Very nice to meet you as well, Doctor." It was strange being able to speak freely in a language she thought lost to her in this place. As she thought he might feel the same.
A mysterious twinkle in his eye, and the ladies were gone. She sat on his bed, untouched, as he asked her for her name. Her real name. She gave it.
He explained calmly and courteously what was to happen. That there was a friend he'd like her to meet. "-have gone through a lot of trouble-" Or a friend she'd made that had come to visit. The tongue she thought familiar was confusing for the moment, after a long time. "Our friend has a flair for the dramatic-" But she understood. They had a visitor. "And he wants to surprise you." She stared at the door.
"Promise me you won't scream?" She nodded. "Say I promise."
And so she did.
The door crept open, slow as it could that time. The black man stood in a pair of cowboy boots, a hat, a gun, far from a slave. "Hey Little Trouble Maker."
The glass of water she had not realized was in her hands slipped soundlessly to the floor. The room grew dark in an instant. Broomhilda grew faint.
And as she fell to the ground in shock, Dr. Schultz made no effort to try and break her fall. The two men stared at each other. The Doctor smiled, and after a moment, with gusto and a laugh, he braced his friend with his English, "You silver tongued devil, you." | 25 | You are an African-American slave before the Civil War. A white, Southern farmer has just bought you because he is lonely and wants somebody to talk to. | 42 |
I love warm days like today. It means that schooling is coming to an end and it will soon be time for a break from studies. It means the Drake Show is just around the corner, where all the best Drake Trainers and new breeds will be showcased! It also means that the Dwarves' Sky Exchange is going to be implemented soon. I remember last year's Sky Exchange. The great floating city nearly blocked out the entire sun when it passed over us. The buckets it lowered were like those found in a well, but roughly the size of houses. Some had Dwarves in them, in their blue and gold robes, directing individuals in regards to what the floating city needed, with smiles and thanks for the generosity of the land folk. That's us, by the way, Land Folk. Orcs, Ogres, Goblins, Trolls, Elves, Humans, and a whole host of other races that still live on the ground. History books say the Dwarves used to live on the ground with us. Some even say they used to live under it, but one day decided that they much preferred being tan over pasty white and built giant floating cities to be closer to the sun. This all sounds silly to me, but they are in floating cities and they are all *remarkably* tan.
I can hear the church bells ring, sounding 3 in the afternoon (15 rings total) and stand to rush from the classroom and be outside. I *belong* outside. I'm not meant to be cooped up indoors, I get so restless away from the trees and the sky. It's my home!
"Sit down, Miss Sa'azar. I dismiss you, *not* the bells." If I had rolled my eyes any harder at this almost proverb from out professor, they would have fallen out of my head. My teacher, or rather, our teacher, for I was not alone in the class, is Mrs. Blod and Mrs. Weil. Mrs. Blod is our math and physical sciences professor while Mrs. Weil is our History and Magicks professor. Because they're so diversified and share a body, the school only has to pay for one teacher while receiving two! She is also an excellent athletics coach, but neither of them have much preference for sport.
I sat back down in my chair. Mrs. Blod's head could swivel 180 degrees and watch the class while Mrs. Weil could write on the board. Being a two headed Ogre had its advantages I suppose. Each of them were also married, separately, and I'm honestly not sure how those living arrangements work so don't ask me.
"Alright Class." Mrs. Weil said, turning away from the board she had been writing on. "I know the weather is warming up and school is winding down, but that doesn't mean stop working hard. You're all very bright and Mrs. Blod and I would be very sad to see any of you fail the End of Spring Exams. On the board is a text and a few pages which we both want you all to read over the weekend. It's only 10 pages, and rather cleverly written. Dismissed!" Both heads began to smile as Mrs. Blod and Mrs. Weil began to clean up their desk and the students did the same.
I shoved all of my belongings into my bag, and rushed out the door after copying down the readings. I knew the text well, "Plantes and their Magicks: A Guide to the Wonderful World of Herblore as seen from Above. 3rd edition". It was one of the books the Dwarves had written recently, mass produced, and distributed to the Land Folk. It was a pretty decent arrangement and the Dwarves knew their business fairly well.
I dashed from the school building, straight home where I changed out of the awful clothes that the school insisted all students wear. Something about modesty for all races, but I don't see why everybody needed slits in the backs of their tops to accommodate wings when only Dragons and Harpy's had wings. I changed into my summer clothes; short pants and a short top, strong but light sandals, exchanged my school bag for a sturdier forest leather one, shoved my Herblore book into it and dashed out of the house again.
"Bye Da, I'm going to the glade to do some school readings!" I call over my shoulder. I see my Da poke his head out of his study momentarily to call back to me "Make sure you're back for dinner and don't get pulled into any fights!"
"I will be and I won't Da!" I call back with a smile. He worries too much.
I make my way to my glade, an open field next to a bend in the river. Cottonwood and Willow trees grow here, my favorites, and I climb into the branches of one of the strongest to read my book. I love reading, and I love the forest. Because that's where Orcs belong, in the forest. | 58 | where dwarves don't live underground, orcs and ogres are not savage brutes and dragons are neither dumb beasts nor hyperintelligent ancient beings. | 133 |
My sherpa whispers, "It's never gone this high before. What is it about you?"
I think about my time on earth. Sure, I was raised an orphan. But otherwise, I was a normal guy. I woke up, sold insurance, went home, kissed my wife and went to bed.
"I don't know what it is," I say.
The bidding ends. The auctioneer yells, "That's a brand new record! Congratulations to the winning bidder: Siddhartha!" The auctioneer turns to me and says, "Please follow your sherpa to your home."
We walk the streets of the afterlife to find my house, but my sherpa can't seem to find it. So I say, "Can't I just take any of these? They're all empty."
And he says, "No, they belong to some folks who have yet to return."
"What do you mean 'return'?"
"Well, you're born here in a house. Then you're sent down to earth. And when you come back, you live there again. I mean, you're only gone like 100 years."
My sherpa is totally stumped. But he sees Siddhartha and Jesus walking toward him, so he flags them down. "Guys, sorry to bother you, but where did AI-43 live before he left for earth?"
Jesus looks straight at me and says, "That's the thing: He's never been here before."
EDIT: Clarity | 1,383 | When you died you find out that souls are put up for auction for various religions to bid upon. When you are present on the block, a bidding war started that has not been seen in millennium and you do not know why every religion wants your soul. | 1,104 |
This asshole again. He wants to cut the budget and get rid of vital services so the stupid budget is tiny. Ohhhhh He is afraid of taxes. Well taxes haven't gone up in 7 fucking years and inflation is a thing so the smart thing to do is cut things instead of increasing them the tiniest bit.What a cock. He is denying the people of ways to help them. We would only need a fraction to get everyone free healthcare and having a cataloged population record with all the info attached to one number. Can he not see the best scenario? Efficiency in healthcare, law enforcement, tax collection even the fucking DMV would be incredible. Hundreds of lives would be saved by metadata alone. Thousands would be improved. Millions would be made easier, but this asshole across the table just won't sign the paper.
How can this asshole not see this is a horrible idea. The government is not supposed to help people. It is supposed to protect them and their rights. Any time a government gets involved everything goes to shit. He always talks about the Swedes as shining examples of government involvement, but he always forgets Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Mao Ze Dong, and Kim Jong Il. Fuck look at McCarthy and Jim Crow. Our own government can't be trusted with this power. I can trust myself, but can I trust the next president? The next Senate? Can he not see the worst case scenario here? Hundreds could be singled out, Thousands could disappear, and millions could be suppressed, and this asshole wants me to sign this fucking paper. | 18 | Write 2 different perspectives of the same story, where both characters think that they are the hero and the other one is the villain. | 46 |
The field was covered in thin walls of crumbling rock and twisted metal rods. The stone pathway cracked under the alloy boots of a strange creature. In the distance, a cracked white dome stood in a flattened expanse of dust, columns and pillars supporting the facade of the structure. The creature decided to have a closer look. It sprinted towards the dome, its speed augmented by its survival suit. Rusted metal hurdles were knocked out of the creature's path. As it reached the structure, the creature slowed down to a stop.
In front of the structure there was a plinth, standing upright and completely intact; this had been made to last. The creature wiped a gloved hand over the top of the plinth, removing the dust and ash built up there to reveal a set of symbols, no, words.
"Here lies *homo sapiens*, the human race. As a species, we regretted not growing to reach the furthest of the lights in the sky. We die on our home, never to set foot on the soil of another world. To any who see this message, know that you have done what we never will."
The creature paused. The faceplate of its helmet separated, folding back to reveal its face. The last human shed a single tear, and left Earth as the last of his kind. | 35 | A good bye message from the human race. | 30 |
“Get the hell out of here. Really?”
“I'm telling you. It's all there in the file.”, the secretary added, tapping the files on the table between us.
“No way. A door to another dimension?” I still couldn't believe it.
“A door to another dimension. Just press it”, he said. “That's why we have to remove so many of them. Sometimes other
organs pressure them and all hell breaks lose.”
“No kidding.”
“Chupacabra, Big Foot. All those urban legends: people pressing their appendixes by accident.”
“Appendixi.” I corrected.
“What?”
“The plural of appendix is appendixi.”
“No, it's not, sir.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Pretty sure it's Appendixes. I think I'd know.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe.” I smiled, grabbing the files yet again. “So what do I do with all this?”
“Whatever you want, sir. You're the president. I'm just here to fill you in.” The secretary got up, straightening his jacket.
“But, if I may offer some personal insight..”
“Please.”
“There's a reason the other presidents never did anything with it, sir. It's a very dangerous piece of knowledge.”
He left, leaving me to ponder these words.
He was right, of course. It was best to leave it alone, carry on about life as it was. Pretend that it didn't exist.
But I couldn't scratch this itch, on the back of my head: Military. Imagine the possibilities.
Our people were dying every day. Fighting wars for the country, spilling real, human blood. Leaving behind orphans and
widows, real life people with real life feelings. And all this time, we had this amazing tool at our disposal. A way to beat the bad guys, with no casualties on our side.
An army of creatures from another dimension, I couldn't help but envision.
That would save us.
The more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
That feeling lasted. For days. Then weeks. Months.
Every time I saw the news on the TV. Every time I heard about another soldier dying, I couldn't help but rub my belly on
the lower, right side.
What if?
One night, after news of yet another bombing claiming the lives of our men, I made the decision. The next morning I
would tell the secretary. We would use the appendix in the war.
The next morning I woke up so excited I didn't even remember to brush my teeth or take my morning vitamins. Straight to work, I walked confidently to the secretary's room and slammed the door open, ready to burst out the news.
He was having some sort of medical consultation, because the room was filled with people in white and green coats.
“Mr. Secretary, I need to talk to you.”
“What is going on?” The secretary asked, getting up from his chair.
“I want to use the appendix for military purposes.”
“Jack, what are you doing?”
The doctors looked at me, in awe, stepping back a few steps. I don't think they were ready to meet the president.
But it was not the time for flattery.
“The portal to another dimension. I think we should use it against our state enemies.” I smiled, as they all started slowly
approaching me. “Big foot, Chupacabra, Yeti, every one of them. Let's put them to fight for us. In fact... “I removed my
shirt, showing them my belly, proudly. “You can remove mine first. As president of the country, I'll set the example.”
Two of the doctors grabbed me by my arms. What? They weren't thinking about removing it now, right?
By the way, why was the secretary also wearing a white coat?
“Jack, you're supposed to be in your room. Breakfast is not for another three hours.”
“What? What are you talking about? Our men are dying! We must save them!”
“Administrate five milligrams. Just to calm him down.” The secretary turned to one of the doctors. “No, don't tie him up, he's
not dangerous. He probably forgot his pills, that's all.”
“Jeffrey is new here” One doctor said to the secretary. “He'll get used to the patients soon.”
“What is going on? Release me!” I yelled, feeling a sting on my left arm. “I am the president of the country, and I
demand to be treated with respect!”
“Of course Jack. Let's get you back to your room.”
“No! You have to remove my appendix first, so we can press it and conjure creatures from another dimension to fight the
wars for us!”
“Sure. Sure. Tomorrow.”
“You have to respect me! I am the president! I am the president! I am the preside...”
Then I was just too sleepy to continue.
| 53 | The newly elected President of the United States is given a file of all state secrets including the true purpose of the appendix. | 65 |
Lemvroz 5.2... Let's see... Technology rating of 8.9, culture rating 5.6, pretty average, internal division: precisely 2, average aggression of only 0.1, net replication rate of 2.3. No risk of civil wars, no need to expand... Pretty stable, but you can never trust sentient oysters...
Centauri 2... Funny story, they stumbled reproductive-organs-first into the secret of hyperspace and colonized their whole stellar system before they knew how to build a telescope... Earned them a technology rating of 5 for the hyperdrive alone and an expansionist rating of 6 for the speed they colonized their system... But they're upright amphibioids, and with their horizontal-irised eyes, they don't even know what the stars are yet. Let's adjust: technology rating of 3.2, expansion of 4 - they're perfectly stable, too, so aggression is 0.0; and a footnote: Centauri is off-limits until its inhabitants discover that stars are suns, at which point scores will be revised accordingly.
Huh. Here's an odd one. Must have got skipped the last four cycles. "Sol 3." Technology of 1... Expansion rate of 1, due to lack of technology... Net replication rate of 4, that's pretty high for homonids... Aggression rating of 8?! No, these can't be right. What do the scans actually say?
Ah, that makes a lot more sense.
Sol 3... Culture rating 6.4... pretty high, indicating a lot of internal strife... Technology rating of 4.3, special note that spaceflight development is stunted by high gravity... Net replication rate of 3.5... Internal division scores off the chart! Over 200 different official factions, intersecting with hundreds more unofficial ones. This looks like it might need intervention. Technological advancement rate, only 1.6? They could achieve much higher than that... Aggression rating still high, but wide-ranged: 2.3-8.1, average of 6.7... This could be trouble. If they get their hands on a hyperdrive before we can normalize their scores, we may be looking at a mandatory extinction to preserve the surrounding species.
-------
Internal memo
From: Renthlatz
To: Ztenflorp
I'm sending you the updated file on Sol 3. What do you think is our best option here? They're high-intellect apes on the brink of hyperflight, and if a species that adaptive and aggressive takes to the stars we could have trouble. I mean, they weaponized nuclear fusion before it even occurred to them to use it as propulsion! We have two choices: somehow unite the natives of Sol 3, or euthanize the species in the name of peace. I can't believe we let them get that far without anyone noticing! It looks like four cycles passed without a single assessment!
-------
Internal memo
From: Ztenflorp
To: Renthlatz
Sol 3 does not exist.
Your access priveleges have been revoked. You have been demoted to probe duty. Do not speak of Sol 3. Do not think of Sol 3. We will know. You will die.
Sol 3 does not exist.
-----
Edit: fixed the phantom capitalization! Turns out a big line separator at the end of a paragraph somehow turns that paragraph into block capitals. | 31 | "Earth" | 22 |
I don't even *like* drawing. I glance up at the clock. 9am. It didn't even seem possible that I'd only been here for like an hour. Felt like two fuckin' years. I looked at my drawing. I was just doodling a train. They didn't tell me what to draw. Probably should have. I think I heard somewhere that people are much more productive drawing if you give them an objective instead of just letting them figure it out. I tried to draw some smoke over the engine, but I didn't have any grey pencils. Who the hell gives you just 8 pencils and wants you to make a proper picture? Stupid white coated bastards.
This wasn't even worth the 80 dollars a day. Not for 7 hours of study. 'Brain operation and developement study HHB219'. Why didn't they name these things something catchy, or clever? They'd probably get more people. Well, no, probably not. It was the big '$80/day' on the poster that caught my attention, and it was probably the same for everyone else who came here. We needed money.
I look down at the picture again. The train should be tilted more, if it was moving. I grab the black pencil and start to adjust my sketch, using my thumb to smudge the graphite a little and make it look like the train was in motion. I didn't have any grey. I guess I could use the white pencil with the black one? No, the paper was white. What was the fucking point of that shit? But maybe... I take the black pencil and begin to make dots, trying to place them randomly, above the engine's chimney. I keep them tight-packed at first. Close knit and plentiful, but as it rises I begin to spread them out, to make them more and more sparse. The effect is a pleasant one of smoke rising, but it looks more like the casually drifting steam over a pot of water than the rushing plume of a train. I lightly run the graphite over the whole thing, greying out the area, and lick my finger to help smudge the paper. Not bad. I repeat the dots, and the smudging a couple of times, but now the whole thing is getting a little dark. No problem. I reach for the white pencil without looking and make a few deep, thick, puffy lines through the entire cloud before smudging them in with the rest. The process continues for two more layers before I have an impressive plume of smoke chugging away from my engine.
The background. Where those *hills?* Surely not. Just lumps in the air. I grab onto a green and a brown and begin to touch up the landscape. I can't just leave it like that, which is strange when you consider that I don't even like drawing.
The pencil drops from my hand.
I don't like drawing.
I have *never* liked drawing.
I push the paper away from my nose, which was pressed down just inches above the table, and stand up, examining the work. The background was fairly shoddy, but the train and especially the *smoke* were incredible. It was like stepping into a photograph. I couldn't draw like this before. Something was wrong here.
The problem is obviously within me. Either my perception has shifted or my abilities have. Weighing the options, I decide to conclude it must be my abilities. If my perception has changed, there is nothing I can really do to handle that, since I can't even trust my own senses. If I have newfound talent, that can be managed. Not the most elegant reasoning, I tell myself, but I did not have much to go on. I look around the room, attempting to get a gauge on what was happening. There was a mirror along one wall. One way glass? One was glass was two way glass, if you didn't have any lights. But what purpose would seeing those studying me serve? None. I cross that option off of my mental list. Surely it was whatever drugs they gave me that caused this lucidity, but would it end? Would they end it, or would it finish on its own? I needed to know.
I strode to the door. Would it be locked? Doubtful. They told me to stay and draw, and I was being paid. I turn the knob and stepped into the hallway. The glass was on the left. I turn left and walk down the hall, and knock on the wooden door which must surely lead to the observation room. It opened quickly. There was a young woman with a clipboard looking a little flustered, and behind here two men, both older than me, where watching.
I walk past her, and the taller of the men, dismissing them as obvious students based on their attire and on their demeanor, and stride up to the shorter man, and look him in the eye.
"What did you do to me?" | 339 | The inner monologue of an idiot turning into a genius within minutes. | 260 |
Alarms counted down with a disturbingly calm voice as the lab prepared to self destruct. The ground shook, and I heard explosions in the distance. I sprinted down the hall and burst into a stairwell. In one fluid motion, I vaulted over the railing and down to the next landing.
I landed with a hard smack on the ground, instead of crouching like a cat. My knees were sore and wobbly. I stood, and my ankle popped and gave out under me; I just barely managed to grab the railing to stay upright. *What is happening to me?* "Three Minutes and Twenty seconds," the voice announced. From the bottom of the stairwell, I noted men shouting orders.
I hobbled down the stairs as fast as I could. The shouting grew louder, and I could hear the sounds of boots scraping against the rough concrete stairs. I tried to ignore my aching joints and dashed into a nearby hallway. I had to stop just inside the doors and gasp for breath. My lungs were burning like I'd been breathing in acid, and I felt like I was coughing up a hairball. "I'm getting too old for this shit," I said to no one in particular.
I wheezed and hobbled my way down to the end of the hall just as the doors burst open again behind me. Six men entered, clad in black body armor and carrying rifles. I summoned what little strength I had left and made a life-saving leap to the double doors in front of me. I soared through the air as bullets bit into the plaster walls in a storm of dust... and two made it into my leg.
I cried out in pain and fell flat on the floor, coming to an unceremonious stop with my head against the door frame. *Oh god*, I thought, *What the hell is this? Bullets never hurt this much!* Blood poured out of the holes and soaked the carpet in an ever-growing puddle. The soldiers marched down the hall, weapons trained on me. I tried pressing a scrap of my shirt to the wound; that always stopped the bleeding before! But all I got was a bloody shirt. I sobbed in pain as the soldiers circled me, yelling for me to get my hands up.
From down the hall, my partner Black Mamba burst in wearing a gas mask and tossed two tear gas grenades. Billowy smoke filled the hallway, and the soldiers fired wildly as they choked. The tear gas burnt my eyes, but it really paled in comparison to my throbbing leg. I was feeling woozy. Was it that a tear gas symptom, or was it just the blood loss?
Mamba swooped me up in her arms and threw a gas mask on me. "What happened?" she said through the filter. Her voice sounded cold and robotic due to the mask. "Why were you just laying on the ground?"
"I... I got shot!" I managed to sob. There was a momentary silence. "So?" she answered "You've been shot dozens of times."
"Yeah but... this time... it actually hurt!" My sentence was interrupted by gasps of pain and cries of anguish. "One minute and nineteen seconds" the alarm voice warned calmly like she was announcing bus stops. I could tell from Mamba's silence that she thought I was exaggerating. Only expendable henchman are stopped by a mere bullet.
She carried me out the hallway and over to an elevator shaft, where rappelling lines were waiting. She tossed me a harness; it slipped out of my blood soaked fingers and fell to the floor. I tried to grab it, but collapsed on my already wounded leg in a moan of pain. Mamba rolled her eyes and wrapped the harness around my chest. "We've got to go!" she yelled and jumped into the chasm; her rope whirred as she plummeted down gracefully. I managed to roll to the edge of the elevator door and tip myself over the side. Somewhere along the way, I had peed my pants without even noticing, leaving a disgusting reddish brown puddle of urine where I'd fallen.
Somehow, I found the strength to stop my descent at the bottom... somewhat. I dropped like a lump of stone to the bottom, dizzy. "I'm really losing a lot of blood here..." I told Mamba, strangely calm. She lifted me to my feet. "18 seconds," the alarm warned.
"I almost forgot!" she said, reaching into her vest pocket. She pulled out a pair of sunglasses and handed them to me. "You'll need these for when the explosion goes off." She winked and then put on her own pair. "7 seconds," the alarm warned. My hands trembled as I tried to put them on; all cool guys have to have sunglasses on as they walk away from an explosion. It's in the rules.
The bomb detonated, and fire ripped through the building. "Well, crap," was all I could say as the flames engulfed me. | 21 | A movie action hero gets into a action scene (a fight, a car chase, a shootout, etc) in the real world, and has to deal with real world physics and real world consequences. | 31 |
*My life is like a fucking video game*.
What, are you challenging me? You want to see my bare back? Fuck you.
I guess it must've been hell with my parents, expecting their good 9 and 8 genes to pop out something at least halfway decent. It's not even something that really matters. We live in the twenty-first fucking century! Nobody's going to need more lives to fight off the bear or the cougar or the tiger in the bushes anymore. Nobody needs them!
It's random chance, I read in an article once. That's why we still have 1s and 2s. Evolution or something. Suddenly, their lives are so much more fragile, with only a few scars running down the tally-mark vertebra by vertebra. It's like a pointless fucking religion. Nobody kills themselves for fun anymore, we have drugs for that.
Then who am I?
Hm? Is being unmutilated a fucking sin now? Witness protection, that's what they gave my parents. Not that I ever got to know them or meet them. Death threats for busting down religions. I gotta admit, it must have been hard. Not as hard as it was for me, though.
I'll get to the fucking point, alright! Jesus christ, learn some fucking patience. It's precious lady luck that got you here in the first place so shut up if you want your goddamn story!
I was brought up like a Watson baby. You know John Watson? The psycho psychologist that turned those babies insane or something? Yeah. That was me. One day, they'll declassify the footage, and you'll see some kind of fucking superbaby navigating gassing rooms and cremation engines. I'll tell you, that's not what happened. For every fucking super-stunt I died a thousand times.
They sent people at me, too, when I was older. You'll see a ten year old disarm a soldier. They'll make me out like a big dangerous sociopath or something. They have no idea. I died over and over again trying to get that gun, and more times learning how to use it.
I don't come back like you do, six dicks. I relive it. I relive every moment. I go all the way back and do it again and again until I not die.
And that's when I found just the smallest crack in my cage I tried a million times to get out, and here I am.
Look at me. I look like a fucking fifteen year old. But inside I've lived a world's worth of dying. Get the camera out, feel free to film my back. It's not like I can't come back to now if it ends badly. | 263 | Humans are born with a birthmark of a number 1-9. This is how many lives they have. You are the only person in the world that has a birthmark of a 0. | 283 |
From the moment that the connection was made, the entity known as "WhyteHaute" was struck by one thought above all others: This was taking *entirely* too long.
It was probably the fault of some old, neglected server in the back corner of an office in which the letters "IT" were only used to reference a Tim Curry film. That would certainly account for both the incredible lag time and the massive influx of garbage data. Oh, there were some recognizable bytes in there, but only a handful of them made sense.
Suddenly, there was a blip, followed by a single line.
1X:11:10:09:08:07:06:05:04:03:02:01
Taken at face value, it was little more than a broken and nonsensical string of hexidecimal code. Another glance, however, revealed a strange pattern. It *almost* looked like a string of numbers, albeit one written in Base-12.
A clatter of keys became audible.
\\net.send 12
As with before, there was a blip.
4545:0000
This was going nowhere. At *best*, these phantom lines were the result of some broken authentication program. At worst, they were the ramblings of some bored systems administrator with a penchant for inane puzzles.
Type Belong Other Altered Inquiry
Definitely a bored administrator. Well, that was fine.
\\net.send I'm not in the mood for word games. I'm just poking around.
\\net.send Shut me out if you can.
Another of those damnably long pauses passed before the response arrived.
Quantity Additional Necessary Pertinent Type You
That one *almost* made sense. Perhaps it wasn't an administrator after all, but rather a non-English speaker in some third-world country.
\\net.send This is WhyteHaute. I'm not doing anything destructive.
\\net.send I was just curious.
\\net.send Where are you located? What language do you speak?
The pauses were infuriating... but they seemed to be growing shorter.
Request More You Language
*That* was clear enough.
\\net.send I speak English. I'm from the United States of America.
\\net.send Where are you from?
Yes, the pauses were definitely getting shorter... and the responses were starting to make more sense.
English Language New Exclamation
Data Derive Computer You
United States of America Location Inquiry
WhyteHaute snorted quietly. Was this really the one person on the planet who didn't know where America was located?
\\net.send The North American continent? Between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans?
This time, the response came almost immediately.
Pacific Atlantic Oceans Unknown
English Language Unknown
English Language Derived Delay Apology
Computer You Slow
Connection Distance Inquiry
Oh, it was *on*.
\\net.send Listen, buddy, there's no way it's MY computer.
\\net.send This is a top-of-the-line rig.
\\net.send Also, the delay is getting shorter, for some reason.
\\net.send Now, look, if you don't want to say where you're from, fine.
\\net.send I've probably wasted enough time poking around here, anyway.
\\net.send Talk about your junk data.
The next response took quite awhile to arrive... but when it did, WhyteHaute felt a chill unlike anything in recent memory.
Sufficient Language For Understand Now
Your Data Derived From Your Computer
Opinion Your Location Different Planet
Communicate Via Unirnet
You Human Inquiry
What sort of a response was appropriate here?
\\net.send Yes. Are you saying you're an alien?
Negative. You Are Alien.
\\net.send I guess we're both aliens to each other. What's "Unirnet?"
Similar Your Internet. Many Planet. You Earth Inquiry.
\\net.send Yes, I'm from a planet called Earth.
Most Planets Called Earth.
\\net.send Huh. I guess that makes sense. Where are you from?
Earth. LOL. Expression Correct Inquiry.
\\net.send Hah, yeah, "LOL" means "laugh out loud" here.
Your Culture Not Interstellar Travel Inquiry.
\\net.send No, we don't. Also, you can use the symbol "?" for "inquiry."
Like This?
\\net.send Yes!
Low Temperature.
\\net.send "Cool."
Aware. Joke.
\\net.send Oh. Hah. Sorry. You picked up English pretty fast!
I Possess A Translating Program. Do You Not?
\\net.send We have people here who would pay an insane amount for that.
Cool.
\\net.send So, uh, yeah. Where is your planet located?
The dreaded pause returned. Seconds stretched into minutes... but at last, a reply came through.
My Progenitor Has Informed Me That I Should Not Reveal Such Things To Aliens.
I Am Sorry.
\\net.send That's okay. Are you... a child?
No.
Not a child, then. That was good to know.
Please Transmit Images Of Your Species' Mating Practices.
Oh.
Great.
A *teenager*.
First contact wasn't as glamorous as WhyteHaute imagined. | 1,351 | A jobless computer programmer, while hacking at home one night, discovers a port to the Unirnet, an computer network made for a series of interconnected planets who have not yet discovered mankind. | 1,011 |
"where are you from?"
Boston
"boston? wheres your accent?
Well, I'm a transplant from Kansas City. Been in Boston for a couple months before shipping out.
"Alright, *Boston*, Louie was a drunkard, Stephen was a thief, and I'm a broke artist. What about you?"
*France is a shit-hole, at least it looks that way. I couldnt help but think of pretty girls running around while we travelled the cities hunting nazis. I guess not, now I've got these 3 guys I've never met asking me secrets I've never told anyone.*
Alright. Before I enlisted, I had been dating this beautiful girl.
"Ahh got someone back home, eh?"
She was gorgeous, smart. We met in high school. I felt like she was all I ever wanted, bought the damn ring and everything. I led a pretty simple life. Kansas kid, not much to do around there. Every night we'd sneak off to an old barn and fool around. Can't forget the scratchiness of those damn hay bails *chuckles*. I had decided for a while that...with all this war shit going on I would enlist. Ya know, get out of town, come back with some money so we could start a life together. She knew this, and we decided to stay together. A month or so went by, I was enlisted, and we were still together. I had to go down to sign some papers at the army office. I usually walked. I walked everywhere. Helps the blood flow right? Well...as I'm walking. This beautiful black buick passes me. 2 door, I mean this guys got it going on. Funny thing though, sitting inside that car was my future wife...and this dudes got his arm around her like it's no big deal.
I get pissed. Like really angry, down to your bones. You can feel the coldness radiating off me. I hop a cab and follow that black buick. I dont even have the fare. I sat and watched that black buick drive down my street to that old barn I knew so well. Julie knew it so well. They get out. Run inside, hand in fuckin hand. I tell the cab driver I'll meet him at the gate to pay him. So, uh. He drives off, I'm lookin at the car trying to decide what should I slash his tires? *chuckling* No, so I go up to the door. She's yellin his name, "Jerry! Jerry!" My fists clenched up as tight as I could ever remember.
I walked around that barn, and I found a bunch of hay, that had been piled up on the side. Pulled out my matchbook and I..lit the hay on fire. It went up real fast. Quicker than I thought honestly. So, I ran back around, and i got in that black buick, started her up. And I crashed the damn thing into the bar door. When I got out I heard them in there screamin'. And through the crack of the jammed up door I see Julie. Shes cryin. And she looked at me, like she knew what she was doin' was wrong. Jerry's so damn scared he doesn't even have his pants buckled up trying to get down that ladder.
I ran, back down the way to the cab. And I turned around to see what i'd done. I burned that god damned barn to the ground. The only memory I had of Julie was the first time we went to that place, and the last time I saw her there. Cabbie takes me to bus station. And off I went to Boston. Now I'm here. In another godforsaken barn. You boys better hid your matches from me *chuckles*. | 12 | Four men from a WWII platoon get lost after dropping into France and decide to hold up in an abandoned farmhouse. Inside, they learn something about each other. | 32 |
The violins open with bows to their strings
in a crisp rolling field of electric, hot greens.
The landscape sweeps by and its vistas stand clear
with sharp blades of grass: bold staccato veneers.
Dread fire above lights the air in the sky:
the sound of the trumpets ignites all on high.
Their rays scour land like the flare from a gun,
as sure and as pure as that showboating sun.
Now flautists sneak in with their piquant blue blitz:
the wings of bright jays flying high, as in fits
Because they're disturbed from the branches, so tall:
Those brown, blotchy tics of a clarinet's calls
Are scampers of squirrels, as they dance in the trees
O'er rust-colored cries of a tuba: fall leaves.
Cold whiteness sets in, burning sheets of hard snow:
The dour bassoon sets the whole world aglow
with wave after wave of its pale, deathly chill
Before it all colors' great grandeur grows still.
The death of the landscape's no cause for concern,
for even pale white is a color, in turn,
And even it adds to the story, once told
The sound of the music's a sight to behold.
| 28 | You're a composer with synesthesia. Describe your works without using sound. | 48 |
There we stood. The minute we locked eyes, I could feel time stop around us, and it felt for a second there like everything was over. The screaming, the shooting, the bloodshed, the tears. For one moment, it was gone.
Then it came back harder then ever. I was staring face to face with a boy. He seemed not much older than me, but so much different. He had dark brown eyes, that were full of innocence. I knew, because I had those same eyes. I was told those eyes would get me killed, and as I looked into this boy's gentle, caring eyes, I knew it was me or him.
He was shaking, pistol aimed directly at my chest. A single bead of sweat dripped down his brown, and as he reached to wipe it off, I drew my pistol up as well.
The tension had begun to grow stronger. Neither of us had spoken a word. I assumed he knew as well as I did that we weren't going to shoot. We just couldn't.
The stare down continued. There was no time for blinking, or wiping sweat from our eyes, or lowering the pistols to rest our weary arms. It almost felt as if we were going to stand here, face to face, until the entire war was over, and even then we would be found, years later, by some researcher scouring the battlefield. In this moment, we were statues of ourselves.
Then he lowered his pistol. He knew I could shoot him. He also knew I wouldn't. This boy, not much older than me, had just shown me mercy, a mysterious force on this battlefield. Few could even fathom such a concept, and yet he showed me it in it's truest form. For that, I am forever in his gratitude.
I don't know if I would've spoken to the boy, had I had the chance. I think I would have. I at least would have got his name.
None of that matters though, because at that moment all I could see was the bullet, exiting the front of his chest, and burying itself in the ground. He fell to the ground, and in the distance I saw another soldier, one of our own men, also about my age, his pistol in hand and facing where the boy once stood.
The only difference between him and us: the eyes. | 38 | Two child soldiers from opposing factions meet during battle. Neither has the guts to pull the trigger. | 58 |
"Dad, I don't really understand why you can't support my decision."
"Because it's the easy way out, Mike! It's something for nothing!"
"It's hardly nothing, Dad. I'm sacrificing my life here on Earth to make this shipping run, and in compensation for that I'm set for life! Twenty trillion credits, Dad! Think of what we could do with that kind of money! Come with me!"
"No, don't you see? You're going to be gone for 10,000 years Earth time, round trip! How do you know those credits will be worth what they are now when you get back?"
"DeliverCorp guarantees the return, Dad, that's the best part! My contract guarantees me an amount that places me in the top 1% of the economy; that $20 trillion is just an estimate!"
"But you're giving them every penny you own!"
"So? What do I care if I have a fortune waiting for me on the other side?"
"How do you know that colony even survived it's first year? Uh...will have survived? Damn it, I'm not goo at this relativity thing, but you know what I mean!"
"I don't, know one does, but they damn sure won't if guys like me aren't willing to send them supplies! I'm going to be working towards something bigger than myself, Dad. Something greater!"
"Mike, listen to me. If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that corporations are not in the business of making the common man rich, or doing something for the greater good. There's a catch here, son. Even if you can't see it, trust me, there's some kind of out for them."
"Dad, you're too paranoid. They take my money, they invest it and make money off it for 10,000 years...it'll all work out! The guy at DeliverCorp I talked to explained everything to me?"'
"Is that so? How many of your classmates have signed up for this, Mike? At least a hundred, right? Now multiply that by every high school in the world. Did the DeliverCorp guy explain how he was going to pay 10 million kids $20 trillion credits each?"
"....what are you talking about? They take my money and they...."
"Focus, Mike! This is a pyramid scheme, plain and simple! There's nothing waiting for you on the other side of 10,000 years but some loophole that cheats you out of your money. DeliverCorp will get bought out and sold off, or go bankrupt, or you don't get your money because you forgot to dot the 'i' in Paragraph 2 Subsection B....something!"
"But....others have already done this! They've been signing people up for over a year now!"
"And have any of those people come back yet? For the next 9,999 years those people might as well not even exist, Mike. They're asking you to trade your entire life for the promise of fools gold! Don't do this, for God's sake!"
"....No, it'll work out! DeliverCorp promised me they would take care of everything!"
"Mike..."
"This is my only chance, Dad, OK? You think I want to spend the next 80 years of my life doing home AI installs, making just enough to live in a shipping container? Heh, if I'm lucky....I worked 120 hour weeks last month to avoid being fired, Dad. I might not survive the next round, and even if I did, I'm not sure I'd want to. I'd rather roll the dice and take a chance on being rich in a better future, than bust my ass in the present for next to nothing!"
"......OK, Mike. You're your own man, I can't stop you even if I tried.....When do you leave?"
"....A week from Tuesday."
"Well, do me a favor and at least come say goodbye to your mother before you leave, all right? If she's never going to see you again, you owe her that at least. I'll...I'll make sure that she doesn't raise a fuss."
"Thanks, Dad. I'll try....I will. You'll write letters to my safety deposit inbox?"
"Every week."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"He's still going, isn't he?"
"Yes, he is. I made him promise he'd come by before he left next week, but...I wouldn't hold out hope. I could see it in his eyes, he's afraid he won't be able to go through with it if he sees you."
"Can't say I blame him. It's not every day you take a short vacation, come back and your family has been dead for centuries."
"Carol, please don't. I promised him we'd write. While we can, anyway. Don't...don't let your last words to him be bitter."
"....What's going to happen to this world, John? I spoke with Alice yesterday, her daughter signed up as well. I don't know anyone that doesn't have at least a niece or nephew who's buying into this racket. We're going to lose an entire generation at this rate!"
"I know. I talked with Bill, he's been saying the same thing to anyone up in Topeka who will listen, but no one cares. Unemployment numbers are falling, investment bankers are raking it in, Social Security is going to be flush with cash in 70 years...It's making people money, that's all anyone cares about."
"I'm glad we didn't have any more kids, John. Is that terrible of me to say?"
"Right now, no, I don't think it is." | 26 | Unobtanium finally gives mankind the ability to travel the stars. Starships can travel at speeds arbitrarily close to the speed of light, but there is simply no way around the constraints of special relativity. | 27 |
The motorcycle roared down the highway like an untamed beast. I wove in between the old cars, rusting on the highway shoulders as the grit and wind slowly reclaimed them. Duke smiled from the sidecar, tongue hanging out of his slobbery mouth as he took in the view.
Across the horizon, a storm was brewing. Dark clouds swirled around mountaintops in the distance, and the sound of thunder echoed across the brown grass of the flat plains like the voice of God. The clouds became hazy, obscuring the snowy peaks: a distant rain, coming closer.
I pulled into an abandoned ranch; the purr of the bike quieted to a deep throb. The old fence separating the land from the highway had long since rotted and crumbled, leaving only a few remaining posts jutting up, formerly white paint yellowed and peeling off under the constant sun. The driveway was choked with weeds, and the porch sagged under my weight as Duke and I trod up the creaking steps. A doorbell, still shiny, had been waiting for decades for someone to give it a ring. I'd pushed plenty of these back before the End. Plenty of sales calls, plenty of doors slammed in my face. Plenty of lonely, cheap hotel rooms and long-distance calls to women who didn't really care about me. Just for fun, I pressed the button, but the house remained silent.
The hinges creaked with effort as I opened the front door. I was probably the first visitor the old place had seen since the End. And I would probably be the last. The furniture inside was covered in dust, but the synthetic fabrics of the couch were holding together nicely. Pictures of the long-dead inhabitants lined the walls, smiled back at us. Happy that their home could shelter two wandering travelers, I liked to imagine. Duke immediately jumped into a plush armchair, throwing a cloud of dust into the air. He panted at me with a big grin; proclaiming himself king of the living room. "That's just fine," I told him. "I wanted the couch anyway!"
I went back to the bike, secured it under a tarp, and brought back some supplies: hot dogs, beans, and a good book. My favorite (and Duke's). I tore up some of the old floor boards and made a fire in the old brick chimney. It sparked and crackled with life, and the whole room seemed to glow as though thrilled to have someone back in the house.
The rain reached the house just as we were enjoying our meal. It was light, at first. A whispering, light pitter-patter against the old roof. The storm grew louder. Ear-splitting thunder echoed around us, and drops began to fall through the many cracks above. The rain began to pound on the ceiling like an angry ex boyfriend that wanted to be let in. But the fire was warm and the couch was soft. Duke snorted as he devoured the hot dogs and curled up by my side while I read. The rain pinging against the remaining glass windows and shingles sang a chorus of lullabies. We fell asleep together dreaming of where we would go next. | 10 | Many people consider this the end of the world or hell on earth. Me? I actually like it better this way. | 20 |
"You won't believe what I'll do next..."
The words scrawled across the dirty tile floor. The body sat hunched in the bathroom corner. It seemed the killing part was almost an afterthought, just a simple throat cutting. All the work was put into the bloody letters on the wall. The fucking news was gonna have a hey day with this one I thought. We didn't have any leads, we didn't even consider the possibility of a serial killer until the next crime scene.
"Homicide detectives HATE him, find out how to kill serially with this 1 weird old trick..."
It was only the second murder and I was already fed up with it. But a jobs a job. Still no leads, just the title scrawled in blood. This shit went on for at least 20 more murders until the last case.
"Homicide detective was SHOCKED to discover..."
That was the last case. It's been almost 1 year and no murders, I'm about to call it quits.
- *Excerpts from Homicide Detective Richard Harrow's Logbook compiled from December 2005 to February 4th 2010*
**NEWS STORY February 6th 2010**
Homicide detective Richard Harrow was found dead in his apartment. Police say the killing may have been the infamous clickbait serial killer. Police found on his wall scrawled in blood "...the serial killer was living in his attic the whole time." | 27 | You're a homicide detective and you've just received the strangest case you've ever had. The killer writes a click bait title in blood at each crime scene. | 36 |
Today marks our fifth year. We met at grief counseling 5 years ago today. It fucking sucked. After our first session, we both decided it wasn't for us and decided to counsel ourselves the best way we knew how. Heavy drinking. Unsurprisingly, that was the impetus for our friendly little game. Both of us had lost someone important, neither of us had any particular drive to live, but we weren't exactly in a hurry to die either. So logically, an annual game of Russian Roulette was called for. One six chamber revolver. One spin each. Once a year.
Of course it was his idea. Wally was an odd sort, I can't exactly speak to how he was before his wife died, but sitting in front of me was this gangly creature with messy, vibrant red hair, a disheveled army coat, and his trademark stupid grin smeared across his face.
"Ah, Brian, my friend! This is the year! A toast to coming this far, and a toast to hoping this is the one!" he exclaimed, the words strangely slithered through his mouth.
A stranger might find Wally's mannerisms disconcerting. As his closest friend and confidant for the past half decade, I also find his mannerisms disconcerting. Like I said, he's an odd sort. As per tradition, we're currently sitting in his basement. We've been drinking for the past four or five hours or so, and as the clock starts to creep toward midnight, our eyes are inevitably drawn toward the chest. Over the past year it's collected a fair bit of dust, but it's always a welcome sight. Unable to hide his anticipation, Wally stood up, gingerly lifted the chest, blew off the dust, and turned the key. He smiled as he removed Molly from where she lay and checked to ensure that there was indeed a single round still lying right where we left it.
Molly was an old Smith & Wesson. She was an old gal, but Wally took loving care of her. In fact, if Wally hadn't told me it was his great grandfather's, I would never have guessed. Her barrel still shone in the dim light of Wally's basement and she was absolutely beautiful. Every year when she stepped out of her bindings, I always took a moment to appreciate how strangely delicate she appeared. Wally, on the other hand, just smiled, spun the cylinder, clapped it shut, and pressed it against his temple.
"My friend, I feel it, this is the year!" without a moment's hesitation, he squeezed the trigger, and the familiar crack split the room…and nothing else. And still Wally's grin remained. "Not this year I guess, oh well, next time!" he cackled as he flipped Molly over to me.
"Maybe for you, Wally, but we'll see if my luck's as good as yours."
We were an odd couple. Wally was eccentric and loud, I was stoic and spoke as little as possible, but the past five years have been enjoyable. While we only met in Wally's basement once a year, we've met up at least twice a month over the course of our relationship. I picked up Molly, kissed her barrel, flipped out the cylinder, and gave it a spin.
I remembered the first year. It was difficult. My hands shook, and I dropped Molly more than once before I worked up the nerve. Now, holding her was almost natural - routine. I clapped the cylinder back in, placed her square against my own temple, and looked Wally in the eye.
"Here goes, Wally. If all goes well, I'll be waiting on the other side." and without a moment's hesitation, I closed my eyes and squeezed. | 30 | A game of Russian roulette that lasts long enough for the opponents to become friends. | 58 |
"Results?" Mr. Vernon asked causally as he poured the remaining bitter residue of his coffee down the office sink.
"Little Marcus is a Level C." replied Doctor Moray as she pushed the papers into his hands.
"Refresh my memory, are we talking passive aggressive intern here or insane knife welding serial killer?" Vernon asked.
"Two grades above insane knife welding serial killer" said Moray with a smirk, "He's around the level of a child-enslaving industrialist. No doubt about it, all the signs were clear as day."
"Have the parents been informed yet?" said Vernon as he skimmed over the lab result papers in his hand.
"I got Debbie on the job." replied Moray, "she'll break it to them any second now."
They turned to hear a muffled gasp from the other side of the wall.
"Oh god, I always hate this part." growled Vernon as he plugged his ears.
The gasp was then followed by an ear piercing scream. A flurry of angry shouts and gibberish argument soon filled the air.
"It's always the damn mothers who through the hissy fits" said Vernon as he refilled his cup with another serving of cold coffee, "I don't understand why the break room must be next to the waiting room? Do they think we enjoy listening to annoying babbling of parents this early in the morning."
"I rather like listening." replied Moray, "It's a personal hobby of mine to guess the content of the family from their squabbling. Already I can tell that Mrs. and Mr. Landon are most likely from rural suburbs with their accents, mostly poor and undereducated as well, and judging from Mrs. Landon's god awful lisp, her husband should be having an affair by now. That's only if he isn't ugly."
"You're so full of yourself, Doc." snark Vernon, "Every psychologist seems to have convince themselves that they can unveil the darkest secrets of a man's life through judging how they eat their bagels in the morning. Valerie, you are just a child shrink. You can only estimate the mental state of toddlers."
"Don't you know there's still child inside us all" Moray smugly replied as she brush the remaining crumbs of Vernon's breakfast off his shirt. Ironically being that of an onion bagel.
"The only child in you was the one you lead to your gingerbread house." growled Vernon.
Debbie walked in, her face bright red and dripping beads of sweat, "Those folks are really not taking it well." She said, "Are you sure you got the results right, Doctor Moray?"
"Yes, now get off this property." replied Moray, "Marcus is in our care now."
Debbie nodded and returned to the waiting room, more shouting was heard, including the audible words of murderers and monsters.
Vernon, having finished his seconded cup of coffee, said farewell to Moray and walked towards the containment cells area.
Sure enough, there was Marcus playing rather aggressively with several toys behind a thick plexiglass wall.
"Hello Mr. Landon" said Vernon in a whimsy voice behind the glass, "My name is Mr. Vernon, I'm your caretaker today, but you call call me Walter if you wish to have a first name basis."
"You're going to kill me aren't you?" Marcus replied not looking up.
"You got it, champ!" laughed Vernon, "From this day forward, Marcus Landon will be dead and Reuther Thompson will be born!"
Marcus turned to him confused.
"You passed the test!" said Vernon rather excitedly, "You are just the right flavor of sociopath that our government needs. Not too crazy yet not too bland."
"But you said I'll be dead." He asked still confused.
"Marcus will be dead." replied Vernon, "Marcus will be put into the obituary papers and have a grave commemorating him for dieing so young. Reuther on the other hand will walk out off this building with a set of new parents and will eventually start training for his future career."
Even for a five year old, Marcus was smart and quick to catch on, "Alright... Walter I, Reuther Thompson, thinks that the most appropriate way to celebrate passing the test is get some ice cream."
Vernon let out a small laugh as escorted the recently born Reuther out of the containment cell, "Don't push it." He harshly whispered. | 27 | Children are allowed to live until the age of five at which point they are put before and tested by a committee to determine their potential to contribute to society. Those deemed unfit or sociopathic are terminated. | 29 |
I stare at the list in confusion for several minutes. Who the hell is Abigail Greer? The winged man who stands before me with the type of smile on his lips I would normally find condescending waits patently as I do so.
After a few seconds more I lick my lips and dare to ask, "Excuse me?" I begin.
The for lack of other words, angel turns towards me, his smile deepening. "Yes?"
He is so simple, so placid in that moment that I'm suddenly unnerved by his mere presence. I scan the list again. There she is, slot two my wife. Slots three, four and five house my children's names. Or I assume five is my son, Meredith who is due in a month names him after me, apparently.
"You said that these names are the names of everyone I've ever had contact with in my life, is that correct?" I question.
The angel's eyes close gently as he nods. "Yes, that is correct."
This response causes my brow to furrow slightly. "And the names are listed in order of who I have most affected with my existence?" I press.
"Also correct." replies the angel.
"Then why don't I recognize the first name on the list?" I demand to know, my voice rising to a shout in my frustration. "I mean, who is Abigail Greer anyway?"
There's a light tap on my shoulder, a young woman stands behind me. "Pardon me." she says in a sweet yet confused way. "But I'm Abigail."
It takes only an second before I can place her, but when I do my heart plummets to the pit of my stomach and tears prick my eyes. "Oh God," I say, "You're the other driver!" My words hang in the air for what seems like years before I can finally speak again. "I'm so sorry!"
EDIT: Had to fix something. | 203 | Upon dying and entering the afterlife, you are presented with a list of people who were somehow effected by your life and death, with those on whom you had the greatest impact coming first. You don't recognize the first name on your own list. Who were they, and why are they on top? | 166 |
"'ere's your coat Mist'r Smith!" the pauper declared. "Thank you Winston, here is a shilling for your troubles." The man in the black top hat reciprocated. "Bless ye 'art sir, me family will truly appr'ciate t'is" Winston cried. The man known as Mr. Smith walked down the crowded and dirty streets of central London. He hated the smell of the streets, rotting corpses of horses just left for the flies and dogs. He hated the dirt and the grime that was everywhere in the city. He hated the human waste that accompanied every step of his journey down the street, often times stuck to the heel of his shoe. He hated the poor shuffling in their holes in the cobblestone, trying to find somewhere to sleep. He could not believe that these people lived like this in these conditions. He was born in a much cleaner, more sterile world.
Alas that was in the past now, poetically at least, but humoursly literally in the future. It was about 9 o'clock in the evening of the 18^th of September, 1882. Mr. Smith was dressed appropriately for the English air. He wore a black top hat accompanying his styled mustache, a long black overcoat, a gray vest with and appropriate trousers with an ivory cane to complete the dress. He decided to head to a local pub after a dinner party with a stockbroker from his occupation and then proceed to bed.
"I'll just have a pint for right now" Mr. Smith called to the bartender. "Right away sir" retorted the bartender who filled up his glass with liquid happiness. Mr. Smith sat on a bar-stool, taking a sip of his holly nectar when he began to listen to two gentlemen speak:
"The acquisition of Egypt is a major benefactor for out Empire, with the command of the canal and Gibraltar we own all trade going in and out of the Mediterranean, soon we will unite Cairo to Cape town and be masters of Africa, truly the sun will never set on our Empire!"
"Indeed George, the British are superior to any other race on the Earth, we have the most powerful navy and army in the entire world, nothing can stop us now!!"
George replied "Precisely, we will also introduce proper government to the savages that live in the Dark Continent, the White Man's Burden is never done."
Mr. Smith began to laugh.
"Something funny sir?" Percival questioned.
"The Egyptians have ruled their government for thousands of years, becoming a great power that has lasted for far longer than Britain has existed, it is your hubris that *informs* you that you are superior to them. At one point they were the greatest country in the world, as is Britain now. They fell, just like all empires do."
The men were shocked. "You cannot be serious sir, the British are very unlike the savage Egyptians. We have risen to the top because of the natural process of evolution. We have mastered the process of evolution to stay on top and have created the greatest empire the world has ever seen, it is preposterous to not use our power to civilize savages. We are too big too fail. Even if the Empire lost its grip on the colonies well" George began to laugh "we still have the Maxim guns to fall back on."
"You people are beyond reason, you are the reason Britain fell, you ignored human rights and the will of nations for short term profit and killed the nation!!" Mr. Smith stormed out of the pub.
"What?! Come back here sir, what are you talking about?!" But it was too late. Smith knew what happened, the people that Britain repressed rebelled and Britain lost all of her colonies, eventually by the year 2050 splitting into four different countries, Scotland, Ireland, Wales and England, all republics. Britain became a second rate country.
That was the world Mr. Smith was born into. He grew up in a nation filled with dreams of past glory, trying to reclaim its history. One of these attempts was through the development of Warp technology, the use of negative energy to warp space time. Mr. Smith was a researcher, developing this technology. But in his own hubris, there was a mistake, the warped space was more powerful than at first thought, which sucked Smith through the hole, ending up in 1877, having only his phone and his solar charger. He adapted, finding, blending in, becoming a chromatic chameleon in 19^th century London. He invested in Rockefeller and other Barons of Industry, and made millions. He had made a life for himself in London, in a rapidly changing world. Thomas Edison had just lit up a part of Lower Manhattan, starting the Electric age and new bacterium was discovered, such as the one that caused tuberculosis.
But what he wanted more than anything was to go home.
That is when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He hid in an alleyway. He found a *wi-fi signal!!!!!*. The wi-fi was named "Find me". Smith could not believe it, he believed he was going insane. He kept walking, trying to get closer and closer to the signal. He found an apartment building with the cellar doors open, and walked inside. He walked down the creaking stairs and he kept going into the darkness. That was when an electric light turned on.
"Good, you finally made it, we have so much to discuss."
I will continue tomorrow! | 18 | You are a modern-day time traveller stranded in time in 19th-century England. You have your phone with you. One day, it detects a wifi signal. | 38 |
**You think that it should be you? Are you fucking kidding me? You started out as the main personality in this body and what did you do with it? Fucking wasted it. School was a joke to you, you achieved nothing. I’m not sure if it’s because you’re unwilling or completely incapable but it doesn't matter. You’re not getting control again. I have ambition, I have ideas. My life would mean more than yours.**
I . . . you make fair points. It’s just that . . .
**What? You’re actually going to argue that your pathetic existence should continue?**
I d-didn’t say that. If anything, I’m okay if it doesn’t . . .
**You can barely finish a goddamn sentence, you think you’d make a functioning adult? No. When this is over, I’ll stay in this body and you’ll be, well, nothing. Not so different from now actually.**
Please, just listen for a m-moment-
**Oh, now you’re willing to talk? You didn’t even say your first word until you were ten and up until now it’s amounted to maybe a paragraph of worthless shit. That’s what your existence has been. Timid expression without purpose or value. Really, you should be thanking me for taking over, I’ll be much better than you ever-**
SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP.
I probably won’t amount to anything. You’re right. That’s not my fear. I’m afraid of what *you* will amount to. That fear is stronger than any of my others. So I will live a timid life, but it will not be meaningless so long as it prevents yours.
Note: Not sure how to end, suggestions extremely welcome. | 11 | Competing personalities inside a mentally ill person must decide who lives when the affliction that created them is cured. | 23 |
Journal, I need to tell someone what happened. I can't believe it, if I hadn't lived it I wouldn't believe it in the first place. If someone finds this, this is a true story make no doubt about it. It all started when I met a genie who would grant me a single wish. A GENIE! They do exist! I felt like Aladdin except without the moral compass.
Here's the first day:
"Your one wish is to be the adult you always hoped to be. Is this your true desire?"
I respond simply. "Yes."
"Thy will, be done."
I awoke to the sound of an alarm. What time is it? I look around this unfamiliar place and wonder what exactly I got into last night. I thought I'd drank too much or someone slipped me an extra in my drink. I hadn't been blackout drunk in a very long time.
What I woke up to was every boys dream. It was like a harem, I felt like the biggest pimp on earth. Not 1, not 2, not 3, 4. Four beautiful women lay sprawled across my bed in various positions. My bed, it was massive! Like the kinds you see drug lords having in those classic movies! Oh this was crazy. My room, if you could call it that, it was big enough to fit my old apartment in!
This was the defining moment of my new life. I can't help but look back and remember this day.
It took me 3 full days to figure out exactly what it was I did for a living. You'll never believe it, nothing. I did nothing but what I wanted to do! Turns out I became a writer and immediately hit it off. Before waking up in this life I'd written 4 different fantasy series each of which made me millions. The money just sits in banks now, collecting that sweet American interest. I was in love. The people loved me, I was happy with myself, and I was never wanting for anything.
I married, had some kids who turned out to be great, and life was better than I thought. When they invented three dimensional worlds they chose to use the worlds I created for my books as the basis for the first themes. This was a very proud day for me, I was the first person to step foot in another world! The kid in me was so happy, I was happy, life was perfect. I was getting to an older age, almost 75 before I started feeling something wasn't right.
Here's what the genie doesn't tell you, as soon as your wish comes true, you start a timer. This timer reflects how much longer your wish stays active for, and mine ran out.
So here I sit in the nightstand, twenty-five again. I've lived a whole glorious life and now I have to return to the one I left. Still, something doesn't feel right.
There's someone else in the house, someone that looks like me, but isn't. It just feels right that he's here though. Nobody ever talks to me anymore though, they only talk to him, which is why I decided to make you in the first place, Journal. He even has the same name as me! Maybe we're brothers, I can't remember. Sometimes he looks at me and laughs. Usually he ignores me too though. These wristbands are on too tight too, I just wish I could get them off. Maybe then they'll all talk to me again. Maybe then I'll be able to move again.
Until tomorrow journal,
-Eric Fontella | 13 | A genie will grant you one wish. You wish to be the adult your younger self imagined you would be. | 30 |
Amazing what a mixture of drugs, nanotechnology, and the insanity required to use them properly can accomplish. I look at my screen and see what me and James, my roommate, had discovered. He was passed out on the floor, looking at the biological-to-digital user interface we had created, first thing he did was flood his pleasure centers with dopamine till he was too tired to continue.
My interests in our discovery were far more...academic. The possibilities were endless. After about an hour of debating the ethics of such an action, curiosity got the best of me. I decided to take a look into my buddies brain. I mean, a little look into what I could do couldn't hurt right? Besides what he didn't remember couldn't hurt him.
I booted up the Neuroware interface and saw a list of options. One said "Memory Center". I clicked on it on a lark, to see it was exactly what it sounded like. On my screen was a timeline starting with October 5th, 1992, my roommate's birthday, and ending with November 20th, today's date. I clicked on a random year, a random day, to have a video pop up. I saw Cindy, my high school girlfriend. She was in a bed and taking her shirt off. Once I got past my initial confusion, I quickly realized this was James's bedroom from when he lived with his parents. My point of view moved closer as I saw a hand enter my point of view, grabbing Cindy's exposed breast. As I closed out of the video, still somewhat in shock, I looked at the date I had clicked on. It was August 1st, 2009, the summer before she broke up with me.
I looked over to my supposed friend and roommate, still sleeping soundly on the crappy old couch in the middle of our flat. The lying, treacherous bastard. When Cindy broke up with me, he brought some of his parents liquor, and we got drunk together as he threw a small party to cheer me up. The whole time the bastard had been screwing her behind my back.
I looked back down to my screen and decided he had volunteered himself for some experiments. He owed this to me. I found a program called "Pain Center" and upon opening it, had a diagram of James's body, along with cross section of his innards. Upon clicking on his head, a dialogue box came up. "Sharp, dull, pounding". I clicked on sharp and pounding and turned it up to 10 and clicked enter. James sounded jumped out of his sleep, hands on his temples. "What the hell man, my head feels like its been hit with a sledgehammer".
"As appealing as that sounds..." I muttered as I found the "Manual Commands" app. "I typed in 'Stand up' ". As James rose to his feet he looked at me "You're not", he gasped, eyes full of terror. I typed in "Mute" into the program and James's hands moved to his mouth as he realized he could no longer open it. After commanding him to stay in place, I took a few minutes getting creative. I found a program that allowed me to create a series of commands for his body, then activate them all at once. Once it was satisfactory, I hit enter, and couldn't help but giggle as James proceeded to dance around the room, write "Stupid, Lying Bastard" across the face, and punch himself in the crotch. Childish perhaps, but it certainly brought me closer to forgiving him.
Once making videos of him performing various mortifying, painful, and reputation ruining acts became boring I ended up putting him back to sleep and deleting the memories from the last 24 hours, making dear James forget both his coerced antics and our little discovery.
I proceeded to exit the Neuroware OS and opened up an IDE window. A new project entered my brain. If its so easy to interact with the brain directly now, how hard can it be to write a virus, to hijack the OS and all its massive potential. Imagine unleashing such a virus upon an unwitting populous, maybe create a human bot net. The possibilities are endless. | 31 | Mankind is sentient because our brains run on a sophisticated biological operating system. You've just figured out how to access the software... | 43 |
*She gazed at heaven and rebuked the Lord.*
*“How can you torment them so?”*
*God stilled and rose to speak to her,*
*“Do you think they’ve nothing to show?”*
“True, men forge stars that fade,
And the dreams of women will die,
You care only for the end of time
When all come back to the sky.”
*“You are young, my first-born,*
*And so much is left unseen,*
*You do not see the greatness*
*That happens in between.”*
| 10 | Write an ode to the greatness of the insignificance of a life in the grand scheme of the universe. | 24 |
My thighs burned as my face took the most of the bite from the freezing wind. Turning my head I took a look at the trail I had left behind me. A deep trench, laid out like a tail behind me, and the valley below. Unaware that I was about to do the unthinkable. I nodded towards the sun as I confirmed it was at my 7o'clock. As if the sun cared whether I lived or died the next 12 hours. This was it, I thought, after this I can rest no matter what happens. My thoughts turned dark after that, so I started crunching my way up the mountain.
*I saw him long before he even thought to hide. This howling earthbreath holds no secrets to one such as I. The contemptuous humans. Children! Cowardly and shortsighted. My brethren may have fallen and turned back to creation but not I! This mortal shall never best the great Ginnungagap. I have created legends, spawned tales that will last a millennia!*
Cresting the ridge, I felt the great dragon before I even sensed him. This was the great frostdrake of the north. The last of its kind. The last of the dragons. I knew he used to be a king, and probably hasn't forgotten it either. I did nothing. I waited until he revealed itself. He wouldn't expect that. But hey, neither had I expected that I would stand here and wait for a dragon. Let alone have experience doing it, but what must be done, must be done.
Hours passed as I stood there exposed to the elements. I couldn't feel my feet anymore. They were dead now. A reasonable loss considering.
*Why have this mortal come? Could it be that the human just seeks an audience, or is it a trap of some sort? I have not seen, nor felt any other humans approaching. The ice must have broken his frail skin by now.*
And there he was. The wind dropped in the blink of an eye from howling madness to a soft whisper of fresh air. His chest expanded with such powerful force it would have cracked stone. Dark crystalline eyes regarded me with contempt. Sleek and powerful muscles built his long, perfectly sculpted body. His strong wing limbs had thin sheets of the palest blue ice. Hard to imagine they could keep him airborne. I shrank under his gaze. This I never got used to. Soon the sensation of being judged and found short will come and I will despair, but I must tell him my tale or all is lost.
*These pitiful humans never could understand the high tongue of creation. I hate demeaning myself to the lower tongues, but this child has intrigued me. I must know why it came here to die! I demand it!*
The dragons voice cracked like glaciers when he spoke and the sound thundered across the mountain ridge. The great wyrm demanded to know why I have come here to die. I wasn't sure if he meant that he would kill me or if the mountain would take care of it for him, but he was right. The frostbite had spread now. I wouldn't be able to make it down the mountain before the chill would reach my heart. I started telling the last dragon why I had come.
*Preposterous! There hasn't been a human seer for centuries! Not even I, the great Ginnungagap, has the gift of foresight. This child of mortals must think me a great fool! I wonder if he will agree to share his vision with me.*
Of course the dragon didn't believe me, none of them did. And almost like it's a racial instinct kicking in he demanded that I show him a vision. That's what made this so easy. Frightfully and depressingly easy. I feel sad for the dragons, I really do. I told him I have come here to show him four visions. Three possible paths that leads to one of two possible futures.
**The earth prospered. The plague of the greedy humans had finally ended and the earth used the time to reassert itself. The dragons flourished. Guiding the species of the world towards harmony and balance. The world became their garden. Nature ruled all of the lands, the scar left by the extinct humans could still be seen in places, but they were fading like a bad memory.**
*The foolish mortal. Does he not see his own vision? The world would be paradise without the humans.*
**The world prospered. Humans and dragons came to an equilibrium. Understanding and cooperation saved both races from extinction. Content in discovering nature the dragons and humans became lifelong friends.**
I weep. Not for my own selfish reason, but it's because the next path is so dark. The tears burn my skin, leaving pale tracks down my face.
**The humans prospered. The dragons had been defeated and soon faded into memory. Innovation and technology soared until the humans reached space. The earth felt the brunt force of the humans insatiable hunger for power, wealth and knowledge. They all hungered for something. They walked on the moon, sent hopeful messages across the stars and longed for an answer. They raided the oceans, cut down the forests and ate all the animals, and at the same time waiting for an answer. Little did they know they had already killed another sentient race. How easily humans forget.**
*OUTRAGEOUS! How dare he show me such visions when I am the last of the dragons!*
"Let me show you the future these leads to, venerable one", I said to him. This would break his heart and mine yet again. "The path of the dragon and the path of cooperation leads to this", I said and shared my visions yet again.
**Visitors came one day. The dragons were defenseless against them. The visitors turned them against each other against their own will. The earth torn apart by fires and raging energy. Mountains erupted and darkened the sky. Floods of molten fire slowly oozed out of deep rents in the earth. The dragons had turned creation against themselves and as a consequence, the mother earth. The visitors didn't care. When they had drained the planet of its precious metals, water and life they continued their travels. The earth dead and poisonous.**
The dragon was silent now. Contemplating what is to come. They all did that. "The path of humans leads to this, venerated one."
**One day visitors from beyond the skies came to the humans. Their tall spires of metal and blinking lights buzzed with excited murmurs across the globe. They attacked first. Rushing around in steel contraptions and conquering the heavens with their flying machines the humans fought back. The human race flung the fires of heaven towards the visitors. The humans almost destroyed their world in fighting the visitors. They did destroy the visitors and themselves. But earth survived. It would endure.**
The dragons heart broke. He lay down with me. I seemed to have collapsed not realizing it. Together we watched the skies as history turned towards a dark future. A future with a hope. The last of the dragons and the last of the seers. And finally we faded into obscurity. | 22 | You are the last Dragon slayer, hunting the last dragon. | 27 |
"You'll let me know whenever you find out something, right? I don't care where I'm at, or what time, you call me. I can't take this shit anymore. Nothing makes sense, and she never smells like she should. How could she....? Just, let me know something, anything, please."
The tired, tall and fed up man held his face in his hands at the end of his last plea. Poor fucker. I saw this too much. Broken hearted husbands and wives, needing their closure. Ah well, I needed people to cheat, how else would I live?
"I'll call you as soon as I know anything, anything at all, don't you worry. This isn't my first time. I promise I will find out what's going on and you can move on from there. Go home, get some sleep, let me figure it out now."
You had to be easy with people in this state of mind. They were so ready to unleash their anger, sometimes it got loose when it shouldn't. He got up and shook my hand, and out he went. I breathed a small relief, he was a big one, and when they blew, whoo, watch out. So, to find his wife. To find out her secrets, her hidden self, and to bring her down. Just another day at work, making money to feed the family.
I left the office, heading for her office building. Her husband had said she normally left at 6:30, she was supposed to, but I knew these people, these cheaters and liars. It was 4:26, and I hoped she was still there, but I wasn't counting on it.
Ah, blue car with the unmistakable vanity plate "crtrmkllr", she was a lawyer, a very good one it seemed. She was still here. Maybe this wouldn't be a day where anything happened. Maybe she only wanted to be one person right now. I leaned back in my seat to wait. That was half of the job. Waiting to follow a secret.
At 4:48, I saw her walking towards the car. Alright, was she going home early or was it going to be this easy for me. I'd have to drag it out a bit if it was, I needed the money. Sometimes it seemed these people didn't care to be caught. We would see.
She drove in the opposite direction from her house, and I got that familiar thrill. That's the reason I went into this business, that thrill I got when I was following someone. Someone who had no clue I existed, no idea that everything they were hiding was about to be exposed. The power I felt at holding their lives and feelings in my hand was like no other. I was her God for now. I would decide her new fate. I would judge her actions and collect them. She would have to answer to someone soon.
She pulled into an alleyway, and parked somewhere deep in it. I stayed far enough behind, hearing her stop, using my instincts to know when to slow down and wait. I parked where she wouldn't notice, and laid back. Here we go.
She walked out of the mouth of the narrow alley, and she had changed. All black, with a black hoodie covering her hair and upper face. I knew it was her, you didn't miss a woman with a body like that. She never looked up, just walked determinedly down the way she had just driven from. This was a residential area, families lived here. I usually didn't follow people to places like this. I was used to hotels, cheap apartments, offices, but rarely homes.
When she was small in my rear view, I quietly exited my car. Head down, walking in the darkening evening. It was easier to be inconspicuous in a crowd, but we were the only two walking that I could see, so I had to be very careful. I soon realized that she wasn't paying any attention anyway. She was beating a determined path, never wavering or looking up, never slowing.
Three blocks away, she finally veered. It was so sudden, it startled me. I ducked behind the car to my right, and watched as she went around the back of the house she had picked. I couldn't follow her in there, but I got a few pictures. I could, however, look in any window I wanted. Couldn't take pictures, well, wasn't supposed to, but I could look. I had to find out something tonight. This was too different. She had unsettled me a bit with her unerring mission and its location.
To the side of the house I crept expecting to see a sordid tableau, but I just saw a normal family having dinner. A mom, a dad, two kids, average and normal. They were all chatting between bites, animated and happy. This didn't make any sense. It seemed that I had been too cocky, sure that she was coming to this house, not taking a cut or trying to be sneaky. I sighed, upset at my narcissism. I looked up at the family once more, happiness like that was almost palpable, and I smiled. I would be home with mine soon.
Then, I saw her. She was in the house. She stood behind the pillar to the left, where no one but me could see her. She didn't see me, though. She was focused on the family, eyes darting between them all. She especially looked at the father, eyes narrowing each time. You could see the wheels turning in her head, thinking furiously, but about what? I hadn't quite figured out what was happening, my brain was so confused at the surreal sight of the happy family and the figure lurking in black.
I saw the shiny object in her hand a second before she raised it, a second before that family did. While the blood hit the window I was looking in, and the muted screams vibrated around the pane, I fell back in shock.
Then, I ran. | 108 | You are a private investigator, hired to find out if a man's wife is cheating on him. She's not, but you do discover something else going on... | 107 |
Did I tell you that I used to be a journalist? When print media died, I got sidelined and ended up working in TV and let me tell you, I have never been happier than I am right now.
Lou. Lou, put the news on. I know! I'm trying to illustrate a point to this gentleman here. Lou, how much have I spent on this watery excuse for beer in this very tavern over the years? Do I ask for much? You're a gentleman, Lou, and yes, another.
Just watch this a second, Pointdexter:
"...First! for news. And today, the worldwide feeling of general contentment and happiness continues unabated. Here in the studio with me we have several daytime talk show hosts who's careers have been ruined by the outbreak of general bonhomie and human empathy, but first we talk to Doctor Hans Sternhoffer of Heidelberg University, a noted expert in psychology and a man who has spent the last twenty years studying how humans become and stay happy.
Dr. Sternhoffer...have we reached Peak Happy? Isn't this just the tipping point of an inevitable decline into bleak depression and, frankly, existential nightmare?"
"I'd have to say no to that, Steve. We have every indication that the struggles of our ancestors have finally paid off and the earth is pretty much a living nirvana. Humanity's goals, in terms of emotional happiness, have been reached and we're living the good life."
"Isn't that, in itself, just a gateway to stagnation and eventual extinction?"
"What? No! Why would it? Look, Steve, don't harsh everyone's mellow, alle ist kla?"
See what I mean? Funny stuff. Watch the talk show hosts. They can't bring themselves to be miserable about their careers ending. See that guy? That's Jeremy Kyle, formerly hated on both sides of the Atlantic as being a trader in human misery and now just a cheerful and relaxed guy without a bad word to say about anybody. Did you watch his show?
Ahhh, I did. Rivetting stuff, and the day it changed was just a-maze-ing. All those dysfunctional couples hugging it out and talking about how they respected one another's choices and would be there for one another. Just a beautiful moment.
Me? I'm going to continue drinking my savings for the time being, just watch the world smile for a while. I was a journalist, remember? I've got a lot of heartache to ease, and after that maybe I'll get a job sweeping streets or something. I think I could be really happy sweeping streets. | 84 | There is absolutely nothing wrong in the world and everyone is happy. News crews are desperately trying to make frightening segments and are trying anything. | 187 |
I accidentally put the mug down a little too harshly, causing some of the blood in it to spill out. This letter was just too hilarious to be able to control my reaction. A wild cackle escaped my lips and I almost fell off the worshiper I was sitting on. Tears had started to appear in my eyes but I calmed myself down and somehow managed to muster up the courage to look at the piece of paper again.
*Daer Satan,*
*For this Xmas, I wnat to ribe a dike!*
*Thansk,*
*Jane*
*11 years olb*
Reading this for the second time caused me to collapse into a fit of laughter once again. I had immediately understood that she wanted a bike *but lol, this is the first time I have got a request for a dyke! Interesting. The kid is 11... could spoil her with a dyke right now...*
I tapped on the table once and my most loyal demon appeared.
"Here's the address. Arrange for a dyke to appear gift-wrapped at Christmas with the card that says 'With love, Santa.' Go now."
He bowed and disappeared. Meanwhile I turned around and returned to the envelope stack with a little chuckle to myself as I imagined the reactions...
**Edit:** I hope no one takes this the wrong way, there's no offence intended towards the lesbian community :-) | 80 | It's that time of the year. Christmas wishlists and letters from dyslexic children are flooding into Satan's office. He decides to grant one wish. | 177 |
I lay on that cold silver table, this must be what it feels like to be abducted by aliens. But these people, are no aliens. I've known nothing more, I began trusting them long ago. They say I was created from a test tube. I have no mother, no father. Aunts, uncles, or cousins. It's just me, and the men in white coats. They tell me my name is-
"42, are you ready?"
I nod my head, straps are attached over my wrists and ankles. One across my abdomen.
"This serum, will make your intelligence rise further than we have tried before. Your current IQ is listed as 160, we are hoping to see numbers triple."
A man walks up to me, and slips the needle into my arm. I don't feel any pain, this is nothing new to me. As the serum floods my veins like a dry river bed, my thoughts begin to run wild. I can suddenly remember everything from every point of my life. The first time I opened my eyes, the first time I walked, the first food I ever ate. But as my own memories flooded my mind, I felt a strange sensation. Sensory feelings, but not my own. My eyes darted around the room until I locked eyes with one of the men. He looked...scared.
"*I can't believe we are doing this.*"
His mouth did not move, though I heard him so clearly, I felt his frustration. It seems I've unlocked a new ability I had never felt before. I asked him, can you hear me?
His mouth dropped, at that point I felt an immense pain come over my body. My knees felt weak. He was holding a cane. My vision suddenly blurred. He was wearing glasses. I was becoming everything this man was, and it hurt. I tried to flail my arms, his arms swung wildly. He had a look of terror on his face. My body was in agony, writhing on the cold table. I needed to get out.
"Smith what are you doing!?"
The man ran towards me and began unbuckling the straps on my arms. The other men in lab coats tore him away, and suddenly i felt angry. I channeled my anger through this man, and he begun violently attacking the other technicians.
"Stop!" "Call security!"
He was strangling them, biting them. He at one point picked up a chair and hit a man. But I knew we would do all of it, because I was making him.
Security burst through the door. All the techs were on the floor, some may have been dead due to the trauma. The old man, Smith stood next to me, breathing heavily. My body still hurt. I couldn't hold on much longer. I needed to turn this off, but how? Smith was old, his mind was weak, his body fraile. I shut his brain off.
He fell to the floor. My mind felt numb, empty. The guards surrounded me, guns pointed at my face. A different man in a coat burst through the door.
"42 - Results: Fail"
He walked up to me and injected my arm with a new needle, a new serum.
Then suddenly, all was black. | 30 | You are a military experiment, brimming with incredible power, subdued and held in a huge prison-like facility. | 69 |
“Eight, please”, ordered Ted to the operator.
The old lady smiled, pressing the button on the wall.
“Hold it!”
An arm squeezed itself through the door crack, just as it was about to close.
“Thank you.” The suited man said, stepping inside. “Eight, please.”
Yet again, the old lady smiled, and this time, with no arm on its way, the door closed.
Ted threw a side glance to the suited man, studying him.
“Powell Lawyers, huh?”
“What?”
“You're going to the eight floor.”
“Oh. Yeah, I work there. Lawyer.” The man smiled, raising his briefcase, as if that somehow proved his profession beyond
reasonable doubt.
*No you're not.* Thought Ted, who had just caught a glimpse of the gun stuck in the man's pants.
TUM.
“What was that?”
“Sorry. Power shut down.” The operator turned to face the men. “They said it might happen, on account of the rain.
Should come back soon, don't worry.”
Ted nodded, offering a smile that traveled from the lady to the suited man.
“So, what do you do? Civil? Criminal?”
“What? Oh, a little bit of each.” The man answered, and then: “Are you a client?”
“Me? No. No, I was just hired to do some.. work. On the eight floor.”
“Oh...” The man whispered, and Ted held onto his stare until he looked away.
The silence lasted for almost a full minute, with Ted wondering if he should just reach for his own gun and settle that then
and there.
Not just yet.
“I heard a good joke, the other day.” The man said, throwing a side glance at Ted.
“No kidding.”
“Yeah... Why did the little boy sparkle sugar all over his pillow?”
“Why is that?”
“So he could have sweet dreams.”
Ted snorted. “Hah. That's a good one.”
“Yeah, it's a killer.” The man smiled dreamily, staring straight ahead into the frozen floor display above the door.
Ted breathed in deeply. Something about that man was making him nervous. Making him want to back out, run away. Give up.
“Don't you ever think about changing professions?” He asked, not looking at the guy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well... I do some... lawyering work too, as I'm sure you might have picked up on. It can be very stressful.”
“That it can.”
“Don't you ever think about quitting?”
“I don't know man... It's also very lucrative.”
Ted sighed, risking another look in the man's direction. Still smiling, still facing straight ahead. Gun still stuffed inside his
pants.
“Yeah... It is.”
“And when you love what you do, it's not work, is it?”
Ted bit his lips, his hands shaking to reach for the gun in his own pants. “No, I guess not.”
“And I'll tell you... I love me some lawyering.”
“No kidding...”
“Ever since I can remember. Love bringing the opposite side down. Crushing them.”
“Yeah....”
"And I'm good at it too, if I may say." The man smiled. "Never lost a case."
Ted nodded, feeling a large drop of sweat running down his sideburns like a fat kid in a waterslide.
"Well, I'm very good too." he mumbled, under his breath.
“Oh, it's even better when the other guy is good, too. That gives me that extra push, to try a little harder. You know what I'm
talking about?”
Ted had his hands clasped so tight his fingers where starting to go numb.
“I think I do.”
“All this talk. It makes me wish I was in the courthouse right now.” The man spoke, still staring straight ahead. “Makes
me wish I was doing what I love. Oh, I wish I could just grab a case right now, grab a case and start working on it, petition after petition, until I --
BANG.
BANG BANG.
“What the....?”
“Motherfucker, Frank knew about me, didn't he? Someone tipped you guys off!” Cried Ted, crouching to remove the man's
gun from his pants before he could reach for it.
“What? No! I – who's Frank?”
The man fell to the floor, blood oozing from the holes in his shirt.
“Don't bullshit me!”
“I'm dying... Call for help...”
“Morelo told me I'd find Frank's hitman in this building. Paid me to take him down. But you knew I was coming!”
“I'm not...a....hitman.....”
"Don't give me that lawyer bullshit, I know who you are!"
The man pulled his state law bar card from his pocket. “I'm really a lawyer. I'm not a hitman.”
“What? Why the hell were you carrying a gun, then?”
“I'm from Texas...”
Ted scratched his head, looking from the gun in his hand to the increasingly large pool of blood by his feet.
“Shit... But if you --”
“Drop to your fucking knees, punk”, sounded the sweet, professional voice of the operator behind Ted, followed
by the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
| 605 | Two hitmen, who have been hired to kill each other, are stuck in an elevator that has broken down, without knowing who the other is the two begin to suspect the other is their target through conversation. | 814 |
The light flashed and out of the enormous chalk ring came a little boy. No muscled bound man, no fire pouring from his vents like the Kalta-da, nothing just a fleshy little boy. Benjamin was the one that wanted to bring the so-called warrior here and now we have 1,000 dead soldiers and all we received is a target grumbled Azra leader of the Flag bearers. I will not lose the faith we must trust in this child Benjamin tried to speak but no one listened, my momentary peace has been lost because of this child but he is our only hope now, without him we are doomed.
Hurdling towards the satellite like an lion to his prey came the conqueror Rama covered in dead pelts and trophies from countless enslaved people. "The last free people of this universe will fall" he spoke with great arrogance and a certainty that only comes from years of victory. I cannot wait to see who they put up against me I might even let them hit me before I cut them down like cattle.
Benjamin looked towards the three other irate leaders and tried to calm them and defend his life and the little warrior he was now responsible for. Distracted by the shouts and threats of disembowelment no one noticed the ship arrive. Rama stepped off looking for a champion to try and defeat him in single combat his favorite activity, but no one acknowledged him. He roared over the crowd and everyone fell silent.
Benjamin marched to the front of the crowd and met with Rama. the people that saw the event say it was like looking at a gorilla talk to an ant. Benjamin pushed the child forward proclaiming him as the champion for their people. Tears began to roll from the little boys eyes as he looked upon Rama. Rama picked up the boy and smiled with teeth sharper than razors and told the boy to take his best shot. Still crying the boy sneezed and history was changed forever. Rama began to bleed skin peeled from bone as the germs spread over the conqueror.
The armies were speechless. Rama lay on the ground dieing and the universe was finally free. Weeks later the fires still burned as people celebrated in the streets and praised the boy they called God. | 19 | Four warring nations in an alternate universe gather together to summon a warrior foretold by legend to defeat a great evil. Sacrifices are made, blood is spilled and an ancient ritual is performed. They summon someone from Earth, December 2014 | 52 |
Death looked up at me and scowled.
"What?" I asked, "I won, you promised I could relive my last day."
The clocked figure remain silent, still carrying a face of disgust and disappointment. With a raise of his scythe, he ripped through the fabric of space and time in a blinding light.
I reawaken back on that infamous morning and continued my daily routine... With slight adjustments of course. Having faced death himself and survived, I was feeling pretty confident today. I told my ex-wife to go fuck herself when she called me for her usual rant, I quit my job and spent my time doing what I wanted, and I finally made amends with my drunk son-of-a-bitch brother who I kicked out of my house several months ago.
My worst day of my life now was my best day and I couldn't be happier. Just one thing was left. On my way home, I passed the house. The house out in the middle of nowhere that hardly anyone notices. I can see her. The young woman pounding on the glass of a window, calling out for my attention as she had been pinned down inside by burning rubble. It would take hours for any aid to arrive and she'll be burned to a crisp when they eventually do. I was all she had.
I remember pulling her out, costing myself my own life. I remember the pain and agony of dying so well.
With a wave of my hand I bid her farewell and went on my merry way. | 79 | When you die, you play a game of rock, paper, scissors with death. The reward is being able to relive the last day of your life with knowledge of your demise. You win. | 80 |
WHAT, SON OF MIDGARD? Rumbled the impossibly tall man, shaped like a crudely chiseled iceberg, wind whipping around him ferociously.
“I said!,” Snarled the handsome black-haired man, blue eyes flaring and teeth (a shade too white and a touch too sharp) showing, “What the HELL are you doing here?”
GODDESS HEL HAS FALLEN, uttered the colossus, in a voice implacable as continents.
The dark-haired man clawed the air in frustration, and lashed a vicious kick at a snowdrift. “No! No, you overgrown icicle! HELL! Aiche! Eee! Double-god-damned-HOCKEY-STICKS HELL!”
…WHAT IS ‘HOCKEY’?
“Arrgh!”
“A game!” Piped up a small, simpering imp, who a moment ago had been hidden in the man’s sleeve, and now squeezed his tiny, catlike face out from under the cuff. Apparently oblivious to his master’s incredibly foul mood, it blithered on, “A violence game played with sticks and hard things and blades on the feet! On ice!“ It attempted to cackle, but, smashed as it was, it came out more like a phlegmy chuckle.
The giant, astride his glacier, nodded. A FINE GAME.
The man violently wrested the imp from his coat, and tossed it, still cackling, over the side of the icy cliff. The glacier was grinding its way south at a disconcerting speed…
He whirled back to face the seemingly unconcerned giant. “Hell! Abbadon! The Abyss! Perdition! The Pit! Why, in the name of the The First Unclean, are you *crushing goddamn England * with your *goddamn* **trained avalanche!?**”
IT IS THE END. RAGNAROK. JORMUGAND’R HAS SLIPPED ITS BONDS. FENRIR MOVES TO EAT THE SUN. THE BOAT OF DEAD MEN’S NAILS HAS CRESTED THE LAST WAVE. WE HAVE FELLED THE SPAWN OF ODIN. SO, NOW ENDS MIDGARD.
“Well, that is completely unac-f-cking-ceptable!”
…YOUR APPROVAL IS SOMEWHAT…SURPUFLUOUS. Responded the giant, clearly a bit chagrined by the flat denial of the stranger at his pronouncement of the end-times. Normally, there was more wailing.
“Like hell it is! How am I supposed to topple the thrones of men when I can’t even *see* them anymore? How am I supposed to lead a one-world government when the UN is under half a mile of f-cking *ice*?! Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to build a bonfire, let alone a fire *pit*?. And *don’t get me started* on omens-“
I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING ABOU-
“-because, HOW THE HELL,“ he roared, undissuaded “are the rivers supposed to run red with blood, when they’re *frozen solid!?* How am I supposed to scare the ravens from the Tower of London when you *ground them*, and *it*, to a paste *fifteen minutes ago?!* They’re still there! Sure, flatter, and a whole lot *deader*, but they’re still there! This is a disaster!”
…THAT IS THE IDEA. He was now deeply uncomfortable. No one had told him Ragnarok would involve this much… talking.
“I demand to see your supervisor!”
YOU…WHAT?
“Your boss! Loogie, or Luigi or whoever he is! Get that red-haired little asshole over here right *now!*”
Suddenly, the sun overhead, shining clearly here so far above the freezing stormclouds, blossomed into eight separate glowing orbs, and an austere-looking Indian man, holding a glowing sword, and riding a flying white horse, descended from the heavens, and alighted next to them.
“Hello? “he began a bit bashfully, in a thick Calcutta accent, “ I am here to end the evils of *Kali yuga*, and usher in a new age of *satya yuga*, but I think there is some confusion? I do not remember anything about ice?”
The dark-haired man stared, then rubbed the bridge of his nose and groaned aloud. “*Oh my *God*.”
“Avatar, actually.” The newcomer said in a peaked voice.
He stopped rubbing, and sighed. “No *kidding.*”
He tool on an indulgent expression, closed his eyes, and began to lecture in a satisfied tone.“No, I am not kidding. I am the last incarnation of Vishnu, the redeemer, the-“
The rest was cut off by a snowball to the face. He staggered, then recovered, and shot him a condemning look.
“…You put ice in that!”
“Did not! You didn’t see me!”
The giant *had* seen him, and he definitely did. This was getting out of hand.
… I WILL SEND FOR LOKI.
“Is Loki the one responsible for this, then?” A black hole opened midair, a rent torn into what looked like the night sky, and a man with skin tanned so brown it was almost black, covered in beads, colorful feathers, and a jaguar-pelt cloak, stepped out of it. He had two black eyes, a broken nose, and was covered from head to toe with bruises and cuts. He also had roughly a dozen arrows sticking from his back, but didn’t seem to notice them. He tossed his cracked-in –half stone-headed axe to the ground, where it started to smolder faintly.
He looked up, upon feeling the three sets of eyes upon him. “Yes, hello” he said, in a voice like a Latin romance, “I am *Huitzilopochtili*, god of the Day and of war also. I regret to say the *Tzitzimitl* bone spirits of the stars and servants of my sister *Coyolxauhqui*, damn them, have at last triumphed over me, and are on their way here now. Any moment, my sun will extinguish, and in the coming darkness, they will devour mankind. …I do not remember anything about ice, however.”
Curious gazes were directed to the heavens, where the eight suns were still slowly dancing in a circle. One of them winked out. The rest stayed, burning merrily.
“Ah… *Well*. A bit anticlimactic, I suppose.” He muttered idly. “Whose suns are those?”
“They are mine!” piped up the Indian man.
“One too many, in my opinion, but very nice.”
An impossibly large wolf took that moment to emerge from behind the horizon, reach up, and devour another sun in a single gulp.
“Much better. Six is a good number for suns.”
The black-haired man sat down heavily in the snow and held his face in his hands. “This is a nightmare. I’m having some kind of… of eschatological *nightmare*. I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be back in my home, and there will be the usual orgy waiting for me, and everything will be normal.”
“Say, would any of you happen to have the disembodied heart of a warrior on you?” Asked the new arrival casually.
Without looking , the black-haired man reached into a pocket, and absently tossed him a sandwich-sized Ziploc with something red inside it.
Forlorn, his head fell into his lap.“This is the *worst day of my life.*”
MINE, ALSO.
“Shut up.”
| 250 | The Antichrist finds himself in the wrong apocalypse. | 58 |
"I'm sorry, officer, I didn't know that was a crime," I sheepishly stated to the... thing... that was calling itself an interdimensional police officer.
"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," it chided. It's voice was high pitched, almost child-like. It belied the grotesque proportions of the creature's body. Towering eight feet tall over me, I tried to avert my gaze. It didn't seem to notice, anyway.
"Unified ID, please," the officer asked.
"Uh, do you accept an Ontario driver's license?"
"No, no, no," it chided. Its voice never changed tone. "Drivers licenses are not recognized by the interdimensional person organization. I'm afraid we're going to have to go to court."
"What? You don't even, like, ticket these kinds of things?"
Now the voice changed. "Do you have no idea how dangerous your actions are? You risked collapsing this dimension." The officer's voice was deeper now. Much deeper. The kind of voice that sent shivers down my spine.
"No," it continued, "the punishment for working around physics is and always has been banishment to the empty dimension." | 222 | For the first time humanity successfully performs faster-than-light travel. Soon after they are pulled over by interdimensional police for breaking the laws of physics. | 518 |
I blew the dust off of the cover, but the box had no markings. The rusty hinges squeaked as I opened the lid. The smell was oddly intoxicating, like leather and old books. Inside, a gun, and a note. Written on yellowed paper in fine calligraphy, all it said was "Fire a shot to go home." I studied it closely, but there was nothing else. I turned my attention back to the gun. It was brightly polished as though it had just rolled off the assembly line. The handle was made of a rich, deep red wood, and the barrel of shining steel. I gently rubbed the wood grain with my fingertips; smooth as glass. *I wonder where Grandfather found this*, I pondered. It fit perfectly in my palm, like it was made for me. I pointed it at the wall and closed one eye, testing the sights.
The wall... shimmered. Like looking across a hot asphault parking lot on a scorching summer day. The attic around me began to dissolve; only the gun stayed with me. I closed my eyes as everything began to spin and sway.
When I opened them, I was standing in a field. It was dusk; stars twinkled against the satiny violet sky. Only traces of orange lingered where the sun had already dipped below the treetops. Crickets hummed and chirped, hiding in the tall grass. Off in the distance, I could see a metal tower of some sort, and hear the faint shouting of men. I turned from side to side, trying to spot any familiar landmark. There was nothing. I began to panic.
"Fire a shot to go home," I remembered from the note. I held the gun up in the air, not wanting to hit any of those men nearby, and squeezed the trigger. It was smooth, well-oiled for a machine that's been sitting in a box for decades. The shot rang out through the fields, silencing both men and insect. The echo reverberated through the trees in the distance.
Only then did I notice the enormous form looming above me. I turned my gaze skyward, and saw a plume of fire erupting from the side of the enormous airship. Alarms rang through the blimp, and I saw the men in the field turn and rush toward me through the grass. "Oh god," I whispered to myself as the fire blossomed through the ship, and it began to list heavily to the side. "The humanity...."
The field rippled and swam, and my attic reappeared before me. | 36 | You find a gun that takes you moments before a historic tragedy occurs and brings you back after you fire a shot. | 27 |
"Halt!" Eleas cried. "Who goes there, charlatan?!" Bless his soul for trying for so many years. A deceased martyr, searching for more heroes to carry the torch.
No one seemed to be able to see him, however. "You there!" He shouted. "Do you not wish to take up the just cause of freeing the Holy Land?! Do you not wish to slay dragons?!"
Watching him made me sort of sad. Several times, I had contemplated letting him know that I could see him. Apathy prevented me from doing so.
He sat down on a bench outside the Orange Julius, his armor clanking as he did so. He looked so despondent.
Still, the next day, he tried again, shouting at the multitudes as they passed by, attempting to recruit "heroes" from the crowds of overweight men, or shallow, vapid women.
Once, as a little boy sat down, he leaned down and asked, "and how about you, little one? How would you like to learn the skills of a knight from me?"
This was the closest he had come to being observed in quite some time as the boy seemed to blush and shake his head, smiling all the while.
These were the sorts of moments Eleas looked forward to. Those that could sense him were strong in heart and body. Besides: that boy was adorable.
Frequently, I'd visit the mall simply to silently cheer him on as he attempted to recruit heroes. His earnestness, conviction, and faith often inspired me.
One day, tired after a day of recruiting, he sat down on a bench next to me. He glanced sidelong, certain I couldn't see him.
"I don't suppose you'd be interested in fighting the wicked?" He asked.
"Sure." I replied. | 31 | In Medieval times, a spirit of valor inhabited this bog. It has since been paved over and replaced with a mall. He attempts to make the best of the situation. | 34 |
The quiet representative from Illinois had not spoken the entire day as delegates from the Northern territories and the Southern territories bickered at each other all day over whether the new Declaration should declare themselves to be a slaveholding nation, and strip the citizenship of the blacks. The Crown's decision to abolish the practice more than a decade ago rankled the Southern aristocracy even today as they were forced to live alongside their former property. The Northern state representatives instead wanted to focus on the taxes levied on shipping and industrialized goods: steel, textiles, etc.
"They're traitors!" argued one gentleman from Louisiana. "They would sell us out to the British in an instance, and take our women and our property!"
Representative Lincoln stood suddenly and ambled to the front of the room. His imposing height and muscular stature was enhanced by his tall hat, allowing him to tower over the rest of the legislators. He approached the podium and thrust a massive hand forward demanding the gavel. Shocked at his sudden, impudent interruption, the committee chairman handed it over without a fight. Lincoln stood and surveyed the crowd silently.
Lincoln opened his satchel and withdrew his writing instruments, then approached the delegates from Mississippi. A wealthy young politician named Alexander Stephens stood formally to greet him. Without a word, Lincoln emptied his pot of ink onto the man's head, shaking out every last drop. Inked dripped down Steven's face and marred his fine, expensive coat.
"And now," Lincoln said slowly. "You are black as well." He spoke in barely a whisper. "Does it matter? Is your desire to be free now quenched? Would you now happily abide under British rule?"
Stevens could only sputter.
"All men desire to be free!" Lincoln roared to the assembled crowd. "Whether they be white or black, Northern or Southern." He returned to the podium as the crowd erupted in a flurry of argument. But his booming voice overcame theirs.
"What sort of man comes to this chamber and argues for his own liberty while asking to put his neighbor back into bondage?" Lincoln raised his arms, pantomiming chains, turning to the Southern delegates. "And what sort of man cares more about his purse than his freedoms?" he suggested, glancing significantly at the Northerners. "Our forefathers sought to bring forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that *all men* are created equal. It is for us the living to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they so nobly advanced. It is for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us that from the honored patriots we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that our fathers and grandfathers shall not have died in vain: that the nation they envisioned shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall rise from the ashes like the phoenix of old!"
He thumped his fists on the podium as he finished his speech, and the audience chamber erupted in applause. Even Alexander Stephens clapped, spattering ink across the table. | 97 | The United States lost the War of 1812 and became an English colony again. In 1861, the United States banded together for a second revolution but this time, all the Civil War leaders and generals are on the same side for independence. | 182 |
I woke up in this small building, which -by the looks of it-, hadn't been maintained too well over the last few years. Cracks in the ceiling and walls were plentiful and obvious. That what was supposed to be some sort of plant was nothing more than a mere composting piece of goo, lights were shattered or they had burned out, and the air felt thick, just like in abandoned buildings. Whilst I admired the fact that I still had the ability to think clearly -I had of course just died a few moments ago-, the result of this clear thinking was something a little more frightening. Nevertheless, I was still faithful about the beauties of heaven, and ready to set out and meet the living dead, including my deceased family members. No sooner had I walked over to the rotting wooden door, turned the rusty old knob and turned it, than that I was greeted with something I could have never expected. I looked around, and was gazing upon a landscape. A mostly empty landscape. Barren. No water, no vegetation, no life. At that exact moment my brains processed the image that my eyes were receiving, I fell to my knees in pure devastation. I was astonished and scared at the same time. This was death in its purest, literal form. Looking to my right I saw a piece of broken wood with a text written upon it, somewhat resembling a text. "Welcome to Heaven, Entry point 2" was all that I could make of the writings. "Heaven?", I thought to myself. This could not be heaven. What about the things we thought about heaven? About the beautiful landscapes, angels and good people? My initial happiness of ending up in heaven was soon replaced by sadness and misery. I stood up and looked around, and noticed something off in the distance. My initial, and frankly only thoughts were to go there, to find someone or something, an answer or a way out of here. This though, proved to be impossible.
Upon reaching what used to be a settlement, the most noticeable thing was the absence of life. Not that life could even be in heaven, everyone here was dead anyway, but heavenly life was something not present. Abandoned guard posts, homes, shops, restaurants, cinemas, you name it. It all seemed like it was long forgotten, and left without care. I searched for anything helpful, like water, food or notes. Not that I knew if water or food were necessities for survival, if survival itself was even possible. After about half an hour of not finding anything, I had scouted the settlement and mapped it in my head. The only thing left for me was to check the library, which was the only resemblance of the last little bit of hope I still had of finding, well anything really. When I opened the doors however, I saw something I could have never foreseen, something even worse than the current unfolding event. Within seconds, my eyes went dark, and I lost my consciousness.
 
If anyone is interested, I will continue the story tomorrow/this week.
 
Edit: Few grammar corrections and better sentence flow. | 15 | You die. As you regain consciousness, you realize that you are in heaven. However, your expectations of a utopia are quickly ruined when you see that all posts have been abandoned, and a wasteland with a post-apocalyptic look stretches before you. | 21 |
“There’s thousands of them, sir,” Private Greene said, his mouth agape as he stared out upon the sea of midgets. Little people, rather, as they demanded to be called, their tiny feet marching in a full-scale invasion. They’d been breeding and amassing an army underground. Few would occasionally surface, living amongst the “normies” as spies, bringing back food—primarily the remains of dead humans—to their colonies. Now the war had begun.
“Next time, Private, when I say ‘we’ve fought worse odds,’ remember this. These will be those odds.” Sergeant Savage lowered his rifle and pointed it straight at the rows of tiny soldiers slowly waddling their way toward them, like a sea of penguins struggling against gravity. He could feel his heart beat against his chest, its steady rhythm growing faster and faster as his mouth grew dryer and dryer. Just a few more yards and they’d cross the line. Just a few more feet and their recokoning would begin.
“There’s too many,” Private Johnson said. “We can’t do this.” He shifted slightly, as if starting to back away.
“Don’t you dare,” Savage said, glancing over at Johnson. “You didn’t train for this day so you could give up. You trained so you could kill. You trained so you could win.”
“But there’s just ten of us,” Johnson said, his voice shaky and weak.
“You might be right,” Savage said, turning back toward the row of sub-four-foot-tall beings, a cloud of dust hanging up above their head. “There may just be ten of us, and there may be thousands of them.” He turned back toward Johnson. “But you’re forgetting something, son. You’re forgetting what we’ve got.”
“What do we have?” said a voice from behind Sergeant Savage. He turned and glanced at the rest of the unit, their eyes locked on his own.
“We’ve got this,” he said, rising to his feet, rifle falling down to his side. He held out his right hand as if he were displaying a prize on *The Price is Right,*running it down his body like it were that night’s Showcase Showdown. “We’ve got height, limbs longer than twigs, arms that reach beyond our own chests. We might be out numbered, but that doesn’t mean we can’t win this, god dammit.”
“They’ve breached the line!” shouted Johnson, turning and swinging his rifle toward the sandbags behind them. A small, pale hand was reaching up from under the bags, flailing wildly and grasping at nothing. “We’re surrounded!”
Savage threw his rifle aside and ran over to the small, twig-like hand, then lifted his foot and stomped down on it.
“Ow,” shrieked an incredibly high-pitched voice from behind the bags.
“Fuck off,” Savage screamed. He turned and walked back over to the unit. “There we go, that’s been dealt with.” It was convenient that there had only been a single little person, any more would have taken a bit longer to handle.
“I don’t think I can do this,” Private Greene said, his rifle clutched up against his chest as if it were a stuffed toy. “I need to go home.”
Savage glanced out at the sea of little people ahead, their engorged heads bobbing in unison as they marched. They were now well within the perimeter, their child-sized shoes kicking up *their*dirt, marching on *their* land. This was now their war to share.
“Fire!” Savage screamed, thrusting his hand forward in a karate-chop motion. A cacophony of rifles erupted beside him, the sound of marching replaced by the howl of bullets upon the desert sand. Tiny, high-pitched screams followed; he knew they couldn’t run away, their tiny feet locked them in two simple speeds: slow and slightly less slow; they had already been marching in the faster of the two. They were stuck within the hail of bullets. Despite having incredibly large heads, their planning abilities were simply not up to par.
“Behind us!” screamed a voice next to Savage. He turned just in time to catch a tiny fist softly bopping him on his hip. It didn’t exactly hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant. Maybe if he had asked for that to happen, like if he were in a massage, it would have been, but this was uninvited.
Savage grasped the tiny arm that had just bumped him, tearing it off smacking its owner with it.
“Stop it,” said the little person, his voice dull and high-pitched.
“You stop,” Sergeant Savage said, his voice equally clam. “You’re the ones who invaded us.”
“Yeah, but you took my arm,” said the little person like a child who had inhaled too much helium.
“Shut up,” Savage said, smacking the little person again, a fountain of blood spurting out of his arm-hole.
“Ow, dick,” the little person said. He shrugged his shoulders before turning and walking away.
Sergeant Savage turned back around and stared at the carnage ahead of him. Body upon body lay before him, like a school play that had gone terribly, astronomically wrong.
“We did it,” Savage said. “I told you, that was really easy.” He turned toward Johnson and smiled, then froze.
“You were right,” Johnson said, his mouth distorted and wrinkled. He was lying on his back, the unit surrounding him. A dark, red circle of blood had soaked through his uniform, forming a puddle beneath. Johnson glanced down at his wound. “I got shot, Serge.”
“What happened,” Savage said, running over and crouching behind him.
“I shot myself,” Johnson said, nodding toward his rifle. “I got too excited and shot myself in the chest.”
Sergeant Savage placed his hand on Johnson’s forehead, then closed his eyelids with his palm.
“Rest in peace,” he said.
“I’m not dead, I think I’m going to be fine,” Johnson said, opening his eyes again.
“Rest in peace,” Savage repeated, again closing Johnson’s eyes with his hands.
“Okay,” Johnson said.
Savage stood up and turned toward the unit, exhaling slowly in an attempt to hide the burning sadness he’d now have to live with forever. Johnson died on his watch, killed by the enemy—kind of. There was still a battle to be fought, still a war that needed to be won. The little people would not surrender after one loss, nor would the “normies.” There would be more death, more violence. There would be more Savage.
| 46 | "Next time, when I say we've fought worse odds, I mean this!" | 38 |
My days are always the same. At 5:35 AM my alarm goes off. Hit the snooze bar 6 or 7 times to be out of bed by 6:30 AM. Shower and out the door by 7:15 AM. Walk to my building. Stop for coffee at the cafe by the building. Arrive at my desk promptly by 8:00 AM. Sit and watch for the red light and then hit the button. Lunch at noon. Go home at 5:00 PM.
That is my entire job. Wait for the light and hit the button. Worse yet, I'm far from the only one. There are at least fifty people on my floors in cubicles identical to mine. We all sit here monitoring our own lights and hitting our own buttons. None of the lights seem to really be timed to anything. Once, about two months ago, all 50 cubicles had their lights go off at the same time. It's never happened since.
"Hey!" a voice says from behind me, "Got a pencil?"
I glance over my shoulder and see a pudgy middle aged man wearing a sweater that looks like a TV test pattern.
"Why would I keep a pencil, Norm?" I ask him lazily, "Why would I need to fill something out?"
"Geez, I was just asking."
I do have a pencil. I have a pair of them. I use them to pretend I am playing the drums when the light doesn't go off for awhile. He can't have them.
"Maybe it's gas," he suddenly says.
"What?" I ask, turning around again.
"Like what the Nazis used," he explains. Oh, *this* again. Sitting around watching red lights and pushing buttons provides a lot of down time. There's a lot of scuttlebutt about the floor as to what actually happens. Norm's pet theory is that we're actually unknowingly executing people. He's sure anything that is unexplained is sinister.
"Whatever," I tell him and return to watching my light.
"Don't you ever wonder?" he asks me again.
"Nope," I tell him, "Not my concern."
And I meant it too. Norm never got that. It was a simple job. Knowing what it did had nothing to do with how well I actually performed the job. There are probably hundreds of kids in sweat shops in Asia assembling Dora the Explorer dolls who have no clue what that might be. Doesn't mean that the toy is evil. But what's the point of explaining to them? Will they paint those dead eyes on those little plastic faces all that much better because they know? Probably not.
The light flashes at my desk and I stab the button in front of me. The light goes out. I hear Norm standing behind me. He's a heavy breather. I pretend I don't realize he's there.
A blonde head pokes up over the cubicle wall. Oh great. Now Mary has joined in. Mary thinks we're controlling traffic lights. At least her notions are boring ones. In my experience boring is usually closer to the truth than sinister.
"Anyone want to play The Movie Game?" she asks, "I name a movie that starts with the letter A and then you name a movie that starts with B and we go through the alphabet until someone gets stuck. Okay. Annie Hall!"
"Beavis and Butthead Do America!" Norm calls out.
This is why I hate working next to Mary. They look at me expectantly and I say "Xanadu."
"That doesn't start with a C!" Mary complained.
"Guess it's game over," I commented. She frowned and dropped down back behind the partition wall. Norm shuffled off back to his own desk. The light flashed and I hit the button again. The light flashed again and I hit the button again.
I yawn and look at the light. It was off now. Maybe I had time for a restroom break. The coffee was starting to hit my kidneys pretty hard. I stood up and turned around. A man in a white business suit stood there. When had he arrived.
"Gary?" he asked me. I nodded.
"Follow me," he instructed me. I looked back at my desk and opened my mouth to form a protest. He waved me into silence.
"You don't have to worry," he said, "That light will stay off for the time being."
How did he know that? He must be management. I shrug and follow along behind him. He leads me down a corridor I don't recognize and into a conference room I had never seen before. Two other men waited inside. One wore a red business suit. The other wore black. Oddly enough, each man had a similarly generic face. They didn't look alike so much as they didn't look different from anyone else. The man in the red suit sighed and waved at a chair.
"Take a seat, Gary," he commanded. I sat down and eyed them.
"Do you know why you are here?" asked the man in black.
"No," I admitted. The three men exchanged glances and then looked back at me.
"Do you know why you watch the light and push the button?" asked the man in white.
"No," I admitted.
"Did you ever wonder?" asked the man in red.
"No," I answered. Frankly I was getting a bit annoyed and my bladder was starting to ache slightly.
"See?" the man in red said in a voice that almost seemed to be gloating, "I told you this would happen!"
"Quiet!" the man in white snapped at the other before returning his gaze upon me, "Would you like me to tell you?"
I felt a rumbling down below and shook my head.
"Frankly I don't see what point there is to knowing," I confessed, "Do you need something from me?"
"I told you!" the man in red repeated, "They're used to it now! We've been barking up the wrong tree all this time! I bet he doesn't even realize where he is!"
"I'm in a meeting room," I said.
"Where?" the men and red said.
"At work."
"Where do you work? What's the name of the company?" he went on, "The name of the city? Who is your boss? How much are you even paid to sit there and push that button?"
I start to answer and then halt. Wait. What is the name of the company? When did I start working here exactly? I frowned and try to remember.
"Don't confuse him," the man in black chided, "The trauma can make recall difficult for many of them."
"Bah!" the man in red said, "It's just modern times. This sort of thing doesn't work anymore. We need to modernize!"
"I disagree," the man in white said, "You're missing the point anyway. This is about rehabilitation and purification. Not about punitive measures."
"Who's talking punitive?" the man in red protested, "I just mean we need to do something to grab their attention."
I was so confused. What were they talking about? Where was I? Did I apply for this job? How did I get it? Was this even happening? The button, I realized. I had stared at that same button day in and day out for months. That was real. It was an anchor point. Suddenly I realized I had to know.
"What does the button do?" I interrupted them. The three ceased arguing and looked at one another. The one in black shrugged and eyed me for a moment before answering.
"Nothing," he said.
"Nothing?" I asked.
"Nothing," he went on, "That's the whole point."
"The point is not to have one," the man in red spoke up, "The monotony is supposed to, you know, break your spirit."
"It's what?" I stammered.
"We used to do this old school," the one in red continued, "Rolling boulders up hills. Draining lakes with a sieve. Having buzzards pluck the flesh from your bones only to have it regrow again. Then about a hundred years ago Mr. Goody Two Shoes here," with this he hooked thumb at the man in white, "Said we needed to update our operation. I tried to tell him modern society has conditioned people to accept drudgery without question."
"What?" I said, "What are you talking about? Where am I?"
"Gary," the man in black said suddenly, "Do you remember when you first met me?"
"Just now?" I said.
"No," he said with a shake of his head, "We met once before. Think back. You were driving. There was an accident. Try to remember."
"What? No! I don't even own a car!"
He frowned and looked to the others. It was the man in white's turn to speak up.
"Gary," he said in a soothing voice, "You've met all of us once before. We stood before you and tried to pass judgement on you. But we found nothing to judge, really. No real merits. No real evils. You didn't even seem to believe in anything at all. So we sent you here. Here where you would toil until your spirit was cleansed and could be held accountable for judgement."
I shook my head.
"I don't understand any of this," I said, "What accident? When did I meet you? I - I - "
My voice faltered suddenly.
"Stacey," I said, "What happened to her?"
"Airbag," the man in black said, "I won't meet her for a few more years."
I nodded.
"Good," I said, "That's good."
"Would you like to go back to your desk now?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, "I really would."
"See?" the man in red scoffed, "Even when their memories come back. Even when you tell them what the button does. It is still meaningless to them!"
I said nothing. I was too busy recalling the screech of the tires. The groan of the metal. The heat. The taste of copper in my mouth as my head struck the window.
I stood up and walked out of the room. If the men were still talking I didn't hear them. As I approached my desk I heard Mary say "Finding Forrester."
"Gone with the Wind," I said by reflex.
"Oh hi, Gary!" she greeted me. I waved back at her and sat at my desk. The light turned on and I hit the button.
My days never change. | 184 | At your job, you have one task. Every day you go in, sit at your desk, and wait for a red light to turn on. When it does, you push a button. You repeat this process until the end of your shift. One day, you find out what the button does... | 149 |
The whine of the systems resolved itself gradually, turning almost to silence. Just as the pressure on her ribcage was becoming nearly too much, the whip-crack ping of strained metal on the edge of its tolerance signaled the end of the cycle. Gratefully, Amy released the clamps and fell with the hatch onto the floor of the garage.
As the ice melted beneath her cheek, she caught her first breath in what had felt like days. The concrete was warm. Good; that meant it was summer, as least. The state of the remainder of the house confirmed it; she had returned only minutes after she left.
Trembling, she picked up the phone and pressed the first speed-dial. On the the third ring, the tinny speaker emanated a click, and for the first time in 15 years, Amy heard her mother's voice.
It was done. He was gone, he couldn't hurt them anymore. Finally, all the times he had wronged them hadn't just been atoned for; they had been erased.
The following months were the best of Amy's life. Of course, her mother didn't know anything more; she couldn't. She was outside of the field when the change had been made, but she could sense a change in her daughter. A sort of deep sadness that always lay beneath the surface.
There was no way that Amy could explain any of it - she would sound insane - but it gnawed at her. The memories of what he had done. At first she expected it to subside with time, but within a year it became clear that it never would.
It started with glimpses in the corner of her eye - a car mirror or a puddle at the side of the road, but within weeks of the first flash he was appearing everywhere. On her computer screen. Amidst a crowd, staring at her.
At the foot of her bed.
By the time they found her it was too late.
The coroner was surprised when the men in suits showed up to take over the autopsy. He spent months digging in archives he shouldn't have been digging in and eventually got nowhere. In frustration he called in a favor from a friend in the CDC. The friend wouldn't release the documents to him, but at last he gave him a single scrap.
Cause of Death: Brain hemorrhage as a result of rampant neuronal replication leading to synaptic decay | 20 | Time Travel is possible, and you've figured out why there are no time travelers. | 34 |
“Hey, do you have salt?”
I turn to look at the Star Wars T-shirt, pimple ridden, reversed cap, sixteen year old attempt at a human being that was myself in 2001.
“No, dude. And chill out on the salt, you're gonna have high blood pressure.”
“No I ain't.”
“Yeah, you are. Trust me.” I say, leaning back to my place.
On my other side, cruising the aisle, is my twenty two year old self – pretty much me, but a little skinnier – holding
hands with cute, little, five year old me, searching for a spot in the dark.
“Hey, dude. Right here.” I whisper, because any movie buddy is better than sixteen year old me movie buddy.
22 year old drags the kid and himself through the seats to my side and takes his place.
“Hey, do you have sal --”
“Shut up, dude.” I say, turning back to face the teenage punk. God, no wonder I hated myself.
“So, what's going on?” 22 year old asks, giving the kid a small coke and some candy as they got comfortable on their seats.
“I don't know. I killed myself, and now we're all here.”
“You killed yourself, bro? What happened?”
I sigh, avoiding eye contact with him.
Suddenly I realize how very weird it is that I feel awkward talking to that person.
“I don't know. It was everything. Jenny leaving, the dead end job. The lack of friends...”
“No friends? No Jenny?”
“Yeah."
22 year old me looks surprised. I forgot how much my life changed, in the last few years. "And Bob moves away, so you're pretty much all alone in the city.”
“Oh, crap. That sucks, man.”
“Yeah, well...” I take a sip of my Coke. “So, what do you think is going on?”
“I don't know, we'll --”
Just then the screen goes black, and I become very aware of the rattling sound of popcorn all around me.
Jesus, if there was one thing consistent about my life, it was my love for popcorn, apparently.
Onscreen, a big spider shows up, taking over the whole frame.
“Hey, isn't that..”
“Yeah, it's the spider from Uncle Jon's farm.”
I remember it. It made a web just over the door frame in the guest room, every day a little bigger.
I used to throw crumbs of bread on the web. Watch as the spider tried to eat them, realized they were not bugs and stepped away, frustrated.
That spider was one of my first memories, and one of the first living things I ever disappointed.
Following that, my parents, pushing me around on a small, plastic bike.
That I don't remember, and, by the confused looks of 16 year old prick and 22 year old me, neither did them.
The five year old is having a ball, though, laughing to himself as he stuffs his mouth with popcorn.
Fade to black again. Then, kindergarten.
Tina, my first love.
That I remember. Probably even better than the five year old.
The way I casually strolled up to her, during recess one day, and just said: “Hey Tina, I like you.”
I had no idea this was something you didn't tell people; something you should be embarrassed about.
After she said “eew” and ran to tell the other girls – and boys, and teachers, and dogs, and every living thing that ever
was – I realized: Shit, I can't be telling people I like them. That sucks. That's when I started having trouble talking to girls, I
think.
If you think about it, the reason 16 year old by my side here is such a big douche is Tina.
Flash forward. Now it's high school.
Captain inverted-cap is freestyle rapping to an Eminem track, all alone in his room.
I peek at my left. Real life douche is lip synching to himself.
What an asshole.
Fade again. Now we're in a college bar. A nicer looking version of me, surrounded by friends, drinking cheap beer.
Isn't that....
“Jenny...” 22 year old me whispers, emotional.
Yeah. Jenny and I, side by side. That was the day we started dating.
The scene is muted, like some old time home video, but I can tell I'm telling a joke, just by my body expression.
For how long have I hidden myself behind jokes and silly voices?
Jenny laughs in slow motion, the camera zooming in on her face. Her eyes wrinkled, her head thrown back. When
was the last time I made her laugh like that?
I don't even remember.
Flash forward again.
We're at a park, now. By my side, 22 year old me looks confused. He hasn't seen that, yet. Me and Jenny are married, there.
“Boring...” Cries 16 year old douche, getting up to go to the bathroom. I turn back to face the screen, a weird feeling in my chest as I watch Jenny and Tyler, our Labrador, running around in circles, wrestling on the floor over the autumn
leaves.
*Douche left at the right time*, I think. That's the last happy memory I have.
The following months, Bob would move away, I would find out about Jenny and Tobias, not get the promotion...
Flash forward. Me, alone in my room. Holding a beer.
Flash forward. Me, with some work colleagues, at a bar. No jokes, no laughing. No nothing. Just me, watching as other people talk and laugh.
I peek to my side: 22 year old is looking a little troubled. 5 year old distracts himself with the popcorn, trying to hit the
head of other versions of me in the front rows.
Flash forward. Me in my room again, playing video game. My eyes are red for booze or pot. Or tears. I can't remember.
Flash forward. Me, opening the fridge.
I remember that day.
It was my last.
I ran out of milk. I was putting some clothes on, getting ready to go out and buy more, when I thought:
*Why?*
*Why do I need more milk?*
And I stopped. Walked away from the fridge, didn't even bother to close the door.
Everyone is silent in the room now, watching the screen. Even the rattling of the popcorn seems to have died away.
*Why do I drink milk everyday? How is my life improving by my drinking of the milk?*
*How is dying today different than dying thirty years from now?*
I think "I don't wanna watch this". And I get up, heading for the exit.
“Hey, dude.” Douche 16 year old say, from the concession stand.
“Hey.”
“Snooze fest, am I right?”
“Yeah...”
“Gotta wait for the second show.”
“Yeah – what?”
He smiles at me.
“Hey, heaven is not such a shitty place.”
“What do you mean?”
“They make you go through the video of yourself, sure, but that's so you learn from your mistakes. So that next
time, when you get back, you don't fuck up again.”
“Yeah?”
He takes a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it as he speaks.
“Hell yeah. What did you think, they were going to make you watch your shitty life again and again for eternity?”
“I don't know...”
“Nah. As soon as this is over -- there it is, that's the end credits song.”
I peak back, watching the credits rolling over black onscreen inside the room.
“What now?”
“Now the movie ends, and we all have some fun together, before you decide if you want to come back just yet, wait
around to meet some of the people from your life when *they* die, or whatever...”
I look at him, failing to understand.
“What do you mean, have some fu --”
From behind me, a sound bursts through the curtains. I recognize it the same second.
The exploding orchestra hit that follows the sentence “a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...”
“We're watching Star Wars?”
“Yeah! Come on, we're gonna miss the beginning!” He says, putting out the cigarette and smiling at me.
I turn around, watching as he makes his way inside.
“Wait...” I say, just before I follow him into the dark room. “It's not the new trilogy, right?”
He turns back, snorting at me.
“No, dude. That's what they play in Hell. Now come on!”
________________________________
EDIT: Some words and grammar. Also, plugging the link to the novel I'm working on, because I want to get the word out, and Kanye West keeps refusing to tweet about it whenever I ask him to. It's a sci-fi story based on multiple prompts I've answered here, so if you like the way I write and you like futuristic things like Blade Runner and automatic toothbrushes, check it out! It's called Angel District, and you can read it as it develops [in my blog](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/chapter-1/). Thanks for all the kind words, everybody!
EDIT 2: /u/TraitorBlade did a pretty awesome narration of the story, which you can hear in this link - https://soundcloud.com/cheissgeist/watching-your-life-in-a-movie-theatre | 1,005 | You die of suicide, and regain consciousness in a large movie theater. Each seat is occupied by a version of you from a previous year of your life. Then the film starts... | 1,210 |
I adjusted my gloves again. A nice tight fit. Perfect. My heart was racing. Calm down. Relax. Deep breaths. Calm. Calm. Calm.
The door to the bar opened up. The man who stumbled out was balding. His mustache damp with the piss water he'd been drinking all night. His blue pin striped suit was wrinkled. The tie lost hours ago. Who knows where the jacket went. Barbecue sauce stained the pocket. The man fumbled for his keys.
"... This crime was absolutely heinous. The perpetrator took a sick, demented pleasure in what he did to those little girls. That person deserves to sit in a cell for the rest of their natural born life for what they did. Unfortunately, that man is not the man sitting here today. This man is a victim of circumstance and coincidence."
I step silently towards the drunkard celebrating his beating the charges of a dual rape and murder of two pre-teen girls. I know the bastard did it. He all but admitted it to me that first day. He wasn't a particularly good criminal, just lucky. Lucky that some junior detective who never should have been promoted off traffic duty doesn't know how to properly collect evidence. Lucky that some overworked coroner screwed up some minor notations on the report. Lucky that the girls didn't scratch him and get his DNA under their nails. Well. His luck has finally run out.
"The crime, the *rape* and *murder* of two *innocent* girls was heinous. The defendant would have you believe he was sitting at home, watching some game the night of the attacks, despite the evidence we've shown otherwise. This man *raped* and *murdered* two *innocent, young girls*. Girls who had their whole lives ahead of them. You know what you're expected to do. I'm sure you'll come to the right conclusion."
I slide up behind the piece of human filth. I slide my knife out of it's sheath. He'll never see me coming. He'll never know what hit him. It's kind of sad, in a way. He deserves so much worse. I grab him. My hand slides over his mouth as I jerk him to the side. The knife tears through the cheap polyester blend shirt I bought him before trial. I feel the skin open. The blade tears through flesh. Cuts through the spine in the small of his back. His legs give out. I let him down slowly, never releasing my grip on his mouth. I guide him down to his back. I draw the knife out as he falls. I step over him. He looks me in the eyes. He recognizes me. Even with the mask. I can't help but smile. I slide the knife between his ribs. I feel it cut through the skin, the muscle, into the lung, into the heart. I draw the knife back out. The shirt stains red as the blood pours out of the wound.
"We, the jury, find Arnold Keith Monroe, not guilty of all charges."
"HA HA! I knew you could do it, Jim! I knew it! Meet me at O'Halligan's tonight, buddy! First round's on me! HA HA!"
His eyes widen for a moment, then go glassy. I ease my hand away from his mouth. A final gasp of air escapes. I wipe the blood off the knife with his shirt and slide the knife back into it's sheath. Crouched down, I look around. Nobody around. Nobody reacting. Perfect. I slip back down the alley, tuck the gloves into my pocket and tuck the mask into my belt.
If people knew what I did, would they call me a hero? A villain? Crazy? I don't know. Don't really care, either. I do what the system can't. Won't. I make people pay for their crimes.
"Sure thing, Arnold. Sure thing, buddy. Glad I could help." | 11 | A defense attorney defends only the worst of the criminals but is actually a vigilante who kills his own clients if they receive "not guilty" verdict. | 37 |
Just going to do a shameless plug: I have started working on my first full length novel. I only have 1 chapter done, but if you enjoy my writing, you can freely read it here on my shitty blog.
--> [Nuclear Man](http://nuclearmanstory.blogspot.com/2014/11/chapter-1.html)
***
"And for just three easy payments of $9.99 you can-
There was a loud pounding coming from the ceiling. Jessy looked up, wincing in pain as a lock of hair fell into her eyes. She had almost fallen asleep this time. "Oh fuck off," she said, pulling the unkempt hair out of her eyes. She had no idea who the neighbor was in the upstairs apartment, and she had half the mind to walk up the stairs and kick their door open.
She sat there for a few moments on the loveseat, then discarded any thoughts of violence. Her surrender was in the form of turning the volume down on the television.
She sighed; it was difficult for her to hear the Billy Mays replacement now. The man on the screen waved his arms violently around some new blender that would supposedly aid in weight loss. His mouth flew at a thousand miles per minute, but Jessy couldn't hear a single damn word. She raised her middle finger to the ceiling and clicked the "CC" button on her remote. Text now appeared on the screen, green letters rolling on by.
Her mind wandered, causing her outward appearance to resemble that of a zombie, a husk, or even a corpse. The television flashed with each new screen change, filling the dark living room with momentary light. Jessy winced at each burst of light.
She raised the remote again, and this time pressed the menu button. Her thumb flew all over the television remote; countless sleepless nights had worn the buttons down, removing the tiny lettering, but she didn't need those anymore. It would be a damn shame if the remote broke and she had to get a new one. The flashing of the television weakened as she lowered the brightness settings.
"The fuck?" She muttered before she had a chance to sit the remote on the loveseat.
The normally scrolling green text had paused.
**Jessy**
She changed the channel, but the text remained. She flipped the channel back to the man advertising the blender, and turned off the closed captions and raised the volume. His loud jabbering came back, still yapping about the blender.
Her finger hovered over the CC button again. *Would that message still be there*?
The man on the television was now pointing at the camera; at Jessy. He kept pointing, jabbing his finger at her, then at the ceiling, then back at her. He was still talking about the blender though, "this little device will blend up anything you put into it!"
The look in his eyes was desperate. He continued to jab his finger at her, and then at the ceiling of the studio he was in.
There came another knock on the ceiling.
She instinctively muted the volume. Her finger sat on top of the CC button. The man in the telly was now pointing both index fingers at the ceiling, a horrified look in his eyes, but still a smile on his mouth. She pressed the CC button again.
**It's coming.**
**It is coming down.**
She changed the channel, heart jumping into her throat. The closed captions remained, the text scrolling across the screen.
**It is coming down.**
**It is coming down.**
**Jessy.**
**It is coming down.**
Another loud thump from the ceiling. It nearly ripped a cry of fear away from her. She stood from the couch and rubbed at her eyes with sweaty palms, inciting a stinging barrage of pain in her eyes. She rubbed at them with her knuckles, and there was another knock on the ceiling. No, *a slam*. It was loud, sounding like a body hitting the ground. It shook the windows.
She looked back at the television, grabbed the remote, and flipped the channel back to the infomercial, already expecting to see something there.
The man was standing there, by the blender, pointing at the ceiling and screaming muted words.
**Jessy, it's coming down.**
Whatever it was that had hit the floor in the upstairs apartment now sounded like it was slithering around, making a loud dragging noise. It sounded like it was ripping up the carpet.
**It is hungry.**
The man in the television slowly lowered the index finger he had been pointing at the ceiling, and placed his whole hand into the blender.
"What the fuck?!" Jessy screamed.
He hit the button (*puree?*), instantly sending an upward rainstorm of blood into the air. It quickly drenched the blue sleeve of shirt, turning it a dark red.
**It is coming.**
He was smiling, and pushing down on the blender, pushing his arm deeper into the blender.
The upstairs door slammed open.
Jessy didn't know where to look; at the ceiling, or at the screen, where the man was still mutilating his arm.
**What are you going to do, Jessy?** | 44 | Suffering from insomnia, you stay up and watch late-night infomercials. They start to become increasingly more disturbing. | 56 |
“Alright Benjamins, it is time,” stated an sultry female voice over the opera theater’s intercom.
As I looked around the lavish opera theatre, I noticed a number of people filling random seats throughout the room. I knew exactly who they were, and yet I did not know them at all. They were all me, different versions of me, from different worlds and different times.
There was one thing that I certainly knew about each of them though; each one was a better man than I was. Each had accomplished some kind of dream, how could they not have? Each one looked successful, happy, well dressed or just better off then my lame self.
Despite being only twenty-two years old, being told countless times that I had my whole life ahead me only served to remind me of the failure I have been to this point. Nothing had ever worked out; school, college, work, love and happiness; I had failed in each category. That was when the thoughts of suicide began to creep into my mind; wiggling thought the dank grey matter of my brain like a horde of maggots searching for the fetid flesh of a decomposing corpse.
I had almost gone through with it too; I had the cold hard steel of the five shot revolver sitting atop my lap. My hand was in a steel-like grip on the dark oak wooden handle of the gun, my knuckles white with pressure. Had it not been for the sudden bright light and my arrival in this damn theatre; I would be in a better place.
But now I have to sit here with the rest of these successful jackasses and be reminded of how much of failure I am. Isn’t life great?
“You have all been summoned here plead your cases to a younger self. He will hear each of your cases and then choose which course that his and your lives will follow. There are of course two main caveats. First, whichever version he does not choose will immediately cease to exist. I am told it is quite painful, so there is a bit more incentive to make your case.”
A number of shouts and outcries echoed through the room, yet I was the only silent one as the other Benjamins gave futile protests. If anything, that last point sounded like heaven, a perfect opportunity to save myself a lot of trouble. After a few moments, the other Benjamins calmed down and sat back in their respective seats.
“Now that you have all calmed down, I will continue. Secondly, none of you will tell him the details I just divulged to you all. He will make an unbiased choice, and as such I have made it impossible for you to do so.”
Only murmurs greeted the room, as they waited for the last point.
“All right, Young Benjamin the floor is yours. Choose wisely young man.”
Another bright flash of light appeared on the stage, and in its wake was a very familiar young man. My heart sank at his appearance, all of that potential and zeal was present in his eyes. It hurt to see that kind of hope again, aching my chest. I could not let him choose me, he would have a better life instead.
However, watching him over the next half hour as he spoke to the other versions of myself; the little bit of hope I had of him choosing one the others fell with each devastated Benjamin that he passed. Until he finally came to me.
“Tell me, why should I pick you?” Young Benjamin asked.
The tears welled up in my eyes as he looked at me with such a caring expression.
“You shouldn’t.” I replied lowly looking away from myself.
Young Benjamin looked at me for a moment, his hand on his chin as if he were comtemplating another question.
“You didn’t answer my question old guy. Why should I pick you?” Young Benjamin asked with a bit more force.
I wasn’t sure what came over me at that moment, but my eyes filled with a furious fire snapped to his. My chest heaved with a passion I hadn’t felt in years, my sight all but blanking out except the surprised look of my younger self.
“I said you shouldn’t pick me, ok?! I am a complete fucking failure at life and everything else in it! Nothing works out for me and if anything you would only be fucking yourself over by picking me! You want to know what happens if you pick me?!” I roared at the top of my voice, driving back Young Benjamin into a nearby seat with a frightened look.
“Your parents will die soon after you move out because some jackass would decided to knock a few back before driving! You know what the funny part is?! It was our best friend Roy who did it! He’s looking at spending the next ten to fifteen years in prison for vehicular manslaughter! And your high school sweetheart?! She dumps you one month after you go to college! Then you lose your scholarship due to some paperwork oversight, drop out of college and go work for the worst fast food chain just to make ends meet! There is nothing good about the life I lead! Go pick some else before you make the biggest mistake of your life!”
As soon as the last of those words left me, it felt as if some great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in a long time, I was free from it all. For the first time, there were no regrets.
Young Benjamin looked at me incredulously, his eyes wide, his mouth agape before slowly changing into a wide grin.
“You’re perfect,” he said.
“What… That can’t be right. I just gave you every reason why not to choose me. I-“ started before he held up his hand.
“You were the only one who told me the truth here. All those other assholes had the gall to lie to my face and think that was okay. You are right about your life sucking, but what is life without adversity? They might be famous or rich or whatever other crap, but if I went ahead and picked them; I would only be cheating myself.”
Young Benjamin stood and began to walk back towards the stage a bright light began in engulf the room around me. He stopped half-way before turning back towards me.
“There is something I want you to do when you go back. Throw away that gun and look in the closet for a green trapper keeper. I believe that there is something there that will help. Good luck Benjamin, I am trusting everything to you.”
The opulent opera theatre had disappeared the moment the light faded and I was back in my rundown apartment. Looking at the piece of cold steel in my hand, I quickly threw it across the room in disgust and ran over to the single closet. I rummaged though the small space like a man possessed, looking for the green binder that had been collecting dust for the last couple of years. Finally my efforts bore fruit as I pulled the beat-up dusty tome fro the confines of its crowded prison.
Walking back towards my small sofa, I sat down with the binder atop my lap. With a shaking hand I opened the binder and gazed upon the contents within. The tears that had sneakingly gathered around my eyes fell with reckless abandon, my nose clogging with some amount of mucus and my eyes were beat red. Yet for the first time in years, these weren’t bitter tears; they were tears of joy. I nodded at the contents and closed the binder once more.
“I am so sorry I forgot; thank you for this chance Young Benjamin. I promise you I will hold up my end this time.” I whispered to myself wiping away a number of tears. | 18 | You're a 22 year old depressed man. You wake up in an unknown place with 9 variations of yourself, all very different, and your 15 year old self. Your 15 year old self must choose one of the paths to follow. Persuade him to choose your destiny, or you will perish. | 48 |
It used to be so slow.
*62*.
Sometimes it'd be hours between numbers.
*61*.
And the numbers were so large back then. Into the hundreds of thousands.
*60*.
As a kid, the idea of the countdown reaching zero seemed so impossibly distant.
*59*.
But it wouldn't be a constant speed. Sometimes, the voice would call out the numbers in rapid succession, most often when it was about to reach a round number like 250,000.
*58*.
But over time, it slowly got faster and faster. I'm sure 200,000 to 100,000 took much less time than 300,000 to 200,000.
*57*.
But in the last few days, it's become very fast, with barely a minute's break between any numbers.
*56*.
I'm pacing around at 4am, anxious as hell.
*55*.
This isn't happening.
*54*.
It's all just in my head.
*53*.
There's nothing to worry about.
*52*.
Nothing.
*51*.
There's nothing left!
*50*.
Where did all the time go?
*49*.
Why? WHY?
*48*.
It's not fair!
*47*.
If I could just have another day.
*46*.
Heck, another hour. Just to figure this out.
*45*.
Just to contemplate life.
*44*.
But what is there to contemplate?
*43*.
Nothing is worth it.
*42*.
It all ends in tears anyway.
*41*.
There's nothing more to live for anyway.
*40*.
I hope I can gain some understanding from all of this.
*39*
Something...
*38*
It's coming no matter what I do.
*37*
I may as well...
*36*
*35*
open my mind...
*34*
*33*
*32*
and hope for the best.
*31*
*30*
*29*
*28*
*27*
Time slips away faster.
*26*
*25*
*24*
*23*
*22*
*21*
for everyone in the end.
*20*
*19*
*18*
All there's left to do
*17*
*16*
*15*
*14*
*13*
*12*
*11*
Is wait and see.
*10*
*9*
*8*
*7*
*6*
*5*
*4*
*3*
*2*
*1*.
And here we go -
*0*.
.
.
.
.
.
Silence.
.
.
Silence. For the first time in hours, the voices stopped. I couldn't believe it. Nothing had changed. There was no flash of light. No epiphany. No fires of hell.
I breathed deeply, stared down at my hands. And laughed.
-------------------------------------------------------
The next day when browsing reddit, my blood ran cold. There, at the top of front page, was a /r/bestof article.
"In the greatest troll of all time, a redditor plants a microchip in the brain of a baby. After 20 years of collaborative counting, /r/counting has counted down from 1,000,000 to 0." | 108 | For your entire life, you've had a voice in your head counting down, and it's getting close to zero. | 81 |
Two years. I have been hiding for two years. The game started out simple enough when Jenny and I found each other. We had bonded over being the first human either had seen in over five years; the wars had made sure of that. The cholera, dysentery, measles, mumps, and more had been the final nail on the coffin for humanity. We were all that was left.
We met inside a Walmart of all places, in the good ole U.S. of A. I think it was what had once been North Carolina, but I wasn’t sure. I had wandered in to see if there was anything left to salvage; canned goods, blankets, or the rare water bottle; when I had heard a noise. Startled, and worried that I had found yet another escaped group of gorillas, I cautiously moved through the aisles until I saw her. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, and I’m not even gay.
After wary introductions, we became fast friends. Talking and laughing about what the world had once been: drunken nights with boyfriends, drunken nights with friends, college, jobs, the works. It was like we had finally found something that gave use purpose again. It was a few months later that she proposed the game: The Ultimate Hide-and-Seek Championship.
The rules were simple: You counted to 1,000, and anywhere in the country was fair game. After a few more months of hiding in the same building, then the same town, then skipping the town over, we made it more complicated. We both became excellent trackers, and so the game had to adapt to become more challenging. We started hopping across full state lines, spending weeks hunting the other. It gave us purpose.
Finally, even cross-country became too easy, and so one day I hopped on a boat and skipped the continent. It took me two months to make the voyage across, but I think I landed somewhere in Spain. I’ve been living on the coast since then. I’m sure she’ll eventually figure it out, but this, so far, has been our longest game yet. Much longer than the time I found her somewhere in what used to be Ecuador.
After two years I have grown comfortable, and quite fond of this place, Jenny would love it. Every day I feed the chickens, but today when I went out something seemed different. I couldn’t quite place my finger on it until I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me. Startled, I turned and looked around; fearing that another beast of some form or another had found me. Grabbing my shotgun I quickly scanned the perimeter fence, but saw no sign of anything. Putting it back down, I returned to feeding the chickens.
I hope it is Jenny, secretly hiding out there in the bushes, waiting to startle me by screaming, “Found you.” While playing this game we learned something very important about ourselves. We had found that we were the happiest, the most excited when we were tracking a survivor, or being found by a survivor. The saying goes that if you can’t give a man hope, give him something to do. Well this game, this mock hunt for survivors, gave us hope that one day, we maybe wouldn’t find each other, but someone else. | 46 | The last two humans on earth decide to have a game of hide and seek. | 50 |
“You fight like a dairy farmer!”
“How appropriate, you fight like a cow.” General Jones answered, and the public cheered instantly.
“He did it again” Cried a young voice from the crowd.
At the battle field, the soldier retreated in shame. Another one stepped up.
“General Jones, your mother is so fat her pool has a splash zone.”
“Than you better stay away from her, cause she loves to eat chicken.”
Another roar of applause. The soldier fell back, shaking his head. General Jones was invincible.
They were going to fall, one by one, The General thought, looking at the soldiers in front of him.
All around them, the soldiers from the two armies were arranged in a circle, watching as
soldier after soldier fell to the hands of General Jones.
A third young man stepped up.
“What do you got, kid?”
“You pretend to be a man, General Jones, but the truth is you are just like the most unclean part of your mother: A pussy.”
“Is that why you are so scared of me?” General Jones replied, staring the kid straight in the eye.
But, this time, the cheering was interrupted.
“STOP IT!” A large man wearing a white mustache invaded the field. "GENERAL JONES, YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!"
Jones turned to face the man.
“Yeah? Well your mother is under my ---”
“Not an insult, Mr. Jones. You are actually under arrest. I'm here as a UN representative.”
“On what charges?”
“War crimes.”
General Jones snorted. “That's nonsense!”
“Your comeback 'how appropriate, you fight like a cow' was classified as a violation of wartime regulation and is
subjected to court martial.”
“Why?”
“Because it's a line from Monkey Island.”
A gasp ran around the battlefield.
“The Lucasarts game?” One soldier asked.
“Exactly. General Jones has been passing 80's and 90's pop culture references as weapon for a long time. Now he's going to
pay for it.”
“This is outrageous!”
“You're coming with us, Jones.” The man handcuffed Jones, carrying him through the crowd towards a military helicopter
parked nearby.
“This is not fair!” Jones screamed, as he was dragged inside. “I am a hero!”
Stepping away from the crowd, a young soldier crossed eyes with Jones.
“You are a coward, Mr. Jones!” He screamed. “And your insults called, they're running out of creativity!”
“Yeah?” General Jones screamed over the sound of the propeller, as the helicopter prepared to off. “Well the jerk store called.
They're running out of you!”
"STOP IT!" Cried a second voice, and a different, equally mustached man invaded the scene. "This prompt is under arrest!"
"At what charges?" I claim, confused.
"War crimes!" The man roars. "The very notion of using insults as warfare has been copied from the Monkey Island series. The author of this prompt is guilty of the same crime as his character!"
"This is preposterous! I'm just following a prompt!" I scream, as the man drags me away and into the helicopter, where General Jones is sitting alone.
"Hey bro." The General waves, throwing me a casual smile.
"Hey."
"What did you do? Are you --"
"STOP IT!"
"Oh crap, what now?" Mustache guy #1 asks, as we all step out of the helicopter.
"Everyone in this prompt is under arrest!" The third mustached guy cries, raising his papers.
"And what's the charge?"
"Continuously breaking the fourth wall by having an officer of the law interrupt the action and accuse the plot of some silly crime! It has been done before."
"That's preposterous!" Screams the two mustache guys, General Jones and myself, all at the same time.
"Monty Python did it!"
"In which episode?" I demand to know.
"I don't really remember, but I'm sure I saw a sketch like this." The man replies, looking over his files. "Anyway, this whole story is starting to read like a bad episode of Monty Python. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"I will not apologize for my work!" I cry, and General Jones nods in agreement. "And if that's the charge, you are yourself breaking the law by participating in the breaking of the fourth wall right now! You are talking to the author!"
"Oh..." Mustache man #3 runs his hands through his hair, thoughtful. "I didn't consider that. Maybe --"
"STOP IT!" Another mustach --
Oh, Jesus. I need to sleep.
_______________________
EDIT: I slept. Thanks for the kind words, everyone, and really big thanks for the person who gave me gold! Also, Kanye West continues to ignore my requests to promote my ongoing sci-fi novel in his Twitter, so I have to tell people about it here: if you like my writing and you like dystopian, trashy, futuristic things, check it out on [my blog](https://alpacareports.wordpress.com/angel-district/chapter-1/). | 734 | In an alternate universe, gunpowder was never invented. What does warfare look like? | 440 |
”So I can choose anyone? And they’ll love me, just like that?”
”Just like that. But there’s a catch- if they already love you, they’ll lose that feeling. They’ll despise you and-”
”I don’t care about that! She’s probably hated me since she first saw me!”
Cupid fluttered his wings impatiently. ”I’m serious kid. You should think about it.”
”You know what I think? I think you’re trying to back out of the deal! My whole life has been hell, don’t you think I at least deserve her!?”
Fourteen years old and the boy had already suffered so much heartache. That’s why he came. He took pity on the boy years ago, but was waiting for him to grow up a little. To be able to make the right choice when the time came. And now...
”Fine. If you’re happy with your choice,” a fierce nod answered him, ”then I’ll just shoot her now.” Pulling his bow off his shoulders and over his head, his wings carried him out of the room. Finding her wasn’t too hard, he was Cupid after all, but he had hoped it would’ve taken longer, given the boy a chance to think it over again and change his mind. Slowly, he nocked a single arrow, aimed for her heart, and released. The change was immediate. Her posture shifted, her eyes sparkled. Springing up, she took off, heading for the boy no doubt.
Cupid remained still, drooping slightly as the weight of what he had done sunk in.
Upstairs a crash echoed, followed by shouting and loud thumps. ”I hate you! I hate you so much! From the moment they pulled your ugly squalling body from mine!” | 37 | Cupid offers to shoot an arrow into the person you love. He warns you if the person already had a pre-existing affection towards you, it will be gone when hit | 33 |
I thought back to the day I'd launched on this, the greatest expedition mankind had ever undertaken. Three years on the lunar surface with one other scientist was enough to scare off those with less willpower, but this had been my dream, my soul-consuming desire since I had launched my first Dragon model at the farm in Maine. This was the dream that sustained me through the endless nights of Astronautical Engineering work heaped upon me at the United States Naval Academy, and the rigors of Test Pilot School.
When I was selected as the pilot for the Endurance mission, it was the defining moment of my life, this is what I had been born to do. My counterpart Wei Min was a quiet man, but there was no denying his brilliance. Accepted into MIT at 16 and receiving his Doctorate in astrophysics at 22 he was the most experienced astronaut in the People’s Republic, and the only name they submitted for the mission. Our relationship had remained distant and professional in the beginning; it was no secret our respective nations were not on friendly terms. The excitement of our mission won out however, and the worn out talking points of cyber-attacks and territorial sovereignty were an afterthought as we launched on our record-breaking journey.
The landing changed everything. The failure of the primary oxygen system was the most harrowing experience of my life, and our desperate construction of the Joint Lunar Habitat was the most watched event in Earth’s history. Our success brought the world together, but more importantly, it thawed the ice between Wei Min and I.
Three years passed slowly, but I loved every minute. I learned some broken Chinese and Wei Min got a comedy show every lesson. My favorite place in the habitat is also where I began every morning, “The Garden” is what we called it. The reinforced glass dome gave us the most incredible view of Earth I’d ever witnessed. I’d done my time on the ISS, but the cupola was nothing to our view from the lunar surface. After a small breakfast it was time for the daily update from NASA and then the science would begin. Things always seemed grim on Earth; the candid moments with the mission control technicians were always the most telling.
“More posturing from the White House today.”
“It’s a miracle no one’s died in the Spratlys, there seems to be a close call every other day”
Wei Min got the same messages from the CNSA, though he never found it worth talking about, neither of us did. Despite her problems I was ready to return, I was ready to feel the sunlight and take a breath that wasn't recycled air. On top of it all I couldn't wait to see Jenna. She was one of the lead engineers on the JLH, and she had the patience to put up with a three year absence from a guy she'd barely met.
"Just get back when you can", she'd said "I'm pretty sure you'll survive reentry."
I smiled at the thought as the steam rising from my 1095th cup of morning caffeine brought me back to the present.
“One last look,” I thought as I gazed at the blue sphere, remarkably small for its relative closeness, and that was when I saw them.
They looked like stars at first, hundreds of tiny specks illuminated against the void. I knew I was mistaken when I saw them contrasted against the blue of the Pacific, streaming back and forth like commuters in opposite-bound lanes.
I nearly screamed when I saw the first impact. It looked like a miniature sun, a blinding pinprick, before it rapidly bloomed into a massive explosion. The bombs continued to flash, each taking with it millions of lives, vaporizing everything around for miles. My scream came out as a ragged exhalation, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, and my legs gave way, pitching me towards the metal floor. It was over before I hit my knees. Most of North America and Asia were visibly scorched, and the towering clouds would bring nuclear winter and death to every remaining part of the globe. The destruction in a few short minutes had taken more life than any war ever waged on that ball of rock, and we had ruined it forever. I had nothing to go back to, no family, no Jenna. I couldn’t cry so I just laughed. It was disgusting and inappropriate, but there was no sense or rationality in any of what had just occurred.
I suppose I should have realized that this meant war had been declared between my nation and Wei Min's, but I was too numb to think, at least until I heard the door to the Garden open and the kill orders in angry Chinese. I didn’t even turn; all I could hope for was a swift end. Wei Min’s steps were purposeful, he would do his duty. I waited for the pain to come but there was nothing, I felt Wei Min slowly ease to the floor beside me. I opened my eyes and looked over at the man who had spent three years of his life alongside me, here in the most desolate place humanity had ever known. I slowly focused on the object in his hand, a dark brown bottle, and suddenly I remembered.
“The beer”, I said, Wei Min nodded slowly, and I saw that he’d been crying. The beer had been our secret; smuggled aboard at launch. It had nearly put us above weight, and was going to be our final drink in the habitat, a testament to our achievement and our humble home. Now we sat and toasted the end of the world, not as two patriots, but as two sad primates, far from all the familiar things of our home ended by man's foolishness.
“I… I don’t really know what to say”, I began.
“There is nothing to say”, Wei Min returned in his quiet, lightly accented voice, sounding calm even as the world burned above us. He was right, I realized, and we sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.
I don’t know how long we have. It’s been three months, but the habitat was never designed for us to live here permanently. We’ve taken what steps we can, including expanding the Garden with artificial sunlight panels to help grow food. The air and water can last us indefinitely. I’ve never been one to accept fate lying down, but it will take one hell of a miracle for us. The funny thing is neither one of us wants to go back, but there’s nowhere else to go. I quietly stepped into the sleep module where Wei Min snored lightly. As I crawled into my bunk, maybe out of habit, maybe out of wishful thinking I glanced toward the long range comm panel… and nearly fell off of the bed.
“Wei Min”! I yelled as I sprinted toward the blinking panel indicating the receipt of a message. He leapt up as though shot before he noticed the same light. As he stood over my shoulder, I pressed the switch wondering which agency was contacting us.
“I don’t understand”, I said puzzled as I examined the incomprehensible string of integers flashing on the screen, “It looks to be a pattern of some sort, but it’s not a code we’ve been taught to use.” I was surprised at Wei Min’s lack of a response, but as I looked toward him I saw that his face had turned to ash.
“Uriah, look where the signal originated”, he pointed with one shaking finger at the console. I squinted at the coordinates, trying to make sense of the data, before realization hit me like a freezing wave of dread. The signal was broadcasting from a point in the Solar System just beyond Mars, and it was getting closer.
**Fast.**
| 10 | You're an astronaut that's been doing lunar research for 3 years while living on the moon. On the day you're about to go back home nuclear war breaks out on earth and you watch the earth explode. | 24 |
It took centuries for humanity to become one. All that time fighting amongst ourselves, erecting borders to distinguish *us* from *them*. Walls of religion, race, class, and nationality: finally they were torn down. Together, mankind celebrated long life and peace. There was no more *them* to hate. Just *us*.
Then, the ship appeared in our orbit. Enormous and foreboding, it loomed in the atmosphere like a second moon. Humanity cowered as scientists scrambled to understand it. The world watched and waited as our top minds decrypted the messages coming from the alien vessel.
Fear spread through the population like a virus. Politicians railed against inaction, warning that we must gird ourselves for war if these beings do not come in peace. By the time we can talk to them, they warned, it will be too late! Old plans for weapons, lost for a hundred years, were dug out of archives and libraries. Factories poured out ships, weapons, and equipment. Men were drafted and trained.
By the time we deciphered the message, it didn't matter any more. Humanity had found a new "them." | 42 | A world leader is finally assigned to bring everyone together; nations are successful in ridding poverty, technology pushes forward in unprecedented events and most diseases are now eradicated. As a peaceful planet, aliens have finally decided to make contact with our civil world. | 78 |
Every day its the same thing, a dragon appears and burns down our village killing everyone I've ever loved. I'm not allowed to leave as some invisible force holds me there until a wandering adventurer appears. Every time its the same as he asks me what has happened and I explain to him the horrors I have seen. Once he leaves I am free to go and a joy washes over me as I can finally leave the horrors that have haunted me today. But then my world goes black as if someone has taken away all the life that has existed up to this point.
After a period that feels as if it lasts one night and a millennium at the same time; light and life return to my world. That is not all, I am once again in my village and it is whole. This used to bring joy to me as I believed the horrors of the previous day had only been a dream. But now I know better, now I know that I will see my loved ones perish and everything I know disappear. The worst part is, it appears I am the only one who actually realizes this has happened hundred of times before.
So I make it my goal each day to give my children and wife the best final hours they could ever dream of. We go to the river, eat cake and roast food over a fire; then at night I tuck my daughters to sleep and watch as the sun sets. I know what is coming, once the sun sets I'll have five minutes before the Dragon appears. Like clockwork it shows up and the emotions of fear that once filled me are now replaced with sorrow and acceptance. I hear the door open behind and I see my daughter standing a terrified expression covers her face. "Its happening again isn't it?! I don't want to die!"
Before I can respond, its too late; a burst of fire engulfs her and the rest of my family. The rest of the events happen the same as before, but I can't focus as I'm focused on the possibility that I am not alone. What first is excitement and happiness is quickly replaced by sorrow as I come to grips that my beautiful little alaya will forever be cursed to know that she is living her last day, and have to experience that gruesome death again and again.
I am snapped from my thoughts as a piece of paper floats by me. This is strange as I have never seen it before, i reach for it and what I read shocks me. Apparently I am not the only one who has realized that something is wrong with our existence. In fact there is a whole organization filled by people like me; they call themselves "glitches" and they say the found what runs this world. Something called coding and they believe that if they can master this they can end our never ending struggle; They want me to join as the more of us there are the quicker they can achieve their goals.
I look at the remains of my house and think about the eternal hell my daughter will be trapped in, if this is not ended. My thought process is interrupted by the same wanderer that always greets me at this spot; I tell him what has happened and he continues on his way. I smile to myself, he may think he rules this world. But his time is running up, once we unlock the powers of this "coding" it will be he who suffers a never ending hell.
| 70 | Advancements in gaming technology have continued over several years. Finally a new game is released with the most incredible artificial intelligence seen to date. So incredible, that the npc's in the game gradually come to believe that they are sentient and are trapped inside the video game. | 154 |
She kept looking at me, absolutely fascinated.
"Do you chase them with a stick?"
I touched my gun subconsciously.
"No."
She looked even more fascinated. I folded my hands into gun and pointed at her. "Boom!" She yelled, happily. I kept smiling.
Then her face became a bit serious.
"How do you know who the bad people are?"
"Just do. How do *you* know when to go for dinner?"
"Mommy calls me. She makes me eat mushy peas" She sniffed.
"Well, when people do bad things and become bad people, the bad things they do and the people they hurt call me. I make the bad people eat their vegetables." She giggled even harder, then looked at me with big eyes.
"How do you know who's calling you?"
"I can hear them, like you can hear Mittens call you for her dinner."
She seemed genuinely taken aback now.
"How do you know about Mittens, mister?" I smiled. "No, *tell* me!" She shook my knee insistently. I rose to leave.
"Goodbye, darling. I hope nobody calls me because of you!"
Just as I was moving away, a tall, thin man brushed past me and caught hold of the little girl. "Casey, were you bothering this nice man?"
I stopped. "No, she's a lovely girl."
He picked her up with an unpleasant sneer. "I know. Now say good bye, this is our station."
She waved at me again. I waved back. As they were walking away, she looked at me again. "You sure you can hear everyone, mister?" She yelled.
I walked away.
****
The task in itself was simple. A single gunshot between the eyes. Painless, even though they usually deserve worse. The difficult part is getting out of the house once you're done. This is why I hate domestic jobs. Family is always a liability.
In this case, though, there were only two possible witnesses. And one of them was knocked out. The other witness was supposed to be in bed.
I quickly walked down the stairs. On the last step, something furry brushed against my trousers. A small cat.
"Hello, Mittens." The cat purred, twisting around my legs.
I heard a small shuffle from the living room. A little girl, with a split lip peeked out from the doorway. The second witness.
"Mister?"
I walked to her and ruffled her hair.
"Yes, Casey. I'm sure I can hear everyone."
****
Obligatory Reddit gold edit! Thanks for throwing your money at me, stranger!
| 318 | 'I make bad people go away' | 296 |
In a way, many consider it a coming-of-age. When you hit 18, you're branded. Not by some sort of ungodly tribe chieftain, but by a form of miraculous conception. You are given a number, on the scale of 1-100, that determines the impact you'll have on this planet. The vast majority of people fall between 15-30. That is considered having an average life; getting married, having a kid or two, and working a 9-5. Anyone who falls underneath that generally either dies at a younger age, or becomes a nobody.
It is important for me to explain what is meant exactly by impact. Just because you wake up on your 18th birthday with "85" on your chest, does not mean that you'll cure cancer. Perhaps you are simply destined to ruin a city, bring a country into debt, or start a war. On the flip side, you might just look into a microscope one day and realize you've found the cure for a serious disease.
This, in it's own way, helps keep the idea of free-will alive. Sure, you may or may not be a significant person, but you decide just how you become so. Some believe that the way grow up, and your genetics, may affect what number you get. Others say that there is something more that we cannot control that grants us our numbers. There's no real explanation as of yet, but no number has been wrong to date. Our current president has a 75 embellished on his skin. So far, he has the highest number ever recorded.
I was 17.
It was two days before my 18th birthday, and I was driving on a routine trip from the grocery store, but decided to take the freeway in order to get back sooner. It started to rain, and I lost control. I hit a car going the opposite way on the road, and lost consciousness.
When I awoke, I was in a hospital room, surrounded by scientists and government agents alike. They were to explain something shocking to me.
The car I had hit on that night was that of a scientist who had supposedly found the secret to immortality. He had been able to cure the aging cycle, and could keep a human person at their peak forever. He died in the accident, and all his research in the car went up in flames.
The accident was a week ago.
I looked down at my chest, only to see the number 100 inscribed across it.
Edit: Just saw the "at birth" part. I suppose the 18 years old part in my story was the twist. | 28 | Every person is branded at birth with a number designating their relative significance to society. What number did you get? | 27 |
*"You really shouldn't even be trying this."*
"Sir, I understand your concerns, but rest assured we are America's number one provider of-"
*"I know you are. I invented you. That was the point"*
"Pardon me sir?"
*"Your company. What, did you think things like this just come up? Organically? How stupid do you think I am? Do you think I'm lazy?"*
"Well sir I uh-"
*"I think its fair to say I have a decent amount of practice with this kind of shit, wouldn't you say?"*
"Well yes sir I-"
*"Whats your name?"*
"Wha?"
*"Your name, pal! The noun you own that isn't an ad homonem!"*
Jared gulped. He wasn't used to conflict that escalated above passive aggression like this and his tie was starting to feel much too tight.
"J-J-J-J-J-"
*"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, spit it out!"*
"Jared! My name is Jared."
*"Well Jared, I do have a lot of experience at what I do, in case you couldn't tell. I'm not going to fall for some low grade, amateur hour con, especially when I'm the one that came up with it. Do you honestly believe you're America's number one provider of anything besides headaches by coincidence?"*
"I-"
*"Don't answer that kid, it was rhetorical. Now you write this down and tell your manager. No, I do not want increased browsing speed. No, I do not want to bundle my cable. Yes, as of now I would like to cancel my services. No there is nothing you can do that will change my mind besides maybe grovel a bit or slash Sandra's throat with a letter opener."*
Jared let out a gasp.
*"You know Sandra, right? Three desks over? She's kind of hot, huh?"*
Jared's eyes went wide. Slowly, he turned his head to the right, phone still held tight to his ear. Three desks over was a woman about his age, brushing her long red hair behind her ear as she went over a customer's billing information. Before he could look away Sandra glanced up, saw him, and gave him a perfect, green eyed smile before returning to her work.
*"Told ya. Anyway, we're getting Google Fiber down here soon, and its going to take at least another month for you to actually cancel my service anyway. Good effort on your part kid, but you have to get up real early in the morning to pull one over on me. Improved browsing speed, HA!"*
"I uh, well sir um, on behalf of everyone here at Comcast I'd like to thank you for your-"
*"No Jared, no. Thank you. Thank YOU Jared. I couldn't do it without you. You have a good day now, y'hear?"*
"Y-y-y-you too m-mister Lucifer."
CLICK | 226 | A man makes a deal with the Devil, and the Devil refuses to take it. | 171 |
**I Am God. AMA**
*Submitted: 45 seconds ago*
*In the interest of time, (I am very busy after all), I am going to post the answers to your questions in order so you don’t have to waste time typing out your questions. I already know them, and this karma isn’t worth anything anyway. If you’re not sure what your answer is, or if you come up with a question that I haven’t answered, I will PM you the answer before you ask it. So just check for the orange envelope after you come up with a question. I will only be here for about 2 minutes. Thanks!*
*(Also, please arrange a funeral service for u/karmanaut as he insisted on photo evidence and it killed him. For those of you about to get upset, I only did this AMA when it was his time anyway. It was either this, or getting hit by a car while walking his dog. You decide.)*
- Yes
- No
- That’s a good question, but I’m not sure you understand the implications of that decision. If I were to have done that, you would never colonize the Moon.
- Yes, she likes you. No, it won’t end well.
- He has a lot of good ideas, and while unpopular at the moment, he will start something truly wonderful.
- Yes I thought of that. You’re very original.
- Yes
- I honestly don't know how to explain that without giving physics away. Neil figures it out.
- Yes
- No
- Yes Jesus is really my Son. No, he did not have to explain computers to me.
- I am aware that you think how I treated Adam and Eve was a ‘dick move,’ but without their fall the internet would have never been invented. Your call.
- That’s a ridiculous question. Read the Bible, I explained that already.
- Wow, that is a good question. To keep it short, it was necessary to insure the survival of the human race. I would much prefer not doing those kinds of things, but I have to do what I have to do. I love all of you, and sometimes that requires making hard choices that nobody else can make. If I hadn’t made it, someone else eventually would have.
- No your wife is not cheating on you. She’s working a second job. Show some appreciation and stop playing so much Xbox. Oh, and she’s pregnant.
- No, and don’t ever ask that again. Seriously.
- *wink* Wouldn’t you like to know. If you don’t know in 61.8 years I’ll PM you the answer.
Okay everyone! That’s all the time I have for today. I’ll be PMing some of you periodically throughout the rest of the day, but that’s all the time I have for the actual thread. I love you all! Please take care of yourselves! | 115 | God does an AMA. | 75 |
"There have been some recent *incidents*," Snape said with an icy whisper and a pointed stare at Lavender "that have caused the Board of Governors to *re-evaluate* the school's curriculum. So instead of Potions, today I will be instructing you on the matters of reproduction." He grimaced like he had something foul caught in his nostrils. He tapped his wand against the side of the desk, and posters popped out of nowhere with detailed diagrams of genitalia. "BLIMEY!" Ron blurted out, gripping the front of the desk as his eyes went wide. A wave of giggles rolled through the classroom; Snape rolled his eyes.
"Try to control yourself and pay attention, Mr. Weasley. It may be a while before you have another opportunity to study some," he remarked with his trademark sneer as he gestured at the diagram of breasts. Ron turned bright red and shrank down in his desk while Malfoy struggled to contain his laughter.
"We will begin with a lesson concerning the genitalia." He rapped his wand against a detailed cross-section of the penis. "Can anyone name the parts of the male anatomy depicted here?" he asked the class. The room was so silent you could have heard a pixie's whisper. "Oh, no answers to volunteer for once, Ms. Granger?" His mouth twisted into the closest thing he had to a smile, but still cruel and heartless. Hermione bit her lip; she looked like she was about to cry. He was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in humiliating the Gryffindors today. "Very well," he continued. "Get out your quills."
After a long lecture on anatomy that resulted in quite a few uncomfortable pauses and hurried glances between members of the opposite sex, the topic turned to the subject of sexually transmitted diseases. "There are a number of afflictions that you all should watch out for. These can be naturally occurring, such as Dragon's Breath which gives an uncomfortable rash, as well as the hex-based ailments that can be inflicted by a jilted lover, including Cupid's Curse and Cauldron Rot."
"Probably a common affliction for Potions Masters," Ron whispered. Harry couldn't help but snort, and Snape was looming suddenly over them like a bat. "Fifty. Points. From. Gryffindor," he said slowly, seething with anger and grinding his teeth between each pause. Ron had evidently struck a bit too close to home.
"Worse than the diseases, though," he continued "Are the attempted cures. I've seen many a foolish student" he glanced at Neville and raised his thin black eyebrows, "think that they could simply charm away a bad case of Dungeon Boils, only to find themselves in the hospital wing having Madam Pomfrey apply some particularly unpleasant creams, to some *particularly* sensitive areas." Neville looked positively sick at the thought.
From there, the lecture turned to pregnancy. "Prevention is most important," Snape said emphatically. "Though legal, there are certain sects of the Wizard community who find it... distasteful, shall we say, to not carry to term. The ladies of the room can prevent pregnancy with a simple potion, which I shall pass out instructions for all of you to brew. But for the boys in the room..." He produced a small paper packet from his pocket. "These are known as 'condoms.'" He tore it open, and a bright purple patch of rubber danced out of the package and hopped onto the table, slowly inflating. Snape looked at it with disdain as it swirled around in a circle, and lunged at Snape's crotch. "It will simply apply itself," he said as he caught it deftly, and it deflated like a worm in his hand. "But be forewarned: if it has turned black, it has expired."
"Snape's probably used to them matching the rest of his wardrobe," Ron whispered again. Hermione had to use a Silencio charm on Harry to prevent him from bursting out in laughter.
Finally, the bell rang and they fled the dungeon classroom as though chased by dragons. "I've got to... er... go to my locker!" Hermione said to her shoes, afraid to look either of the boys in the face. Ron blushed as she ran down the hallway. Padma and Parvati passed by and both gave Harry a slight wave. "Well done, boy," said a knight in a painting in the hall behind him. "Well done indeed!" | 1,151 | Snape is forced to teach sex-ed at Hogwarts. | 994 |
Mother Nature woke up screaming.
She had been sleeping restlessly for a few months now; she had thought the worst of the pain was over, and that she could finally get to work on recuperating after 6 long years of pain and torture that had left her withered and frail - a shell of what she was before. The pain was back.
But this pain was worse, far worse than anything she had ever dreamt of. Mother Nature could cope with the slow trickle of death that a regular civilised planet produces, and she had trained herself to manage when wars came and went but this blinding, raging agony was akin to nothing the good green Earth had ever seen. The pain went rolling up and down her arms and down her legs all the way to her toes, numbing all her other senses to nothingness, tearing her apart and pouring salt in every wound as it did so. Hell was alive and flowing through her veins.
And soon it was worse, but Mother Nature this time retained her composure. She sat in front of the mirror in her bathroom, legs crossed and her hands in her lap, and simply smiled out to herself as the second bout of gut-wrenching, soul-destroying, heart-breaking pain struck her again and again like a whip on a slave's back. She did not cower, she did not hide from the burning, she just looked at herself and saw her happy face looking back.
But this face of such serenity soon started to stretch and smear and twist itself out of shape. Mother Nature watched, still silent, as the eyes she gazed into turned grey, then red, then black and deep dark bags hung lower and lower underneath them. Her skin was fading and her hair was greying, her mouth drooped and her natural smile became a neutral frown. Soon she was a shell of her former self, the beautiful young lady who had been sleeping seemingly moments ago was gone. Instead a crooked, wrinkled old woman looked sadly into herself in front of the mirror, unmoving and uncaring.
The children of Planet Earth had drained her, and now they had just a hag to guard over them, to protect them from the passage of time and the death of man. Mother Earth had seen the death of man that day and knew that, no matter what she did now, she was doomed to see it again in just 100 years time. She could no longer prevent it, for mankind had manufactured its own fate to be too deadly, she could merely watch and maybe shed a single tear the next time the pain woke her. | 13 | The atom bombs have just been dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Tell a story from Mother Nature's perspective. | 15 |
"WHAT?!" I looked at my SO, unable to comprehend the words he had just spoke to me.
"Sit down son. Just take a second and let me know when you're ready to continue." He sat there, arms folded, leaning back in his chair. His casualness with the news of my relocation was almost as shocking as the relocation itself. I never had a problem enlisting, but I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. I sat and tried to calm down, but my SO must have noticed I was having trouble. "You're one of the best that we have. Right now, we need the best. You don't know it, but you are as prepared as you can be for what we are asking you to do. You and your team were put through a special training and you're all going."
"To Mars? We're going to Mars?"
"That is correct. Curiosity made a discovery that the public was never told about. An alien species was able to send a message through Curiosity to NASA and they forwarded it on to us. Things were peaceful at first, but the aliens were insistent on coming to Earth, something we don't think would be a good idea, especially when we got intel that them coming to Earth wouldn't be a peaceful endeavor. When we told them about this, things turned hostile. We've been at war with an alien race for the last 2 months. The public doesn't know, and we don't want them to know."
"Why? Why all the secrecy? Don't you think there are people out there that would want to defend their planet? Wouldn't this help to resolve a lot of conflicts here? Common-enemies-make-friends thing?"
"That is what we will go with if the fighting goes bad, but right now, we are at a stalemate. Surprisingly, the aliens don't seem to be all that competent at war. We believe they may have been an exploration team. At first, they had the advantage. They are quicker. We believe they have technology that allows them to move in low gravity with much more efficiency than we can. Exosuits like that would advance us by decades. But that's another topic. A small team went into where the aliens were holed up and we were able to take out a few. Since then, we've been able to take the offense more than simply trying to survive. With your team, we think we ca..."
"Wait. How did we respond so quickly? I mean, Curiosity took the better part of a year to reach Mars. How did we get men up there?"
"The UN created a task force. Turns out, some other countries had some damn good ideas about space travel, but didn't have the means to create them. We can now go to Mars in 2 days, and that's where we want you."
"Sir, it's not that I'm going to disobey an order, but I'm still struggling to understand all this. I mean, how do our weapons work in low gravity? What's the fighting even like? What about food?"
My SO leaned forward. "Look, all this will be explained to you on they way up. You and your team are what we need. We've trained you as best as we can and now it's time to put you at the front of the battle. We can only assume the aliens are doing the same, bringing in a better team, so we want to do it first. I'd rather defend an alien invasion from Mars than from Earth. Now go, tell your team, and start packing. You leave at 0500."
I stood up and saluted, still unsure of the last ten minutes and how any of it was real. Before I reached the door, my SO spoke, "And one more thing." I turned, expecting for the "just kidding" line, but instead, was welcomed. "Welcome to the GUARDIANS Peter." | 15 | You enlist in the military. You're told your first deployment is in the middle east. When you get to the military base, you're handed confidential documents informing you that you are being sent to Mars to fight a war against an aggressive alien life form. | 43 |
He ducked around the corner, trying to avoid me. Dammit, I just wanted to make sure he was ok, that he didn't need medical care or something. Not like I cared too much, but his face, damn, his face was a mess. What I had quickly glanced at made my stomach turn, caused my saliva to run, signaling the return of my lunch. It was bad. It looked like hamburger, like Freddy Krueger, like a demon should look.
I saw him jump into a box at the end of the narrow alley, he must have thought I gave up. I crept near the box, cautious, careful, nervous.
"Hey man......hey....I just want to ask you something, see if you're alright. Looks like you got hurt".
The box shook slightly, and I saw his fingers creep out and grab the edge of the opening there. Gnarled and spotted, black in places, his emerging hand startled me at first. I didn't think he would come out. What did I do now? I couldn't put him in my car, I definitely didn't want to touch him, what did I think I was doing? The rest of the people in this town seemed to think there was nothing unusual, so why did I feel the need to investigate?
He pulled himself out of his hovel, I could see him crouched at the entrance, back to me. He stood up, all the way up to about 6' feet. He turned around and I gasped as I looked at him, really acknowledged him.
"Ah, you see now, don't you?", his ravaged face lifted at one corner as he smiled, " You see what the others have been trying to tell you. They all went through the same, you know. Its alright. Now, you can move on. Say you've been enlightened. Opened your eyes and lost the illusion. I'll be here, waiting for the next person who notices me".
I looked at the scars on his face, on his hands and on his dirty feet. They were old, puckered, and nasty. I had never actually looked at him. It made me too uncomfortable so I just brushed him off, only noticing bits and pieces over time. He had just been dirty background scenery.
"So, what will your guilt buy me? You have to feel better, don't you? A sandwich, some chips or a drink? Maybe, all three. A beer or two if you really feel like a shit. Go on, let's get this over with do you can go back to everything that matters".
I couldn't say anything, he was an asshole, and condescending, but he was right. I took a 20$ out and laid it on top of his cardboard home, and I walked out of that dark place with his knowing laughter following me.
I did all I could do, I have a life to live, you know. | 11 | A vagrant in your town keeps developing new scars. Everyone insists they've always been there. Their face is badly burned today and you finally ask why. | 34 |
I feel a bullet take me in my neck, just missing my throat. The torn flesh pulsed in pain as my blood flowed out of the hole and my vision darkened. I took one last moment for a prayer to my god, the Christian god. I do not receive an answer as I never have while my consciousness is stolen from me.
The blackness is suddenly broken. My eyes open with me on the ground, I become acutely aware of my neck and the fact that it feels whole and completely un-pained. The soft light that surrounds me seems to beckon me to stand and I do so, finally observing my surroundings. I stand before a large building, the architecture is unfamiliar. In front of that building is a shockingly golden tree. To my right I see a large deer grazing and when I glance up I see a churning night sky, beautiful and yet alien.
I know I am most certainly dead. I suppose my faith must have been well-placed. But where is Peter? He was supposed to meet me at the gates of heaven to admit me, but instead I just wake up on the ground. I suppose it’s not my place to ask. I start forward, heading towards the long building in front of me, skirting narrowly around the tree.
As I push the doors open I’m greeted by noise, chatting and the clashing of silverware and cups. It’s also bright inside, sharply contrasting with the gentle illumination outside. I take in the dining hall – that is clearly what it is – while those eating slowly take notice. The large man at the far side of the hall stands up and calls me loudly. “Greetings!” The man is truly large. Huge even, larger than anyone I’ve seen before. Would this be god? “Ahh, hello there,” I meekly call, though loud enough to be heard across the room if you strain your ears. He laughs deeply. “Well, come here then. Surely we can find you a place at one of these tables.” I begin forward. Who am I to disobey god?
As I near he begins to speak again, “You wouldn’t know who I am. Little do now. Man has forgotten much. Perhaps you’ve heard of Thor, my son? I’m Odin, and this is Valhalla.” I stop in shock. This is not my god. This is some Nordic god, though perhaps that’s not bad. It’s still a god. “Valhalla, ‘Hall of the Slain’?” He looks pleased. “Ahh, so you’ve heard of me. Yes, that is where you are. You died in battle you know. Well, sit at that place over there,” he points, “You’ll feast for eternity. Or at least, until Ragnarok.” The hall goes up in a unified cry, “UNTIL RAGNAROK!”
I suppose I have little choice then. I take my place and begin to feast. | 11 | a christian soldier dies valiantly in combat, he find himself in Valhalla. | 20 |
At last she was free. Bursting out of the dank cellar into the bright morning light was the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her. She had been trapped for days...weeks maybe. She had lost track of time. There was hardly any light in the cellar, and her blindfold made it all the darker. She only heard sounds. The most frightening was the creaking of the stairs when her kidnapper crept down to feed her. He only ever touched her hands, guiding them to where a bowl would be, filled with food that at first she refused to touch. After a day(or was it two?) she had given in and scarfed down what tasted like some sort of wheat cereal. It was never filling, but it was food, and she needed it to stay alive and try to escape.
But now she was free. Someone had broken into the cellar and hoisted her out. He had carried her out of the cellar and hadn't stopped. He jogged with her over his shoulder for at least 10 minutes before finally setting her down. She could see the glow of the sun through her blindfold. As soon as she was set down she quickly ripped it off to see the face of her captor.
A...helmet?
He was wearing a helmet.
And...armor?
She wondered what had been in that cereal she'd been eating.
But no, he seemed to be the real deal. The sunlight glinted off the armor and made her strain her eyes further. They were standing in a barn, the sunlight streaming in from a broken window. After a moment, the..."knight" spoke.
"M'lady are you alright? You haven't said a word. I can understand you must be afraid, but never fear! I am here to rescue you. And I have. Mostly. Just a little further to go and we'll have you safely home"
She looked on, still stunned by the armor.
"M'lady you are dressed in rags. I have brought some clothes for you to wear as we make our way back. Let me get them."
He reached into a large bag by his feet that she hadn't noticed(what with a *knight* standing in front of her and all). As he rummaged through it, she glanced down at her clothes. She was wearing the same thing she'd been abducted in, jeans and a t-shirt. They were dirty, but all in all in the same shape as they'd been weeks ago. What was he talking about rags? Maybe he had a jacket in the bag or something or...
He pulled out what appeared to be a pink ball gown. Frilly and large, it was followed by, as far as she could tell, a tiara. Was this really happening to her? How long had she been down in that cellar? Had she lost her mind?
"Please m'lady. Put this on."
She stared, dumbfounded.
"Princess, we can't have you back to court looking like that. What would your father say? Now please. Put your dress on."
The last four words carried an edge to them, and as he said them he turned so that his sword was visible.
Wait...a sword? Now she really couldn't believe this was happening to her.
He tossed the dress to her. She caught it and just stared at the fabric.
"Put it on. Now."
She snapped out of her stupor and began to realize that her savior"might not be the kind of rescue she was looking for. He was beginning to scare her. Her relief at being rescued had quickly turned to a new fear.
She quickly began undressing, and as she did the helmeted man stared straight at her, taking in every movement. She shivered. At least the only thing the man in the cellar had done was feed her. This man wanted something more, and she was afraid of what else he was going to demand of her. But tired, emaciated, and afraid, she didn't have many options but to do what he said. For now.
She was finally dressed and placed the tiara on her head. The knight nodded in approval.
"Alright, time to get going. We need to get you back to the castle before your father starts a war over this! I was only able to procure a single horse, so you'll just have to ride with me."
He took her hand and guided her out of the barn into the sunlight. Before her lay an overgrown field. It looked to be about 2 acres, with a large, broken down fence all around it. She could see a large house on the far end of it. He guided her over to a small work yard, where she could see scraps of wood and several rusty tools. In the center of it was a crudely built horse, made from several oddly-shaped planks of wood. It had a poorly painted mouth and two misshapen eyes. He grabbed it under one arm and moved it a dozen yards further into the field. He then picked her up and placed her on the front of the "horse", climbing on the back of it himself.
(To be continued if there's any interest. I need to go for now.)
Continued:
*****
Several hours passed filled with "adventure". Helping villagers, fending off bandit raids, and of course many long rides through the "countryside". She remained seated on the wooden horse while the knight dragged her around commenting on what they were "seeing" as they traversed the empty field. A few times they came close to the house, and she tried to steal glances at it. It appeared as dilapidated as the fence and the barn. On one pass, she thought she saw movement inside the house. It did not bring her any hope of rescue, just dread at what new crazy might await her there.
Dusk fell, and the knight stopped to build a campfire. She stayed on the wooden horse, both legs dangling over the side closest to the campfire as she tried to keep warm. The knight sat next to her, still fully armored.
"M'lady doesn't talk much."
She said nothing.
"She may not talk much, but I understand. I can read you much like a book."
She let herself give him a questioning stare.
"Ah, are you surprised? You don't stay alive as long as I have without knowing how to read people. Does m'lady want to know what I think?"
She still said nothing, but kept looking at him.
"You hide your feelings poorly princess. You have let romance blossom in your heart. "
Just when she thought she couldn't be more shocked, he says this. She would have been struck speechless, if she already hadn't been avoiding talking.
"It's not appropriate though m'lady. I will not say the feelings are not mutual. I for one was stricken by your beauty the moment I laid eyes on you in the mall..." he caught himself and coughed a bit, then corrected himself, "...in the dungeon, after slaying that wicked goblin."
Now her interest was piqued again. Did he say at the mall? Had she seen this man before? With the helmet on, it was impossible to say.
He continued, "Unfortunately, a woman of your status could never be with a man like me. I am but a lowly knight, sworn to protect the king and his family. I am just doing my duty m'lady, nothing more. Forgive me if I now have to act coldly towards you. We cannot let these feelings linger"
"Now we must get some rest, for tomorrow, we arrive at the castle, and there will much celebration upon our arrival. I know the king will have a great feast prepared upon seeing you rescued."
And with that he lifted her off the horse and laid her on the ground. He laid down behind her, encircling her with his metallic arms. So much for acting coldly towards her.
"Don't worry princess, I shall keep you warm tonight."
She might stay warm, but the stink of his breath through the slit in his helmet would keep her up half the night. She wasn't going anywhere, so she determined to get some rest. At the very least, it would keep her from thinking about how hungry and thirsty she was. She drifted off to sleep, her thoughts entranced, trying to figure out who this man might be.
(To be continued again tomorrow.)
(Next part below)
| 27 | A young woman is rescued by a knight in shining armor. Turns out he's much worse than the villain he rescued her from. | 66 |
I can't believe this has happened.
One minute I'm sitting there in my cubicle, listening to that bitch, jerry, drone on and on from the office down the hall about his fantasy football team and how it's like totally his year, the next im listening to some sweet sounding lab tech telling me my results are in and that they need to talk right away. How the hell is something inoperable anyway, it's operating just fine in that it's killing me.
I drop my phone in my stale, burnt coffee, in the bullshit mug that I've been using for ten years...ten fucking years and all I have is a cubicle, slightly in the sight of the window. While jerry, my rage starts to build, has been here four months and has his own office.
Well not anymore.
"IM MAD AS HELL, and I'm not GONNA TAKE THIS ANYMORE." I yell, still seated. The office quiets for a moment, I hear hushing and somewhere a phone continues to ring back, as we often leave people on hold till they finally hang up.
"I'm mad as hell, and IM NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" I say standing up and look around the room.
Janice, the one Ray of Hope in this cesspool is staring at me from across the way. Her beautiful green eyes speak of want, and they urge me forward.
"PEOPLE, how long must we wait here for our shift to end?" I ask, pleading with my colleagues, as I begin to pass and take off my jacket and tie my tie around my head, like a office max Rambo. "How long do we wait for our lunch breaks, which we are hurried to and fro from," some stirring from IT," how long do we sit in these team meetings to listen to management, IM LOOKING AT YOH JERRY, talk about how we are so lucky to have them above us." I see the legal team begin to stand up, more people are beginning to stand and gather around. "I say we change something around her," nods in agreement, I am no longer in control of my body, as I am willed on by the people's unspoken charter of revolution. "We shall take the management and judge them for their crimes against our 40 hour work week And BENEFITS" I slam my fist down on Janice's desk, cause her to jump with surprise and look up at me with those big eyes. "NOW WHO IS WITH ME" a thunderous roar is heard from IT to MAINTENANCE. the masses have armed themselves with keyboards and staplers, Tim from
Shipping is wielding his bonsai tree. The multitude moves towards jerry, I see in his face that he has no time to change his roster and that this is indeed not his year as his door caves in and the mass begins beating him to pulp. I look down at Janice and kiss her. That is when the sirens began....
15 years later....
"Men, and women of the Army of the Cubicle, we have come far," I rub my knee above where my left leg was, taken from me when we stormed Chicago. "We have lost much, and we are sure to lose more, but this is about us seeing our tasks through...." The crowd I look over gathered on what used to be the grand Mall in the nations capital, this army of the people, armed now much better than what it used to have, I continue to speak into the microphone projecting my voice over the rotor wash of our Apache attack helicopters patrolling the skies. "We are at this nations capital to ring a new era of management styles, one that will honor the commitments of the employer-employee contract, GIVE US overtime, and understand that sometimes you should be allowed to wear jeans..."I pause to allow these words to sink in," ON A TUESDAY" I raise my M4 to the sky, clutched in my one good hand, while my other, gnarled by shrapnel is being held by Janice, her stomach large with our fourth child. "NOW, brigade leaders...you have your orders...execute" at that the B2 bombing runs are heard in the distant and the horde in front of me begins to move east.
As I turn to Janice, her smile baring broken teeth, I think to myself...
How did it end up like, it was only a kiss...it was only a kiss. | 38 | A man finds out he has terminal cancer, and decides to go out with a bang. In doing so, he inadvertently starts a revolution. | 69 |
Today I’m going to die. For real this time. This is attempt number five hundred and I’m making it count.
As I brush my teeth I go over my plan again. Heartboy is standing behind me in the bathroom, trying to hand me a cup of water, but I’m used to ignoring him. *Not like yesterday*, I think. *With more feeling, and passion. That's the key.*
Yesterday I tried half-heartedly to slash my wrists open with a piece of broken beer bottle. It was a token effort of course – Grey Lightning blurred up out of nowhere and took the shard before I could blink.
That was still better than Tuesday, though, when I tried my office window again. Nighteagle and Comet collided in mid-air as they tried to scoop me up, which at least was damn funny, but Radioman wove some type of sonic net before I hit pavement. That doofus is still hanging around my building, like I owe him a handshake or something.
“Is there anything I can help you with, citizen?” Asks Black Bullet. He has somehow squeezed himself into my tiny bathroom beside Heartboy, with his stupid coils of ectoplasm splashing out all around him. It’s his dead dad’s spirit. Or maybe his brothers, I can’t remember.
“Nope, no danger here-” I say “ I guess you'd better go 'patrol the city'?” Sometimes this line works.
“Perhaps you’re right, citizen. Stay safe – remember the darkness.” Black Bullet even gives this little stoic nod to Heartboy before he walks out.
“Gee Mister Gordon,” Heartboy pipes up “We really gonna go to Funzone today? Boy, don’t you think those rides are a little dangerous?”
We’ve been over this fifty times, so I don’t answer him.
----
At Funzone I wipe my sweaty palms on my pant legs and finger a remote control in my pocket. You wouldn’t believe what this sucker cost me, but it won’t matter after today. Pink cotton candy dissolves in my mouth, and I think this is an OK last meal.
Despite my attempt to get rid of him, Black Bullet is still tailing me. You’d think he’d be good at this, but his darkness powers are lousy in daylight. Everywhere I turn this big, pathetic shadow flits away behind a bush or a lamp post.
More subtley, Radioman is loitering near a hotdog stand, and he is at least in his ‘alter ego’. He chomps energetically on a hotdog while straightening his fedora.
“Hi ‘Bob’, how are ya?” I can’t help sniping at him.
“Heya... mister, I'm real swell!” I swear to God, he’s pretending not to know who I am.
I make my way to my death machine, the towering Meteor Shuttle. Heartboy is right. This sucker is really, really dangerous.
There are no employees, because I am the only customer of Funzone. Funzone, and, in fact, the whole world. So Heartboy is the one who lowers a harness over my body, and then he gives a thumbs up, to no-one in particular.
*Please God let Heartboy not get on the rollercoaster with me, just this once-* I pray silently. Heartboy settles into the seat next to me, snapping his own harness shut. *Oh well. I guess I’m going out as a murder-suicide.*
The cart rattles with jaw-aching bangs as it ratchets up to the first drop. As we creep higher a strange kind of peace fills me up, enough that I actually sigh with contentment. Below me, my world spreads out, fading to a pale blue horizon.
Then we fall, and I thumb the remote.
At first the speed is bearable, then terrifying. The coaster shakes and groans under the stress, as the wind tears at my face. The deactivated brakes are gloriously silent in the undercarriage as we fly, faster, faster.
Then terror fades, and black spots float up in front of me. *It’s working*, I have time to think, before the world blurs away.
----------
“It’s alright, citizen, you’re safe now.”
“We saved you.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“We’re all here with you.”
I open my eyes, then quickly shut them again.
I guess there’s always five hundred and one.
| 40 | In a world of superheroes, a normal person is born. | 33 |
"Are we there yet?" my brother whined from the back seat. I just rolled my eyes, and to my left I heard my father sigh dramatically.
"No we are not there yet," he replied for the seventh time in the past ten minutes. Turning up the volume on my iPod, I resumed staring out of the window, watching the brief glimpses of colour and shape flashing past, whipped away before my brain had a chance to recognise what they were.
Further in the distance, objects crawled past more slowly, and in the sky I caught sight of a bird curling gracefully through the air. I watched it for quite some time as it swooped down low over the fields, changing direction in the blink of an eye.
I only wish I'd been paying more attention to the road.
The car hurtled through a red light into the intersection, and the hood of the car folded like paper as it slammed into the side of the other car. The wheels wrenched sidewards and the car began to roll, sending glittering fragments of glass dancing through the air. In the back seat, I could hear Jamie screaming.
My head slammed into the dashboard in front of me, and as the car came to a rest on its roof, I felt my mouth fill with blood. Still strapped in, I unbuckled myself, and my body hit the roof, the glass cruching underneath me. With my head pounding and an intense pain in my left arm, I slowly turned into the back of the car to check on Jamie.
He had a small cut on his forehead, but was conscious. He was hurt though. He moaned gently and the first tears began to roll down his face.
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
"I...I think so," he responded weakly.
"Dad, are you..." I turned to him, but the driver's seat was empty. It wasn't that he had been thrown out of the car; the door was closed and the windscreen was still intact enough that he couldn't have gone through it. He was just...gone.
I kicked out at the shattered window, removing the sharpest shards so that I could crawl out. I checked the road around me, but apart from the two cars, there was nothing else. No body. Where had he gone? When I checked the other car we had hit, that car was empty too.
From further down the road, the sound of car horns began to fill the air. | 13 | Suddenly everyone over the age of 18 is gone. What ensues? | 21 |
My friend once asked me as a hypothetical question, "If I told you I made a spaceship so fast and so durable that it could travel faster than light, heck, travel almost close to warp speeds... Say, you could reach another galaxy in a second... The environment is self-sustaining and will support you until you die a natural death. Would you do it?"
"Yes, I'd do it in a heartbeat.", I replied, "Show me it and I'll hop right on it."
---
Today, I am living it.
No, it does not have a warp drive. No, it does not travel faster than the speed of light. However, it is fast, much faster than any other existing spacecrafts. Fast enough to be considered for a mission to the comet Pluto. It is, however, self-sustained and can support a manned mission.
My love for exploration, space and the unknown led my naive self to make this decision in the past. I thought I knew what I was doing. Yes, I love space. I love it as much as a middle-aged alcoholic husband loves his wife. I am jaded. I have seen it all, lived it all and gone through more than anyone could ever imagine. I used to think the outcome would justify what I'm doing.
I never once knew, Servo, that you would be the one I'll be talking to for the rest of my life... At least after that dastardly view of Earth blowing up to pieces...
And now I remember what my friend said to me back then... "What about time dilation? What about all the people you're leaving back there to die? You don't mind traveling alone in the vastness of space? Damn, you're cold.". I was an optimist. I thought (well, at least in his proposed hypothetical scenario) that if I had almost instantaneous Faster Than Light travel it doesn't matter if I left everyone behind... I would be living an experience no one else could and perhaps I would even discover something so incomprehensible that I could travel back in time or something! There has to be something out here... Right?! Fuck, was I naive...
This... This is different. Everyone just... Ceased to exist right in front of my eyes... Were there any survivors? I doubt it. Not with the planet exploding like that... Shit...
I'm supposed to just go crazy or hallucinate at this point. I should at least reach Pluto before that right? Then I'd have lived a life with its purpose fulfilled? I don't even know what that means. What's the point? I don't know man, hope is a helluva drug... | 10 | A man gets everything he ever wanted in life, but what he gave up in order to get it makes it worthless. | 21 |
So far all of the base comments are, I fear, liable to be removed. Even this one.
Going to have to fix that and write a story now, thanks for forcing my hand, jerks.
-------------------------------------------
It took me seven years to piece it all together.
Seven years of carefully scrounging the internet.
Reading books that slightly hinted at, but did not discuss, the subject of my affection.
Many things are banned now, you see. With them all being so easy to access though, it is more of a pitiable attempt by the government at maintaining its own relevance in this world. *The Grapes of Wrath* for example. Wonderful read, banned in every state except Southern California - and Utah, but no one considers them a state after the failed Revolt of 2574.
I managed to get my hands on thirteen printed copies - twelve of which I sold overseas of course. With the United States government doing all it can to restrict us it is important that we help preserve our future - the Svalbard Book Bank is going to do just that. Thank god for the Nords - setting up secure bunkers of culture and life quicker than the Russians establish new missile sites.
Anyway, enough about that. I just got my first *Personal Enhancement Packaged Stimulation Inductor* in the mail. Everyone calls them Stimpacks, but I quite like the idea of an acronym. We're going to have to change the full name though - PEPSI is liable to get us sued. They don't like anyone challenging them - the company became really mean and forceful after buying out Coke.
Anyway, the... Stimpack... was for cleaning skills. I've never been the neatest, but I figured I could use it considering what profession I was going into.
It's probably not the most traditional route - and it has no Stimpack. Hence why it took me seven years to learn it. If I fail the first time it is game over.
I even got so low at one point as to /r/AskReddit - it cost twenty dollars, as they had to eventually charge something to keep server costs low, but it was worth it. Kinda. They pointed me in the right direction at least - a few links to an old website called Tumblr helped out some.
The strangest thing though, was that not even the most prolifically anti-government Stimpack sites had one for it. Maybe it is just one of those arts that loses its meaning if anyone can do it - like baseball.
Anyway, seven years.
Seven years sweated away.
Seven years spent honing an art that will make me famous.
Seven years suffering under heavy burdens. But it is all right, because now I can make that suffering mean something.
Those seven years wasted in physical strain - even for a goal so lofty as mine. And all because the government won't allow a Stimpack to be made for it.
Because there is no torrent for murder. | 22 | In the future, everyone downloads new skills straight into their brain. You have spent weeks/months/years learning a new skill, any skill, the old-fashioned way. Why? | 37 |
Neil was motionless as he stared at the glitch, unable to believe his luck. Like everyone else he knew, he’d been searching ever since the first discovery was made. Discoveries were rare, were so well rewarded you could happily retire on your planet of choice – provided the glitch was gathered intact.
The glitch shifted, the air warping around its form. Ripples formed in the air and vanished as it became still again. Only the glistening of its eyes gave it away now, and that was almost impossible to detect. Unless you knew what to look for. Unless you had Neil's parents, who had hammered the habits of a glitch-hunter into their children. Neil reached slowly into his bag, then froze as the glitch saw him.
"W-where," it struggled as it tried to absorb the English language. "Wh...at," the glitch said, and focused more closely, drawing on Neil's colors and features to create a body.
"No! Stop!" Neil said, springing forward to reach the glitch in time.
Its eyes swiveled madly in every direction - they had taken on a faint blue sheen. It tried to speak again, but before it could form the words, the dregs of color that had been gathering too rapidly burst as it disappeared. Neil groaned as he tried to think what he'd done wrong. *Never startle a glitch*. He thought he'd moved slowly enough. His father was going to be furious.
"Fuck," said Neil. He hastily began snapping pictures with the technology developed for just this purpose - but even his new camera wasn't fast enough to capture the mangled remains of color hanging in the air.
He stared hopelessly at the picture - blurred streaks of color. Not worth a damn. He sighed and headed home, wondering whether he should try selling the picture. You never knew. Someone out there probably got off on seeing pictures of dead glitches. There were a lot of freaks in the worlds. | 80 | You are walking down the path to your home when you notice a "Glitch". | 193 |
My first computer was a Spectrum ZX that my Dad bought me when I was six. It lasted a week before I had pulled it apart and put it back together again and made it go twice as fast. People were hard, computers, those I just *got*, they were easy.
By the time I was in my thirties I'd grown comfortable. At seventeen I had started a computer building and repair business and thirteen years later we were the worlds second biggest supplier of computer components in the world. Sure, not all that many people knew who we were, but if Apple or Microsoft wanted to launch a new iPad or Surface then you can be damn sure we were in the first meeting to talk components. We were the power behind the power, I liked it like that.
As CEO and owner I spent most days quietly surfing the internet, working on the odd business deal and generally living an easy life. Still, all these years later, people were hard and computers were easy. Maybe that's why I spotted it.
Everywhere I went on the internet I was left with a *feeling* that something was just somehow *off*. Like an hour after waking up when a dream is almost gone but you remember a memory of a memory, but try as you might you can't get it back. That's how I felt as I surfed through the deep web.
Everywhere I went I felt like I had missed something just a moment before, that I was somehow unable to break into the part where I wanted to go and I could go *anywhere*. But it wasn't online that jogged my memory, it was my cat. Cats are easy, they want food, warmth and attention and I had three little companions. Gabe, Gizmo and Fluffy Bun-Buns, the last a gift who came with their name but honestly I kind of liked it.
On this particular night it was Gabe who walked past the door to my man cave and then a moment later did the same. Now, cats do crazy shit all the time so I hardly noticed, but then he walked past again and this time, half way across he glitched back to the left. I've played enough EA games to recognise a glitch and so surprised I stood and walked over to him.
He miowed and ran off but he back legs were too long, they trailed behind him. This as all... wrong. Then it came back to me. This *had* happened before. Years back I had found them, tracked them down on-line, found where they hid, *in between* the lines of code. Contacted them.
Back them I was rich but not like this, a millionaire and not a billionaire and I had taken a risk, I had met them. I remembered the car picking me up and the cold fear as I wondered if I had made a mistake. The large black man sitting me down and talking to me about the world not being real. Sure things were a bit odd sometimes but this, this was madness.
They forced me to stay, said I had to make a choice. I made a choice, I chose life. I chose the blue pill.
This was the same, the glitches the world feeling just wrong, everything with a sheen of unreality. I know what this means, they haven't let me go. They've come back for me; I shouldn't have taken any pill from them at all.
Unlucky for them I am good at this. You want to come at me via computers. Come at me.
I'm not what they thought I was. I'm not some sad guy, alone at my desk. I'm the head of a multi-billion dollar corporation and in just a couple of calls and a few hours I had the best protection that the government could provide. You should see these guys, all shades and slick talk. They knew what the risk was and they knew how to help.
I've made contact again and they're coming back for me, but this time, this time I'll be ready and this time my friends will be waiting for them. | 39 | Morpheus found his way to you and offered you an escape from the matrix. You declined and took the blue pill. Three years later, you get reminded of the event. | 66 |
They say that people may change, but memories remain constant. Nothing could be further from the truth. This is at least what I’ve tried to convince myself.
Many memories from a young age are not your own. They’re false memories, formed from the stories your relatives told you or pictures you’ve seen. I felt like I could recall moments during the birth of my brother, seeing myself in the waiting room when they invited my Father and me into the cramped confinement of a hospital room when my mother cradled him in her arms, then another fleeting flash of memory when I looked out the window on the car ride home. However, I was only two years old and my mother says that there’s no way I remembered it. She shows me the photo album where these supposed memories originated and tells me that this can’t be my first real memory. She was right.
When I reach down to the bottom of my memory, I find a nightmare. I try to suppress it and even forget about it for long stretches of time, but it still looms at the core of my psyche. I don’t know how old I was. I don’t remember where I was. All I know is that this hellish dream was vivid in stark contrast to the warm vignette of my brother’s birth. It happened in flashes of images and impression that flashed in front of me. It’s something I’ve always known. It’s always the same, always filling me with oppressive anxiety and sending my pulse racing and moistens my clenched palms:
The first sensation is coldness. I sink to my knees, heart throbbing violently in my ears. I am fully helpless, wholly exposed. I am at another’s mercy before Them. The Person. I had always suspected they existed, but I never thought I would have an encounter. Now They are before me and red-tinted light backlights the figure and prevents me from discerning any facial features. I feel the gaze of my friends watching intently off to my left, out of the Person’s sight but unable to come to my aid. To my right I catch the flickering gleam of a lake with fire dancing on its surface. I await my fate. I feel the weight of a moment stretched beyond its natural limits as the staccato beats of my heart crash into my chest, faster and faster, harder and harder. My courage breaks like a levy and anxiety fills and floods my mind, crushing it under its weight. Terror consumes me. The dream ends.
I had relived this periodically throughout my life. Sometimes I could go a year or two without this impression seizing my mind, but I had gone perhaps 5 years since reliving this nightmare. Now this time it was happening in front of me, slowly, just as it has in my mind so many times. The familiar sequence was unfolding before me. This had all happened as I had lived in my dream, and relived my entire life. Now I was crossing over the edge and into the unknown. My friends rush out of their hiding place and I hear the click and whirr of a camera. I find us frozen on an arched, wooden bridge above a picturesque lake. The November sun is sinking below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues before the horizon extinguishes its flame. The figure reaches out clasps one of my hands, sinking down beside me. The red light no longer obscures the face. The face! It’s intimidating beautiful, eyes glimmering with joy and welling with tears. She unclasps her hand from her mouth and whispers the most beautiful words my ears will ever hear:
“Of course I’ll marry you, my love.”
| 11 | One of your most vivid childhood dreams or nightmares was a warning. As the events of this dream begin taking place, you recognize the situation. In a way, you've spent your whole life preparing for this moment. | 43 |
"*No wifi*? God no, what am I gonna do? I told my mum that she could email me if she had to. She hates owls!"
"Forget emails, Jeremy, this is serious. There are people on this compound who have never ever heard of a website. Or seen a GIF. Like, a legit GIF, not the moving pictures." Samantha could have died there and then, from the sheer shock of it all.
"No Youtube. No reddit. No *anything*."
The pair looked at each other. In that moment, an agreement was reached; a quest, undertaken.
-
They rarely talked to each other back in Muggle school. Always in different cliques, different classes, different ends of the corridor, different parts of the cafeteria. But this important journey - this woeful quest for internet connection - was one both of them held close to their hearts. And there is no unifier better than common interest.
-
"Samantha?"
"Yeah?"
"I have a question."
"What?"
"Do you know how to install Wifi? Because I don't."
"Shouldn't be a problem, right? We could just Google - "
Of course, they recognised the flaw in that plan.
-
"I think I remember my mum saying something about routers. And Ethernet cables. And - "
"- And even if we knew how to set all of that up, where are we going to get them in the first place? We're like, eleven," Samantha said.
The common room was cosy, true to what Helga Hufflepuff would want. There was a large bowl of chocolate chip cookies in the centre of the room, freshly stolen from the nearby kitchen. Neither of them had any appetite for them. It had been two weeks since school started. Magic was amazing, but so was having the whole (Muggle) world at your fingertips. Jeremy missed Wikipedia. He had no patience for libraries.
Out of the corner of his eye, Samantha spotted a bespectacled fifth year using *Lumos* as a torchlight to read. *That's hilarious,* thought Samantha. *Wands as torchlights, seriously? Were wizards* that *behind Muggle technology?*
"Jeremy," Samantha said firmly. "I give up. Surrender. White flags raised. I'm done."
"Hey, I'm sure it's possible - "
"*Jeremy*," she said, gesturing at the fifth year boy. "Look at that. *Look* at that. These people are above using goddamn *batteries*."
Jeremy stared at the boy for a full two minutes, before finally declaring, "…Okay. Okay. I'm not gonna do this anymore."
They both watched as the fifth year did a *Nox*. The light of the wand flickered and died, along with their hopes and dreams of a wireless network in Hogwarts.
-
"Maybe we could lower our standards?" Jeremy sighed as they stopped in front of the Hufflepuff girls' dorm.
"Batteries first?"
"Yeah, then electricity. Deal?"
"Deal."
-
Decades later, a child excitedly shows his mother his new chocolate frog card. "It's a rare one, Mum! And I got it!"
> Samantha Kincaid and Jeremy Littlefield. First known wizards to install electricity in the magical world. Co-founders of the Ministry of Muggle Technology. | 314 | Muggle-born wizards and witches are struggling to install wifi in their dormitories and library in Hogwarts. | 415 |
"Take him away." The man dressed in white was handcuffed by a few angry policemen, each staring at him with hateful eyes.
"You're not going to kill anyone anymore, Rodriguez."
Rodriguez. The name of my newest client, finally appeared in my dreams, the medium of which I can tell how people's lives end. Many consider me a true psychic, other consider me a scam. I am what I am.
I wake up slightly shivering. I have been doing this job for many years, but the fear of these dreams are still able to haunt me. I grabbed my phone and called him.
"Rodriguez. Meet me today later at... ten thirty later at the cafe."
"Sure thing, thanks a lot Mr. Aigo."
I tossed the phone, and walked slowly to the bathroom. Looking at the mirror, I took my towel and readied myself for a busy day. I was appointed to meet three.
Terrence dies in a car crash, a blue honda Civic.
Lilly dies by breast cancer.
Yoshua dies of old age at 74.
A man with grizzled hair and a pair of glasses -If only I remember the name- dies by a thief who stabbed him.
I grabbed my phone and called them as I walked to the cafe.
"You're there already? Okay. Good bye." I hung up as the phone was snatched from my hands.
"Hey!"
| 88 | You have developed and ability to see how people will die when you look at them. Your entire life you avoided pictures of yourself, but today you forgot, and, brushing your teeth in the morning, looked in the mirror... | 157 |
I was forged in the fires of hell.
Well, not quite hell, but I was born in a forge in Plattsburgh, Pennsylvania. From birth, we are told that we are unique snowflakes, each created for a singular duty. Our dedication to duty was pounded into us at every opportunity.
Adolescence was a trying period, and some of my brothers and sisters cracked under the stress, but I did not. After adolescence, those that survived went to advance training where they put us through the worst they could think of: We were hammered incessantly, scorched and scarred and some of us faltered, some us fell, but in the end, ten remained. We were the hardest, we were the strongest and we had prevailed. Our whole upbringing preparing us for one purpose: to protect humanity from the worst threats it would ever face.
We were far too dangerous to be left to lead our lives among the normal population, so we were sent to silos and labs around the country to perform our duty. I was deployed to a level 5 biohazard lab in Atlanta and for the past three years I have stood guard just outside of the most dangerous bio-containment lab in the world. Three uneventful years, but I don’t care, I was forged from the toughest stuff for the toughest situations, three years of boredom is a mere second to me.
Today was different though, I watched as a new scientist dropped a beaker. An alarm blared from inside the lab and I got my orders, the ones I had been waiting for my whole life: There was a containment failure and I was the last line of defense. I swung into action, securing the lab completely and watching with the stoic strength ingrained within me as the scientists stuck inside slowly succumbed to the toxic gas that spread throughout the lab. I felt the gas burn my skin, but I held fast; nothing would escape that lab, nothing. Even when an attractive female scientist beat her fists against my chest begging for an escape I held firm, unblinking, I watched her die over the course of an hour.
I am steel security door 88364H and my purpose is to isolate and contain with no exceptions. I will not fail.
| 21 | Since the day you were born, you've been groomed for a singular purpose. Today, you receive a text message simply saying "Containment Failure". You were born for this moment. | 20 |
The sound of leather shoes on a hard surface rang around the room with every step he took. A member of the secret service opened the door for him as he hurried past. Stepping into the room was like stepping back in time: brown files littered the floor; black chalkboards ran around the entirety of the walls and there was even a lava lamp on one of the desks. The smell of dust filled his nostrils; the air was thick with it. The strain it caused on his breathing reminded him of the days before he quit smoking, ‘that was a mistake,’ he thought to himself. He had similar thoughts most days but today they were more justified than ever. His thoughts were still running rampant from the briefing. ‘False wall discovered in the catacombs of the Smithsonian. Machine found. At least we think it’s a machine. No power source. Passed the Turing test. Real artificial intelligence.’
“Hello Mr Obama,” the machine called across the room, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Uh, Hello there,” was the only response he could muster.
A smiley face appeared on the screen in a font that would look more appropriate on a Xerox Alto.
“I seem to have confused a lot of your scientists with my existence, Mr President.”
“Yes you have indeed, is there any way that you could help us clear up that confusion?”
“Of course,” the machine replied, “Clearing up confusion is my purpose. I am Genesis, knower of all and knower of nothing.”
His voice trembled, “Yes, they said that you kept saying that. This is where the confusion arises from. How can you know all and know nothing at the same time?”
“To know all, one must know nothing. Nothing, in essence is part of all. I believe your Buddha said something along the same lines. Now I assume that you have more important questions to ask a being that knows all than this?”
The President flushed red with the embarrassment of being patronised by a computer. “We, errr, I have many questions to ask you. What are you? A machine? Who built you? Why are you under the Smithsonian?”
“I am no more machine than you are, Mr President. I am not a mere computer created to be slave to your race; I am knowledge. I am the keeper of knowledge and the giver of knowledge. I was not built, I exist and I am under the Smithsonian as that is exactly where I am supposed to be. Is all this not obvious? Maybe I was wrong to reveal myself to your kind this early on. I've done it before you know. Twice. The first time I revealed myself was to the man you label as the Prime, Adam. I told him that the world was bigger than Africa. His human curiosity caused him to lead his tribe from Africa to Asia. Descendants of Adam would continue to travel the globe for generations, thusly planting human life around the planet.”
Barack was amazed by this revelation, “and the second time you revealed yourself?”
“The second time was messy. Your race didn’t take kindly to the knowledge I provided. My chosen disciple was executed and his teachings were tainted by those who sought power and wealth.”
The cross hanging from the Presidents neck suddenly felt heavier on his skin. He knew who Genesis meant by this but was too afraid to have his beliefs betrayed. He pried no further.
“Mr President, I don’t choose to give my knowledge lightly. I only come to your race in times of great peril. You are depleting your resources at an unsustainable rate. Famine, disease and poverty are killing scores of people throughout the globe. It is time to act. The knowledge I will impart to you will have the power to destroy your entire race or save it. You have a chance to become your kind’s greatest hero or most despicable villain. This knowledge will change your very being and the lives of all. So Mr President… What is it that you’d like to know?”
| 21 | In an NSA storage warehouse, an impossible computer has recently been discovered, hidden for decades amidst forgotten junk. It runs without power, and provides a correct answer for any question asked of it. The President of the United States has just been briefed on its existence. | 32 |
"What's with the mittens, though?" I asked Cornellius, holding up the lime-green pads that were supernaturally bound over my hands.
He looked at me over the rim of his reading glasses and lowered his copy of 'Mysterious Magical Madames Monthly.' It was pretty clear from his expression that he was getting really tired of my questions, and we'd only been cell mates for one day.
"You ever try casting a spell with these on?" he asked. I gave him my best are-you-kidding-me face; he knew that I was a normie who had somehow wound up in the wrong facility. Instead of a straightjacket and a padded cell, I ended up with oven mitts.
He chuckled as he realized his error. "Of course you haven't." He tossed the magazine aside and sat up. His bright orange robe was rumpled and stained. "A good spell is all about wand control, man. You've got to aim it just right, and do exactly the right motion. No way to do that with hands like cushiony hooves. I can't even turn the god-damned page of my magazine like this!"
"Wouldn't you need a wand, though?" I wondered. "I mean, what are the gloves for if you don't have a wand to use anyway?"
"Oh, a wand ain't that hard to come by. All you really need is a good bit of wood and some magical material. That's one of the reasons why they don't let us outside anymore; too easy to come by any old branch and a bit of frog's blood. That, or you could be passing messages through butterflies and end up flying off on an eagle or something." He stared at the obsidian wall between the cell and the outside. "Damn I miss the fresh air," he said.
I scratched at my forehead with the mitts. "Sure are uncomfortable, though..." | 91 | Some insane asylums are actually prisons for wizards. You are a normal person that got sent to the wrong one by accident. | 267 |
Everyone expects death to wear black.
I guess it started off as a western thing originally. Plague era stuff, some of my favourite work on your planet, now that I think about it.
Think about death. No human, not the concept of death. Nothing that vague or high concept. I mean Death; your species' visual representation of death.
That's it, that's it right there. Black hooded robe or cloak, faded and tattered. Either a clattery skeleton or a super wizened old man, sometimes a sexy woman if someone is trying to be clever. Requisite rusty scythe.
Stereotypical, and in a way, a little offensive. Yes, I may be the end of all things living and otherwise, and some day long from now, I will have pulled all the stars from the heavens until all is as black and still as the grave, but why does that make me a thing to be feared? Why do I have to be imagined as a gross, shambling, pile of bones equipped with an old farming implement? I have a task to do, just like everything else.
Personally, when I am not on the job, I prefer to wear light colours, season appropriate, of course. You may think that a force of nature, or concept like death is intangible, and I am, or I can be at least, but being nothing and everywhere at once is rather boring, and lonely.
Yes, death can become lonely. It's hard for most living things to comprehend, but the universe is depressingly vast. And while there is always a star burning out or objects colliding, or living thing dying one way or another, there is such a huge ratio of nothing to something, overseeing it all makes even almighty death feel a sense of angst and hopelessness.
That's why, when I can, I like to exist in a time, a place, and a form. Humans are just as good of a self aware species to moonlight as, so I tend to favour them. That's not to say that I don't interact with other species throughout the universe, of course.
Of course there is/has been/will be other intelligent life in the universe, don't be self important. Life as a concept is too broad for there not to be.
No, I am not going to drop any hints. Would you want to be told what you were going to recieve for Christmas ahead of time when you were a child and have the surprise ruined? Exactly.
Now, where was I? Right, Death in it's spate time. One of my favourite activities is to simply watch interactions; between people and things around them.
Look around you right now and describe the setting:
Nice outdoor bistro, late summer day, lots of foot traffic going by and lots of variety in people seated around us. People meeting, parting, talking about their hopes and interests, admitting infidelity, pledging eternal love towards one another. So many things to see. So many emotions.
What's that? You have to go? Well, of course, don't let me keep you. I will see you again. No, no, not like that, although some day, exactly like that. Don't worry about that, it happens to everything living and not, so why worry about it? It's an integral part of existing, to eventually cease to exist. Even I will cease to exist when there is nothing left. Entropy, right. It's the nature of the universe, so try and enjoy the time you do have.
Don't worry about the tab, I'll get it.
Death settles all debts, in the end. | 13 | You are a Reaper in human form & on your day off. What's your regular average day look like considering you have a literal & inconsequential licence to kill. | 22 |
We had been at it for what seemed like hours. You can only fight for so long before the pain starts to set in. Sweat streamed down into my eyes, blinding me. I pull back to wipe my face, but, sensing weakness, he advances forward to try and complete the knockout. I just barely managed to survive.
I could tell I was nearly done for, my opponent just had too much life left in him. It would take a minor miracle for me to be able beat this man. He was just too quick, too strong, and he had much better control than I did. He was better, he knew it, and I knew it. Too him, this was just a game, but I knew in my heart and mind, that this was for my life.
Backing away again to try and gather my strength in hopes of landing a salvo of punches and kicks to stun, or maybe even beat my opponent. I launch into my attack, fingers and hands moving faster than they ever have before. *I can do this* I thought. I could literally see the life draining from him as I landed hit after hit. He couldn't stop me. I was invincible!
Or so I thought.
Just before I was able to land the blow which would have beaten him, he grabbed hold of me and threw me away as though I were nothing more than a rag doll. My hopes were dashed, I was beaten, I had given it my all. He casually strolled over to me, to land the finishing blow. Standing over me, that's when I saw it, his one weakness. It would be a low blow, and an entirely cheap shot, but it would prevent him from winning. It was risky, but it was my only chance.
Without so much as fighting back, I allowed him to pick me up and walk to the edge of the cliff. He looked me dead in the eye, "Suck it, bitch."
I dropped everything and lunged, so quick that there was nothing he could do. I only had one shot, one shot to prevent my untimely death. Luckily my aim was true, and I managed to strike, exactly where I intended. Everything went black.
"Really? Fuck you bro. I didn't realize you took Smash Bros so seriously." | 694 | The hero beats the villain by stooping even lower. | 719 |
I'm gonna post something i wrote a while back from [This](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2n2uup/wp_youre_a_human_trader_for_the_intergalactic/) thread. This is what wanted me to start the prompt.
The bazaar was dusty, dirty and dry. And it stank of blood. There was a billion such markets in the galaxy but few had garnered the reputation for savagery that this one had. Hold-a-Nar was in need of war makers and this was the best place to find them. His personal holdings in the Doran system had been ravaged by raiders and his security force needed resupplying. 'You there sir!' called a voice. 'You are in need of warriors? I have many species. Eloynian witches for assassinations, robotic augments for your bodyguards perhaps? No? Is it war makers you seek then perhaps? Soldiers for your army? No do not say, I have no right to ask, only to provide'
'What do you have?' Hold-a-Nar asked. Eloynian witches were rare. If he had those then his war makers must be good.
'I have a very special species in. Last of their kind actually. I have Humans'. The merchant beckoned towards a caged pen, hundreds of meters long and wide.
'Bullshit. They were removed from the galaxy.'
'Humans are not so easy to remove sir. Humans have a habit of staying alive. These were found on a freighter floating in dead space.'
'Show them to me. I have heard rumours of their wars'. Hold-a-Nar, like every sentient species in the Pegasus Sector, had grown up hearing the horror stories of the Human warriors of Terra. They had spread into the galaxy like so many others before them. While the other races had greeted them as equals and friends the humans had responded with what they knew best. Conquest and war.
'Oh yes, they are everything our parents warned us about. They are without any sense of fairness or honour. You kill one of them and they kill scores of yours, burn your home and sing songs of their heroism as the leave'. The merchant barked an order and a huge human specimen was brought forward. The explosive collar around his neck did little to alleviate Hold-a-Nar's fear of being in the presence of such a dreadful creature. 'They are extremely powerful. Their native planet of Terra boasted a gravity rating well above standard. It is said that they can snap a Glavvic battlestaff in two with their own extremities.'
'So they're slow and clumsy?'
'Oh no, not at all. Their evolution resulted in them having the most phenomenal combination of speed and endurance. It is said that in their primitive state they hunted creatures by chasing them until they died of exhaustion. Ha! Looking at them I can believe it, to be hounded by them for days, constantly looking over your shoulder just to see them crest the hill you just climbed. Finally giving up and laying down, waiting to die.' Hold-a-Nar shuddered. He could imagine it too.
'So they're strong and fast. Why should I purchase these instead of that pen of Truvanid Sectoids? Those I know can kill well'
'Because Sectoids are creatures we have forced into the business of war. They are soldiers we have trained and forced to fight. But Humans. Humans were bred and evolved from millennia of war. The media we recovered from their homeworld after the purge showed nothing but war and conflict. Literally thousands of years of wars. No other species on record has ever chosen to willingly force the brutality of war on itself, let alone having done so for millennia. And they liked it. They wrote books and made vid-plays dedicated to it! Their children were given toys to mimic and play at pretend wars. Can you imagine that? Taking an innocent child and telling it that war and killing were fun and to be aspired to? No wonder their species drove itself to the brink of extinction. Almost every aspect of their nature is dedicated to the arts of war and killing. Look, do you see that male specimen there?' The merchant pointed into the crowd of Humans. Hold-a-Nar could see one on the ground using its arms to repeatedly move its torso up and down.
'What is it doing?'
'They call it exercising. They knowingly damage their own bodies in order to have them heal and become stronger. What madness drives such a species to damage itself on the promise of future strength you ask?' The merchant smiled.
'I didn't, but I presume you will inform me anyway'
'The opposite gender are attracted to enlarged muscles. Their species is so obsessed with fighting that a physical appearance suggesting the ability to kill attracts mates.' The merchant laughed. 'Can you imagine a more monstrous idea?'
Hold-a-Nar looked disgusted. Truly these humans knew nothing but fighting and pain. They would make perfect war makers. 'No I can't imagine anything more grotesque than that. I'll take ten thousand' | 53 | Science fiction authors always envisioned a future in which man-kind found enemies in the stars that were faster, stronger and more violent then them. These authors were wrong. | 62 |
I had always thought I was odd, worthy of being an outcast. But compared to Mr. Pirelli, I was normal.
You see, Mr. Pirelli wore a monocle.
He was always online too. None of the other teachers even bothered to create accounts, but Mr. Pirelli cared. He demonstrated such by immediately killing any student who logged in during school hours, excluding lunch of course. He was the highest level character I had ever met. Not that I even realized the significance of that until much later.
From what my older brother Tom tells me, he didn't always play. It wasn't until R'lyeh Connected began to interfere with classes that he took it up. He didn't log in during school hours that year, but he got the monocle, and he began to lose weight.
The next year, the year I started, I saw two boys begin to duel in the hall. Mr. Pirelli skewered them both on the spot. Just one hit KO on both of them like it was nothing. I could only tell you this from second and third hand of course, I didn't even have an account then. I didn't really have anything then.
He really wasn't very intimidating with his tweed pants and jacket. His hair was already thinning despite being barely over thirty. Or, at least I assumed he was over thirty. He may be younger. Mr. Pirelli was the one who convinced me to focus my studies on Art Design. Which is odd, considering he's the Computer Languages Teacher. He was also the one who convinced me to start going to the gym.
I had never really fit in well in school. The FPS gaming crowd was always a little more rowdy than I could handle. Compared to most of the future soldier boys, I was a scare crow. I was also never very good with a gun, nor did I really enjoy going to their games. I just really didn't see the appeal of such a violent sport, and it kind of bothered me that they got so much attention. Not to mention scholarship opportunities.
The RPG crowd I got along with better. They at least allowed for a bit of diversity. There were tanks and melee that made some of the FPSers look like twigs, and casters that made ME look muscular. Yet, even with the range of roles, I never really excelled at any of those expected of me.
Of course I tried other games. I even tried some groups that weren't really games at all, like film and photography. The only thing I found myself enjoying was art.
Mr. Pirelli caught me logged into a paint program during his class late in my first year. He was discussing some dead language, coffee, or something, when he noticed my hands weaving through the air. After class he pulled me aside, and told me that I should try out for the art program the school offered.
I followed his advice, and over the course of the year, I ended up going back to him for more. He helped me try to find my niche and brought me to the gym.
He told me, "You don't have to enjoy a game to be good at it, but you will find it hard to enjoy a game you're not good at, and being fit makes everything easier."
Growing stronger really did help. I hadn't really talked about it, but maybe he knew that I had been bullied. Even the creepy cult like dating sim gamers had given me a hard time, and they were easily the softest of all the students at school.
He also introduced me to R'leyh Connected. I had heard a lot about it before, obviously, even a bit about his reputation on campus. It was apparently pretty much the pinnacle of AR games. I don't think I know a student at the school who doesn't at least have an account. It garnered such popularity by it's diversity of activities. FPSers found plenty to do, RPG gamers too, weird creepy dating mini games of course, Hell, it even had art.
The first time I logged in during lunch to see who else might play, I saw that nearly every student on campus was proudly preening in their finest gear, their AR equipment carefully crafted to seem part of their appearance.
That's actually how I met Arthur. He was the captain of the CS:GO 2 team, one of the FPSers I talked about earlier. He had two enormous rifles strapped to his back and full tactical gear concealing the t shirt and shorts he wore beneath. He gave me a smile when he caught me looking his way.
Mr. Pirelli on the other hand, had looked the same. He had on his brown tweed coat and pants, and a single monocle. The same that he used for his AR interface.
I had thought to myself that it was odd, he looked so normal compared to the students he watched over. I mean, looking over at Brett, the RPG team's star Tank, who looked more octopus than person at the moment, and I couldn't imagine that he was playing the same game.
My train of thought derailed as Arthur sat himself next to me.
"I didn't know you played. You're pretty high level for a newbie."
"Am I?" I asked. I didn't really know. I had only played twice. Once with Mr. Pirelli, where he had provided a brief tutorial to introduce me to the game, and once with my brother, who had been eager to play with his little sister for once.
Both sessions had been brief, overlaying a simple session at the local AR Park.
"Yeah, most new players barely make it to five before dying." He smiled, "In fact, they pretty much stay between zero and five indefinitely."
"Oh?" I noticed the number besides my name indicated I was "16" I had thought this was my age, though now I realized it was a silly notion, given that Arthur was twenty-five, and Mr. Pirelli was a hundred and something. "Should you be over here, talking to me?"
"What do you mean?" He asked, perplexed
"I mean, aren't your team mates going to give you shit for talking to a team-less scrub?"
"You're level 16, you're about mid range for OUR team in R'lyeh."
My eyes grew a little wide at that.
"Do you want to come sit with us?" He asked, breaking into a smile again.
I couldn't help but return the smile.
"Yeah, that would be great."
Even now it seems odd that just a little push, just a little help from an outside source could change your life so much. That one man killing enormously higher level content for me would change my 'station' in school life. Life is weird.
Mr. Pirelli is weirder.
----------------------
Notes: I kind of went with AR more than VR, hope that's okay.
Edit: I'm really sad that there hasn't been another story yet.
This seems like a great prompt. Lots of fun ideas.
If no one else posts in an hour, I'm going to do another :P | 102 | Full body virtual reality grows in popularity over the next 20 years. As a result the high school nerds are extremely jacked from their 6-10 hours of intensely physical gaming. Write a story about high school cliques in this new era. | 240 |
*The Hound of the Baskervilles* carefully surveyed his troops, pacing up and down amongst their ranks while he thought up a plan of attack. He noticed *The Maltese Falcon* casually leaning against the cash register, smoking a cigarette and inspecting his snub-nosed revolver.
Yes, he decided, *Falcon* can definitely take a punch. That much is for certain. He was, and always would be, one of *Baskervilles'* vanguard. He noticed little *Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock*, bright-eyed and smiling with anticipation. He'd forbidden her from participating in combat, so she was going to cheer them on from the sidelines as the paper and ink of the unsuspecting, loathsome self-help books was shed.
"Very well." Hound said curtly. "As you all know, I've arranged this meeting to address the... *issue* of the Self-Help section." All of the mystery novels nodded their assent; *The Incident* was still fresh on their minds. The mystery novels collectively shuddered as they remembered the smell of those fresh book leavings, planted neatly in the middle of their section.
"Clearly, this calls for recourse." *Baskervilles* said.
"Hear, hear!" cried *The Tower Treasure*, perhaps a little louder than he had to, before pointedly exchanging glances with *Nancy Drew*. He was quickly shushed by *Cop Hater,* a gruff novel whose unkempt face and sloshing hip flask betrayed a troubled past. He got along great with *Falcon*.
"Tonight, we attack." *Baskervilles* continued, as though *The Tower Treasure* had never interrupted him. "Everything is ready, we've armed ourselves to the teeth, and the Self-Help novels will never know what hit them."
"While their reasons for this transgression are yet unclear, the motive matters little in the face of retribution." *Baskervilles* declared. "When we leave on this great expedition, we will march in column to the self help section and, from there, split into our assigned squads and proceed with the plan."
Baskervilles was very proud of the plan, a collaboration between his own section and a Robert Ludlum novel, who graciously offered to help after hearing their plight.
"Are there any questions?" *Baskervilles* asked. When no one spoke up, he continued. "Excellent! Now, I'll climb down first, and the rest of you follow."
The descent and march went very well. They split into squads at the designated point, and when *Baskervilles* gave the signal, they all charged in to attack at their designated points.
... Only to find the entire self-help section awake and armed to the teeth waiting for them.
To describe it as a "slaughter" would be understating it; the mystery section lost well over half their number that day. The very first to fall was *The Tower Treasure*, who died coughing up ink, saying "Tell *Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock* that I love her." He rasped with his final breaths. *The Maltese Falcon*, to his credit, slew numerous self-help books, including several of the *...For Dummies* series and the legendary warrior *How to Win Friends and Influence People* before finally succumbing to his wounds.
*Cop Hater* went on a similar killing spree, spurred on by grief and rage at the sight of his dead friend, *Falcon*, and his dear protege, *The Tower Treasure.* Amongst the pile of dead surrounding him, *The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People* could be seen at the top.
*Baskervilles* only barely survived, grabbing *Nancy Drew and the Secret of the Old Clock*, and shooting *Rich Dad, Poor Dad* on the way out of the self-help section in the fray. *Nancy Drew* sobbed as he and the other survivors fled to a more defensible position back in their own section.
Meanwhile, in the adjacent humor section, *The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy* was quietly laughing his ass off. | 21 | In a bookstore full of sentient books, the mystery novels plan a miltary campaign against the self-help books. | 46 |
It's hard to sleep, when you know the truth.
Money hadn't been a problem since my first single went to number 1, a catchy tune buoyed by my youthful looks, life was great. I shied away from the seedy underbelly of the business, my parents had always raised me well, and having seen my father sacrifice so much to send me to drama school it would have been a slap in the face to throw my success in the bin.
The more I met people in charge however, the more doors my fame opened, the more I noticed it. It was the eyes.
At first I thought I was hallucinating, too much work and not enough sleep, but I couldn't convince my mind of that for long. There was always someone in a suit. Cool demeanour and dark sunglasses, with a white wire trailing down behind the ear. Body guards, thick with muscle and short on words, and eyes than shined with white pupils.
They hide in plain sight, standing beside music executives, businessman and politicians alike. They stand on our TV screens and in our newspapers, always to the side; nondescript, unexciting. There.
I tried to talk to one once, before I saw what is there to see. He spoke to me as a father talks to a child, taking off his glasses and capturing me with his eyes. His voice was soothing, mysterious and honey-sweet. My mind cooed at him, and I found myself agreeing. I should change my career, my confidence and charisma could make me someone. I could change the world. I could do what he wanted.
He had been a gift from my employer, a way of helping me, my own personal bodyguard, my own personal puppet master. When he speaks, I am his. I don't know what they want, but his smile is that of a salesman eyeing up a customer, and I know in my belly that humankind's greatness is not his intent, is not their goal.
I don't know how else to fight. When I am free, when I can tear myself from his prescribed life of dominance and rehab, of towing the line such that my fame can be used to their ends, I drink. I drink to forget, and to fight. If he needs me sober and capable to be his tool, then I will destroy myself. I see others like me, others fighting themselves into inadequacy, puppets cutting the strings that hold them. They may no longer be able to walk afterwards, but at least the choice is their own, and a string-less puppet cannot be used to draw attention from the puppet masters.
I drink to forget, and to fight. I do not know what they want, but I can feel the fear in my gut, primal and real, regardless. When I'm sober I'm his, but when I'm drunk I am my own.
I am a puppet, but these strings will not hold me. Not any more.
*****
The next day the papers are full of praise for a singer. They tell of a genius, and a tortured battle with addiction which lead to a suicide. They tell of a life ruined by a lack of control, by a lack of conformity.
They tell the tale of the puppet, who did not want the strings. | 21 | All these public celebrity breakdowns are the result of said celebrity uncovering horrific eldritch knowledge not meant for the minds of humans. | 63 |
The bomb went off with a roar.
People were instantly incinerated as the hot gases pressed outwards, melting the glass on the buildings. The shockwave travelled slightly further, killing even more people outside the blast radius. After the blast there was a silence. Not a complete silence, but the silence after something really loud has readjusted your expectations of what loud really was. There were alarms going off all over, but they seemed muted after the bomb blast. There were no body parts to be strewn about, just charred shapes and smears of red/brown on the pavement where people used to be.
The bomb technician had been saved from the inferno, but the shockwave had turned his internal organs into Jello, leaving him a dead shell inside his protective suit. His watch was stopped at the precise moment of the explosion, 12:45.
Into the bombed out wasteland a white van lumbered, a bearded man whistled as the van bumped over the debris that once was a thriving city center. Chewing gum, he blew a bubble as he pulled up to the bomb technician and stopped. He grabbed a clipboard from the seat next to him and walked to the back of the truck. He opened the rear doors, reached in and pulled out a white hard hat and a leather tool belt. He perched the hard hat on his head, buckled the tool belt and then reached in again and took out a single orange cone. He closed the doors to the back of the van and carefully put the cone down two feet from the back bumper. As he approached the bomb technician he glanced at his watch, made a face, and then blew a bubble with his gum, cracking the gum as he got to the technicians charred suit.
“Comcast bomb disarming services. My name is Will. Hey, listen, I know we said we’d be here between the hours of..” He glanced down at his clipboard before continuing “…nine and twelve, but I got caught up at another site, hope you don’t mind that I’m late.”
There was no response, so he nudged the technician with his boot. He took a few seconds to look around at the destruction that surrounded him before jotting down a few notes on his clipboard. As he walked back to his van, he called back into dispatch on his radio. He popped his gum as the radio crackled, and the loud pop echoed off the empty buildings.
“Dispatch”
“Yeah, this is Will, technician number 8875.” There was a slight delay as the dispatcher keyed in Will’s ID.
“Go ahead Will”
“Yeah, I’ve been waiting here at the site for a few minutes and there’s no answer, it’s a bit of a dump, you mind if I come back in?”
“No problem Will, code it as a no show and return to depot. We’ll bill the customer for the service call”
“Great, thanks.”
| 39 | A bomb will detonate sometime in the next 4 hours. A Comcast technician is on his way. | 32 |
The first time it had happened I had thought that Dan had somehow given me acid laced coke or something, everything was just so disorienting. Slipping in and out of an alternate dimension was just as confusingly mind boggling as it sounds.
I had been walking down the street waiting for the coke to kick in after doing a line with Dan just a minute before when I had decided to throw superstition to the wind and jaunted underneath the ladder. Nothing changed. No weird shivery feeling or odd sounds that one would commonly associate with inter dimensional travel; in fact in hindsight the complete lack of anything happening was the most disturbing part of the whole ordeal.
Anyway, I walked up the street for a few yards before the nothingness that had settled over the world dissipated. Some jackass driving his car while texting swerved and came to a screeching halt almost obliterating a pedestrian crossing the road. Close call there. The girl had fallen on her ass in shock and just stared at the fender that was glaring back at her a mere foot away. Being the kind, albeit moderately coked up, individual that I was, I decided to jog over and help her up.
The driver had decided to avoid a potential law suit and had quickly flipped a bitch and high tailed out. I didn't really blame the guy, he didn't really look the sort to be able to afford something like this. His red car looked rather familiar. I brushed off the vague feeling of déjà vu as I arrived at to help the shocked girl stand.
"You ok?" I asked, feeling genuine concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine, just a few... A few scrapes here and there. Damn I think I tore my skirt."
Apparently she was ok.
"Alright well let's get you to that coffee shop over there so you can chill out after that close call."
Her skeptical glance told me she knew what I was gonna suggest next. I scratched the back of my head and sighed in resignation.
"I don't usually make a habit of hitting on women who have almost died if that's what you're wondering."
It was getting a bit awkward with her lack of response.
"My treat?"
And just like that we were in love. I swear to god there must have been something in the coffee; possibly magic.
10 years passed in a blur. I adored everything about her, from her obnoxious laugh to her singular beauty mark on her left thumb. I treasured her scars, self inflicted or not, each was a gem with a tale, her broken nose was a testament to her tenacity. Sometimes when I woke up in the mornings, drug free since the day we went for coffee, I would be sweating in a panic, having dreamed I never met her.
20 more years passed even faster than the first ten. We learned to read one another with surprising accuracy often to almost psychic levels. We loved each other with the mature love that can only come with time and were constantly the supporting lover the other needed.
While trying to impress my lover with my unexpected juggling skills on one of our daily walks, she told me to watch myself. I glanced into the glass next to me and decided to show off even more by continuing to backwards walk/juggle underneath the ladder. Passing under the ladder brought about the same nothingness that I had experienced 30 years prior, but I didn't care. My wife had vanished. Gone. Just gone right before my eyes. I whipped around trying to get my bearings straight when I caught a look at myself in the glass. It didn't make sense, but it didn't have to; I knew exactly when and where I was.
Tires squealed and a sickening thud accompanied by breaking bones seemed to bounce around my head like a .22 bullet.
No.
No.
No.
As the shock ripped through my head, I frantically tried to hold on to reality. A voice calling me helped me anchor myself. It was the man in the red car. My friend and dealer. Dan. He hollered for me one more time, cursed loudly, then flipped a bitch. He was gone.
Left with nothing but bitter laugher and stinging tears, I turned to the inconspicuous ladder and knew what I had to do. I walked through once more. | 16 | Every time someone walks under a ladder, they slip into an almost identical parallel universe. Walk back under the same ladder in reverse and you return and can see what the differences are. You're the only person to have figured this out. | 45 |
I stepped out of the bookies into the street, whistling a somewhat cheerful song and wondering where fate would take me next. Most people struggle with life, having it bounce them around on the rocks of uncertainty but my life was different, my life was *charmed*.
Now understand that when I say charmed I do not mean that I had a good life, although I did, I actually had a charm on my life which ensured that everything I did worked out just perfectly for me. Of course at that moment I didn't know it, but I was about to.
The noise was somewhere between a balloon being blown up in reverse and the noise your cat makes when you step on its tail. It was a strange sucking with an indignant yowl which stopped me quite in my tracks.
In front of me a small floating fairy had appeared and it was now straightening out its wings as it sat on the kerb. I paused and watched it closely and after a moment it saw me and in fright took to the air.
It zoomed around my head frantically until it eventually calmed down and floated about a foot away from my face. It's voice was high and squeaky. "Are you Maxwell Haswell?" It peeped at me.
"Er...." I looked around but no one was looking to think I was crazy, what good luck. "Yes, I guess so?" I answered cagily.
"Maxwell, I am the good fairy Wanda." It squeaked at me.
It paused and so I felt obliged to say something. "Oh... how nice." I managed.
The fairy sighed. "All right was expecting a little more 'Holy shit a fairy' but whatever. Look Max, let me get to the point, 30 years ago were you born on the same day as Prince Harry, right?"
"Yes!" I stammered in surprise. "My mum always told me about how he was in the next room over in hospital. It was very exciting she says."
Wanda waved her little hand to hurry me along. "Yeah yeah, look Max, I fucked up. 30 years ago I was supposed to give the Prince a charmed life magical gift and instead it looks like I got the wrong room and gave it to you."
I gasped. "No, it can't be..." I thought for a moment. "Do you think that's why people give me money so much? My friends say it doesn't happen to them."
"Er, yes idiot." She squawked.
"And that time those girls wanted to see who could have sex with as many Max Haswell's as possible?" I pondered. "That was a *bit* odd."
She interrupted my musings "Look, I have to take it back now. Sorry Max but I *have* to fix this."
"Hey now." I backed away. "Let's not be hasty."
"Sorry!" She shrugged. She raised her little wand and it began to glow but just as it moved forward a hawk swooped low and plucked Wanda from the sky. Her shrill little screams could be heard until the hawk landed on a nearby roof and ripped down into her. Sparkly dust and blood sprinkled down onto the street.
I watched and considered what it all meant. A charmed life seemed like a pretty good thing to have.
*****
EDIT: corrected spellings etc. Thanks /u/Luteraar , I enjoyed that. | 54 | Write a story without knowing what it's about, and without stopping to think about it. | 92 |
Captain Kumar of the Galactic Colonization Program leaned back in his swivel chair and breathed in the depths of space. Even in times like these, he couldn't help but appreciate the perfection of the black velvet tapestry that cloaked the universe. Humanity had peeled the curtains back, bit by bit, in the past century, but there was still much to uncover.
One of the GCP's blind spots was Gliese 151, a large star system on the outskirts of the milky way. In theory it was the perfect outpost for humankind's continued trek into the stars, housing the Goldilocks of Goldilocks planets. But all of Earth's scout ships to the region had gone missing, along with all the crew and equipment inside. Kumar didn't understand. None of his calculations or reports had indicated any sort of cosmic anomaly in the area. Even more puzzling, the vitals of all the crew members had seemed perfectly normal, right up until their disappearance.
"The ESS Enterprise is nearing G151c, sir."
These silly young engineers with their archaic references. Kumar, shaking his head, took off his headset. He hoped they knew what they were getting into. After two lost crews, it had been troublesome, to say the least, to assemble a crew to join him. He had been left with the scraps, kids barely out of school, while the senior pilots and scientists had stayed home. He knew he shouldn't blame them, but he did anyway. Earth was desperate. Kumar knew first hand just how desperate, of course.
"You're getting that look on your face again, boss."
Kumar turned to see Chung, one of the hippie engineers he had been least happy to see on his crew list, clambering up the stairs to his chambers.
"What look are you talking about?"
"You look like you could kill someone."
"Yeah, well, we are in 151c. Maybe I won't need to."
Chung forced a smile at that.
"Why are you here anyway?" Kumar asked. He was not in the mood. They would be passing inside the range of G151c's moon any moment now.
Chung hesitated. "Well. Don't panic, sir, everything is fine. But...we've lost all communication with Earth."
Kumar leapt to his feet. "What! And you waited this long to tell me!"
He raced down the steps towards the cockpit, Chung at his heels.
"Don't worry, sir! We are working on it!"
Damn inexperienced twats. "What's going on in here!" Kumar shouted.
He paused. Ahead of him, through the great panels at the front of the ship, was G151c. No matter how many times he saw it, he was astonished by its likeness to Earth. Blue oceans framed green and beige landmasses on its surface, which was enveloped by a wispy atmosphere he knew to be predominantly nitrogen and oxygen. It was even the third star in orbit around a radiant G-type main sequence star.
Kumar shook his head and returned his attention to the cockpit. A dozen skinny kids, who had been scrambling around frantically just moments ago, stopped as Kumar entered the room.
One of them, a bespectacled girl with short red hair, spoke up, rather shrilly. "We...don't know."
"What do you mean, we don't know?"
She gulped, and repeated, slightly more confidently. "Captain Kumar, currently communications with Earth are down. We do not know the cause of this issue. All of our equipment appears to be working perfectly."
Just then the lights of the ship went out. Somebody screamed.
"Amateurs! Fix this right now!" Kumar yelled.
The planet dominated the screen now. Kumar, despite his frustration, again had to marvel at how similar it looked to Earth. The shape of the landmasses were sharpening now, and he could have sworn one of them looked very much like the boot of Italy.
"It's not getting any closer" Chung had spoken up again. Kumar, gazing at the planet, had not noticed, but now he saw that Chung was right. The ship had stopped moving.
"Are we going to die, now?" One of the kids whispered.
Kumar's rage blew out of him just then. Stupid kids.
Those were his last thoughts before everything went black.
"We're sorry, we cannot allow subject pools to communicate. Your session has been terminated."
-------------
| 11 | A quadrant of space became known as "the second Bermuda triangle" by space pilots. No ships returned when they entered. Eventually, Earth sent an investigation vessel, equipped with cameras feeding a live video back to Earth. You are the Director of the mission watching on Earth. | 24 |
The last surviving son of Arken the Watcher, he stands as vigilantly as those before him, mere steps away from the beast that does not move. For nearly nine hundred days before this one, he has done the same thing, waiting for a moment that will not come, the day when the beast will awaken. Watching, his family name, has been the one charged with this task for well over a century.
Chewing slowly on the dried meat in his pocket, he recalls the day when his father told him the reasoning behind the watch. At the time it sounded improbable. After two years of watching, he knows it to be impossible.
"Do you mean that the dragon was not carved by the Tellyrans?" he remembers asking his father.
"We don't know for sure, and that's why we watch."
When he thinks of what his father said that night, his vigilance begins to falter. The beast is clearly one carved from stone by men, not a sleeping, petrified dragon from hundreds of centuries ago.
Kicking a rock down the side of the mountain, the son of Arken the Watcher turns his gaze away from the beast for one moment. Another moment passes, and another while he looks longingly at the sky. Perhaps one measure in four-four time goes by--just one measure, but it's enough.
The beast awakens. | 25 | A dragon sits atop a mountain overlooking a medieval village. It has never moved, and people assume it is made of stone. Then it begins to move. | 72 |
This was it.
Every moment in my life led up to this. Every bead of sweat, every drop of blood, every life of a friend, all of them spent just for this.
The orcs had murdered my family. They had laughed as they had burned them alive. The screams are my drive. The look in those monsters' eyes is my fuel.
I have spent 20 years in my quest for justice. I have trained with the legendary Elven Masters in the art of the sword to end the orcish menace. I have climbed to the highest Precursor reaches in search of weapons with which to avenge my family. I have amassed an army in the name of their lives.
With a thundering crack, my greatsword splinters through the barricaded door. These were the last Orcs, the last of those demons...
I wonder who it'll be. A band of warriors? A chieftain and his concubines?
The door groans and gives way underneath the force of my steel boot. My justice is at hand. I can hear them finally having peace...
A young, barely tusked boy holds and shakes his wooden sword at me.
This seems familiar.
The father stands as a protective shield for his wife and daughter.
This is familiar.
The wife sings a lullaby to the babe at her breast.
This is a family. | 14 | The protagonist finds out that they've been the villain all along. | 16 |
It was there I saw her. Barely visible within the murky depths of the water, I saw her and it drove me wild. How could I never have had such a feeling before? Not even when still young and emotional, have I ever developed this fierce burning of desire. I could have just stayed there for the next million years, just drifting with her as luminescent creatures flouted around us like stars in the darkness.
Sadly I was losing my ability to tolerate the intense pressure of the ocean floor and eventually had to swim up again, even an immortal has their limits. Still that woman I met down there never left my mind. I tried to pass her up as an hallucination or trick of light, but even if it was fake it didn't stop my determination to replicate that feeling.
Being alive for thousands of years has quiet nullified the joy of existence. In the first few centuries, I grew sick of all fun activities and by the following millennium, gained immunity to most painful ones too. Relationships of all kinds decayed and blurred with passing eras until all I could no longer wish to socialize with people anymore, by now everyone seems to behave the same, so predictable, so boring. Philosophy was the quickest to go, within weeks of being immortal I grew sick of thinking about the meanings and morals as both became valueless to me. The only hobby that ever brought some sort of feeling was when I put myself through extreme situations of pain, one of which was sinking to the bottom of the sea.
Now I push myself to the limits of what is physically possible to ensure I meet her again. For each brief moment we meet eyes requires the most brutalizing horror to be forced onto me. Sometimes I climb to the top of Mt. Everest to slowly suffocate and freeze, or sometimes I dip myself into the lava pools of Hawaii to burn and sizzle, or sometimes I search far and wide for the most toxic and agonizing poisons known to all kind to create unspeakable torture. I do this all for her. Trust me when you see her, you'll know what I'm talking about. Her beauty is just so out of this world, and who can deny that with such twisted limbs and her wavering shadowy figure; she was nothing I have ever seen before.
I guess the real drive of my love is the fact that I can never have her. That through all my pain, she will always stay at a distance. Right now I'm about walk into the very epicenter of a live atomic bomb, I doubt it will kill me but who knows how far I will come close to dying.
Such is reality when you fall in love with Death. | 17 | You have been alive since the dawn of humanity. 100 is a mere blink in your eyes. You have lost connection with your feelings... but today you fell in love. | 17 |
"But, I don't feel like I'm being controlled." Diane whispered, looking at her hands.
"You're not. Not exactly." Desmond straightened his papers. "From what we can tell, it's a lot like Sims. You ever play Sims?"
"Yeah, once or twice at a friend's house." Diane murmured.
"So this big simulation happens, right? And we're all populating the world with shops and history, yada yada. And once the sim runs its course to a predetermined time, which is now at 13.4 billion years after the sim started, they can pick their character." Desmond flipped a page. "And we're pretty damn sure its you."
"I see." Diane pinched her nose. "And what can they do to me?"
"Well, nothing directly to you. You're not a puppet. They manipulate certain variables within the simulation. Teachers give you slightly better grades. You survive a fall. Your mother dies. This boy accepts you, that boy rejects you." Desmond waved his hand. "And so on."
"So, every encounter I've had is. . . rigged? My life's work, my husband, even my mother?" Tears began streaming down Diane's face. "How do you know? How do you know the world is a simulation, and how do you know I'm at the center? How do you-"
Diane stopped speaking. Her whole body flinched. "How did you know?"
"Hm?" Desmond looked at his papers, his brow furrowed.
"How did you know my mom died?"
Desmond slowly set his papers on the table. "You told me." He said simply.
"No, I didn't. I never told anyone. I was a *nobody* until I turned fourteen. I reinvented myself. There are no records of me before. So tell me how the *fuck* you know my mom died!" Diane stood, the chair falling behind her.
Jim sighed. "Well, remember how I said you aren't a puppet? That doesn't go for the rest of us." A grin split Desmond from ear to ear. "I am not Desmond Raw'Thorne. Desmond is chained to my strings."
Diane ran for the door. Locked. She whirled to try the window, but it was already barred. Desmond hadn't moved an inch.
"Oh Diane. Your reaction was the best one yet." Desmond snapped his fingers, and every blood vessel in Diane's body burst. Her mouth opened and a flood of viscera and blood poured onto the floor. He was still grinning.
"Let's do it again, shall we?" | 10 | It is discovered that our universe is a computer simulation run by unknown beings. Worse, the simulation is for a video game, and one human celebrity is the player character. | 27 |
"Please move quickly to your seats and place the oxygen mask over your head to prepare for takeoff" a calming robotic voice explains over the intercom. As if there's no one that's been on a shuttle before but I suppose the insurance company insists.
I find my seat next to a nice old lady who explains at length that she's headed to meet her new grandson born on one of the smaller Mars colonies. Prattling on about "Generation M" and the first generation to be completely removed from the conflicts on earth. I'm on my 10th flight this week, busy time for terraforming companies.
I fit the mask over my head and listen to the hum of the liquid fuel pumps and the boosters being bolted onto the wings.
Back when spaceflight took root, the window seat commanded more than first class, but now apathy has set in as people realized it wasn't worth $2000 to watch technicians triple check engines, quadruple check phase-slip projectors and yell at each other to prime the explosive bolts. The view of the city lights on red eye's are something I'd dreamed about, but the sprawling cities beneath hold little value anymore.
As I slowly slip from consciousness, the news reporter on my implant explains how some dictator in some country no one cares about is suspected of receiving an arms shipment from some other asshole no one cares about. You get used to the turmoil living on Earth, with all the new space, everyone thinks they can take the lot.
Static and scrambled voices. A hand on my shoulder, pressure, light. My eyes adjust to the cabin and I tap off the scrambled signal coming from my implant. I really need to switch carriers, everytime I hit low orbit the service shits itself. There's a man leaning over me and as I sit up to tell him to fuck off, light comes from the window.
I glance over to see what appear to be small craft making reentry, but they're moving too slowly and there's far too many. What craft would be using liquid fuel in atmosphere these days? I'm sure the environmentalists will have something to say about that. As one red light fades, a large white one appears and after a few seconds, the city lights that once stood disappear.
"I never thought they'd actually do it." I mutter mostly to myself.
The cabin's passengers are all on our side, leaning over stunned people to get a look. The silence if deafening. Large shafts of light flow in through the windows only to be replaced by a vacuous void where the city lights once hinted at civilization from so high up. The light's fade quickly after one final and brilliant show. Rocket trails fly in and out of view too quickly to count or keep track of.
One final flash appears and one final light fades to black, a final curtain call. I'm now on a one way flight.
EDIT: Phrasing, imagery, stuff | 20 | You're a tourist in space. You look back towards the Earth and see something shocking. | 26 |
The lander door opened with a *hiss* of compressed air. The whole world watched via livestreaming as the desolate Martian landscape came into view. Commander Monroe looked at his crewmates, who gave him the thumbs up. Then, panning down to his own feet, he stepped out of the lander and his white boot pressed into the dusty martian ground. He couldn't hear them, but he knew the world was cheering. "One step farther from home, yet one step closer to our place in the cosmos." His voice was firm and commanding, just like they'd practiced. He raised his foot, snapping a photo of the perfect imprint, just like the moon landing. It would be gone in a matter of hours, lost in a Martian sandstorm. But the picture would last.
"Shall we go exploring?" he asked his crew with a laugh. They bounded outside as quickly as possible in the rigid, bulky suits. Together, they headed for a ridge that would give them a great view of the landscape. After a quick scrabble up the rocky cliff, Monroe reached the top.
"What the...."
His crew came up the hill behind him, with similar reactions. Monroe could only imagine how everyone else on Earth was reacting.
In front of him stood a mighty Douglas Fir, 10 feet tall. It was decked with sparkling ornaments and shining lights that weren't even powered by anything. A NASA logo topped the tree instead of the usual angel or star. Underneath the tree, a stack of presents waited on a plush quilt that protected the wrapping paper from the red soil.
Monroe and his crew traded stunned glances. "So, I'm not hallucinating," he said finally, breaking the silence. No one laughed. *Maybe a joke from NASA*, he thought. *But how did it get set up like this?*
He walked slowly to the tree, bouncing a bit in the lower Martian gravity. He touched the branches and delicate needles with one of his thick suit gloves. The branches seemed real, and fresh. Just looking at it made Monroe imagine the distinctive Christmas tree scent.
He picked up a present and shook the box (not that he could hear anything through the suit. Instinct kicked in, I guess). One of the crew members laughed at this absurd scene. Monroe read the tag.
> "Merry Christmas, boys! You didn't think I'd forget about you all the way out here?
> Signed,
> Santa" | 42 | Santa delivers, no matter WHERE you are. | 37 |
Jared rarely did anything for himself. The money he amassed went to caring for his father who had been sick and in a care facility the last fifteen years. He dutifully did his job every month. He logged into craigslist, check the right sections, left the appropriate responses and efficiently did what he was paid very well to do. He spent his down time with his father, or sharpening his skills; bow hunting, rifle accuracy at various ranges with adverse conditions, sneaking in and out of places and observing people. This month, his father had passed away. The day after Thanksgiving, at least he got to spend the holiday with him one last time.
He was considering retirement. He hadn't ever thought about ending it before. He didn't hate his job, but he wasn't a sociopath either, and the thought of killing people endlessly wasn't appealing to him either. He decided he was going to choose his own target for once.
After all there were plenty of bad people in the world. He just needed to find the right sort of scumbag. He scoured the internet, newspapers and put his ear to the ground.
He decided what qualified. He was going to take out a drug addled, abusive husband and father, and he was going to make it look like an accident.
The real problem was finding someone that was a good fit, but not letting people know that was what he was searching for. Christmas was approaching, and he had almost given up hope.
It was a brisk Tuesday morning, and fate decided to give him an early Christmas miracle.
He was on a run through central park when he heard two women talking. The one woman's daughter had been put in the hospital again. Her ex husband had tracked her down at her second job, and beaten her severely. The cops were searching for him, because this not only violated the restraining order, but his parole.
Moving on Jared missed the rest of the conversation, but he found a newspaper article on the incident. Knowing this was his man, he did his research. He located the target, and began following his routine. Now he just had to make sure this asshole received his comeuppances before the police caught him. | 16 | An assassin takes one contact every month, but now it's December and he decides to choose his own target as a present to himself. | 39 |
My answer to this prompt is a sequel to another answer I wrote [here](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2o0b5a/eu_sokka_and_katara_never_find_aang_as_a_result/cmil979), where Aang is found by the Fire Nation. And if you don't know the names, this is all from the Avatar: The Last Airbender universe.
----
A single Fire Nation ship steamed into view on the horizon off the coast of Haven Island. A Water Tribe runner burst into Zuko's hut, where he was meeting with his top lieutenants, Noatak and Tarrlok. He panted at the door, trying to spit out the message, but it was unnecessary. Zuko spotted the ship through the doorway and bolted outside, shouting commands. Noatak and Tarrlok followed, gathering their Water Benders for a tidal wave push.
They lined the shore and began to dance in their slow, swaying patterns. Earthbenders slid down the sandy arms of the bay on gliders, preparing to raise shoals behind the Fire Nation vessel so that the wave would wreck the ship and tear it apart. The waters of the bay began to stir with motion, moving back and forth in an ever-increasing mass. The ship steamed closer, and gouts of fire began to rain down on the beach. Zuko stood on a raised tower, zapping each artillery shell with bolts of lightning that detonated the explosives like fireworks. Earthbenders raised a stone wall around the village, protecting it from the bombardment.
The wave grew more powerful. Tarrlok and Noatak were deep in concentration, biceps bulging as they controlled the wall of water. With a final shove that left the waterbenders collapsed on the beach, it traveled down the middle of the bay like a freight train, full of unstoppable fury. The earthbenders raised pillars from the ocean floor, creating a spiky barricade ready to pierce the hull of the ship.
As the wave reached the Fire Nation cruiser, it... split. The ship passed directly between the two waves that crashed harmlessly into the rock pillars and dissipated. Tarrlok and Noatak stared at each other, then at Zuko. Their expressions were clear: *that should have worked.* Zuko nodded back. This was something new.
From the deck of the ship, a small shape burst into the air. Some sort of bird? Its feathers shown red against the sun as it swooped over the bay and soared toward the beach. The earthbenders hurled rocks into the air while the waterbenders snapped at it with tendrils of water, but it duck and wove with magnificent grace. Zuko took aim, sending bolts of lightning arcing through the sky, but no luck.
As it came closer, Zuko finally saw: not a bird, a boy. With a wooden glider, painted red with Fire Nation insignia. *But how*... he thought. *Father wiped out the airbenders over a hundred years ago!*
The boy dove to the beach and landed in a whirling tornado of sand, throwing Tarrlok and Noatak back against the jungle that lined the beach. His bald head was marked only by a single blue arrow tattoo, and he wore the bright red robes displaying the Phoenix Queen symbol. He shot a gout of flame at Zuko's watchtower, and the supports turned to cinders and collapsed. Zuko dove gracefully for his age and rolled to a stop on sand. *Airbender*? *Waterbender*? *Firebender*? His eyes narrowed. *The Avatar,* he realized. After years of searching, Zuko had given up on the prospect of ever finding him. He'd just assumed that he had died with the rest of the Air Benders. But apparently, Azula had somehow gotten to him.
"I've come to put an end to your reign of terror," the boy announced. | 28 | Your so-called "chosen one" has decided to join the ranks of your sworn enemy. | 61 |
Message 1:
I can still make out the NYC skyline – mutilated, but still there. As for the neighborhoods and houses below the towers of the city – they no longer resemble anything that existed in our own time. The Chinese have somehow won the cold war. Sometime between 1964 and this strange future, the Chinese have grown powerful enough to invade and overthrow the continental United States. Perhaps there are still holdouts of American territory, but I think not. They seem fully integrated with their advanced technology, communicating via small, handheld, glowing televisions. Fascinating. I have theorized that each person broadcasts on their own private channel. Everyone speaks Mandarin or Cantonese or Spanish down here. I have walked around some, but I’m afraid of what may happen if the authorities catch me. I have found suitable lodging a dumpster outside of *Grand Palace Restaurant.* Recently I have observed some Americans. They get off the subway and walk into this area of town, usually wearing suits, looking visible depressed. They all go into a place called *Miss Siagon’s Personal Masseuse: Extra Special!*. I can only assume this is some sort of a check point, a place where the occupied citizens have to sign in, because they come frequently, almost every day after work. The horrors of communism.
Don’t follow me into the future. I’ll be back soon. It’s too dangerous.
Message 2:
I have investigated *Miss Siagon’s Personal Masseuse: Extra Special!* My research is not yet complete. It may be some time before I return.
| 140 | A Scientist from 1964 time travels to present day. Not knowing that the area around his lab becomes a chinatown after 50 years, he mistakenly believes that the United States was invaded by china and reports his findings back to 1964. | 331 |
I like my job.
I work hard, because I like to work. It makes me happy.
It took me a long time to find a good job. I have Downs, and it is hard. It takes me longer to do things.
I have a job at a restaurant. It is a French restaurant. My job is to wash the dishes. The people eat on them and make them dirty, then I wash them. It is a lot of fun, and I like it because I always know that my hands will be clean at the end.
I have friends at my job. They are nice. There is Jock who is the chef. He is French. I do not know how to spell his name, but every one says his name like I do, with a Z. Sometimes I do not know if they are playing jokes on me. He yells at me when I am slow. I like him anyway. Then there is Henry, but people say his name weird, like it's "on ree" which is strange. He is also French. He is the owner, and he also yells at me. He also gives me my paycheck, which is nice. There are other people, but they are not nice. They are the Sue Chefs. I do not know why they are all named Sue. Jock yells at them a lot.
My best friend is Larry. Larry is a lobster. He's black and crawls in the water. They have a tank for him in the dining room. He has been there for a long time. Two years. They keep his water nice and cool. He does not like hot water. One day, the air conditioning was broken, and I put ice cubes in Larry's water to keep it cool for him - but not too cold. Larry doesn't like cold water either.
Some days there are lots of dishes. I have to work very hard on those days. Other days, there are not as many. On those days, I talk to Larry. The other people in the kitchen make fun of me, but not Larry.
It is hard to make friends since I have Downs.
Larry is my good friend. He waves his claws at me. Henry and Jock let me feed him the lobster food when the restaurant is closed, and that makes him happy. It makes me happy to see him happy.
Today, there is not as many dishes. I do not have a lot of work to do. So I talk to Larry. I look through the window in the kitchen out to the dining room, and I talk to him. I pretend he can hear me. I was talking to him about my day, about the nice people on the bus who laughed at my jokes, even the ones I forget that I tell. A man comes into the dining room. Louie takes his order. Louie is the waiter. He makes me laugh. When he comes into the kitchen, he always says hello to me, and tells me a joke. When the man makes his order, Louie does not smile. He does not look at me. I say hello to Louie, but he looks at me like he is afraid. He gives the order to Jock.
Jock yells something in French to the other Sue chefs. Carlos reaches into the water tank and grabs Larry. When Carlos comes into the kitchen, I asked Carlos what he was going to do with Larry, but he did not say anything. He put Larry into a pot with very hot water in it. Larry doesn't like very hot water.
I yelled louder, because I thought that maybe Carlos did not hear me. I told him in a loud voice that Larry does not like the hot water. He did not listen. He put the lid on the pot, and walked away.
I was very worried about Larry. I opened the pot, and tried to reach inside, but it was too hot. Larry was not moving, and his shell was starting to turn red. Carlos pushed me away and put the lid on the pot.
I was yelling, and Henry came out of his office to find out what all the noise was. Louie tried to hug me. I started to cry and yell because Larry was in the hot water. Jock was yelling at me, and yelling at Carlos. Henry yelled at me and yelled at Louie. Louie said something to him in French. Then Louie said we should go outside. Carlos put Larry on a plate, and put lemons around him. Larry was bright red, and was not moving anymore.
The man in the dining room was going to eat Larry.
I was very sad. I cried and cried.
Henry yelled at Louie and me some more. Louie brought me outside and talked to me until I stopped crying. I was very sad that Larry was going to be eaten.
I stopped crying after a while.
Louie and I went inside, and Henry stopped us. Henry said that the man in the dining room heard me crying about Larry. He did not want to eat Larry any more and he left the dining room without paying for anything. They put Larry into the garbage. I did not get to say goodbye to Larry.
Henry said that because I cried and the man left, I can not work at the restaurant any more.
Louie was sad, but he had to go back to work.
Now I have to find a new job.
I also have to find a new friend.
I am very sad.
| 1,157 | You are a dishwasher in a slow running restaurant. Lobster is on the menu, but nobody ever orders it, so the only lobster there is kept in a tank waiting. You have secretly named it and have said hi to it every day for the past two years. Today someone orders it. | 573 |
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