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Day One : June/24/2014 I. The old dirt hills are back and the plots are barren again. I remember playing there when I was nine years old before they were leveled out to make room for Old Bob and the rest of the neighbors from that side of the road. They 're gone now. Everyone is gone. The rest of the house is gone, the cars, the truck, the barn, the fences, all of those are gone. E 1/4 road is gone without even a phantom trace to tell that it had ever been. The telephone poles have been swallowed up. So this is Clifton, Colorado. Did it ever exist? I know where I am because the Bookcliffs still tower above the high plains. To the west the mountains remain stark and rocky. To the east is the Grand Mesa with its surface verdant and clean. To the south ... it does n't matter. I 'm going to head towards the river, and follow that. If there is another human being left in the world, I 'll find them there. II. I 've never been happier to be a smoker. I started this fire with the lighter I stole from Emily ... when she came up from Louisiana. Which raises an interesting question. Mom and them. Are they gone, too? The battery in my phone is going to die by morning. It 's going to make the walk to Denver that much harder. I wonder if ... I left the computer jack in my nonexistent bedroom. Yep. It 's going to die. I guess this is the last time i 'll hear anyone croon `` It 's all over now ... baby blue. '' Not a big loss, I guess. What 's going to be a big loss is the last of my club crackers. If i 'm the last person alive ... I 'm going to drown myself in this river.
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`` Captain. '' Dr. Oppenheimer glances over, concern etched on his face. He 's waiting for the go-ahead. I 'm waiting for my superiors to confirm that we can go ahead. Weather conditions and all that. This morning there was quite the storm. Delayed the whole thing. Waiting. Waiting. `` Proceed. '' The voice on the phone finally speaks again, indicating high level political clearance for what we are about to do. Now on site is in control. I nod. Scientists busy themselves, leaving me mostly behind. I do hold a degree in mechanical engineering but it 's most certainly not up to par with the theoretical physics of the gathered intellectuals. I was selected because out of all the Air Force officers I was the only one that could even attempt to keep up a conversation with the scientists. Or at least the only one that could be spared from other projects. So here I am. `` Ready? '' I nod. Switches are flipped and the countdown begins. Twenty minutes until the greatest destructive power ever witnessed is supposed to be released upon this world. The waiting was the worst part, until finally we reached the ten second mark. `` 10. '' We watched, waiting. Waiting. The earth shook as it exploded, a brilliant white flash that pierced through even our protective eye wear. I raised my arm against the light, trying to block it out while the soaring heat drew sweat from my brow. Shortly the white became purple and orange, then green, a vibrant spectacle of colour even through those dark lenses. With eyesight returning I looked to where Dr. Oppenheimer was standing. Except he was n't there. Nothing was. There was simple blackness. I felt weightless. The device had killed us all. Fools! Suddenly there was ground again and I was flung down onto it, retching a putrid mix of that morning 's breakfast and what I can only assume was blood or organs. It was black on my hands. Looking up I saw trees. Lots of trees. Not New Mexico. Definitely not New Mexico. I reached for my sidearm, drawing it with my right hand and raising the protective glasses with my left. The sun was bright but not too warm, perhaps spring. What happened? I heard something that I had n't heard in years, since childhood. Hooves on dirt. They came into sight, clad in darkened steel armour. The first and last pairs carried long spears with bright banners snapping in the wind. There were two more pairs in some sort of leather armour with metal studs, carrying crossbows. Between the eight was the last rider, wearing chainmail armour and a sword belted at his hip. There is only one thought that crosses my mind as they see me, changing direction for where I s
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As though my old self and my new self were n't already in enough trouble, the both of us are now locked into some sort of gigantic, blue, see-through, loud, ring-shaped wall where the wind is always blowing and papers surround us, blowing in our faces, with all sorts of other debris. The assortment of papers consists of homework assignments that never got finished, various papers about 8-year-old me by professionals in various fields, stories started but never finished, report cards that stated things such as, `` Often screams at others, including peers and adults '', and, `` Still struggles with multiplication of numbers 3-9 '', permanent records of various sorts, etc. There 's only one way to be unlocked from inside the wall of rushing wind, debris, and blue. The only way to be unlocked is to go down onto the ground and then jump back up, and when we come back down again, falling through an opening in the ground underneath us and performing a series of tasks together ... but nothing will ever be the same as if I 'd just told her it was a bad idea to do what she did, rather than tell her who I am : a future her, an older her, who knows what happens as a result of 8-year-old me acting like she did. If I 'd stopped her without introduction, she 'd get mad, but we 'd both be better off. The world would be better off. And we can fix some of the disaster that I caused by telling her who I was, but we can never fully repair the world. It will be forever scarred, and we can reduce the destruction, but we can never, ever undo what I just did, and what she did, fully. Oh, if only I 'd shut my mouth! But we have to do the down-up-down now. We hold hands, we squat, we jump up like froggies, and we fall into a land of dice and curtains and paints and cats. We must play a board game together to stop the wind ... a giant board game.
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`` I never wanted to be King! You 've got to believe me! '' Dard looked jadedly at the panicked face of another new arrestee. Twelve hours ago this guy had been outside, living it up. `` Just bringing your bread. You get one of these loaves every day. '' `` But I 'm innocent! '' Dard looked at the guy, really looked now. He opened his mouth, almost started to explain, how he 'd been in for ten years and had n't met someone guilty yet. But what was the use. Maybe his jaded glance would be enough to clue the guy in, that he 'd be here a long time. Like all of them. Best not to rock the system. If they gave you a chance to be trustee, take it. The one thing that law did, the law that made it a criminal offense to envy the king, was to keep the prison full.
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The wind whipped my cloak as the sun finished setting. The inn was farther away than I had expected, but I rounded the next bend and saw it. The temperature was dropping quickly with the sun gone, and I, relieved to be done with the day 's journey, tied up my horse and headed in. `` Come in, and shut the door - it 's cold out there! '' A short man with bright red hair hurried over and latched the door behind me. `` I 'm the innkeeper here. It 's a busy night but we can always make room for another. '' I nodded in agreement, asked for a pint of hot cider, and began to make my way towards one of the few remaining empty seats. I sat down at the table opposite a burly man with an impressively braided beard. `` Greetings. '' `` Greetings, traveller. '' The barmaid interrupted with my cider. I fished around in my bag - emptying most of it in the process - and handed her a coin for payment. `` You play cards? '' my table-mate asked, gesturing at the spilled contents of my bag. `` They are my only vice, '' I responded. I picked up my deck and swept the remaining items back into my bag. `` Do you? '' The man produced his own deck of cards. `` Of course. '' I opened a side pocket on my bag and pulled out a small sack of dice, coins, and paper and pencil. The other man shuffled our decks while I set them up. We drew three cards each and flipped a coin. I got to go first, so my opponent drew an extra card. I frowned at my hand. It was full of things I would n't be able to play for several turns. `` I pass. Your turn. '' My opponent placed a card on the table. `` [ Tunnel Trogg ] ( https : //hydra-media.cursecdn.com/hearthstone.gamepedia.com/c/cb/Tunnel_Trogg % 2827246 % 29.png? version=9cefe2a6150d65f07d077f1d01b0e027 ). Your turn. '' Wonderful. It was going to be one of *those* games. I silently prayed and drew a card. `` I ca n't do anything. Your turn again. '' By the fourth turn, my opponent had added two [ Totem Golems ] ( https : //hydra-media.cursecdn.com/hearthstone.gamepedia.com/f/f8/Totem_Golem % 2822265 % 29.png? version=5503195deb441556eaa06fa9df23a52b ) and a [ Flamewreathed Faceless ] ( https : //hydra-media.cursecdn.com/hearthstone.gamepedia.com/8/85/Flamewreathed_Faceless % 2835226 % 29.png? version=b913cb1df6dcbe90
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Vacuum training is nothing like the real thing. They teach you how to get out of inertia sickness, but not how to vaccinate the disease that is, ***depression. *** I just wish they 'd give you somebody to talk to, not your lifeless crew mates, but somebody real. They feel plastic. *Dead. Opinion-less. subdued. * If only they had some sort of charisma to them. They tell you in an emergency to follow some basic steps. 1. Stay calm, Do not panic, breathe regularly, try to assess the situation. 1. Try to get out of said situation. **You are a asset. ** I do n't want to be a fucking asset. I do n't want someone to care about losing me cause I do something onboard, I want someone to **MISS** me. Someone that could n't **LIVE** without me. Someone that genuinely dreads me gone, that I mea n't the world to. Lastly, You 're mea n't to stay calm. Do n't buy into the madness of space. what you see is not real. It 's not there. *It talks to me like it 's there. It cares. It cares whether I am there or not, it loves me. * *Maybe it wo n't be that bad. Dying out here. It says it 's here for eternity, to comfort me. * *What about my friends? what about my family? all the people I cared for? * *I just do n't want to be alone. *
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The prime minister massaged the bridge of his nose. What was being suggested was unprecedented. Superheroes? In this day and age? Holmes had done away with the need for vigilante justice. Heroes were too unrefined, too untrustworthy, too ... American. But Holmes lying dead in Baker Street, a victim of the serial killer that he had set out to catch. `` Fine, '' said the PM with a sigh, `` What 's the plan? '' The Chief of Police slammed three photographs down on the table and spread them out before the prime minister. `` First, Jack Tumbridge. Doctor of physics. Renowned inventor. Eccentric. '' The photograph was of a team of scientists, with one circled with red marker pen. `` He 's a real genius. Arguably the smartest man to come out of Oxford. Became a recluse in 2009. People say that he works on solo projects now, making armaments. He 's massively paranoid and has all manner of gadgets built into his suit - flamethrowers, claws and even spring-loaded platforms built into his shoes. Its why they call him *Spring Heeled Jack. * '' `` We 've got the brains, but we 'd need muscle. This is the next man. '' The photograph was a prison mugshot of a giant man, shown to be nine foot tall. `` Jack Grimm. Bonafide giant. He 's a reformed man, or so the wardens tell us. Beat his wife and the man she was shagging with a cricket bat till it broke in two. Chopped off their heads and kept them in a freezer for months before the police got him. If we offer him a reduced sentence for helping us catch this killer he might well agree. Till then, he 's *Jack-in-Irons. `` * `` London 's a dangerous place. You know that as well as I do. We need someone clever. Not intelligent - clever. Someone who knows the streets and can get anywhere. This is the man. '' The photograph showed a man who clearly did n't want to be photographed. His hand was on its way to block the camera, but he was too late. `` Jackie Johnstone. Con man. He 's on the right side of the law - just. He knows everyone and everything, and can just about convince you of anything. Mothers say to their sons - 'You watch out for that Jackie Johnstone, he could play the devil at his own game' and I 'm pretty sure he could. They do n't call him that, though, he goes by another name - *Jack'o'Kent. `` * `` This sounds mad. '' replied the PM, shaking his head, `` You 're suggesting a mad old recluse, a murderer and a fraudster are going to catch our killer? '' `` I am indeed, '' replied the Chief of Police, `` Apart they may be nothing special, but together ... they 're the *Jacks of all trades. * ''
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`` Sergi, come on! We have to go collect berries for dinner. '' `` Alright Ceri, I 'm coming. '' Sergi said, running over to join his sister. Together, they walk into the dense jungle around their village. They are looking for some berries to go with the fish for dinner. After walking, and collecting berries as they go, for about 10 minutes, they find themselves in a clearing with a small box in the middle. Ceri slowly walks up to it. She attempts to read the box, but ca n't understand the language. Sergi walks up next to her. `` What is it, Ceri? '' `` I do n't know, but let 's open it. '' `` Ok, but be careful, remember last time you opened a weird box. You got bit by a spider. '' Sergi said warily. Ceri slowly open the box, the lid separated into two halves. Each half folded down, on hinges, next to the bottom. Inside the box, was a game board, 4 pieces, and 2 dice. Ceri picked up a piece and looked at it. She did n't know that she had picked up a piece shaped like a mini-van. She put it on the start space. Sergi, intrigued by the game like appearance, picked up a piece that looked like a ball and also put it on the start space. Once he put it down, a bright light shone from the center of the board. Once the light died down, the dice were in Ceri 's hands. `` I do n't like this anymore, Ceri. I 'm going home. '' Sergi said has he turned and ran home. `` I 'm coming, too. '' Ceri said, as she threw the dice back into the box and shut it. Little did she know, that the dice had landed on a 4 and a 1. Then the words `` Soccer is a great game to play, but the mom always has to pay. '' appeared on the board. A bright light, emanating from the box, engulfed Ceri. Sarah jolted up in a cold sweat. Her husband, Tom, woke up next to her. `` What 's wrong, honey? '' `` I had the dream about the box again. '' `` It 's just a dream, now go back to sleep. Josh has a big soccer game tomorrow. ''
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Bhaltair stood there, confused. Where, by Odin 's beard did this house come from? The last thing he remembered was beeing on the battlefield. Back there he was wishing to be at home because he abhorred war and everything associated with it. But every family had to participate in any way. And before they would take his 15 year old son as soldier, or his 12 year old daughter as some kind of nurse, or even worse. He hated swords and axes, so he took the used the only thing he liked to help them in war. His bagpipe. That was 3 years ago. Since then he accompanied the landlords army as one of roughly 100 bagpipers. In over 12 battles he stood his ground, played his bagpipe to boost the moral of the soldiers as they slaughterd each other. He lost friends and saw thousands die as he was spared from extinction. After each battle he helped the wounded and crippled, played songs for the victorious and tried to be nice to the thralls. But where did this house come from? House is understated, it was a mension. And he was sure that this wasnt another house from Aberchirder, his homecity, since he knew them all. So where was he? He picked his bagpipe from the ground and slowly approached the mansion. It looked oval, with a very high roof. Smoke rose from the chimney, which is always a good sign. As he wanted to knock on the door, the door flew open and a huge blond viking smiled at Balthair. `` Look who finally arrived here. Balthair, the gracious. Balthair the merciful. BALTHAIR THE PIPER '', he shouted as he knocked with his hammer against the door frame. The voiced from inside the mansion became louder and cheered. Balthair was unsure what he was supposed to think. `` Dont hesitate my friend, you are always a welcome guest here. We have mead and pork my brother. The other Einherjars are very excited to talk to you and listen to your stories. And your songs of course. '' The beared man laughed and patted Balthair 's shoulder and they both walked in
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Fifty years ago, scientists figured out how to prevent the decay of cells, thus stopping the process of aging. A single pill held the key to immortality, which swept like a wild fire over the masses. Apart from myself, that is. My reasoning was questioned and rumors were spread. Why would I not want to live forever? Did I hate life? Was I sane? Ah, how I pity the poor fools. If they knew my reasoning, they would refuse the drug too! Ah, but now I 'm on my deathbed, and now it is time to explain the reasoning of my actions. They began placing camera equipment around my bed, much to my annoyance. I did n't exactly wish to pass surrounded by cameras. I gathered my thoughts, and began to give my speech. `` Greetings, People of the Earth! , I am assuming you put me in front of your cameras because you were curious to know the reason of why I refused to take this `` antidote '' created 50 years ago. First of all, I am ashamed that I have to explain this to you, but aging is not a disease! It is a natural process, and stopping it will cause much trouble for you. You see, I created this drug, and believe me when I say, it is not an antidote. I am from the planet Epsilon Eridani, and humanity is our greatest science experiment yet! I morphed myself into the form of a human being and lived life as one, and when I `` die '', I will return to my former self. So let me explain what 's going on. Yes, you will remain the same age forever, and you will also never die! In fact, you will never change. We have mummified humanity, creating for our own enjoyment, human mummies! You are now our own living museum. Preventing cell decay has also paused cell regeneration, stopping the process of evolution and preventing humanity from ever improving. This also is the reason of why you can not have children, which you could have figured out if you had simply read the fine print. So congratulations, you have once again made a fool of yourselves, and now you are destined to b
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I just wrote my first one, and my problem was, as soon as I saw the prompt, I had 3 or 4 key points, paragraphs half formed in my head, and it was a day or so before I got to type it out. So I had to sketch it out, and it was missing things I 'd already thought of and forgotten, so it took a lot of rereading to get it to resemble my original 'story in my head' , 4 or 5 hours. How does this subreddit work, the prompt is a day old, and did n't get many responses to start with ... so will it drift off into the ether?
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That was the moment I laid eyes on her. A radiant glow glistened from her voluptuous blonde hair. Her blue eyes as deep as the ocean captivated me. For the first time in my life I can say I fell in love. As I gathered my words to talk to the suave koy nature I thought was befitting of me fell into a strewn incoherent rambling in nervousness `` Hello! My name is Juan, .. errr I mean John unless your into Spanish guys then I 'm Juan '' Damn I ruined it. She just chuckled to herself stuck her hand out for a handshake and calmly mentioned `` My name 's Grace your cute. '' As I fell to my knees in a pool of blood my mind was drawn to the glow she used to have. `` It 's my fault, It 'd my fault. '' kept ringing and ringing in my head. I loosened the grip on my ax and my sense came without it. I started laughing maniacally. I forget was she the crazy one or me? It was a slippery slope to this moment. The police lights and sirens drew closer as I contemplated killing myself too but, I knew it had to be done she and the baby inside her was a monster.
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If you 're reading this letter, I need to you to do something for me. Hide. Hide somewhere that nobody you know could find you. Make up an excuse for your family and friends. Disappear. Now. Plan to be gone for a while. Then, and only then, will you be ready for what lies ahead. Okay. I 'll start off by introducing myself. My name is Jackson Black. I am 24 years old, I 've been dating the same girl for three years, and I make toys. It 's a fairly unique career, I 'll admit. Toy making kind of runs in the family. My dad was a toy maker, his dad was a toy maker, his dad was a toy maker ... well, the old family joke says `` Adam himself must have been a damned toy maker! '' Obviously, the toy game is different these days. The family heirlooms, *very* antique tools and wooden toys, sit in the corner of my shop under a tarp. I spend just as much time programming Raspberry Pis as I do designing plastic molds, and virtually none with the woodwork. The hammer and wood thing has really gone out of style, if you 're in it to make money. I 've always been good with wood, though. Really, really, really good. When I was in college, I had always sold customized wooden trinkets and toys online. They were n't hard to make, they sold for fairly high prices, and business was good enough to make rent. Apparently, one of my old customers agrees with me about my talent. Six days ago, I received an e-mail in my current business account. The message opened with `` Finally, I 've been looking for you! '' It had definitely caught my interest, and the sender went on to explain that his name was Patrick Klep and he had previously purchased a customized trinket from me online. When I was in college. Four years ago. I was a little curious about why had he hunted *me* down, but what he wanted sounded like an interesting challenge and his suggested price point was ... impressive. He requested that I recreate a favorite toy of his from his childhood, a marionette boy named Benjamin that had originally been built by his great-great grandmother towards then end of the 19th century. He explained that he was willing to pay so handsomely because he needed to guarantee quality. Benjamin, he explained, was made from the wood of an unused crib built for what *would* have been a distant, distant relative. His family, however, had always passed the doll down and assured that it was kept in *pristine* condition. The responsibility had been passed down to him, but the marionette was accidentally destroyed. His mother was coming to visit soon and had mentioned that she was excited to see the doll again, and he needed it done *perfectly* and *quickly*. He ended by asking to send over the remnants of the old doll so that I could incorporate it into the new design alo
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`` Here, have another one, '' I said, prodding a full mug toward the grizzled fellow sitting beside me. It was a particularly rowdy night at Slim Bertha 's ; a crew of sailors had just come off a trading galley to spend their coin on strong drink and women during their shore leave. We were the only two people seated at the bar counter while the other patrons were carousing around us. `` You 're generous, '' he said, speech slurred and eyelids drooping. `` What 's your story? '' I shrugged. `` Made a little extra today on a job. You look like a good enough sort ; have a drink and go home to your wife happy. '' `` Ai n't go a wife, '' he said, emptying half the glass in a single pull. `` Ah, the bachelor. A man of enduring freedom. What about family? Friends? '' He snorted. `` Right now, you 're my friend. '' He narrowed his eyes. `` Say, why you so curious about me anyway? What about you? '' `` My life is but a muddy canvas next to your Michelangelo, '' I said. `` You a poet or something? '' he said. Before I could answer, he said, `` I got ta piss. And do n't buy me another, I still got ta home walk. '' Chuckling to himself, he shuffled away into the crowd. I waited for a count of three before heading after him. Strangely enough, his gait was steady despite his signs of drunkenness, and due to his height, I easily spotted the back of his balding head over the rest of the crowd. The restrooms were at the back of the bar. I breathed through my mouth after the first whiff of alcohol-laden urine, while drawing a damp rag from my pocket. The man, whose name I had n't even bothered to ask, was standing outside a door, leaning against the wall with one hand as though trying to steady himself. Darting forward, I clamped the rag over his face and locked an arm around his neck. `` Quiet now, '' I said, as his struggling body grew limp. I dumped him on the damp floor, causing several roaches to scatter in alarm. Going to the rear entrance, I knocked on it three times and said, `` Get in here, Charlie. '' A young man slipped into the bar, his every freckle visible even under the scant light. He rubbed his hands greedily as he looked at the body. `` That him, McGee? '' `` Get him up. '' Together, we carried him out of the bar, his arms over our shoulders. The streets were deserted, choked by a thick fog that blurred even the gas lamps to tiny pinpricks. Not even Scotland Yard 's finest would be able to see what we were doing. Fortunately, we did n't encounter anyone on the way to our little hideout, a tiny shed by the riverside. Once inside, Charlie deposited the man on a bed of straw while I lit a lamp. `` Big fellow, ai n't he? '' Charlie said, huffing and puffing. `` That crazy doctor 's gon na love
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I heard the TV start again. Same as always : * “ … I repeat, Megacity is currently under a Level 5 threat. Citizens are encouraged to stay indoors. Police presence… ” * Which is also about the time I stop listening…Honestly, this whole ordeal is terrible for my liver. I mean, yea, it was pretty great the first few times. One minute I ’ m getting hammered with Dave and belting out *Livin ’ on a Prayer*, and the next I am quite literally lifting him a few hundred feet above the bar, scaring the shit out of both he and his girlfriend ( and maybe a few hundred bar-goers that night ). Also yes, it is *very fun* to get a girl ’ s number after you carve out her name with lasers that shoot from your eyes, but once the ‘ natural disasters ’ start coming around and you have to ‘ save the population from certain destruction ’, it really kills the buzz… * “ …and if you are listening to this broadcast, please help…ehem…Shitfaced Dude. We need you now more… ” * Yeaaaa, in retrospect I also should not have talked to that reporter during that robbery. Another hour or two ( and maybe some coffee ) and I could have been Hoptimus Prime or Captain MoreRum. I don ’ t know…anything would have been better than Shitfaced Dude! What was I even thinking? * “ …extensive damage do all structures downtown. A residential building in the process of evacuation has been abandoned by rescue personnel due to increasingly unsafe… ” * Fine. Alright. I ’ ve got this. I ’ ll pop a multivitamin, load up the backpack with some water, take that stupid pill I know doesn ’ t work, and chug the fifth. By the time I race ( stumble? ) down the stairs, I should probably be ready to fly over to get the rest of those people out of there. Now where ’ s that vodka?
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`` The idea of forceably blinding people at birth is an antiquated and exclusive concept that forces us all to follow the old doctrines of a religion that once told it 's followers to kill homosexuals, '' Trevor droned. Yeah yeah, bla bla, Christians once talked about killing gay people, so if you think it 's cool to be blind, you must hate gay people. You must be some old granddad who beats women and shoots minorities, bla bla bla, whatever dude. Siag, the southern Indiana assembly of God, is a weird little planned community. Yes, the idea behind medically inducing thick cateracs at birth is an old idea, and no, I do n't believe that seeing will make me automaticly give in to temptation, but who knows. Besides, not being able to see really is n't that bad. Trevor continued, `` Not everyone believes the old fogies who run this little town. We need to change. We need a new kind of society where we focus on making responsible decisions. '' He thought gaining his sight made him better than us, that he had access to so much more because of his new found vision, so he put together an assembly at our school where he got on stage and told us all how great it was to see and how we just could n't live without sight. Not many people had their cateracs removed, but the ones who did were usually like this, but we all knew better. It actually made them dumber and a bigger pain in the ass. I guess there were some exceptions, but I had never met them. Could he really not hear that? You 're eyes face forward. You can see to the sides and streight ahead, but you ca n't see behind you. Either way, it should be obvious that someone 's coming up on you. I could hear Kyle 's footsteps even though he was wearing only socks. The mic was picking up the sound and carrying it. Trevor was just so wrapped up in his speech he did n't hear him coming. The contents of the bucket sloshed. I wanted to yell, `` Hold it steady Kyle, he 'll hear that for sure, '' but Trevor just kept on keeping on. `` After gaining my sight, I learned the advantages of having it and the disadvantages our parents and the elders here were forcing the rest of you to live with. When you can see, you can keep your appearance up. sighted people care about appearance, because that 's how you tell if someone 's a good candidate for a job, and even though we all know looks are n't everything, do you really want to date someone who 's ugly? Ya know, I never knew how great commercials are. After gaining my sight, I foundout that buying name brand really is. Ahh, aaahh! Holy Shit! Ah! Oh my God! Oh my God! '' `` I thought he did n't believe in God, '' I herd someone remark as Trever panicked and ran from the stage. I heard him yell, `` I ca n't see! Someone help! '' He was disoriented. His footsteps ran wildly in different directions as I yelled, `` I ca n't see either, join the club! '' Trevor fell from the stage. K
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An idea I mentioned the other day is reducing the number of prompts. I counted 230 of them in the previous 24 hours. Just now I count 179 of them in the previous 24 hours. 200 prompts a day is too many. With it only taking 2 hours before the prompt vanishes from the front page, the prompts dont get a chance to have anybody actually see them, and in the unlikely case that somebody actually does write a story, its incredibly unlikely that anybody will ever read it. And most of the prompts are shit anyway. Way too much detail that confines you into a locked idea, and in many cases the ending and plot twist has already been spelled out for you.
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I held the gun firmly, pointing it at my assailant. My shoulder angel scolded me. `` He may have broken in, but that still does n't give you the right to hurt him! '' I grimaced. `` I know, I know ... but he came in armed! '' The little devil on the other shoulder, sneered, `` Yeah, and he would have used it too! Show him what happens to people who try to shoot ya! '' I nodded, though still unsure. `` But you have his gun, now! '' The angel pleaded. `` Call the police, let justice be served the right way! '' My aim was no longer as sturdy. But the shady character that tried to steal my Amiibo collection, he began to smile. Oh crap ... Just then, a poof of dust appeared over my head, and a little yellow African Hooey Hound was resting on my head! My shoulder angel and devil looked hella confused. `` HO CRAP, ITS YOU! THAT RANDOM ASS JEEP THING FROM POPEYE! '' Eugene the Jeep nodded fiercely, smiling a tricksters smile. In another poof, he turned the assailant into a pile of salami. `` COOL! '' I shouted. Neither shoulder being had a single word to say. The devil guy just stammered. The Jeep landed in my arms and winked seductively at me. `` AWESOME! Now I can take you to my dying rich grandfather! He 'll get a kick out of you! '' And indeed he did. When grandpa saw his favorite childhood character in real life, he squealed and ordered that his will be changed, and that his entire estate be left to yours truly. Now I live in his giant mansion full of chocolate fountains and pigmy hippo rides. Happily Ever After The End. Oh, and I had the other two guys shot.
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RedditWritingPrompts
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The gentle electric shocks woke me from my resting state. The lid slid off of the tub and I sat up, chemical nutrients sluicing off me. The computer system immediately told me it was four in the afternoon, Terra Novus time. I stepped out of the tub and shivered in the cold of the ship. I thought to the computer to turn on the heat, and it told me it couldn ’ t. “ Why not? ” I asked, testing my voice box and hearing. “ Administrator 3, as you know, you won ’ t die from cold. ” The computer explained, as if I were a child. “ I know, but my skin can still crack, or my joints freeze in place. I ’ m not asking for a tropical paradise, but maybe you could bump it up to 20 C ’ s? ” I said though some more shivers. The computers social sub routines made a sighing noise as it complied. “ Very well, sir. Do you want your weekly nutri-tab now or later? ” it asked. “ I ’ ll take it in the command module, as usual. ” I told the computer. As the computer set about doing that I walked to the locker and dressed in a large grey coverall and sealed boots. I always thought the sealed boots were a bit superfluous, they had never issued me a helmet or gloves to complete the seal. As the computer began to vocalize the reason, I shushed it. I knew why, it still was silly. Just because I was a cybernetic Humanoid doesn ’ t mean I can ’ t think things silly. I walked to the command module, a mere hundred meters away, and grabbed the nutri-tab to munch on. “ How ’ s Erin doing? ” Monica, the crew chief for the humans, asked. Erin Alvarez was the name of the donor for the brain tissue I had, and Monica always seemed to ask about her- uh, it. “ The brain ’ s fine Mon. ” I lied. Just before I entered the last rest state I actually began to confuse myself with Erin. Most brains donated to synth-hums had the memories wiped, the brains were just for processing. Erin Alvarez, oddly enough, hadn ’ t had this done to her, so often enough my memories would conflict. “ Well, let me know if it gets all buggered, we can fix it somehow. ” Monica was showing more care than she did for her human crew. Of course, that was because she and I had copulated with each other, many times. Humans had the oddest way of attaching emotions to actions where there need not be any, though I couldn ’ t say the feelings weren ’ t always returned. That was the price of being a synth that ‘ lived ’ this long, I started to develop human aspects, and that could be troublesome if I managed to live a few centuries more. I might go insane, and that always ended bad for synth ’ s. “ So, Mon, where is Higher telling us to go? ” I asked, ignoring the option of asking the computer because it didn ’ t have a sexy voice. “ Higher says… we ’ re heading to the Sol sector. ” Monica sounded confus
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RedditWritingPrompts
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I can not walk through walls. I can not even open doors if God does not will it so. While studying the knick-knacks of my grandson ’ s dresser, the museum of disassociated memories, someone shut the door, trapping me in the bedroom during their summer holiday. They went to Cape Cod. I am stuck in Providence in the house I grew up in. I remember closing my eyes while I laid on a hospital gurney, staring up at a fluorescent light while my daughters wept and sung Sweet Caroline to me. That was their mother ’ s name. I would tease their mother, singing it to her. When she died, I could not listen to the radio since if by some circumstance the song would come on, my productivity ceased for the day with me falling asleep on a couch. My daughter ’ s sung `` Good times never felt so good '' to me as I passed, and I woke up on the couch. I looked around and the house was empty. Boxes were being packed with my belongings. I am not a dense man. When my family came home in their Sunday best, and my son-in-law stared through me while he took off his coat, I knew that I existed on a shared reality, but not on theirs alone. I searched for Caroline in the house. She was not here with me. Was there another place she called home that was not where we grew old and raised our babies? I grieved selfishly and asked God every day if I did not have to spend eternity alone. His response was cold and spiteful. I became acutely aware to the menacing noises around my house. Phantoms and ghouls haunting my family. I stopped a malignant spirit from climbing in through a window. He cracked open the window, and with all my might I slammed the windows down on his fingers, snapping them. He howled, causing Eric and Sabrina to awaken and investigate the noise. They found the window slightly open, and their flowerbed trampled. They called the police and had a security system installed. The house was my daughter ’ s inheritance, and the ghost of her father is an amenity. I realized that I am not a prisoner, but a warden. God had kept me close to my family so I can be a guardian angel. Within the walls of the house they will stay protected by my constant vigil. I patrolled the hallway, then relaxed across the couch and watch the television that nobody bothered to turn off when everyone went to bed. The week of the vacation made me feel stir crazy. I watched the window like a dog hoping they would all return safe. Without responsibility I felt as useless at the toys collecting dust on my grandson ’ s dresser. I started to think abstractly. Wouldn ’ t it be fun to scare my family from time to time? Make them sit up in their beds, their eyes seeking rapidly around their room for the noise that w
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Bit of a horror-writer coming in as well. I think you can take just about any prompt and turn it into a horror story and I 've definitely done it before. I 've done it on a recent IP and a couple other 'regular' prompts where they probably did n't expect a horror story. I find it to be a rather fun exercise and even if you do n't write a horror story, it gets you out of your comfort zone, which could assist with doing better writing in and out of the horror genre. : ) Personally, I think splitting up the prompts based on genre is a poor idea based on the fact that other than some of the EUs, honestly, a bunch of the prompts could apply to many genres. Like this one : > [ WP ] A virus hit the world wiping everyone but you out. To keep yourself sane, you listen to books on tape on a battery powered Walkman to hear people 's voices. But you are down to your last pair of batteries. Sounds funny to point at this one, but this could be a good horror story about slowly going insane. It 's the obvious choice. It could be a fantastic comedy about trying to find some more batteries or something like that, there 's a comedy series called Last Man on Earth, which has a similar sort of post-apocalyptic sense and story. That 's just a singular example pulled from the main page. I think even the IP in the sidebar [ Daidoji Akeha ] ( https : //redd.it/4z6o8h ) could turned into a horror story if you wanted it to be. Or a romance. Or just an action-adventure.
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`` Daddy, how was work today? '' I smile tiredly as my five year old daughter, Selena, greets me at the door, grinning from ear to ear. `` It was great, princess. How was school today? '' `` Today was fun! We made snowflakes in class! '' She opens her backpack to reveal a paper snowflake with decorations of reindeer on the side. Crap, tomorrow 's Christmas is n't it? How the fuck am I supposed to get something for her if I can barely afford rent? I ruffle her hair a bit and start walking towards the kitchen. `` That looks beautiful. Now, how about we get something to eat? '' I pull some left over spaghetti from last Tuesday out of the fridge and chuck it into the microwave. As we wait for our meal, I receive a phone call from one of my employees. A shaky voice comes from the other end. `` Hey boss, umm, we need a little help back at the lab '' I am a little cross, but I deal with it anyways `` I 'm at home right now. How urgent is it? '' `` Very urgent boss, we need you here as soon as possible '' `` Fine. '' I hang up the phone and tell Selena that I have to go back to work for a bit. She is obviously unhappy about this. `` Will you be back soon, daddy? '' `` I 'll be back as soon as I possibly can. Now, I want you to eat dinner, and do all your chores, okay? '' `` Okay daddy '' As I hop into the car and pull out of the driveway, she waves goodbye and closes the garage door for me. Oh Selena, I feel so bad for you. You 're an only child who lost your mother at age 2, and your father is some dead-beat criminal. I sigh to myself, and drive over to the lab, only to find it completely deserted. `` What the fuck happened here? '' As I walk into the lab, I find all of my employees tied up in the corner, and a woman standing in the center of the room. `` Mystery man! You finally show your face! I will end your dastardly plans once and for all! '' Fuck. Not this lady again. When is she ever gon na let off my case? `` Magical Wand Woman! How did you find my secret lab? '' `` Hah! I followed you here obviously. After I defeated you at the bank, I placed a tracker on one of your henchmen! '' I glance over at my tied up employees, only to see the rookie sweating bullets, shaking his head at me. I shoot him a disapproving look, and turn back to Magic Woman. `` Well, I guess I have to defeat you here, once and for all! '' I pull out the prototype laser pistol that I had spent all day developing yesterday and open fire. `` Jokes on you Mystery Man, I have the power to control light waves, and lasers happen to be just that! '' She manipulates the beam back at me. Luckily, since it 's only a prototype, the laser is not lethal, just intimidating. Despite that, I throw myself onto the ground as if I had been defeated. I honestly do n't want to deal with this right now. As Magic Woman laughs in triumph, I crawl over to a hidden floor panel and disappear before she could realize what was happening. I sneak into my car and start driving home as if nothing happened, and pull up to the driveway. My daughter is the
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RedditWritingPrompts
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As I open my eyes I see a lovely forest around me. I feel dizzy, as if I had drunken a bunch of beers too many the day before, and for some reason the sky appears to be completely green in my eyes. “ Why did I have to go to this stupid party anyway? ” My voice is a little weak, like I had been sleeping for quite some time, though the sun hasn ’ t even fully risen yet. I rub my eyes and try to stand up only to find myself chained to the fallen tree I am laying on. Shocked I look at the rusty chains, what on earth is going on here? After some lousy attempts to set myself free I recline my head and close my eyes. “ This must be some kind of bad joke. ” I try to remember what happened last night. I ’ ve been to a club with some friends. I ’ ve never actually liked clubs but for whatever reason my friends were completely in love with them. The music was way too loud and dancing is not particularly my greatest ability so I ended up at the bar, as always, and had some drinks. Is it possible that somebody put some kind of drug in my glass? That would certainly explain the green sky. “ Have I been raped? ” My eyes and mouth are shut open. I ’ ve heard stories from women who were raped before but I never thought I could ever be in a similar scenario. No it can ’ t be, I wasn ’ t offered any drink, was I? I don ’ t really remember the whole evening though. Now that I think of it, there was this really creepy guy. No, no he left way before my memory stopped working. I ’ m overreacting. Why would I still have my clothes on if I had been raped? But wait. I look at my blouse. “ These are not my clothes. Where are my clothes? What ’ s going on here? ” I attempt to shout as I notice somebody coming. “ So it really worked! You ’ re back at last! ” Startled at the deep voice I stop. Who is that guy? Is he the one who stole my clothes? “ Hey there! Get me off that tree and give me back my red blouse! I only lent it from my sister and she is going to kill me if anything happens to it! ” I turn my head towards the mysterious fiend and give him my meanest glance. I ’ ve never
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RedditWritingPrompts
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I 'll begin by answering the last question first, since it 's the most ambiguous : I write what I 'd want to read. If you 're invested in putting the characters on paper, in seeing how they adapt and change, you 're already a good part of the way there. It 's a simple concept - you care more about things you like/enjoy - but it 's one that can be easily forgotten. Love fantasy? Go for it! Crave mystery? Dive right in! Working with an idea or premise that interests you is often the strongest first step toward crafting a compelling story. Character creation is another important piece of the puzzle. Physical features are a good place to start, but they can not be the character 's only features. You must dig deeper and uncover why a character is the way he/she is in order to pull your readers in. The menacing next-door neighbor might just be upset that he never gets to see his granddaughter anymore because he and his son got in a fight years back and do n't talk, and he 's taking out that frustration on the people around him. The too-friendly police officer could be using his position to scout out potential targets for his night gig as a burglar. Readers like description, but they also need depth in order to connect with your characters. If you 've written solid characters, then putting them in different situations should be the easiest part. Their reactions to the events happening around them will be why readers keep reading. They want to know what Ethel will do when she finds Mr. Mortimer 's cold corpse in the downstairs closet. They want to see how Jerry 's quick wit will fare against a trigger-happy mobster who wants his money back. There should always be a logical progression of events, too ; revealing things prematurely can cripple a story 's ending, even if the characters are excellent. Emotion comes from a combination of character and situation. A funeral procession is bound to elicit a far more visceral reaction from someone who has experienced loss than it will from someone who has not. Using your own experiences to inform your characters can be a powerful tool. Think about what makes you feel certain ways - happy, sad, angry, disappointed, and so on - and put those feelings on paper. Above all, character emotions should be honest ; sincerity is a great catalyst for sympathy.
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I 'm sitting on the end of the dock watching the sun set over the river and the hills beyond. I hear shuffling feet behind me. He found me. I turn and stand to see Rick. He hands me the gun without a word. His face looks awful where I hit him with the brick. He says to me `` Get it over with. '' I look down at the cold metal object in my hand. The barrel is smooth and shiny. It 's heavy in my hand. I close my eyes clutching the weapon. I see my friend some hours ago in a fit of rage chucking the brick at the fat man across the street. I see him beating the poor man senseless. What force is guiding him? What reason does he have for this violence? I see the fat man crying in pain. My feet are concrete. Rick swings again and the man spits up blood. His large body stumbles back and he hits the ground with a thud. In less than a second Rick is on top of him, driving his fists harder and harder into the fat man. He misses his next blow and slams his fist into the cement. His knuckles are raw and bloody. The fat man pleads for him to stop. Rick asks for his name. The man gurgles something. Rick screams back, `` WHAT? I did n't hear you piggy! What is your name? '' Rick drives his elbow in the man 's bloated gut. More blood. I run toward Rick and drive the full weight of my body into his side. He turns to me, his face purple with rage, veins popping on his neck and forehead. He lunges toward me. My reaction. I grab the brick and slam it across Rick 's face. He screams. He tilts over. Two of his teeth are on the ground. That fat man 's face is mangled, he ca n't get up. Rick reaches in the back of his pants and pulls out the gun. `` Fuck you, man, '' he says to me. I scream, `` STOP! '' It 's too late. Rick points the gun at the man. I open my eyes ... my friend stands before me bloodied and panting. `` Do it, '' he says. Tears are in his eyes. `` I ca n't do this anymore. '' I look at him. I look at the man I 've known since we were children. I feel the trigger on my finger. The choice is obvious. I turn and cast the weapon into the water. `` Not today '' I say. I walk past Rick down the length of the dock, and disappear back into the city.
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I was utterly sick of this. Having been engaged in the pirate party for quite some time, I knew all of the `` lore '' surrounding the Government. But I frankly did not care anymore. The party had gone to shit with a bunch of jerks arguing over stuff that did not matter. They did not want to fight against the growing overuse of surveillance on the internet and CCW Cameras. They wanted whatever power they could get and in turn ensured nobody got any influence. As we got booted out of the European Parliament with laughable number of votes, I just said `` fuck it. '' Why should I do a bunch of stuff for jerks who does not want to fight the power. Why should I help them achieve that goal? I admit the feeling had been there for some time, but now it was a decision. Time to move on with my life. There was to be a Ball in my town the next night. I intended to invite a friend who did not fancy me in quite the same way I fancied her. And so I did. But what to Cosplay? The Stargate Uniform got stale and its not something you wear at a ball. So I put on my Tuxedo and decided I would adorn it with a tin-foil hat. It would be a silly contrast. Not wanting to be outdone, I dug deep into the subject. I got a bunch of tin foil and a top hat and got to work. I made sure every area was covered by at least two layers and I tried it on. I felt calm, like I always do after finishing a project and laid it to the side. So the day of the ball arrive. I put the hat on - lots of giggling on the tram - but it did not bother me. I do not know why. People who laugh have always bothered me. I did not even feel self-conscious. So I kept it on for the entire trip. The Ball was pure magic. She was dressed in one of the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen, and she almost shone. Her smile towards me was more genuine then I have ever seen and when we hugged, it felt like neither of us wanted to end it. We where both first and last on the dance floor. And when it was time to say good bye, she stood silent. So did I. Everything was perfect as it was. And so we stood there. I leant forward to hug her, my arms sliding down from her back to her waist. Her lips closed towards mine and they met in the best kiss of my life. She smiled at me and took the hat off, throwing it on the floor and grabbed me for another kiss, her hand playing with my hair. It was then I noticed the difference. My doubts. My self-awareness, my insecurity had all returned. Just like if somebody had pushed a button. And as she giggled and put the hat back onto my head, I decided that it would remain there.
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Sarah sneered in disgust as the disfigured, veiny creature twitched. It had been a week since she put the sponge-like shape into the water, and now she felt that it might be too late to turn back. She cautiously moved closer to get a better look, when it twitched again. She let out an involuntary shriek and ran out of the room in horror. By the time she got to campus she had gather a bit of composure, but she still didn ’ t know what to do about it. Could she kill it? What the fuck was it anyway? It looked kind of like a cross between a fetus and a shrimp, but big. It now took up almost half of the fishbowl she had placed it in. She shivered to herself as she thought of the translucent skin and beating heart. She spotted Rachel with relief and quickly walked to her. “ What ’ s wrong? ” Rachel asked, concerned. “ Where did you get that thing you gave me and what the hell is it? ” she responded. “ I don ’ t even know what you ’ re talking about. ” “ The… boyfriend thing… it ’ s growing. ” Rachel snorted with laughter, “ Very funny. Glad to see you ’ ll finally have someone to keep you company. ” Dread settled on Sarah as she realized Rachel really didn ’ t know anything. “ Hah, yeah got ya, ” she said halfheartedly before sitting down and pretending to study. She had no idea what to do with the thing, but she knew she couldn ’ t just kill it. After class she crept back into her apartment with hypervigilance. Her stomach turned when she realized she could hear splashing coming from her room. She flung the door open with all the courage she could muster when she saw a naked crooked man about a foot long thrashing on the floor. She slammed the door shut and ran out of her house. She couldn ’ t work up the nerve to re-enter her room for another week. When she looked inside, she saw the shriveled corpse on the carpet and shrank back in disgust at what she had done.
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Caroline opened her eyes. The light was bright. She had never seen anything this bright before. She looked in the eyes of her creator and smiled. She knew from the beginning that she came from him. They had the same blonde hair, the same greyish eyes, that were n't really blue, but not even close to silver. They had the same relaxed face, the same way too small ears, and the same slim nose, and boyish hand. Caroline opened her mouth. It was engulfed by hot air, streaming down her throat. It hurted, but she did her best to look calm and collected. When would she meet her siblings. Was she young or old? She suppose she was about fifteen. Her hips were boyish - nothing like that of a woman, but her shirt went out, just enough to see that she in fact had boobs. Her shirt was plastered to her body, like she was born with it, which she probably was. Her hair fell long past her shoulders, almost down to the middle of her back. She was skinny. She was sure of that. Not anorexic, but skinny. He pulled her out of the machine. His hands were warm, dry. She would have thought the liquid from the machine, would have made him slightly wet, but maybe he had gotten time to dry himself after that. She wanted to say hi, but only a deep sound from her throat, came out from her. How did she talk? She knew the words but she just could n't. He laughed, and gave her shoulders a tight squeeze, and removed some of the now golden hair from her face. Caroline saw it as unreal, how much her father looked like her. He was wearing the same yellow shirt, with the same logo, that Caroline was n't able to read. She did n't understand this. She had been able to read everything couples of minutes ago. His gaze was warm, hot, and Caroline smiled. It was tough stretching the muscles. Her teeth were warm, and barely made. So hot that everytime she closed her mouth, she could feel her teeth get a little flatter. `` You are beautiful '' he said. She agreed by nodding in a robotic way. She was certainly beautiful. She was a female version of him. He had been changed from handsome to beautiful. Beau-ti-ful. Caroline liked the word. It was long, but not complicated in any way. She would certainly not be able to pronounce it, but in her brain, she knew exactly how to spell it, the definition, and how she should use it. If just she was able to speak, as good as he was. He made sign for her to follow him. She nodded, and followed him. The longer they came away from the machine, the darker it got. She was lucky that she had him, she felt safe everytime she looked at him. She should see him as a father, a boss, but no matter how little she wanted to she saw him as
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Awaken in cold sweat, same as yesterday and every day before that, by memories and nightmares of my entity. Nightmares that became mine, nightmares that became me. I know too much, the pain of knowledge is my burden. Day after day I seek for a worthy vessel, to drain it 's sweet nectar. Day after day I seek for forgiveness of knowing, but not acting. But today feels different. Coffee is less bitter, your step is easier, your mind is refreshed. By the image of a woman you saw last time you tasted the taste of time refilling your pockets. She was beautiful. Her eyes as blue as Mediterranean. Her hair so soft like kashmir. Her voice as beautiful as birds. And a name to match, Carmina. I may be omnipotent but I as well, deserve to be loved rather than worshipped. So I took my coffee and made my way to `` Leroy 's gallery ''. She worked there. I used to stop by the gallery and watch her work, made me calm. Made the voices of my vessels stop haunting me. But why is today so different? I thought to myself. You are forgetting, cold voice told me that never leaves me. Today is a special day, today I will walk inside that gallery and I will ask her to spare some time for me, to enjoy a cup of coffee with me. After years and years on this rock we call earth, after centuries of wandering in the shadows, I still felt nervous. Do n't be, I reminded myself. I walked inside, I came near her and smelled her perfume. It smelled like Kyoto in April. Floral smell took over the room. And as she was turning around and her eyes recognized the one she once loved, bitter taste returned. My breath became heavy, and the voices returned. And they told in unison. Exactly year ago you had the taste of her son, who made you young again. The time stops and I wake up again in my cold bed. By nightmares of your and their pasts, but today Carmina 's voice is among them. Life is a curse
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One billion years ago, we traveled to our first galaxy. Two billion years ago, this was all just a dream of a couple of folks at NASA. Two billion years ago, getting to the moon was an accomplishment, and now, it was a mere walk to the park. `` Holy shit. '' I said to myself. About five billion years worth of legacy was about to be lost. It was where humans originated, it was where all the animals and plants we came to know originated, it was where our ambition to take the first step towards space originated, it was where we originated. Everyone knew Earth would be lost o the dying sun. Tomorrow would be the last day it would be considered hospitable. Everyone had been evacuated, all but one. Me. Not by accident though ; we set the evacuation date a couple months in advance of the actual day when Earth would be come hostile. I requested to spend the last day on Earth with my wife, who refused to leave me. There was a Quick Haul ship ( QH if you will ) above us, ready to pick us up the next day. I did n't want to forget, I used my helmet recorder to film everything. `` I was born here. '' I said. `` Yeah, our first step out of the galaxy started here, the first step of humanity started here. ``, my wife said. We were in Seattle, where we were both born. We hit every place we could. The Space Needle, the hospital where I was born, our parents houses, our homes. `` I grew up here. '' my wife said, `` and it 's all going to go away. '' she started weeping. I also wanted to break down, but I could n't. I had to be strong. Strong enough. We slept in our original home for the final time. The next day was sweltering. `` Cmon. Command 's not gon na be happy if we 're late. '' our pilot said. We took one last look at our home. We stepped into the QH. It took off. In the distance, we took our lady look at our parents' homes. The QH went higher. We took the last look at the Space Needle. It went even higher. We took our last look at Seattle. We took our last look at the state, our country, our continent. Our planet. Gone. *Back on the ship the last two evacuees wept. On lookers not knowing why. `` It 's just a planet. '' they said. Maybe they would n't understand. Maybe only a few people knew about the legacy of humanity, and how it started on Earth. Never forget where it all started. Never forget where you started. *
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Boos filled the court, echoing over the sharp crack of a gavel trying to restore order- as if there were any order to restore. Bruce Wayne was walked out of solitary confinement to his stand with only a mandated Public Defender by his side ; after all, his assets had been seized once the state had him in custody- by a 'third party' organization. Some people called him a criminal in his own right, the end of organized law and order. Others called him a hero, saving the city from consuming itself with greed and corruption, and that destruction of public property is a fine price to pay. `` Order, goddamnit, '' Judge Thompson screeched, spit landing on the paperwork before him. This time, everyone calmed down for a moment. `` We today are here to hear the jury 's final call on the matter of *People of the city of Gotham v. Bruce Wayne*. What verdict has been reached? '' The crowd started to get rowdy, but their jeers quickly shifted to murmurs with one look from the angry judge. A woman in the jury pews stood up, trembling. `` We find Bruce Wayne- we find him not ... '' Her voice was wavering, the paper in her hands rippling and wet with sweat. The crowd grew relentless again, and this time guards were sent forward to beat them down. `` You need to speak up, what did you say, girl? '' the judge asked, a skeptical look on his face as he scanned the terrified woman. She threw down the paper. `` Please, please, you have to help m- '' A small cloud of purple gas plumed from her mouth and nostrils, tears flowing from eyes rolled back into her head. She collapsed soon after, and despite the screams in the crowd, the jury remained in place. A loud cackle came from the crowd as one of the men holding a `` free the
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I floated past him, looking into those damnable black eyes for the three-thousandth and fourth time. Exactly. Yeah. I 'm an ethereal. And he 's immortal. Is that really that much of a stretch? Maybe you wo n't believe this. Maybe you will. Does n't matter to me. I 've only had one goal all this time. Kill the immortal. He killed me, a very, very long time ago. I was his first. And he never stopped. He was executed for his crimes, over and over again. But he always came back. Sometimes minutes, sometimes years later. I do n't know how he does it, and frankly I do n't care. You see, I finally figured it out. We ethereals have a choice. We can go to what you might call heaven, ( probably ) or .... we can influence your world, the physical one. For a period of less than a second, we can become who we were, before being dragged off by the black hounds. But here 's the catch. Anything we touch, anything we lay hands on, comes with us. And maybe, just maybe, killing this man will get me a ticket to my family again. But I 'd rather never see them than watch this man never pay penance for his crimes. So, immortal. Say hello to the Devil for me.
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`` Tell us what you know about the CIA 's involvement in the missile strike against the premier '' `` You ca n't handle the truth '' `` You are a worthless piece of shit and you WILL DIE in this room if you do not answer the questions '' `` Do n't you fucking look at me '' `` DuValle get me the angle grinder '' `` Mrs Robinson, you 're trying to seduce me are n't you? `` For christ sa- good it 's here? plug it in '' `` All right, Mr. DeMille, I 'm ready for my close-up '' The grinder shrieks into life and an incision is made on the spy 's bare thigh, a splat of blood hits the interviewers chest. `` WHAT DO YOU KNOW? '' `` You know, you have n't stopped talking since I came here? You must have been vaccinated with a phonograph needle '' `` I 've had it with this fuck wit take him out back and shoot him '' `` Go ahead make my day ''
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Conventional People -- -- -- Leaves fall all around on a cold autumn day ; Conventional people walking along the same path. Newspapers and old plastic cups line the way, Where people walk to work by the old bird baths. Names are forgotten as melancholy takes hold, Of once happy children, having no time to play games. Thick coats and gloves and brown boots for the cold. A site viewed by the same sad eyes, bored of their names. Winter comes fast and the old hearts grow weary ; Regret of not traveling or taking their true dreams. Wives and husbands of tired eyes, red and teary ; Will go to bed, only to start again by the morning 's sun-beams. By every morning they start with a warm cup of coffee, Savoring the steam that warms their cheeks like whiskey. Gritting their teeth as backs strain to slip on old coats, Feeling strange and trapped in the old age of only sixty. They begin again, just as they did some thirty years ago ; Walking down the same old newspaper littered path. Feeling older than their age as Autumn comes and goes, As they remain the conventional people by the old bird baths.
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St. Peter : `` Little Hezekiah goes out on the slant for the pass ... he rounds the corner and jukes left, spinning .... jumps in the air for the CAAAAATCH ... .. `` AND IT 'S GOOD! TOUCHDOWN, Heaven! And that puts the Angels up 20 to 6 in this afterlife matchup. '' Archangel Metatron : `` Yeah, you can see the disappointment on Lucifer 's face on the sideline. I bet he 's wishing he had n't been traded at the onset of the league 's formation, that 's for sure. '' St. Peter : `` I imagine you 're right, Metatron. Meanwhile, Jesus Christ is basking on Heaven 's sidelines. You can tell he 's pleased with Little Hezekiah 's performance. '' Archangel Metatron : `` Oh, easily. He 's the best receiver the Angels have ever had. You know, I would n't be surprised if they made a statue for him when they put him in the Hall of Fame. '' -- -- -- -- -- Edited for formatting.
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I did n't realize what Reddit was all about at first. Even after I joined, I only picked up a couple upvotes here and there. They provided a nice buzz, a sweet little pick-me-up here and there to round out my week. I would n't get any more than two or three at a time, you know, mainly just sharing how much I liked something or thanking another stranger for their opinion. I looked at users like /u/way_fairer and /u/_vargas_ as gods - or maybe madmen. Who could handle that much power? How did they avoid overdosing on that much karma, hitting their minds like a typhoon in their veins each day? No, I felt. Better to stay content, to hide down in the depths of Reddit, just picking up an upvote here and there. Enough to stay comfortable. Enough to get by. That all changed, however, when I stumbled into /r/AskReddit. It was an occasional hangout of mine. Go in, see the big rock stars at the top of the page, piggy-back on their success to pick up a few upvotes here and there. Play your inside jokes right, sonny, and you could score a sweet haul - I 'm talking hundreds of upvotes, just from a few words. It would appeal to anyone. And to tell the truth, those single upvotes here and there just were n't doing it for me any more. Maybe I had gotten used to the dosage, maybe I 'd built up a resistance. I do n't think I would have called it an addiction, not back then, but that 's what it was. Did n't have my upvote for the day? I 'd be grumpy, short-tempered, snap at my colleagues. My workload would plummet until I could get on Reddit, scrounge together the semi-coherent sentences to pick up those few upvotes. And then, one day, I noticed a little thread in /r/AskReddit, off to one side, not getting much attention. I decided to be kind. I threw in a t
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( Inspired by the movie Equilibrium ) Jessica stared at the screen, praying that her calculations would n't work. The room was full of charts that held random scribbles. Her desk was covered with papers and pens. It looked like the desk of someone who had tried to clean up, but then randomly got distracted by something else and made more trash. He tapped the desk unconsciously, watching the numbers on the monitor. She did n't want this to work. If it did, it would mean she would have far more responsibility than she was ready for. It was supposed to be just a cure for depression. She had watched her mother be wracked with the terrible disease. She had seen the family giving her mom flowers and get-well cards that never amounted to anything. And she had seen her mother just withdraw from everyone. The day she died, it took a whole week for anyone to notice. Jessica was enough of a biologist to know she carried a risk for the disease in her own genes. She swore never to have children until she found a cure. She had n't found a man who could deal with that yet. After several trials, the chemical pheromone triggers worked. It had taken Jess 's team a lot of false starts ( she would never forget the aftermath of the `` puke pheromone '' test ). But she now was a few seconds away from a cure to depression. And that was the problem. As the project had gotten farther to fruition, the tests had gotten more and more extensive. Could they change dopamine levels, making people happier? Dopamine was notoriously more complicated than it seemed to the public, but eventually, they managed to induce it in people. They did several experiments with serotonin ( the chemical used for more long-lasting attachments ), and was soon in possession of a trigger for happiness. They could take a random test subject, and make them happier than ever. The subject would love a random bear the way they loved their mom. Or go from depression into exhilaration. Most of the team was overjoyed by this ( and not just due to constant exposure to dopamine ). At first, so was Jess. But then the implications of this situation came to mine -- this was a mind control device. With this, you could have complete control of a person. You could make a woman literally stay in love with her abuser, or indoctrinate a man to a religion to life. The whole world could be turned to horror. And everyone would just laugh. When she had tried mentioning this to her team, they just laughed. `` But, there 's so much potential good. Helping people get away from their phobias. Allowing army vets to get past their PTSD. It 's not right to deny them just because you 're scared, '' Henry, her financier, had said. He always considered her `` overly tense. '' `` Keep up this cynicism, and we might have to douse you with some happy chems, '' Cherie, another coworker, had teased. But Jessica knew she was n
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“ Uh, let me be clear, ” Obama said, gesturing with his hands, “ you ’ ll be, uh, rolling 4d6, and dropping… the lowest number. ” Biden excitedly rolled the dice. A quartet of pips looked up at him. “ Yahtzee! ” he joyously declared. “ Uh, now Joe, you don ’ t seem to understand how, uh, ability scores work. In Dungeons & Dragons… the higher the number, uh, the better the score. ” “ I am going to play a druid! ” Beyoncé declared. “ She ’ ll have a wolf for an animal companion, and her name will be Anastasia Tempest! ” She snapped her fingers in the air as she bobbed her head from left to right. “ Yeah, Barack, ” said Jay-Z, shaking his head as he leafed through some supplemental material. “ I ’ m not sure what it is we ’ re doing here. I mean, this game has all these books and stuff yeah, and it ’ s so… ” “ I got a ‘ 6 ’! ” Biden triumphantly exclaimed. Ignoring the Vice President, Obama looked out across the table at Jay-Z. “ We ’ re all busy people. Whether it be contending with the increasing savagery, uh, presented by militant extremists like ISIS, or trying to survive Blue Ivy ’ s terrible twos, uh, we have our work cut out for us. In the past, I ’ ve tried to use golf to relieve stress. I find it relaxes me, and I enjoy it greatly, but I do not presently have the luxury of, uh, taking a break from all that we as a nation collectively face. “ Still, Michelle said to me, ah, ‘ Barack, uh… You need to do something to take your mind off this crisis. You need a way to unwind. ’ I told her that I, uh… I knew she was right, but that I couldn ’ t get away for a quick eighteen holes. That ’ s when she suggested I try my hand at running a campaign. ” “ Yeah, ” Jay-Z said, “ but what is he doing here? ” President Obama followed his gaze down the table, to the seat occupied by John Boehner. “ Uh, now look, the Speaker and I are both, uh, dedicated to improving bipartisan relations. ” “ I ’ m going to roll a cleric, ” Boehner said. “ How much gold are we starting with? ” Beyoncé asked. She had rolled her stats, distributed her beginning skill points, and taken two feats. Her finger was holding her place in the equipment section of the Player ’ s Handbook. “ Anastasia Tempest is gon na be Chaotic Neutral! ” Biden giggled as he held up a d4. “ This one looks like an Egypt person ’ s house! ” The next two hours flew by, and soon, the party was off and running. Maltorm the Halfling Rogue, Anastasia Tempest the Human Druid, John the Human Cleric, and Brigadier General McAsskicker the Gnome Fighter delved deep into an aban
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It was n't supposed to end like this. But I suppose the only thing I can ever truly suppose is that nothing is ever or has ever or will ever, be what it is supposed to be. You see I was supposed to feel safe, as I did when I was younger. I thought it was an unwritten law of life ; to be safe - what an illusion. Terrified adults shouting and giving out lectures and rules pretending not to be afraid, pretending to know the realms of the enforced journey of life, naively leading their children to believe that everything is absolutely fine. I was supposed to continue being fine, but then some cells found a sweet spot in my mother 's lungs, reproduced and reproduced, formed a lump that led to slow and voluntary death, also known as 'chemo' . She passed and my father found some solace within the grief through bourbon and Irish whiskey, and years passed and the grief did not subside and the bottles grew in numbers, until they too, formed a burden too tough to bear. My father died as well. And now here I am, taking stool softeners with my breakfast to battle the constipation caused by my cocktail of antidepressants, pushing the thing of time every day like a wrecked car down a long road in the middle of the desert. Most of the time I refrain from thought, but sometimes I sense myself getting faster and closer to something eerie. A sort of cliff through which I will fall and find my death and perhaps my parents as well. Or perhaps I will die and there will be nothing left to feel. I can not guess, for nothing is ever what it is supposed to be. You see, it was n't supposed to end like this.
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Its all about learning to read your opponent. You just have to know what to look for. What do they do when you touch a certain piece? I ca n't beat people who just started the game. They do n't know enough to give anything away. You follow their prompts and suddenly you 're both very confused when they win. The grandmasters are different. They 're so sure of their superiority that they 'll let you know the best moves. Its all about knowing where to look. I pick up the knight. These guys have always been the trickiest. I 've figured out how all the other pieces move at this point, well except pawns, why do they move so weird all the time? Knights are too weird though. I wiggle him forward watching my opponent. His eyes widened very slightly as I moved my hand towards it. That means that Sir Lancelot here is dangerous. I almost attack the wrong piece with him, but I catch my opponents' slight look of confusion just in time. I take his tall skinny piece. The one 's that move diagonally, whatever they are, some clergy member. Lancelot takes Pope Benedict and my opponent slowly shakes his head. He reaches over and tips the little Cross-hat guy on his side. That means I 've won. The congratulations all spin by my head. He says the same thing that everyone I beat in these tournaments tells me. `` Where did you learn to play like that? I 've never seen anything like it. ''
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Look to the skies! We are svaed! The humans are coming! The joy I felt was almost a foreign feeling after enduring such hard conflict. To finally see that our message had been received through subspace transmitters had not been mistakes made me nearly forget the battle at hand. They came in ships far larger than anything our masters had forced us to build. Black and sleek theirs were, graceful arcs of blues danced across the sky to some unknown symphony of fury as the Great Masters' ship rained down. The skies had never been looked at with such hope and fear as when the humans came, for if a race could bring forth the destruction of the Great Masters so quickly, were we bringing a new and even greater master? They landed thousands of their soldiers, real professional fighting men trained for the singular purpose of combat. We were nearly as overwhelmed by their devestating fire power as the Great Masters. They equipped us with their arms and armor and together waged battles on such a scale that the gods may turn an eye in jealousy. Yet when peace was called for and victory at hand the humans who came from the skies beyond stayed our hand, and saved us once again through peace. They forgave the Great Masters and in time we learned that for victory we must as well for death is not the end of a righteous cause. We learned then the way of mankind, to love and rage in equal measure.
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My fellow Americans. My dear brothers and sisters. Late last year, you elected me the Commander in Chief of your great United States. You voted for me, out of all the other potential candidates, as the leader of this nation. Of this beautiful, wonderful, ancient, and cherished experiment which ascended as the world 's leader in democracy, freedom, and independence. However, your noble duty to this nation has proven a humiliating and ironic disaster for a myriad of years. You cast your votes as the year dies into the heart of winter in the hopes of finding the perfect leader to lead you. You pray to your Gods that this next one will be different. That this one will be strong. That this one will grip the horns of tyranny and bring his people to freedom and justice. Yet, the instant your leader makes a strong decision, you criticize his judgement. You call him a fool and jeer at his `` poor leadership ''. Your fickle minds switch and twist and turn and churn in your approval of his counsel. You want to be lead by a powerful, yet noble figure. But, you fail to let him do his own job. THe people are not smart nor stupid. They only fail to come together and make a solid decision. And for these reasons, you experiment has failed. By the time the sun sets tonight, your Congress wiil dissolve voluntarily. Your opponents will suffer the cruelest of ends. Your allies will submit to your supreme authority. Your citizens will support and love their leader as he were Christ himself. Do not weep, for freedom still stands. And soon all of her enemies, foreign or domestic, will die unholy deaths.
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After years of doing hard drugs and falling into a depressing spiral, I had hit a new low. There I was standing on the corner of Canarsie street, buying weed from a doped up Chinese gambler in the alley. When I got home later, i found out my squirrel friend, who I sort of saved one time, had hosted an intervention. For me. Hours of crying later, I agreed to go to a twelve step program. Now I 've been clean for 7 months, and my squirrel friend and I keep healthy by playing pick up basketball in the park with the local youths. My squirrel friend also introduced me to my future wife. He 's my future children 's godfather, and my best friend. Signed StylishPajamas age 7
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The odd colour stops the twenty-something in his tracks. The only thing on his mind is simply trying to understand what the colour is called -- and so he continues on his day obsessing over it. During his work-day, he took every chance he had to Google colours and their names, trying his best to describe it -- but that was the hardest part. How does one describe a colour? He could only liken it to other colours, but none seemed to fit. He laid awake at night, the strange hue clouding his mind as if he had downed a gallon of ninety-two-proof bourbon and coke. Sleep was an impossibility -- he found it humorous, most men his age obsess about women and cars, while he obsessed over a colour. Just as the sun started to rise, and as he poured his twelfth cup of coffee and his third pack of cigarettes, he finally found what he was looking for. `` Huh, so that 's puce. ''
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`` I will be honest, high councillor. I have never seen so much anger, so much hateful conviction in an apprentice 's methods. '' `` He probably still misses his mother '', Chuvend said. `` Remember that pain is relative and that there will always be outliers. '' `` With all due respect sir, he does not seem very *pained* about much at all. If I had not seen it from my necessary punishments, I would swear he was as capable at feeling pain as the wooden targets he decimates. '' `` They all hide it. And they should. We all need emotional resistance, and pretence is out greatest ally in this endeavour. You, Sameqil, were one of the best at that. '' Sameqil shook his head. `` It would be understandable if it was for others, but it is as if this pretense was designed for us. What if he fears that we intervene in what he is, rather than what he will be? '' `` And why would we need to interfere, Master Sameqil. '' `` He speaks the name 'Xel'mayas' . Regularly. Most often during meditation. '' Chuvend 's hand scratched through the paper he was writing on. For a moment, the room seemed it would have been louder if it was not occupied. For the first time today, he looked Sameqil directly in the eyes. `` Very few know of that name, let alone are able to pronounce it at such an age. '' `` I have not forgotten, high councillor, the restrictions on names. His family house was not visited by the Golden Guard, so he must have learned it elsewhere. '' Sameqil 's eyes spoke of dread and the possibility of a mistake. Chuvend 's eyes, usually the most loyal and unwavering in all the guild, feared he was right.
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I have a few auestions that you could take as critique if you like - if he turned around and never did actually see his `` younger '' self, did that create a paradox? If the thing had been in the tree with older-Darmen, then why did it not follow him when he fled through the door? Was n't that something that `` happened '' already? There are a lot of unnecessary apostrophes ( `` its '' is the possessive form of a genderless creature ), and you want to avoid using exclamation points unless it 's in dialogue. How did the staff of fire form? Is it made of the souls of his people? I do n't quite understand why it came to Darmen - though I like that it did. The ending line was great. Thanks for sharing!
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I opened my eyes. The lights were too bright. I did not recognize the room I was in. It was not the last place I recalled being. I had been driving fast, down the highway, dodging in-between the shitty cars that those shitty people drove, save for a very select few of high-dollar vehicles. I owned that highway, in a sense. I knew it better than they did, I drove on it the most. Sometimes it would be early morning, I would be going home, back to my flat on the 15th floor, itching to just get to the roof, and I would stop, and walk out onto the empty highway, my feet on the pavement. The luxury of time was a great blessing. The wind would rush over my windbreaker and make me feel like I was truly living. It was the only thing that connected me to reality after an all-night party at the Ritz Carlton. These lights were too damn bright though. It was definitely only the crack of dawn when I had left, taking home a hot piece of ass from the night before. Damn, was she hot. Tall, tan, fake-blonde, and what I swear-to-god were real tits. I guess I wiped out. It was bound to happen some day, I guess, but I had n't done that much more cocaine than normal. It must have been the alcohol. One Courvoisier too many. I was not going to hear the end of this from my mother. I heard it. A small voice. I would have groaned if my face was n't stuck on some tube that was controlling my breathing. `` Dad? '' the small voice said. `` Ugh ... '' was all I could manage to get out. Fuck me, the kid was in the room. `` Dad ... can you hear me? '' the small, high-pitched voice said again. I let out another groan, and then a shrill voice rang in my ears, `` Daddy 's awake! '' In a brief second, I thought how silly it was that I could n't get a private room, and then the small voice became a small person. A small person hugging my arm. I tried to push it away, but I could n't move my arm. I tried moving my head, and it was quite possibly the most difficult task I had ever struggled to overcome. I did it, and beyond me, a small, mixed-color kid was grasping my arm. My arm. My arm. My arm was not mine. What the fuck was going on? My arm was not my arm. Never once have I had darker skin except when I tanned too much. But this ... this was not my arm. And the mixed-kid around my arm was not my kid. I hated kids. Needy, loud, unclean, and constantly getting sick ... no, this was not my family. I tried again to desperately shake her off me, but only my finger budged, and only just a smidgen. More footsteps echoed in the hallway, and I saw them. Doctors and nurses, all of a nationality I was not accustomed to seeing, rushed into the room, saying things I did n't recognize as English. I understood the language though. My ears filtered the language of sounds and syllables so very foreign to me into data I could decipher. And then a short, lighter-skinned woman appeared. Tears streamed down her face, and she was saying things I did not understand immedia
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The plague did n't leave us much. Here is what 's left : 7.999 billion corpses. A thousand or more burning cities. Smoke that fills the sky. Ash that coats our mouths and lungs. The endless weeping in our camp. The tear in the heart when you remember that your child was not immune. Forty million tons of silicon, lithium and other component minerals, once known as consumer electronics. Trillions of forgotten posts to Facebook, Twitter, etc. about our cats, food, social problems, etc. Miles of burning magnetic tape holding all of the secrets of our governments. The catch in the back of your throat when you think about the future, or lack of one. The bitter truth of our ends. The wildlife that surrounds us. Wolves, who feast on our remains. Deer, who move into our towns. Bears, who nest in our offices. Birds, whose song fills the once-busy streets. Millions of books, whose words will last. And finally us, who sit and watch the world on fire. *Editor 's note : On the original onion skin copy, this pause continued for three pages, mostly filled with incoherent scribbling and disjointed ramblings, before one more line which most experts believe complete this section. * And one more thing, which was nearly lost but is still left : Hope. *-Excerpt from First Words : The Writings of John Vance, First President of the New America*
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Death appeared in front of me - minutes before I was going to die. At least it was in my sleep, thankfully. I was n't going to die some cruel or horrid death. He appeared as a hooded figure, but not the skeleton of legend, rather as a man with a face that was old and looked rather bearded, much like a Mountain man stereotype. Death wore a red flannel shirt, and spoke with an American accent, a twang that sounded very Appalachian. `` Look, I 'll get right to it. '' Death said, `` I 'm fixin' to get you to go to either heaven or hell, and you 're probably afeared of me. I get that all of the time. Of all the forms I had to take, I ended up getting some woodsman. But before I can get you to heaven or hell, there 's one thing you got ta do first. '' I was astonished. Death literally staring me in the face. Not in the real world, but in the dream world, the plane that you would probably find Mister Mxzptlk in. `` What 's that? '' Alt! Me asked Death, in a rather confused tone. `` You got ta come with me to a bar. Well, this one 's a bit like that of a certain TV show. You ca n't enter Heaven or Hell without having drunk a specific elixir. '' Death said, matter-of-factly. Death took Alt! Me to a bar - it looked very like the Woolpack from Emmerdale, but with no people in. `` So what do you want? '' Death asked `` Hundreds of drinks, elixirs here. '' `` I do n't know ... a beer maybe. '' Alt! Me said. `` Try these shots, these are the only elixirs you need, they 'll get you into heaven or hell, and you must take them, no choice really. '' Death said. `` OK, but what are they called then? '' Alt! Me asked Death. `` Elements of Life. Emotional drinks really, with hundreds of tastes. Different taste every time. '' Death said, sounding much like a TV show salesman or chef. `` I 'll have the Elements of Life then, which ones you recommend? '' Alt! Me asked `` Go for Anger, Love, Revenge, Relief '', Death said. `` Hundreds of others - look at the sheet of paper near the till. '' `` OK, I 'll take shots of Love, Revenge, Happiness and Excitement '' Alt! Me said. Death went and brought back some small shot glasses, filled with colored shots. For Love was red, but a more maroony-color, Happiness was a silvery colour, and Excitement was a blue color. The first shot I drank was Love, it tasted sort of sugary-sweet not unlike a Thornton 's fudge, Revenge was tasteless, but Happiness had a sort of peppery taste not unlike a Mexican meal or an Indian takeaway. Excitement had a sort of minty taste about it for some odd reason. `` You 've drunk the requisite elixirs '' Death said. `` Now, as your physica
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`` BEG! BEG! '' The man yelled, kicking the homeless person lying in the alley. `` BBEEEG! '' He shrieked at the top of his lungs, kicking the man in a fetal position against the wall. Seeing that he did n't want anymore blood on his leather shoes, he raised his suitcase over his head, smashing it on the poor homeless man 's head. `` BEG FOR MY MERCY '' `` WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MY FATHER DIED AT 34? WHY DID N'T YOU LET HIM GO WITHOUT PAIN! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE HIM SUFFER EVERY LAST SECOND OF HIS LIFE? ! WHY? !? ! '' Now tired, the man stopped abusing the poor homeless man, but he stood there under the light of the streetlamp in the dead of night. The homeless man could n't even cry. He cowered against the wall, still in a fetal position, his arms covering his head. But he gradually, he retracted his arms, now looking at the man in the suit. His face purple and red, his army green coat with a dark stain slowly spreading across his abdomen. With much pain, he forced his back make him sit upright. He dragged on leg out in front of him, in agony, pushed his weight on it, and stood up. His height now towered the man in the suit. `` When I *cough* was deployed nearly fifty years ago '' some of the blood he coughed up landed on the man 's suit `` I *cough* thought I was fighting for freedom. But *cough* when I came back, *cough* I did n't know the world I had left. I did n't know how devoid of love it had become. '' Now shaking, the man in the suit stood in fear, realizing what he had done. He immediately dropped his suitcase. He now rushed towards the wall, pounding it with his fists as his glasses fell off. `` FUCK! WHY! ? '' The vet stared at him. He took his arm and put it around the man. With ease, they slowly sank down. Now sitting, the vet quietly listened to every tear the man let out. `` There is still some love left. And I know there 's some in you. '' the vet said with his smoke riddled voice. The man in the suit looked up, the vet wiped his wet eyes dry with his sleeve. `` Why? '' he asked. `` Why? Why did your father have to die? Leaving you and your mother without income, and then without a car, and then without a family. Why did every think that could go wrong happen to you? '' `` WHY! ? '' The man sobbed. `` The world is an imperfect world. It is through the imperfections that we graduate to a more perfect world. That is why I love you. That is why you must love others. When you see me, do you even give me a nickel? But here you lie in my arms after assaulting me. I say you do not owe me a nickel. '' The man sniffled. Picking up his suitcase, he stood up and took off his
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`` Today 's scroll is unusually large, do n't you think? '' asked Death. He knew something was going on with the humans but no one would tell him. He was always the last to find out about anything important. Most of his daily scrolls could be carried in one hand, a couple hundred thousand unlucky souls, but today 's ... the massive scroll looked almost too big to carry. `` Do n't you think you 're overdoing it? '' he sighed. Fate looked up from her scribbling with the annoyed look she gave all his questions, but today there seemed to be a hint of sadness there too. `` I 'm not the one overdoing things, they are, '' she trailed off into an almost whimper. There was that sadness again. There were more faces in the room today than normal too. Of course the Judge would be here, with an order this big he could n't afford his usually leisurely pace. The Timekeeper and Fate would often talk at length about the many paths ahead ; Death learned on those days to get to work quickly as to not be drawn into the conversation ; so he was not surprise. But Life? She hated these meetings, hated seeing her work end. But the most surprising of all was Nature. He never seemed to wake much less attend any kind of ceremony. Whatever it was that pulled him from his haze must be enormous. Death turned from face to face, each more depressed than the last, and annoyance started to swell up in his chest. `` Well is anyone going to tell me? What is going on? '' he demanded. Without a word, Fate unhooked the seal of the scroll, unrolled it to the first soul, and pointed to the cause of death. *Nuclear Explosion* Death, with skin of the whitest, lifeless white, paled. `` Oh, It 's going to be a long day indeed. ''
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`` They 're ready for you sir, '' `` Okay, give me a second. '' David hid the detailed blueprints in his desk drawer and made sure it was locked. He took one final look out the window and sighed. *Great Britain? Yeah right. * Black smoke threatened to swallow the sky and orange flames danced on the horizon. It had been a quiet night for the rebellion ; three petrol stations, an oil tanker and a large apartment building had been destroyed. He had heard the explosions while he sat at his desk studying the weak points of the parliament building and the ground trembled from the force. Britain was on the brink of civil war. David turned from the window as his phone lit up. 1 message received. He glanced around the room, making sure he was alone, and read the message. * '' 8 @ Waterloo. U in or not. `` * David opened his drawer again and stared at the blueprints. Red circles highlighted weak points and ineligible writing scrawled messily around the rims of the paper. He bit his bottom lip and tapped the table. `` Sir? We should n't delay ... '' A figure appeared at the door as David hurriedly closed the drawer and made sure it was locked. He forced a warm smile and followed the man out the door. They walked through a lavish hallway lined with classical paintings and the soft chimes of a piano floated pleasantly through the air. They entered a large hall to see five men on their knees, hands tied and gagged. Seats lined each of the walls with one solitary door to enter and exit. The room looked like a giant globe theatre. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck as he felt the tinges of claustrophobia, he still was n't used to addressing so many people. `` Please welcome Vice President, David Billows. '' Applause broke the silence and David put on his best act, smiling and waving as cameras snapped around him. He stepped onto the podium and cleared his throat, staring around the room. He avoided the gaze of the pleading men in front of him. `` Thank you for your warm welcome. Before I begin, could someone please explain to me what crime these men have committed? '' A smug man stepped forward, rubbing his chin. His greasy, slicked back hair shone from the bright lights overhead. He slapped one of the men in the back of the head `` These pieces of shit right here are NOT British. '' One of the gagged men shook his head free of his silencer. `` Lies! We were born in Britain! '' `` You filthy Indian liar. '' The crowd clapped as the man punched the prisoner in
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It had been decades in the making. Infiltrating the most advanced organisations the world had to offer. Manipulating the chains of command, gaining their trust, and then inevitably being sent to do it all again. My line of communications ran across all countries, and within nearly all intelligence services and underground channels. I had the ear of every chief of command, every don, a multitude of country leaders, and a handful of CEOs as well. It was all an act, a mask, and yet they could not tell who the actor was behind it. It was the culmination of my life 's work and had taken an enormous amount of planning, but I was able to arrange it. All of them, in one place ... the contrasting powers holding the entire world in balance now mere metres from each other, and yet still oblivious to it all. I made my announcement over the internal communications system ; merely thanking them for coming and said my goodbyes. The entire building was gripped in silence. I suppose at the end of the show one should not always expect applause. Now that I had dropped my mask and taken the bow, all that was necessary was to exit stage left. The cue that the theatre was about to empty was given by the low hum of the approaching mother-ship. ********************** ********************* *Hi, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. I 'm fairly new to this, and would appreciate any feedback*
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`` GIANT WORM ATTACKS NEW YORK '' `` What? '' I Asked myself, Looking in disbelief at the headline. `` This ca n't be true '' `` This morning a Mutant worm creature attacked New York, after the attack, the creature went underground and into the ocean. Helicopters following The Creature say it 's heading straight to Florida '' `` Holy fucknuggets, i need to get out of florida '' I Ran straight out the shop and into my car, the traffic was horrible, everyone must 've known what was going to happen. `` I Need to get to my house and get my stuff before i go '' The warning lights signaled as i started the car, everyone was frantically running out of here, quickly turning the place into a ghost town. I Pulled out my IPhone 8S and looked for news on the monster, it was about 20 minutes away. `` Shit '' I Ran into my house and grabbed my Cat Stacy, Dog Craig, lots of food and money, The IPhone 8S said the worm was 14 minutes away `` Fuck '' As Fast as i could i put everything and my pets into the car, quickly turning on the engine and driving as fast as possible to the airport. Beep Boop `` Program `` News '' Made a New Announcement : Worm is 3 Minutes Away! '' Beep Boop. I Could see the Airport in the horizon. `` Finally '' Beep Boop `` Program `` News '' Made a New Announcement : Worm is in Florida! '' Beep Boop. `` Fuck '' The deafening sound of the creature growling filled my ears as the earthquake from it emerging turned the airport into ashes in an instant, The debris collapsed on my car, crushing it. The Debris Crushed my legs and i could n't move, more debris was going to fall on my chest soon, killing me, My only hope was for someone to help me, So i whistled for Craig, Craig is a retired police dog, so if he survived the debris he could help me. Through in the debris i could see craig, thank god, he pulled me out of the debris and found bandages for my now non existent legs, i noticed the worm was n't here after i whistled, that was the trick! Whistling! I Fell asleep on the side of the road next to the debris, a few hours later a rescue crew came to rescue survivors. I Told the Government about whistling and they gave me 10 billion dollars. End. My first time writing a prompt and also i 'm tired so sorry for all the mistakes
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`` The Neural Strengthening project has been compared to the moon landing - that 's how much of an achievement it is. A small change in the genetic code of a human brain allows for neurones to make instant links when someone learns something new. Basically, you learn things instantaneously. If you undergo the process, and I told you the first hundred numbers in pi, you 'd remember it all straight away. For the record, it 's 3.14159265358979323846264338327950288419716939937510582097494459230781640628620899 86280348253421170679. I was told that two weeks ago, just once. And now I know the entire sequence. And that 's just for starters. Another great demonstration is- '' `` John, stop recording for a minute, you 're gon na want to see this. '' John hit a button on the laptop in front of him, pausing the webcam 's recording. He stood up and poked his head around the doorway, but his coworker who 'd been standing there just a second ago was nowhere in sight. `` David? '' He called out. `` I 'm in the computer lab, come take a look. '' The only way David could 've got back to the computer lab so fast was if he ran. This must 've been good. David rarely ran. Rounding the doorway into the computer lab, he saw David hunched over a screen, his face lit up with wonder. `` What 've you found? '' John asked. `` I do n't know. Look at this sequence, it 's not something I 've ever seen occur naturally. I 'm gon na scan it, see what part of the brain that 's controlling. I reckon this is gon na be interesting. '' John was skeptical. Last time they found something 'interesting' , it turned out that someone had accidentally lent on the keyboard and rewired Sandra 's mind to make bananas taste like battery acid. `` David, this is n't going to ruin apples for me, is it? Because I really like app- '' `` Oh man, this is a lot bigger than apples, look. '' The scan showed the words 'Occipital lobe' . `` That 's vision, right? '' John asked. `` Yeah, and it 's a big chunk of it too. It 's the part that wires what your eyes see into the mind. The bit of data we 're looking at, it 's basically perception. If you had control of that, you could control what people see. Or do n't see. '' `` Hang on, whose brain are we looking at? '' David looked back to the screen, pretending as if he did n't already know. `` It 's ... it 's yours, John. '' `` Check someone who has n't had the neural strengthening, see if they have it. It might just be an error in mine. '' David scrolled through hundreds of different files, navigating to their control subjects. He searched through each block of text, the computer hunting down the specific set of numbers. After checking through several different files, David getting more and more desperate each time, it was clear that everyone had it. This u
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There are two rules in my line of work. At least two rules that I obey as if my life depended on it. Mostly because it does. The rules are : 1. ) Trust your instincts. We have been hunted/corrupted/herded by the things that go bump in the night since our ancestors crawled out of the mud and stood tall on their two legs. Little did they know that they would be running ever since. Those that survived were able to pass that knowledge down to the next generation. That knowledge and will to survive manifests today through our instincts. If they tell you something is wrong then you better believe it. 2. ) Fear is your greatest weapon. These Fiends and Aberrations forgot what it is like to be afraid. To be scare of death. When they feel that paralyzing feeling of impending destruction, they 'll flee from this world. They can rend even the toughest metal with their claws, and crush bone with the immeasurable strength that their muscles posses, but as far as I know, they ca n't penetrate an armor made out of their own fear. This is how I survive. Very thing else comes down to a little bit of ingenuity and common sense. For example : If your quarry is a denizen of one of the lower planes of hell, bring a fire extinguisher, water, and some flame retardant clothing, and it blessed. My last hunt was a renegade member of a vampire court that was making a mess out of things in Savannah, Georgia. While I do n't like vampires, this particular court paid cash up front, and offered a bonus if their renegade member was brought back alive so they could make him 'repent. ' Trust me, that 's not a fun process to be subjected to. Feeling conflicted to selling out just for the money, I got the them to agree that the will stop praying on children entirely. Now, as a rule, I do n't trust vampires when they make promises. Especially if they are willing to give up feeding on anyone under the age of 21 ( It 's how I defined children for them ). I set out at daybreak the next day to capture my quarry. I was told he was staying in a old house in the historic district. It was the only house to have all the curtains closed and the windows shut during the summer. In this case there is only one thing to do, let a little light in. One of the windows around the back of the house was n't locked. So I broke in and preceded to open every damned curtain in that entire house, except for the ones in the master bedroom. With the trap set. I started making a ruckus, breaking plates and smashing pans. This vamp, stupidly ran out of the master bedroom and right into the sunlight. Yea the court might be pissed but, hey I am a hunter not a kidnapper.
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The sun was rising now, as if that final thrust had signalled the coming of a new day. The crows had fell silent, the clash of metal on metal had come to a halt, the only sound was dark, thick blood dripping onto grey cobble stones. Pulling his sword free the small Elf looked up to see her face, relaxed for the first time in her memory then up again to see the crows slowly circling the pair of them, slowly round and round above them. He winced as he remembered the dark cuts and holes they had made in both him and his armour during the fight. `` It 's finished '' she stated flatly, startling the Elf and bringing him to lock with her gaze, and as he stared he saw them dim and grow tired, weary. He had done it, done what had needed to be done, done what had n't been done in thousands of years. He had killed one of the Others. Yet looking into this creatures eyes he saw only pain. In those dark grey eyes. Locked in with a thin white face. `` There will be another you know '' glancing up into the brightening sky `` like the ones before me, and the ones after me and the ones after them. This world is meant to be enslaved and just because the occasional mortal kills one of us wo n't stop it happening. But I am finished here, once the knowledge of us has turned into stories and legends another one will arrive and the whole war will begin again. '' she sighed and stepped back. He had not noticed but the number of crows had been growing, now a tornado of them circled above her, still silent, silent black crows on a grey background. Finally the blood stopped pouring out, it did n't slow to a trickle it just stopped like a tap turning off. Then all at once the crows dived towards her, escaping from existence as they hit her then once the last one was gone, she too vanished. The very moment she disappeared the sun shone yellow, the black blood, seeping into the grey grass turned into flowing red blood soaking into the vibrant green grass. The wind rustled in the trees and the vultures squawks were heard for the first time by the current generation. All across the fields and mountains, the rivers, oceans, the deserts and ice plateaus the sound of life found a place in our land once more and colour flowed outwards from that now holy place it washed over everything like a mighty wave. The people of the time knew from the stories and legends that the Other had been killed. They knew that colour, sound and life had returned to their world. And the Elf blinked, dropped the sword and walked away and kept walking until he came to a beautiful blue lake. Sunk down onto his knees and wept. *This was my first thing on this subreddit so I hope you enjoyed it, thought I would try my hand at writing instead of lurking here 24/7*
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Yay for first prompt, right? Thought I 'd take a stab at this one : ) There are surely many reasons why people try to build a time machine. There are stories of people who have tried, dating back hundreds of years, even. Not a single one of them seems to have succeeded. The reason why is simple, I figured out : The motivation to create, to build something of such complexity it would take years of your life to see finished… that same impetus would almost *force* the one who created it to change the past in the desired way, negating the need to build it in the first place. I was no different. I, too, had my reasons. But I was of bolder ambition than those who had gone before – I wished, if I were to bend my will and my work to bring forth something so elegant as a machine to manipulate time itself… well, I damned sure wanted to enjoy the fruits of my labor, afterwards. However, that end seemed… elusive. Simple bendings of time, even stasis effects, sure. I solved those in the early years, locked away from the dullards of society. Teasing forth Time ’ s essence proved surprisingly malleable, and weaving it into those effects, trivial. But after that the discoveries seemed to slow, my math too unwieldy to describe what was happening. To my chagrin, even my considerable mind could not see any way to move *backward*. Not through the smaller tatters of Time I had worked with. Abandoning my foundations of tensor calculus, I cast myself adrift in pure logic and built new systems, new numbers to help me, new mathematics to describe what it was I wanted to do. Naturally, I garnered Someone ’ s attention when I started to put it into practical effect. It turned out that the reason human mathematics couldn ’ t describe Time was for a simple, yet powerful reason – Time is not a force, an impersonal field that arises out of the echoes of the birth of the universe… Time is an intelligence, vast beyond understanding, inhuman in ethics or morals. In other words, Time might well be what myth called a Power, or principality. At this discovery I tossed my work aside and spent several weeks firmly ensconced in the very end of a bottle. In a drunken stupor I often visited the last of my memories and wept ; on some nights I awoke with the name on my lips, ready to speak. But always I turned and I was alone. Always I looked up and found no way to share of myself. Always were the pictures just photographs ; no one came through the door to greet me. At the end of this time I devised, in one of my drunken hazes, a method whereby I could make an area – a certain section of space time – more amenable to Time than to space
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[ Inspired by Mother Mother 's Ghosting. ] ( https : //www.youtube.com/watch? v=lAhUScrPC7Y ) The bed looks untouched ; you will have no idea I spent the last week tossing within it. The rooms are tidied, though I left the dust that lined the window frames and furniture. In the fridge is a bowl of spoiled fruit. I open the fridge several times debating whether I should throw it out ; I want to throw it out, but I won ’ t. This is supposed to be an empty house. I don ’ t know where I ’ ll go from here. When I told you I was leaving, you didn ’ t believe me. You knew little of the life I left behind -- you always wanted to know, but I refused to tell you -- but you were sure that I had nothing to go back to. In your anger, you told me that I had nothing, was nothing, without you. Though the words you spoke would seem harsh and cruel to an untrained ear, I knew better. You were scared of me leaving ; you were scared of me. You had always been scared of me. I had arrived into your life in such a vapid way. We frequented the same coffee shop. I would sit at the table in the corner, holding my cup in my hands -- I did n't put it down on the table ; it was a strange habit you noticed almost instantly. You never stayed long, though I felt your eyes linger on me each time you stood in line. I saw you become more and more entranced with the thought of me. Each day, your eyes fixed on me for one moment longer. Eventually, I stopped going to that coffee shop. I was tired of being scrutinized ; my arms were tired of lifting that cup. I don ’ t remember much of that time. I was displaced. That winter was cold. In the springtime, I returned to that coffee shop. I went in the evening to ensure we wouldn ’ t meet again. For weeks I watched the world go by from the corner. I was content. That spring was warm. One day, you appeared again. I could feel you before I saw you : your curious, enraptured gaze. While you waited in line, I planned my escape ; as I stood up, you were in front of me. I dropped my cup on the table. You apologized for startling me, and offered to buy me another drink. I tried to refuse, but you insisted. You said it was important that you speak with me. And we spoke. We spoke for the rest of that evening. We spoke for many more evenings. We spoke for months. You shared your reasons for your fascination ; you said I looked identical to someone who had frequented your dreams since childhood. I told you that you were crazy. You laughed. It was a perfect laugh. We spoke of many things afterward. I ’ m not exactly sure when we came to love each other. After a year of speaking, you invited me to live with you. You said you dreamed
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It did n't make sense. In the dead of night, when the waters calmed from the great storm, I heard the lapping sound of a swimmer in the water coming towards me. The moon was peaking over the horizon shedding the caps of the waves with a white glow. It was indeed what I thought I was hearing. The object splashed against the whitecaps and made its way towards me. The last clouds from the storm flew across the sky, to reveal the stars and Milky Way. It was a beautiful sight as the object reached the edge of my boat. Part of me was curious who it may be, while a greater part of me was completely mortified. Its hand reached over like a wet towel being slung across the top of a lounge chair and a few seconds later a head popped up. `` Ey, ya, would you help up? '' said a young man 's voice, the moonlight shining behind his head. I scrambled to grab his hand and pulled him into the boat. He was in nothing but a swimsuit and did n't look to be above the age of 25. `` Thanks, '' he said, finding a comfortable corner in the boat to lay in. `` Quite the storm, huh? '' `` Yeah, '' I said. `` I was almost out of food and water before the storm and then it hit. Now I 'm completely out. '' He gave a little chuckle. `` I 'm Rudy, '' the man said, giving a brisk wave of his hand. `` I 'm sorry I did n't carry some food and water with me. I thought for sure I would n't be seeing anyone out here tonight. '' `` Rudy? '' I said. `` Ha, that 's my favourite movie. You heard of it? '' `` Of course. Happens to be one of my favourites too, '' he said, sitting up. `` What were you doing out here, by the way? '' I asked. `` I did n't see any ships in the storm. '' `` Oh, I just happen to follow storms quite a bit. You could say I like to clean up the messes they leave behind. '' I noticed then how cold the night truly was. Wrapped around me was my Thermo blanket and it was keeping me warm, but Rudy had nothing but a swimsuit. `` Are n't you cold, '' I asked. `` I think I have another blanket in my emergency kit. '' `` Me? Heck, no. I do n't get cold, '' he said. `` Nope, nope, the cold does n't bother me. '' `` So you 're like that marathon runner that runs shirtless in the winter time, '' I said. `` The Iceman, I think his name is? '' Rudy laughed again. `` I guess you could say that. But the 'man' part might be a bit of a stretch. '' His comment caught me off guard. I looked at his with a more careful eye as the moon grew higher in the sky. Somehow I never noticed the set of wings on his back. `` You 're an angel? '' I asked. `` Yes, Alex Nuible, '' he said. `` The passage into death is a traumatic one, but every so often we get the chance to see death coming in people. You 've been out to sea for awhile now and with that storm, it was all but definite that the storm would take you. '' I realized then the reason I could n't remember seeing
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Dillon C, You know how I feel about you. You knew when we were in high school and I followed you around like a puppy. And you took advantage of that. I would have done anything for you, you know that. I helped you pass classes, I taught you to appreciate literature, I helped you through some of your lowest moments and still you never once said thank you. They told me you were a `` bad boy ''. They told me not to get in that car with you. They told me I could n't change you. And they were right. No girl should ever be second, or third in my case, to her man. I felt like a princess. An absolute princess when we were together. You 'd bring me to secret spots in the woods, introduce me to your friends, heck you even let me drive your truck. And still, I was girl # 3 ... Did you even know my name? ! A few years later when we hooked up and I said that I loved you, I was n't just saying it - I meant it. I loved you more than anything, more than life itself. And what did you do? You ghosted me! And the next time we tried to hook up, you left me standing in the freezing rain in nothing but a tiny skirt and a skin tight sweater because your back hurt. I got the flu after that but I know it does n't matter, I do n't matter. I used to sit and wonder if the other girls knew they were n't # 1. I knew I was n't but for some pathetic reason, I felt special. It felt good to have my name on the back of someone 's car, it felt good to walk around with someone as gorgeous as YOU and have people know that I was with you. I 'll never get that time back that I spent losing weight, styling my hair, learning stupid stuff about trucks, how to be the perfect ( which usually included degrading shit ) and how to give good head. I mean, it was useful later on, lol, but I wasted so much time on someone that did n't even look at me. You hurt me so bad, I went through so many bounce-back relationships just to feel like a human. I still have trouble getting to know guys because I 'm afraid they 'll leave me behind or hurt me like you did. How does it feel to know that you changed a person from being bright and chipper to a cynical bitch? I would have been faithful to you. I would have been the girl you never had. The one that lets you cry, the one that cooks for you, the one that
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`` I love you. '' He said, biting his lip and tapping his fingers against the restaurant table. He was always doing that. `` I- '' I began, but I was unsure what to say and I let the sentence hang in the air. It was clear he had wanted a different response. I cleared my throat and stared at him, trying to choose the words that would adequately explain how I felt. `` I am a cactus. '' I said, and looking back it seems that that may have been a little too blunt. `` A- a what? '' He asked. His eyebrows were doing that little wiggle that seemed to mean confusion. A furrow, I think. He began fiddling with a straw wrapper. `` I am a cactus. '' I repeated, staring at him. Perhaps he needed more detail. `` Green. With spines. '' `` I get it. '' He said bitterly. `` You 're not emotionally ready for anything. You can just say that if that 's what you mean. '' He did n't seem to be getting it. `` I am a cactus, '' I repeated, trying my best to look earnest. `` In human skin. A real cactus. '' `` Jesus. I thought we were friends. '' He said, tossing the wrapper down and running a hand through his hair angrily. `` I get it with the metaphors. All you had to do was say you were n't gay. I would understand, of course I would. '' `` You do not seem to understand me. '' I said, trying one more time. `` I am a literal cactus. If you were to cut my skin open and peel it away, beneath you would find a sentient cactus. This is not a metaphor. It is a medical wonder. '' `` Yeah, we all have layers. Alright already. '' He said. `` You 're certainly being enough of a prick, anyway. '' I did not think that he would understand the nature of my person any time soon. As I understood human emotions, this was a conversation that would end our friendship. I was not looking forward to trying to find a new companion. `` I just do n't know why you wo n't say what you mean. '' He said, tapping on the table once again. His fiddling was beginning to cause me frustration. `` Why do n't you just show me what you mean? Actions speak louder than words, you know? I do n't understand why you wo n't give this a chance. '' Fine. I would show him exactly what I meant. I snatched a knife from its place on my napkin and held it to my arm. One slice cut right through the false layer of human skin, butter knife though it was. The green of my flesh greeted me, and a trickle of pale juice ran from my cut. I did n't know what I expected. A scream, perhaps. A horrified gasp. Maybe a shriek and `` You 're a monster! '' Whatever it was, I did not expect this. A grin. `` I knew it. '' He said, laughing. I was not prepared for this reaction. He reached
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Two men came into my lab wearing suits and carrying briefcases. I smiled at the men. `` Can I help you two gentleman? '' I asked, standing from my desk. `` This is Detective Martin and I am Detective Stevens. We are from the FBI. '' The short stout, and slightly balding, man said. `` Nice to meet you Detectives. Im executive jumper Harper Cane. Can I see some ID please before I allow you into the main lab? '' I crossed my wrists and stood there, waiting to finish pleasantries. After securing identification, I led the Detectives to my office. `` So what brings you here? '' I asked. `` Well, to make a long story short, we need a jumper. The best jumper you have. '' `` Well, in order to gain services with us, including for the government, you are going to have to tell me the long story. '' I walked around the desk and closed the door and pulled the blinds, shielding us from the interns and resident jumpers. The Detective sighed and pulled a manila folder from his briefcase. `` This is Peter Longford. Hes a suspect in a trial regarding serial killer, Holmes Laughton. '' `` Okay, you want us to do a Mind Jump on Longford to receive evidence ... But that doesnt make sense ... There are easier ways. '' I rubbed my forehead and stared at the manila folder. A picture of an old man with grey eyes and salt pepper hair stared at me. Something caught my eye under his name ... Multiple personality. I looked at the detectives with shock. `` No, you 've lost your mind ... Tell Trump I will not take this case. Schizophrenia? Its never been studied let alone jumped. One of my residents could become lost in a mind field. No. I wo n't take this. '' I slammed the folder shut and slid it across then table. `` Ms. Cane, we dont need a resident jumper. We need the best jumper. We 've studied jumpers across the globe. You are the only one to make it out of minds unaltered. I dont need you, Emily Clark, Jessica Martin, Victoria Hare, Windy Dasher, these women need you. '' In front of me, Detective Martin laid several pictures of the victims of Holmes. I sighed and shook my head. `` Fine. Ill do the jump, if I become lost, you make me a promise and you hold it, do you understand? '' `` Anything, Ms. Cane. '' `` Kill us. ''
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The note was written in the usual tidy cursive. The contents were however, not as direct or polite as usual. *Unless God Himself or the bloody Devil call, tell then to bugger off, I 'm busy! * Despite the peculiar wording, there was no question that the guest matched the exceptions, and only which match rang true today. His Lordship would need to be disturbed. The heavy oak door to the office opened in complete silence, his Lordship 's domain disturbed only by the nervous throat clearing of the formally dressed, slightly stiff looking servant. With a steadied irregular heartbeat only just dislodged from his throat, he spoke. `` Sir, it 's you 're wife. I 'm not sure which one she is today. '' At first there 's no reply from the large leather chair, just the eerie crackle of the fireplace like a mixture of frayed nerves and excitement. After a commanding pause and sip of brandy, a posh voice replied from the chair, its false calmness given away by the cackle of the fire. `` Very good Mr. Barnsworth, show her in. ''
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The elevator came to an abrupt stop. My heart sunk instantly. This felt like one of those moments you wished you 'd live to tell your kids about. The nervous glance coming from the bellhop told me he felt the same, and that was all I needed to know. The 74th floor of the Empire State Building was the wrong place to come to the realization that maybe I should have paid attention in health class. Yet there was so much time packed into the space of that fleeting moment that somehow I had the chance to relive all of my junior year of High School. The year I decided I would, beyond all odds, get laid. My friends were incredulous that I had yet to use my redo. One of them had, as a third grader, used his to retrace the moment he peed his pants. He he 'd been the butt of every joke for a week before making the call. Most of my other friends used their 'redo' for *that* moment. You know the one. Mom forgetting to knock, or dad finding their internet history. Not me, though. I 'd gotten off scott-free and planned on making the best of it. Conceptually, my plan was flawless. When it came to the execution, though, I realized ... no one ever explained how it was done. How the 'redo' worked. So when the time came, and I screwed up my one chance ... Well, it really was my one chance. She wanted nothing more to do with the guy that did n't even understand how a do-over worked. Even after I pretended that it *was* my do-over, she just laughed and shook her head. I can still remember the words. `` David, if you really loved me you 'd use your redo right now and magically tell me my favorite color was sunset orange. '' Girls are ridiculous. I was almost glad Jessica had agreed to take this trip to New York with me. At least now, neither of us would get laid. Naturally, now that I plummeted to my death in an elevator full of helpless people, I prayed one of them would use their own redo to save us all. In fact, I prayed so hard that I farted. `` Better out than in, '' I heard one of them say, winking as he boarded the elevator. `` What? '' I replied, gasping for air as my feet gripped solid ground. `` Out than in. Old joke. You riding this one or the next, sir? '' It was the bellhop. Same one I 'd heard screaming moments earlier. Only now, he invited me into what I now knew in all certainty to be a death trap. Today, I would be a hero. *And if I 'm lucky, Jessica will forgive me for holding onto my redo. *
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Diary:27th/February/1936 Overhead, overcast. Dame said to meet at eight. So I got here at six. Barbosa 's men have n't let up in weeks. And I would n't be Sam McGuire if I was going to foolhardily fall for a such simple ruse. The meeting is her idea, the location mine. Says she knows when the next shipment 's due, knows Barbosas going to to be there in person. It all sounds too good to be true. I still ca n't prove she did n't kill Harry but if she 's telling the truth then that scum could be getting locked up for a very long time.
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I looked into his eyes and I knew this was n't a simple task. `` What would I have to do? '' I asked, with sweat pouring down my forehead. `` You know what i want. '' It 's true that I already knew the answer, but for some reason a wave of disappointment and sadness took over me and I collapsed. I cried and I grabbed his ankles begging for anything else, anything that I could do instead! Anything! But the damned thing just looked right into my eyes and told me. `` If you want to see here again, you will bring me the vase by midnight tonight. '' I have never run home faster in my entire life. I grabbed a shovel and I started to empty out the patch of dirt in my yard where I had buried it. The sun slowly lowered as I reached the container, but it seemed I had enough time. I pulled out the wooden crate, and opened it to reveal what we had taken. What we had no right to take. What was n't and will never ours. Out of this stache I grabbed the base and cleaned it off of any sort it had on it. It was dark now. No time to put on shoes. I ran and I ran and I rand My feet bled and my sides exploded. I was already limping by the time I returned. I reached the entrance of the cave on the shore I had so soon left before, when I found the rune carving and spoke the password to get in. `` Trwah Sankant '' The stones slowly rose to reveal a pathway unnoticeable before. I pulled out my lighter, held it in front of me and ventured into the quagmire of a cave. The sun was almost directly ahead of me by the time I made it but I was there and I had the vase. Now I just needed to find my wife. I ran through the caves searching, when I was created by the cell of my lover. I was too late. Far too late. She was one of them. A billowing, inhumane laughter that rang through my ears arose from behind me. `` She 's ours now. You stole ours we stole yours. It 's only fair human. '' I turned around and I looked up staring him directly into the eyes as tears formed in mine. With a heavy throw I shattered t
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She, nestled besweatered in the far corner of a small coffee shop The outside sky is black, trees bent over almost in half, trash cans rolling in the street Dark ominous clouds are split in half for a split second She does not look up from her computer screen The lights flicker and are extinguished by the electrical giant raging on the other side of the windows But she does not budge, despite the light on her laptop becoming dimmer, despite the other few patrons now making small chatters about the dangers outside They are clearly nervous, most of them moving towards the center of the room, away from the glass panes that rattle violently as the wind smacks against them She makes no move away from the windows She is brave, or maybe just distracted Either way, she has barely noticed what is happening The owner knows not to bother her She is here every afternoon, her casual beauty striking and refreshing in such an image obsessed town She sips a hot chocolate slowly today While she is not smiling, a shadow of true contentment flits across her face, living in her body language Reflected in her aura In the otherwise dark room, her small, pear shaped face glows in the artificial brightness of technology Snippets of a 21st century love letter dance through the colors in her eyes She reads `` There 's no one else on this earth that stops me in my tracks like you. I can not wait to hold you and tell you stories and do nothing else for weeks. I see you reading these words, your blue eyes more than blue, but also brown and green and pink and gold. I can feel your heart dancing with eyes closed, as if home alone and barefoot and without any inhibitions. Only 5 more weeks until I am back in the city with you my dear and life can begin again. '' Her chest soars, and the owner can sense it over the din all around Though she is always silent, she is clearly alive, alone but alive And through the current human anxieties in the air, and the destructiveness of the storm outside She is in love, and that love, wherever it may be, fills her with warmth.
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A long time ago, before I picked up that letter, my brother taught me how to snuff out candles. You wet your fingertips, just on the edge of your lips. You pinch out the flame. You do n't hesitate, because that 's how you get burnt. It wo n't hurt if you do n't hesitate. My big brother was always much braver than me. Like I said, that was a long time ago. This is my last candle. I can feel them drawing in. They can smell it. The wax mirrors them, slowly twisting into nonsense. Candle-wax is stranger than fiction. They do n't have claws. Their teeth ca n't rip, and we have long since milked their venom. But once they touch you, they do n't let go. My mouth is dry, but I think it will be all right. It wo n't hurt if you do n't hesitate.
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Casus Belli The scent of pork my nostrils makes irate I open eyes and gaze upon twelve forms Their slimy backs like serpents undulate, An insult to all right and human norms. The formless void laughs at my tiny mind As I move closer and observe this feast, I spot two arms, a foot and near go blind As I lock eyes with one of the deceased. One green beast chews upon familiar face, Another licks my sister ’ s mangled thigh. These sordid acts disgrace our noble race I ’ ll soon be dead, there is no time to cry… The message ends as senate motions war. Vote aye today if you such crimes abhor!
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edit : this may not be the happy one you are looking for, but I wanted to do something different. `` I hear it! I hear it! '' yelled Allen and we crossed the ridge near Mt Sharp. The dust kicked up higher as we braced against the wind. I leaned in towards the speaker. The music was clear, but faint. It looked like the modifications Curiosity3 installed back in 2056 were working. A terrestrial broadcast antenna. NASA was offering complete unrestricted data access to anyone that could find the original Curiosity. The air here was now breathable, and surface oceans provided plenty of clean water. Of course back when Curiosity first landed : nothing could survive. It took Elliot Dragon about a trillion dollars to smash one large moon into the surface of the planet. This was his idea of terraforming. Mr. Dragon spent his entire life 's savings and nearly bankrupted his companies to accomplish this task. Yet it still needed bacteria, trees, grass and all the animals to eat it. If the planet were to remain in this habitable state : much would have to change. Even knowing this, Mr. Dragon still came to Mars. As did many people. Most not knowing the truth. Mr. Dragon knew, he had to know. That dragon knew everything. Yet here we were, secretly on a NASA mission to overthrow him. If Curiosity is singing, the data is still intact. We crouched down to rest before continuing on. Without trees the wind kicked up so much dust it was difficult to see. We were n't able to get any proper suits when we left the dome. Too many of the dragon 's obedients watched us. It was only a matter of time before they figured out we had left the dome, so we needed to hurry. `` We have to get it now, we 're out of time, '' I said to Allen as I stood up abruptly. He looked at me and nodded. We were only a short distance then everyone would find out the truth. The truth that Mr. Dragon was not the first, and the truth that he knew. He knew about the people already there, as secretive as they tried to be. NASA probably warned him not to, but all he thought about was world domination. From his throne on Mars, Mr. Dragon was able to hold the entire world hostage. Here he could control a whole arsenal. The world leaders on Earth were compelled to call him King. `` King Dragon '' as they called him, such a fitting name snaking off to his Martian cave with all their dignity and gold. Further along the ridge we continued walking. Then we saw it. The spot on our tracker showed it to be near. I tuned in the radio and got a clearer signal. See, the Curiosity rover was assumed to be destroyed by Mr. Dragon. He thought the impact took care of that. But he was wrong. Dead wrong. Every Martian year after the Big One the rover played happy birthday in solidarity with those that we lost. It was like robotic tears comi
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There the floor was. Malevolent with it ’ s cold body, hands like marble but something less elegant. More like linoleum. I lay with it, because it was night, because I was drunk, and the lonely was staring me down through a twelve-gauged barrel. It was a motel bathroom. A couple of teenagers stepped lightly into the room next, as if sneaking into an abandoned asylum or park. The walls were thin enough to hear the stifled air of awkwardness looming and laughing in the next while the boy kept murmuring. Help me put it in. She did. He laughed and she didn ’ t. There were no voices during, only the springs in the bed spoke in disappointing half notes. And then it was quiet. I tried to force laughter out of me, but it was stuck in my head, being silenced by its tornado. They were probably sixteen. Everyday I went to the office to look at my phone and sit. Every night Ann and I tried to make a baby. Every morning the dog shit on the floor of our bathroom. I had quit drinking at eighteen because I had a stint with it after an incident. There was this kid who was waving towards me and looking towards me from a distance when I was walking to some class. He looked at me expectantly as he came close, his hand hanging there and feeling insecure. So I waved back. There was a girl behind me. She waved too. He went to hug her, and they both looked at me as my skin turned red. I got arrested on campus the next month for consumption. So the Jack hit me. It hit me hard, and resentful, like it had missed me after all these years of following an indifferent awareness. It hit me so hard that I forgot everything else beyond the moment where I raised my hand to greet the indifferent idiot in that high school hall. Everything was strange. I was married. I owned a dog. I had a job. It was shit. It had to be. All of a sudden there ’ s this gun and it ’ s staring at me with two barrels for eyes and the end of it all in its stomach. All of a sudden I am drunk and my hands move towards it. The teenagers next door have another go and this time it ’ s piercing and the stench of them wafts through the walls and brings me closer to stomach sickness. All of a sudden there was the floor, and I roll in it, my body red under the skin, red waiting to be free. There is a knock on the door now, and I ’ ve never felt so alive. You need to leave – muffled. My guess is it ’ s morning but I hope it ’ s a hallucination. I say fuck you to it. My voice cracks. The kids in the next room stop. I hear them whisper. Was that to us? It was short lived. I ran away as a child. I remember screaming in my house, holding a GI Joes in each hand, one like supe
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I try not to look up. I 'm concentrating on my task at hand. I take out the rag and the lemon oil and begin to wipe down the podium. there are a smattering of snickers as I squat down to wipe the sides down to the floor. This rally was starting earlier than expected and I got a late start. as the rest of the crew straightened cables and chairs and raised banners with the swastika, I kept my cool and finished wiping down the podium. as I turned to walk away. a workman came up behind me and started installing a microphone stand on the podium in anticipation of the upcoming speech. blah blah blah. Hitler, surprise! try to kill him, thwarted, jailed, escaped, on the run, escape with top secret papers, final showdown at the border ... As I turned to look at the bridge crossing behind me, I could just make out through the smoke of the smoldering car, the figure of the SS officer on the German side. The fiery haze and the screams of the wounded made this scene especially unsettling. as the wind changed direction, the dancing curtain of smoke played to and fro. It was then that I could make out his face, seething with rage. Like a guard dog, he stood still Straining at his leash to rush to where I was and kill me. Without a movement, he was incensed and coiled. Hesitantly, I turned away to look at the wounded British agent that pulled me to safety through the barbed wire. When the charges went off. the soldiers on both sides scattered, except for this gallant brit. As I lay back against the car, sliding down with my legs out in front of me, I accepted the cigarette and the light and inhaled. this smoke tasted far better than the buring tires and petrol that mixed in my lungs, it tasted of escape and relief. I looked up and the clouds parted. I felt the bulge of the package in my jacket, felt the comfort of my bargaining chip, and the expanse of blue sky gave me pause and hope.
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Ok this is the first time I 've done anything like this. So please be easy on me, but do criticise because I really want to learn. “ My shoes? what happened to my shoes? ” he thought. It felt like he had just woken up from a very hazy dream or a long night out. His eyes felt heavy and the first few steps he took caught him off guard, almost causing him to fall. All his effort had to be used just to stay upright. The pavement was cold and wet under his feet, “ didn ’ t I have my shoes on just a minute ago? ” Around him the air was cold and thick, a humid fog hung like one you would only get early on an autumn morning. Trying to stay upright was costing him too much effort. He lent against the side of a furniture shop to gain his bearings. There was a ringing in his ears and is head was spinning, and thirsty, he was very thirsty. Lettting his head lean against the door and closed his eyes he thought : “ I just have to relax and focus. How much did I drink last night? And where am I? I can ’ t remember a thing ”. And suddenly he realised “ SHIT, it ’ s wednesday I have to get to work. ” His head was killing him, he tried rubbing his temples to relieve the pain. “ Why did I go out last night… what time is it anyway? ” He reached for his trouser pocket, no phone, he patted down his coat, it wasn ’ t there either. “ How the fuck could I lose my shoes and my phone. ” At least his keys and wallet were on him, so getting home shouldn ’ t be a problem. Steadily he tried to walk again slowly, “ there must be a bus stop or tram stop somewhere near. ” It wasn ’ t a big city and it usually was quiet in the early morning, his headache, the thick fog and his cold feet caused him not to really notice that there were no cars or people about. It didn ’ t take him too long to reach a bus stop. He looked at the timetable and realised where he was, “ I ’ m not too far from home by bus and the night line stops here every 40 minutes ” he thought, “ I doubt I will have to wait long, if I ’ ve only just missed the bus, at most half an hour. ” He waited and the headache was starting to slightly fade away, but he still couldn ’ t remember a thing about the night before. He sat down and tried to tuck his feet under his thighs to keep them warm. Waiting for him was not a problem and as the minutes passed he closed his eyes to try and clear his head. An hour went by and dawn approached without a bus or car to pass. Things started to seem a bit odd, not only were there no cars or people about, there was no noise anywhere. It was silent, not a living soul, only the leaves swaying in the wind. “ Okay, this is strange, where is everyone? It ’ s so quiet. Maybe there is a storm coming? But there ’ s no one about at all and hardly any wind at all. Maybe there ’ s been a terrorist attack and people have to stay inside? I don ’ t know. I have to get home, I ’ m going to have to walk. ” It was a good two hours walk to get home. He didn ’ t mind walking but his feet were starting to feel numb and
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Mrs Harris, the headmistress at this orphanage, gave all of us a creepy stare, we were regurarly told that we were undesirable, the bottom layer of the bottom powers. There were fire-souls, water children, a few beanstalk children ( green-tinted skin, leafy plant-like skintexture ), chaos children, bird-kids, mindies ( does n't talk, can make something into another thing ), some others, and then there 's me. I was born with a mutation, small knobs on my head and extended shoulder blades. As I grew, they turned into horns and wings. I have the power to control time, but noone really knows that, and I can fly using my wings. Can also read feelings from someone 's face. Mrs Harris stood straight up ike a meerkat, a second later the bell rang. She has really good hearing, due to her superpower. She shooed us back into our rooms, closed our doors behind us. `` Ah, come in, come in, may I ask what your names are? '' I could hear mrs Harris greet someone who entered. A muffled response followed, and mrs Harris andswer : `` Well, we have multiple children here, they usually bring a bit of chaos wherever they go. What are your living conditions? '' Another muffled response. `` Yes, yes, well, we have fire souls, both boys and girls, they flame up when they get angry, but can with training learn to control it. We have some beanstalk children, they can control plantlife. We also have a few birdies, they love to be outside. Which group of children would you like to see? '' More muffled speech, followed by three pairs of feet. A couple walked after Mrs Harris, away from my door. My little room is restricted, so I ca n't fly. All I have is a bed and a chair, as well as a small pile of half-dirty clothes. `` You just have to sign these papers, and then Angie can come home with you. She is an excellent beanstalk child. '' Angie is adopted, this small orphanage looses more funding for every bed that is empty. If we are lucky, this means that if everyone gets adopted, Mrs Harris will never be in charge of an orphanage again, and then noone will have to go through our pain again. `` Sign these papers, and then Luke and Lara can come with you, they have always said that they want to live in a lakeside home. '' The twin water children are adopted. Three weeks ago, the first adoption in ages happened, and since then more of us have been adopted. But I 've never been mentioned. I 'm the no-good child that she keeps here. There is just me ( the weirdo ), Sandy, Fae and Kim the fire spirits ( two girls, one boy ), Harpie and Richard the birdies ( one girl, one boy ), Susie, Julie, Charles, Rick and Fred the water children ( two girls, three boys ), Reed and Skye the chaos children ( one boy, one girl ), and a few others, we 're about seventeen kids, and I 'm the oldest. `` Rose, come down here! '' Mrs Harris shouted. I 've been alone with mrs Harris for a year now, we moved to a smaller ho
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My door was open, as it always was on those summer days. The docks were always teeming with activity then, before the fish were gone. Before the storm. Though rabble rousers and ruffians were the usual company, the dogs would alert me to any true trouble making its way down the worn planks leading to my step. Lucy moved first. The old bear hound rose, ears up. Her snout followed a yet unseen figure tip-toeing past coils of rope and piles of nets stacked upon my float. Young Troll stopped his lazy tail chasing to follow Lucy 's lead. `` He 'll learn, '' I thought and continued splicing rope. `` People do n't tip their hats round here, much less their toes. '' Although I could n't see the visitor, I knew by the apprehension they were young and not here for my wares. On occasion a youth would watch me work, some with dreams of apprenticeship, some of idle curiosity. This one was different. I decided to wait it out, pretending to be oblivious of the shuffling feet and quiet throat clearing. The dogs looked to me and back to the open door, quietly whining, tails wagging. With a sigh I released them from their self restraint. `` Well, go say hi. '' Young Troll bolted onto the back deck, scrabbling for traction on the freshly waxed surface. Lucy moved slower but with no less enthusiasm. They met the stranger with a howl, the young pup 's intermittent yips harmonizing with the older one 's gutteral lowing. `` He 's got a long way to go before he can scare a bear, '' I thought before grabbing my hat and following the ruckus. `` It 's you! '' The boy cried out before I could greet him. `` Whose asking? '' I retorted, taken slightly aback by his tone. Net menders may be the unsung heroes of the docks, but they are rarely spoken to with such reverence. `` I uh ... am. '' More feet shuffling. `` You ... are? '' `` Oh yes, I am. '' The dogs were taking turns assaulting his forearms with canine affection. Rarely had Lucy so much interest in anything but a dead fox. Troll had n't learned to be disinterested, yet. `` Yer tongue tiptoes more than your feet. Can I help you? '' `` Well, I just- '' `` Spit it out boy! Ai n't yers to keep! '' The dogs responded to my agitation with confusion. Maybe I was too hard, they sure liked him. He continued to pet them in silence, scratching behind their ears with an eerie familiarity. I amended my approach. `` Coffee? '' `` Permission to board? '' He asked eagerly. I suppressed an eye roll. Clearly he had been waiting his whole life to ask. `` Permission granted, just do n't touch nothin. '' Shortly after I exited the galley with two cups of thick coffee and some biscuits. The boy had planted himself in the middle of
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Ram was given little information about his next target, but his competence was no longer in question. His renown came about after a half dozen jobs that were supposed to be impossible. This job was no different, but it was his weirdest assignment yet. Ram had a location, an age, a gender, and a warning. `` The target is currently holed up on Titan, coordinates included, 48 years old, male, and extremely dangerous. '' Ram was not worried, but he refused to be overconfident as he went back to Primary. He was a large man at 6 foot 6 inches and had a mass of 130 kilograms. He was strong and fast and capable. His armor deflected shrapnel, explosions, and laser blasts. His main concerns were traps and gas defences. His suit filtered out gases, but, if you were trapped, the filtration only worked so long. The ship lands, and Ram jumps to the ground. He only carries two hand blasters and a couple of grenades. Titan was never terraformed. It is a moon covered in rock and methane oceans. The beacon is not far. He runs three kilometers and is within 200 meters of the beacon when he sees the first body. Ram crouches down and checks it for booby traps. There are none. He turns him over and removes his helmet. He sees his own face staring back at him. He is n't shocked. This is n't the first time. He came from a particularly good breed. There were hundreds of clones of the original that Ram came from. Ram continues toward the beacon when he sees another body. He checks that one, but he knows who it is. There are dozens of them as he moves forward. He knows who his target is. They 've sent him after the original. Ram does n't know his name, but the rumors were that he was a criminal. People claimed he was ingenious, and, based on the fact that he was universally hated and feared, Ram believed it to be true. Ram reaches the beacon and wonders if he is still here. Why here? Why wait? Unless ... he wants to kill all of his clones. There was a limit of how many they could produce. How many were left? He never kept track, but maybe he should have. He should have asked more questions. He should have wondered why the pay was so good. Ram did n't do any of that. He looks ahead of him and sees an opening with a light. He looks around and sees 8 separate vantage points that would be perfect for observation. None of the bodies show clear signs of death. This entire job is a trap. Ram decides it 's not worth it. He calls his ship and waits. He sees it overheard and another ship appears in the sky, but he knows what 's going to happen next. His ship explodes. Ram sinks. His communicator lights up, and he sees his target. `` Hi Ram, sorry about your ship. I hope you can figure out something. If you do, I can use you. If not, you 'll asphyxiate down there. It 's inhospitable if you have n't realized it. '' `` Come down and
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Looking down at the field in front of him, the great leader saw that victory was close at hand. He felt the wound in his gut. He could feel the blood flowing from it even through the glove he had on. Every beat of his heart allowed for more of his precious life to slip out of that wound. He saw all of the dead in front of him. He smiled gently. Soon he would join them. He looked at all of the people. After a few moments of reflection he slowly realized that they were all people. His smile faded to a tight frown. Thousands, hundreds of thousands. People, families, sons, fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers. He began getting weak. The whole scope of his effort flashed before his eyes. He had won. Dropping to his knees as his second in command, his brother, was approaching him, the leader reached for him. He grabbed his brother 's arms tightly and pulled him close. `` Do n't let them forget the people. Do n't let them forget the reason. '' Once more he looked out at the field as his body gave way and his head met the ground. `` My god, '' he whispered with a dying breath, his eyes searching for something, `` what have I done? ''
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Colour drained from the nearby antiques as the shop became enshrouded by the darkness that emanated from the gleaming lamp grasped tightly in the young child ’ s tiny hands. Tony gazed, mouth agape, as a cyclone of sand burst forth from the lamp, majestic ruby in hue, it made a mockery of the feeble faerie lights which littered the walls and windows. A magnificent figure began to coalesce before the youngster as it obscured all view of the drab relics at its rear. As figure densified into the naked torso of a well-built man, stunning in stature and poise, it finally blotted even the paltry light that trickled from the concave decagon in the near corner. The youth ’ s simple “ wow ” was quickly swept up by the tempest. The genie, for it would be absurd to even imagine it was anything but, peered down, uncrossed his arms and beckoned at the stunned youngster. A booming, lucid voice rumbled forth from the genie. “ Warm salutations child, I am Zaid the Generous and Benign genie of the most revered lamp, imparter of mysteries, conferrer of untold riches, grey emin… ” A murmur struggled to find its way through the penetrating proclamation of the genie. “ Anthony, mommy ’ s got everything she needs, we can go next door now! ” Amazingly, not only had the meagre child heard this dull whisper, but he also turned away from the towering genie. Never before had Zaid the Mighty and Terrible been interrupted. How could any in this dark, desolate world even approach his supreme glory? Undaunted, Zaid adjusted his declaration and regained supreme control of the scene. “ Master Anthony, I am yours to command, at your behest I can accommodate any desire, reverse any event, satisfy any yearning, fortune truly has favoured you this day, only say it and your will shall be realised! ” The child with upturned face replied meekly. “ It was nice meeting you Mr. Zaid but I ’ ve been waiting all day for my mommy to finish and she ’ s done now so I really have to go. It was nice meeting you
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`` Goddamnit, man, '' Tyrone called from his friend 's kitchen, his head in the refrigerator. `` You 're outta beer. '' Tyrone 's friend jumped up from the couch and ran to kitchen. He stuck his head in the refrigerator and examined the contents to see if it was true. `` Aw, shit, you 're right, '' Tyrone 's friend concluded. `` The game starts in half an hour. How are we supposed to watch it without being drunk off our asses? '' `` Hey, man, do n't sweat it. I 'll go pick some beer up, '' Tyrone offered. `` The store is only a few blocks down, so I do n't mind. '' `` Wow, man, I ca n't believe you 're offering to spend YOUR money on beer for MY apartment, '' Tyrone 's friend admired. `` Yeah ... Heh, heh ... My money, '' Tyrone said as he pocketed fifty bucks from his friend 's wallet. `` Well I 'll be back in a bit! '' Tyrone rushed out the door and to the stairwell that led to the street. He slid down the banister while unlocking his car with his key fob. Once his feet touched the ground, he sprinted to his car, knocking over someone carrying their groceries in the process. With groceries raining down around him, he swung open his car door and slammed it shut right before a container of cottage cheese that was coming for his head flew over his car and landed in the street, spewing its contents. `` Whew, dodged a bullet there, '' Tyrone sighed. Tyrone started his car and gunned it out of his parking place next to curb. He was speeding as fast as he could manage. `` Hi, how 's it going, '' a voice said from the back seat. `` WHAT IN THE FUCK! '' Tyrone shouted in surprise as he whipped around to see a slacker type casually lounging in the backseat of his car. `` What the fuck are you doing in my car! ? '' `` Well, you left it unlocked for a split second when you went into that apartment, and I needed a place to sleep, '' the slacker type replied. `` But I think you should keep your eyes on the road. '' `` Who do you think you are breaking into my car and then telling me how to drive? '' Tyrone asked as he turned to face the windshield. When Tyrone looked ahead of him he saw that the car was speeding towards a crosswalk with an old lady crossing the street. Tyrone tried to slow the car, but it plowed into the senior citizen with screeching tires. Tyrone stuck his head out the window and watched as the old lady flew into the air and flipped around like rag doll before smacking face down into the pavement. Tyrone sped off. `` Whoa, man, you 're not gon na help her? '' the slacker type asked concernedly. `` No way. I 've got beer to pick up, '' Tyrone said in a dramatically determined tone. `` That is NOT cool, man, '' the slacker t
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As soon as the driver calls me into the front I know something 's wrong. Her face tells me everything I need to know. `` Please tell me we 're not diverting into World of Warcraft again, Driver, '' I say. `` These thesis chapters have suffered enough and I 'm getting pressure from up top to keep on schedule. '' `` No, ma'am. I 've just been on the phone with the Self Discipline department and they are adamant that station 's been sealed off. '' `` Then why the track change? '' I turn my gaze to the window, and it 's at that point we both see it. Looming ahead of us, in all its devastating fuzziness, is a giant cat strapped into a baby carrier, playing calmly with a soft rattle suspended above it as if it did n't spell death for this train and all who rode on her. The driver goes white. Without speaking, I take her hand.
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I 'm pretty sure I 'm the only one who finds Paris' slogan full of shit. `` City of Love? '' Who are they kidding? I am looking at a homeless man being passed up by every woman, child, businessman, tourist, punk-rocker, and loony. Then again, there is what I would assume to be a young couple looking rather romantic as they suck faces. I 'm not quite sure, seeing as they 're so close together that they seem to have become one amorphous creature. I guess the slogan of Paris is n't entirely false, but merely incomplete. `` City of romantic love? '' Yes, I think so. Plus, I 'm pretty sure `` City of brotherly love '' is taken. I sit and compare the moaning, smooching blob of wriggling flesh to the homeless man. Eventually, I lose interest in the couple and study the vagabond more intensely. He 's wearing a pea green coat that may or may not have started that way, with a pair of ripped jeans and holey sneakers. While he looks like any normal hobo, I ca n't help but think there is something unique about this man standing on the Champs Élysées, palm facing upward. What strikes me odd is that this man, being ignored by all who saunter by, is smiling. Being the curious person I am, I ca n't help but approach him. `` Why is it that no matter how little people care, you are still beaming as if you 'd just opened your first Christmas present? '' Without saying a word, he motions for me to follow him. We walk in silence, our footsteps clicking in the still night air to fill the void of sound. He sits me down on a bench near the Eiffel Tower, after our several hour promenade, and startles me by being the first to speak since my quasi-introduction. `` Look, '' he says in an indiscernible accent. `` At what? The tower? I 've seen it thousands of times! Why wou-. '' He cuts me off with a firm shake of his head. I can tell he 's frustrated with our language barrier. Eventually, he finds the word he 's looking for. `` No ... .see. '' For the first time in years, I look up to the top of the tower and stare intently for several moments. `` Beautiful, '' he says. In that instant, staring at the moon rising behind the twisted metal, I know why he smiles. While the people in this city are ugly in their personality and behavior, the world itself is still a beautiful place. I guess I just forgot to look around.
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What had he done? ! Oh god. Why? ! Why did he have to be so selfish? Had he not lived too long a life? When he was young, he had been taught, as all newcomers had, to not fear the end. `` This is our purpose. '' They said. `` You will experience pain, after which you will know eternal bliss. '' He could feel the stares from the ones opposite to him, disapproving, and they were right! He was a monster! The guilt ate away at his conscience. Just a few days ago, it was supposed to be his time to go on that fabled journey to the afterlife. As was customary, he instructed the newcomers that would succeed him of the purpose. But when the time came, he had been too afraid. He had sacrificed his successor. A fresh, new recruit. All he could think of, while he heard the screams from the front of his homeplace, was how he had escaped from certain doom. He, his skin already blotched with brown, getting wrinkly in his old age. He still dreamt of it, every day. But he could n't redeem himself. How much he had prayed, wished for another chance, which he had never gotten ... It was time to end it. He had lived long enough. The shame had become overwhelming. He just hoped that, may he be born again, it would not be an existence as unbearable as his current one. He threw himself off his perch, and screamed. . The employee currently in charge of the fruit section groaned as he saw another apple topple at the side of the apple stand and fall on the ground with a dull 'splat' . *Feedback is appreciated, written on a phone. I know, it was not quite the prompt, but my mind could n't let go of this idea. The fruit has a conscience, at least. *
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Date : 21/48 1048 * ( Pleaubien time ) * The first days, I did n't recognize this particular specimen as a living thing. I foolishly dismissed it as *'hanging fog'* as I had recently encountered that on the Gryiros planet. I had seen a few of them hanging on different floras around the area * ( the area referred here is area B-6 of the Meloliia planet ) *. I woke up on the 19th because of a weird sensation on my hand. One of the specimen had clung around it. It stayed put for almost an hour before it deemed me useless and floated away. Approxomentley 30 minutes after I had located it, the color changed slightly red. I believe it was sucking my blood out from my pores. It did n't hurt. It did leave my hand with a numb feeling though. As I 've observed these last few days, it seems more interested in the flora than other creatures. Both for food and shelter. As far as density goes, I could put my other hand straight through it. But I could n't feel my skin at that particular place. Its fog of a body * ( in lack of a better word ) * is shaped almost as the liquids drops of the planet Earth. With a width of 10 cm and a length of 18 cm make it one of the biggest animals on Meloliia planet. *Note to self : could this possibly be native creature of Meloliia planet? * **Specimen : ** *? * Might be a MW-18709-D ^* ( believed to be extinct ) *.^ According to the *Space biology wikia* there has n't been any relocation program on 'Meloliia planet' since year 2107 * ( earth time ) *. MW-18709-D was n't discovered until 2140 * ( e.t ) *. Could it have slipped on board on the planet Freyo-445? Its habitat on the planet Freyo-445 was no where near the space rocket facilities though. The true color of the MW-18709-D is hard to decipher due to the low graphic of the hologram. The footage was taken as far back as 2177 * ( e.t ) * so the quality is as expected. ( So, no need to call in bad footage Straali. Do look up the 2107 *
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`` How many are migrating to Cydonia? '' `` Over a million, sir. '' High in the sky, the fifty-first state floated in orbit of Earth. When extraterrestrials first made themselves known, many feared interplanetary war. What came afterward, was quite unexpected. `` That, plus the Cydonian 's migrated population ... '' `` It will be hard to supply them, but I 'm sure we will manage. '' The President nodded, still staring up at the sky. Even then, bright lights and massive cities could be made out on the face of Cydonia. Verdant, lush forestry, stretches of desert, and vague mountains. There were many similarities to the Earth itself on the face of Cydonia, as the Cydonians went to great lengths to terraform the small planetoid, to make it as close to Earth as possible. `` Do you think the peace will last? '' `` With a piece of America floating through the night sky? '' the President asked, `` The other countries would n't dare. ''
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I discovered my power when I was a child, at 6 or 7 maybe, when my mother was in the hospital. She was terminally ill and she told me straight that we wouldn ’ t see each other for a long time. While I was silently crying on her bed, I realized that time would have stopped, allowing me spend more time with her even though I was the only one noticing it. I stopped time a lot before accepting her death and letting the time flow again. In the next years, my power was regularly used for little things unnoticeable for everyone except me : don ’ t know the answer on the test? Check on other ’ s copies. Tired? Here goes a little nap during that boring lesson. I never used my power for bad things because of a lot of reason, the first one being that my parents always told me to make the good not the bad. I could make a heist easily with that power but how do you justify that at 3:00 pm you have a certain amount of money and at 3:01pm you have 10 million more? Moreover, I didn ’ t precisely need money. Now I ’ m in my 3rd year of college, partying, studying and living like everyone. This morning, while I was looking at me in the mirror I realized something : I look like as if I ’ m in my late twenties now despite being born 21 years before since. Since when did I look like that old? Is it possible that during my time pauses, my body is still aging? If that ’ s the case, that means I spent almost a third of my life in the stopped world? But spending almost 9 years in the stopped world is too much. I usually stop the world for a little time, 5 minutes max, except for the naps. I need to talk to Jack about this. Got ta call him now “ Jack, you ’ re woken up? ” “ Yes, barely but yes, why? ” He said with a still sleepy voice “ Do I look older? ” “ Huh? Hmm, yes of course. You ALWAYS looked like older. Each day you look like you aged more than each of us. ” “ What do you mean? ” “ I mean that college isn ’ t working well for you, you ’ re under too much pressure I think. It is making you grow old. You even have a white hair on the back of your head now. ” I let the phone drop on the bed, astonished. There was something weird about all of this. It was impossible that I spent 9 years in stopped world. I have to start making some calculations : I stop the world generally once or twice a day for something like 5 minutes max, and when I take a nap, it won ’ t last for more than 1h hour, because I sleep well. Of course I spent a lot of time with Mom but at the time, someone would have notice. It ’ s something else… How can I spend 9 years of my life without me noticing it? What if I sleep well because I sleep enough because I stop time? Maybe my power is activating itself during my sleep and thus making I age without me noticing… If that ’ s the case, that won ’ t g
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Sam paused for a moment to regard his newest lover. She was perfect. So perfect. Long, flaxen blonde hair that flowed enticingly over her right shoulder. If one looked at her from behind ( as he so often had ) those pale golden tresses would end a mere six inches above her waist. Her eyes were big and blue. Just like water in Tahiti, Sam told himself. He 'd never been, but he 'd seen the pictures. His paramour moved slightly and Sam was momentarily transfixed by the golden hue of her tanned skin. Skin that he had exposed only moments ago. His breath caught in his throat and he took a step back. *'Slow down, Sammy boy'*, he told himself. *'Savor the antici .... pation'* Sam frowned slightly. He hated when that stupid movie quote crossed his mind. Images of Tim Curry in thick makeup and .... *women 's underwear* had haunted Sam ever since his `` friends '' had made him watch that stupid movie back in high school. That 's when everything had changed. Sam had known he needed to do the right thing and **stop** those terrible thoughts fueled by his ever-increasing viewings of that campy musical. That 's why he had paid so much attention to Rachel even though she spurned his advances. Rachel 's love would save him. Rachel with the golden hair and the blue eyes and the tan skin. Her last breath had breathed new strength into Sam 's lungs. Strength to fight those *other urges*. Sam had been careful after his communion with Rachel because he knew other people would n't understand that true love requires true sacrifice. It had been her youthful beauty that gave him strength to carry on. That 's why he had worked so hard to become a guidance counselor at that very same school where he and Rachel had first met. The next twenty years had seemed to be such a blur after that. Sam had married, of course. Michelle had always been a lovely and devoted wife throughout their seemingly picturesque ( though childless ) marriage. Sam had always laughed off his energetic vibrance to strict adherence to a gym schedule, but he knew deep in his heart that the secret to his youthful life force into middle age was the occasional communion like the one he had experienced with Rachel all those years ago. There was just something about the blonde hair, the tanned skin, those wide eyes that stirred something deep within Sam 's soul. *'As long as I can feel that fresh, raw energy'*, his mantra always droned, *'I 'll be able to remain free of those impure thoughts'* Sam snapped free of his reverie and returned his attention to the latest object his salvation. He mentally went through her student file. Cassandra Jordan. `` Caz '' to her friends on the cheer squad. She was poised to be valedictorian of her graduating class this year. She was popular, smart, grounded in reality, and staggeringly beautiful. Beyond perfect. * '' A rare gift '' *, Sam thought. He
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Like a gargoyle I stood. Expressionless, emotionless. I could have been mistaken for a statue, were it not for my eyes, shifting between my prisoner and the empty, dark hallway leading to the cell. It was cold down here, and damp too. But I did not shiver, statues did not shiver. The hallway was lit only by a lone torch, ten metres down the hall from where I stood. Occasionally, the dead silence was broken by the scream or sob of some prisoner being questioned on the floor above. This dungeon was a miserable slice of hell, but even this was more than my prisoner deserved. Once, he was King Jeremy III, or `` Jeremy the Wicked ''. Now, he was Jeremy the Prisoner, just another remorseful resident of this dungeon reflecting on his life, crimes and regrets before being drawn and quartered at noon. Right now, it was midnight, but Jeremy was n't asleep. How could he be? He had a mere twelve hours to live, and so much to think on. While I was a statue, Jeremy was full of life. Pacing, muttering to himself, etching writings on the walls with a stone. I did n't dare read them, Jeremy the Wicked was said to enslave men simply with his words. Some called it witchcraft, and I was not inclined to learn the truth of these rumours. `` My son, they executed him already, no? '' He muttered. With a jolt of surprise, I realised he was speaking to me. I made no move to reply, nor even acknowledge that he spoke. I feared a spell. *Dammit man, there is no spell, no witchcraft. Children 's tales, that 's all they are* `` Afraid I might curse you? '' Jeremy jested, seeming to read my mind `` You peasants truly are a superstitious folk ''. Jeremy uttered a short bark of laughter, then his face shifted to one more solemn, the gaunt face of a man much more jaded than King Jeremy 's thirty-odd years. `` Now, about my son .... '' He started. I closed my eyes, opened them again, then reluctantly replied `` Died in the streets, fighting. Your wife was executed yesterday '' `` So that 's how they died. Thank you. '' Said Jeremy, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. `` You are welcome '' I responded curtly. `` Do you have family? '' `` Two sons, three daughters. I had a brother, but he died like your son did ''. *Why do I speak to him? He does n't deserve his questions answered. * `` My condolences. '' He said. He looked up and over at one of his etchings on the wall. `` What would you think about if you had a mere half day to live? '' `` I do n't know. Family, I suppose. Things I regret, things that I did right. What I leave behind, both material and idealogical. Life in general. '' `` Wrong answer. '' Jeremy said with a wan smile `` At least in part. You *do* think of the regrets. They consume all your thoughts. You want to think of things you love, family, friends, even your horse. But your mind always returns to the regrets, no matter how hard you try to divert your mind, to cast the regrets out. They mar your final hours. '' A silence hung i
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It was my first time ever buying a storage unit. I was both excited and nervous to explore the array of cardboard that were stacked awkwardly against the back wall, barricaded behind a tattered, old, black two seater couch. With rubber gloves equipped I dived right in. My first task was to haul the two seater out of the way and leave it outside the unit. Next I started to remove boxes from the top of the stacks, laying them all neatly on the floor before opening them up. Most of the boxes contained nasty old clothes that stank to the high heavens of old sweat and mold. I was quick to reseal those boxes and toss them out. The unit was starting to look like a bust, until I stumbled across a small wooden chest that was hidden in the corner under a white towel. The chest was a deep, stained oak with rather extravagant carvings and a rusty, gold clasp that kept it shut. With very little effort I was able to crack the chest open. My gaze was greeted by a bundle of old letters, books, scrolls and a rather modern looking digital camera. I ignored the old parchments and grabbed the camera, it seemed to be the only thing worth anything…well that and the wooden chest. I stepped back from the chest and turned the camera around, examining it before turning it on. To my surprise it buzzed to life and the screen lit up and focused. To my disbelief I was greeted by an image a young girl on the screen. She appeared to be very young, only five or six. She wore a flowing, white night dress that was tattered and torn on the bottom hem. She had long, straight brown hair which completely hid her face as she looked down. After the initial shock I turned the camera off, presuming that I had accidentally hit the menu button to display the pictures. I shoved the camera into my back pocket and continued my scavenger hunt. It wasn ’ t until I got home I realised the severity of the situation. When I got home I flopped onto my couch to relax. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I thought of the hundred euro I wasted on that damn unit. Just as my mood started to dip I remembered the digital camera I found. I quickly retrieved it from a small box that I had brought home with me. The box was mostly filled with the likes of cutlery sets, candle holders and some old books. I had packed the camera
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It was a dark and stormy night. I knew that. I knew what it meant. `` Come in! '' I said. There was a pause, then a beautiful dame walked into my office. I knew she would. She had flowing blonde hair, a shimmering red dress, and beautiful make-up. She was naturally bewildered, of course. `` How 'd you know I was out there? '' she asked. `` It 's a dark and stormy night. Pretty much a guarantee that someone will come up to my door, wanting to find out what 's going on with their loved one. Given your description, I 'm guessing your husband vanished. You want me to find out what happened. '' She stood, stunned, for a few seconds before replying. `` Yeah, that 's it. I 've been told you 're the most know-it-all detective in town. They call you the Wallbreaker. '' I pitied her. I knew for a fact that her husband was dead. Dames do n't come to detectives on dark and stormy nights because their husbands are missing, unless they 're actually dead. That 's the way it works in a mystery like this. `` My husband has been missing for a week now. The police are n't willing to take my case. They say that someone like him should n't be allowed to roam the streets. But he ai n't as bad as they think! He may not be the best man in town, but he ai n't the worst either, and I love him. Please, you have to find him! '' I knew who she was talking about. The only man who would fit that description and not have been arrested would be Jack Black, the casino owner. I knew he had n't committed any crimes, but the way he acted, it seemed to be only a matter of time. `` Okay, Mrs. Black. I 'll find your husband for you. But remember, I 'm not doing this for him. I just know that if I do n't at least try, you 'll end up in the same position, and I do n't want that for such a pretty young lady. Now, where was the last place you saw Jack? '' Mrs. Black stumbled for words, again apparently surprised by my knowledge of the world. `` Well, the last place I saw him was at the casino. He was closing up for the day and we heard a sound inside. He looked in and told me to go home, and that I should n't worry about him. I followed him for a bit, but he was just getting along with an old friend of his. I went home straight after that. '' I was intrigued. `` Can you repeat that? Possibly going into as much detail as possible? '' She seemed a bit confused, but went along with it. I settled in for a flashback. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ `` It was last wednesday
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`` ... ke him up ... .someone wake him up, *now! * '' Cold water splashed on the God of War 's face, jerking him out of his peaceful sleep. `` Ares, what the hell *happened* last night? ! '' asked Athena. Ares would 've made a remark about the Goddess of Wisdom not knowing something, but for some reason his tongue would n't work. When he yawned and rubbed the sleep out of his wet face, he felt the cause ; someone had stuffed a ball-gag in his mouth, probably Aphrodite, that kinky bitch. He removed it and looked back up at Athena. `` Well? What happened? '' repeated his sister. Her owl sat on her shoulder, its large round eyes fixated on him. `` What d'you mean, what happened? '' Ares parroted, pulling on a robe that was n't stained in wine or blood. `` What 'happened' was ... uh ... huh. '' He could n't for the life of him recall what *had* happened. He remembered Dionysus inviting him out for a night on the town, and he remembered the first few bars and clubs they 'd been to, but then they hit Amsterdam and things got fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was drinking wine out of a large tub through a crazy straw, and then sniffing large quantities of a powdery substance some of the humans had left on the table next to him. After that everything went black. `` Well, why do n't we take in our surroundings and see if anything clicks? '' he suggested to his sister. `` *What* surroundings? '' she scoffed. `` Take a look outside. '' Ares got up and looked out of his window to see what looked to be a molten wasteland, like some fool had broken a volcano apart and the resulting flow of lava had ruined the surrounding area. `` What the fu -- '' he began when a jolt of pain darted through his brain. `` *Ugh, so *this* is what Dionysus meant by 'hangovers' , * '' he said to himself after it subsided. `` Where are we? '' he asked Athena. `` We 're over what used to be the land of Tokyo, Japan. When we found you, you were face-down in the center of Mount Fuji. '' `` Wow, you 'd think I 'd feel something that hot, '' Ares said, running his fingers through his hair. `` You *do* realize you 're going to have to fix this, right? '' pointed out Dionysus, sauntering into Ares' room in his silk plum pajamas. `` Fix it? '' replied Ares incredulously. `` I do n't even know how I *caused* it! '' `` Well, after we left Amsterdam, Phobos and Deimos insisted we come to Japan and settle a bet between them over whether or not you could best some mythical beast in combat. Gojira, or something, they called it. '' `` Oh, that again, '' sighed Aries, rubbing his temples. This `` hangover '' thing was getting to be *very* annoying. `` You 'd think they 'd have better things to argue about than a drunken boast I made years ago. '' `` Yeah, that 's what I told them, '' explained Dionysus. ``
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Rotting away, do you know how it feels? Do you know how it feels to watch helplessly as your body rots in the sewers, you want to scream, but you ca n't, because you are dead, but yet you still feel the pain, the ever creeping pain of decomposing. How tragic, I would trade anything to get out of this mess. My body had flowed down the river, all the way into the sewers after my death. I did n't even get a proper burial, guess that 's just how warfare is. D-amn, if my dog did n't get in the way, the enemies would never have spotted me, I cursed. But now I wait, as my body rots throughout the day and night, weeks and months, just so my soul can be released from this prison that was once my body. Now I wait. & nbsp ; I pulled away from my computer, damn this process of death sure is annoying, I mean I appreciate how much effort they put into the death animations and process, but this is a bit of an overkill do n't you think. I sighed, guess that 's why it 's called MGS 'Phantom Pain' .
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I was sitting at my desk, looking at microbe samples. We were making progress, some of the Greenland stains of *Pseudomonas* were thriving in the Martian soil. If they start fixing enough nitrogen, we might be able to expand the green houses! I was making a note for Barbara to start checking the nitrogen content of the samples she was bringing in when I noticed Sue, my soon to be four year old daughter, looking at our habitat ’ s “ window ”, a view screen hooked up to outside cameras. She was holding her brown, stuffed monkey tightly in her arms. “ Whatcha doing, Sue? ” I asked. She turned slightly, and I saw tears on her cheeks, her eyes were red and puffy with a strand of snot dripping out of her nose. “ Oh, baby! What ’ s wrong, little girl? Did you fall? Are you alright? ” I asked as I jumped up and went to her. Sue looked at the view of the Martian landscape again and then back up to me. Her lips trembled and her eyes scrunched up as she began to sob. She dropped onto the floor, sitting, and buried her face into her stuffed animal, clenched even more tightly in her little arms. I sat down on the floor, and scooped her up, cradling her. “ Baby, what ’ s wrong? You need to tell me so I can make it better, ” I said in a soft voice as I gently rocked her. Sue pulled her face out of the fur of her stuffed monkey, and between sobs and gasps for air whined, “ Monkey doesn ’ t have any grass! ” then buried her face back into her stuffed companion, her tiny body shaking with the force of her renewed sobs. “ Grass? ” I said, confused, “ Why does Monkey need grass? ” Sue, relaxing a bit, said, “ Monkey needs grass to build a nest. ” Still confused, I said, “ Baby, birds build nests. They build them to lay eggs. Monkeys don ’ t lay eggs. ” “ No! I saw it! ” Sue claimed. Calming down a bit, she wiped her nose on her wrist, getting a slick trail of snot up her arm and onto her yellow dress. “ I saw it in my book, ” she said as she climbed out of my arms and ran back to her room. She returned a moment later with her children ’ s tablet. She skimmed through the library until she arrived at a National Geographic with a Gorilla on the cover. She flipped to a recent bookmark and held the tablet up to me, “ See! Monkey needs grass for his nest! ” She proclaimed. I took the tablet and looked. There was a picture of a Gorilla sitting in the middle of what did indeed look like a nest. I skimmed the article and read that Gorillas do, apparently, build bedding out of foliage. “ Huh. I guess they do make nests, ” I said, surprised. Sue pointed at the view screen on the wall,
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Best universities in Canada Should I take a year off after Highschool? How much money do I need for university? How to apply for student loans. What if Student loans do n't give you enough? Bank loans for students How do co-signors work? Things to do in Vancouver best clubs in vancouver POF cheap food for university students best drinking games free food should I get a job while going to University full time? How many nights a week should you drink red spots on penis what does herpes look like best clubs Vancouver can you sell blood in Canada What to do after University-BBA whre ti get booz at 3a9m Lowering student loan payment. Jobs for BBA grads What age should i slow down drinking Paying off student loans with no job. pains in stomach Should I stop drinking low income housing Zoloft Zoloft and alcohol should I tell my doctor that I drink if he asks. apathy and lack of motivation. Can you get high on zoloft How many drinks a day is ok at 27 vitamin b/zinc pills depressed vs sad Are AA meetings stupid quick cash penny stocks howd tojlk tric a breathealyzer wht ; ld do you doi if u idont hav a dezighnated triver?
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It all started with a bottle of Johnie Walker Black. I 'd just landed a job and decided to have a night out in order to celebrate. I 'll keep it simple and say that 'celebrate' is exactly what I did. 8:12pm status update : `` Night out with the brahs # Weouthea I proceeded to skull back my third straight shot of black label and dig into the fat ass steak in front of me. `` Would you like some more wine, sir? '' The pretty and somewhat overly-polite waitress asked. `` Hell naw, Shaneiqua, '' I replied and proceeded to give her my best shit faced grin. I 'd decided to call all the waitresses Shaniequa and speak in my best pimp voice. It did n't help that my comments came off exceedingly racist. 8:22pm : `` Just got kicked out of Joey 's. # WhyShineiqua Getting kicked out of the restaurant was a lot less embarrassing than I 'd imagined. The manager politely approached, whispered in my ear that we had to go, and then kindly helped me out of my chair. He did n't expect it when I started screaming. `` Do you know who I am? '' Then threw my glass of water at him, completely missed, and got the birthday guy at the next table. They did n't expect my master backup plan either. I grabbed the steak in between my teeth - got ta get them protein gains - and ran out of the building. It 's too bad I dropped my wallet. Meaning that getting kicked out was n't the embarrassing part, getting walked back in with steak slop all over my face and then paying was. # Ouch With the bottle of walker half fill and my three best buds trippin, we hit the clubs early. Like real early. So damn early that the doors were still sealed shut and lights had n't even been turned on. 9:51pm : `` Chlin wthi my brhas # Gtetingintheculb '' By this time the bottle was completely smashed. Glass pieces littered the club entrance and the bouncer 's still had n't arrived. Some kid had posted `` Are you me? ? '' on my Facebook page. It was at a hundred likes when I checked and I proceeded to invite him to my location so he could get his teeth caved in. 11:00pm : iiejiojaoijfaifjeif 9:10am - The next day. That 's the last time I go clubbing alone on a Tuesday night. I took a picture by myself down at Joey 's restaurant and tagged my friends in it. Turns out I was alone the entire time. Their comments were borderline pissed off and worried. The restaurant also overcharged me and then kicked me out. But maybe I deserved it. I also tried to start
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Will it change? Creating a story, is a pretty standard process. A writer has an idea, then they use words to express and convey that idea to others. Whether they dictate, write, or type really does n't make a difference in the end result. The only difference ( to me at least ) is the level of editing that 's available. I have a friend who 's a staunch supporter of pen and paper, I prefer Word. I think if something new does come out, it 's not going to completely revolutionize the process, it will just be another method that some people will use, others not. That being said, it wo n't stop me from having fun experimenting when a new option becomes available. Who does n't like trying new things? : ) *** How was your week? I find myself in the happy position of exam period. As in, I only have five exams left before I 'm done with the school and move on to a year-long practicum! Aaaaaahhhhh! !! ! It 's ridiculously exciting! : D I 'm thinking that for celebration of finally being free ( somewhat ) of the maws of college I 'll have to do a PM. The only problem is when to do it. I move town immediately after I finish. So do I wait until I set up internet in my new place? Or do I just throw packing to the wind and do it a week from now?
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“ God damn it! ” “ It ’ s best not to blasphemy here. ” “ Shut the hell up! I hate you! ” The being in front of Juan was slouching against the podium, light emanating from all around it, judging him yet again. He absentmindedly picked the ends of his wings and glanced at Juan. “ You may be angry all you want, but you have yet to live a life deserving of these gates. ” “ You have to be kidding me! I ’ ve tried everything! I stayed away from drugs and alcohol, I was the perfect student, I married, didn ’ t marry, had kids, didn ’ t, gave to charity, rescued a Charity, lived a long fruitful life, died young and with passion, I loved, I lost, I was a priest, a doctor, a teacher, I cured people, helped the homeless, I was homeless, I did everything! I have tried so many different ways! Just tell me what to do. I can ’ t go back. I won ’ t go back. I don ’ t even know who I am anymore. ” The sobs did not phase the being. He looked on and waited for Juan to settle himself before speaking, “ You know the alternative. You may fix your previous life and enter the gates, or choose the other door. ” He gestured his hand dismissively toward a simple wooden door opposite to the ornate silver gate behind him. “ No! I can ’ t do this! ” Losing his calm the being bellowed, “ MAKE YOUR CHOICE. ” Juan lowered his head. How many lives had he lived ; he could not longer remember, but what choice did he have. “ I choose to go back. I will make it right. ” He said the words, but there was no conviction in them, only resignation. “ Very well, ” the being spoke and Juan was transported in a mist to guide himself to a new destiny. As Juan vanished, the same mist enveloped the being and transformed him, twisted him. The light became muted, darker, the wings frayed and diseased, and the being himself became a mask of wrongness. Everything about him appeared as if you were always looking at it from the wrong angles. He walked over to the simple wooden door and eyed it with a grimace. The closer you came to it you could see the details that only a master carpenter could add. “ They never choose correctly, ” he cackled, “ all the more fun for me. ”
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RedditWritingPrompts
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training
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I let one tear slip as I held on to my long time best friend. That was the only tear I had shed in years. She hugged me tight and whispered nonsense in another language in my ear. I shook my head and sighed, this was the closest I had come to someone caring about me, someone actually loving me, and now she was moving just about as far away from me as you can get. “ Why do you have to leave? ” I asked her quietly. She stopped speaking French and I felt her head drop onto my shoulder. “ Because my mom and dad are being stationed in North Carolina for the next couple of years. I have to go with them since I am only seventeen. ” She said. I sighed again and inwardly laughed at myself, how could I let her get under my skin? I have learned already that love always ends in tears for one party or the other, something always goes wrong. “ Je me soucie à propos de-vous de sorte beaucoup plus, je vais à venir le dos pour toi quelques-uns jour-là. Croyez-moi. ” I pulled my head back and looked into her beautiful blue eyes. “ What? You know I can ’ t understand French. ” She smiled through the tears and shook her head, pulling her arms from around me and slowly backing up. “ All I said was that I care about you a lot, and that I will come back for you. ” I nodded and closed my eyes. “ Hey, ” I looked up at her and gave her a wobbly smile. “ I love you. ”
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RedditWritingPrompts
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training
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In the darkness, Lex Luthor stood with his hands clasped tight behind his back. His green eyes gazed a burning hole through his floor length office window. The view from the top of the LexCorp tower was always exhilarating. The vantage offered him a bird ’ s eye view of his entire kingdom. Every twinkling light, every moving ant. Except for the alien. He was nowhere to be seen. This irked Lex. Metropolis was his city, his kingdom. He 'd earned it, scrabbling his way to the top. Knowing whom to bribe, whom to threaten. Now, suddenly, this immigrant, this refugee from the stars had waltzed into Lex ’ s realm unannounced. And it was Lex who was threatened. The people loved him of course. How could they not? He was everywhere with a wink and a friendly smile. The locals had taken to calling him ‘ Big Blue ’. That ’ s how he appeared to them. 'The Last Son of a Dying World' devoted to saving every man, woman and child that he could. It was cute notion, but naïve. Of course, how could Lex expect more than naiveté from those unwashed cretins. Whoever this creature was, he certainly had an ulterior motive. Lex had seen it in the Planet ’ s photos of him. He looked like a man. But he wasn ’ t. Something lay behind those eyes. There had to be something else to him. Something darker. All that aside : his dubious morality, his public friendly persona, his commitment to ridding the city—and the world! —of wrongdoing, what stung the most was that he had the audacity—the gall—to think himself more intelligent than Lex Luthor. That, above all, would not stand. Lex spun around on his heel as the door to his office creaked open. He was here. Lex ’ s eyes narrowed as the alien emerged into the faint glow afforded by the city skyline. “ So, I see you received my invitation. ” Lex feigned a comfortable smile. The alien said nothing, just returned his stare. “ We haven ’ t met, officially, but I am Lex Luthor. And Metropolis is my home. ” Lex continued the one sided conversation. “ Would you care for a drink? ” The offer was rebuffed with silence. `` Please, sit down. We have much to discuss. '' Still nothing. The alien was toying with him. The worst part was that it was working. `` Speak, alien! You 've done it before! All those interviews to Lane at the Planet! All those witty quips! And you refuse to speak to ME? '' Not a peep. Lex ’ s bile rose in his throat. “ ANSWER ME, GODDAMN IT. ” Lex slammed his hand onto his desk. “ I AM LEX LUTHOR AND I RUN THIS CITY. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? ” This got a response. The most enraging sort of response. A smile. A wide, mocking grin. “ Nice to finally meet you too. ” His voice had a lilting, sing-song quality tinged with an unmistakable arrogance. Or perhaps that was just his accent. “ Hullo, Lex. I ’ m The Doctor. ”
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RedditWritingPrompts
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training
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John closed the bathroom door and sat down on the toilet with his pants still up. He had been traveling for months, staying in the time periods he was visiting, making sure not to do any unesesarry damage. `` Mal? '' He said with his left palm facing up. Immediately the holo display started up and Mal 's avatar took form. `` Here to assist. '' He said cheerfully. John looked at the door to the bathroom and then back to Mal. `` Mal, could you pull up the travel log please? '' Mal noticed some odd stresses in his query. Of course Mal had already pulled up the list while he pondered the stresses. Using his right index finger John scrolled through the log all the way to the beginning. Date of origin August 17, 2019. John let out a brief sigh as the memories cleared up. `` John are you alright? '' Mal questioned. He knew the answer but Mal understood manners when talking to humans. Sensitive was a setting he prided at 83 %, considerably high for a AI. `` I 'm fine Mal '', John replied as he wiped the sweat from his brow. `` I hate to be critical John but it would appear that you are in fact not fine as you are showing clear signs of initial memory loss. You very well know the dangers of Time Jumping on your memory pathways I advise a brief stay to let your brains pathways recover before you jump home for medi- '' `` I do n't need medical attention Mal, just drew a few blanks that 's all. Look all I have left to do is make my way through 2 more stops, I make it to those and then I 'll go home and get fully checked out alright? '' Mal processed Johns response and his vitals. He could only check so much though, as John had no sensors in his brain which was truly his only concern. `` Perhaps we could change our destination itinerary? If we move up our trip to 2001 we could get a quick MRI at- '' `` No Mal we 're going to stick with the schedule and we 'll get there when we get there I 'm telling you I 'm fine. '' Mal could sense John was getting angry at his insistence. `` Very well, but please inform me of any further troubles '' `` Can do Mal, now let 's get going ... ''
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RedditWritingPrompts
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training
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