Datasets:
ShantanuT01
/
DACTYL-Pretraining

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
Community
1
text
stringlengths
28
51.8k
domain
stringclasses
6 values
split
stringclasses
1 value
It started with colours we never knew existed. No, wait, let me reword that. It started with the animals going mad. Only certain species but in hindsight it made sense for them to do so. Being able to see the gradual disappearance ahead of everyone else is bound to make you seem crazy in retrospect, but truthfully, we had no idea what was going on, just that certain species seemed to go mad. Two months later and humans began to see it. Or unsee it. Whatever term works. Of course, since it started with the unseen spectrum, it bled its way slowly into the human race, one person at a time. We all just thought it was a rash of madness or some kind of mass hysteria or something - anything than the truth. Colours were disappearing from the world. Or maybe some chemical change in our biosystem, some kind of change in the atmosphere ... whatever it was, it was slow in coming and we ignored the signs. Not that we could have known how to deal with it. We still do n't know what caused it to occur. No. All we knew was that slowly, person by person, the 'madness' grew. So much money was invested in vaccination of this new 'disease' . So many people threw themselves into creating cures or finding a way to protect themselves from the infection. To no avail. More than one family sequestered themselves into private bunkers, sure that it was a sign of the beginning of the end. Three months later they emerged, eyes just as blind to colour as those who lived on the surface. Six months to remove beauty from the world. Six months for the world to change in such an integral way. We were blind to colour, to the warning labels, to the reds and greens and blues of our lives. With the change in seeing came a change in speaking. Language evolved to incorporate different terms of description. A whole area of our language, our lifestyle, our history - gone. Like grey dust in grey wind against a grey sky. We moved on. Learned to live without it. Learned to lean on things like texture and shape and sound instead. And now it 's normal - we do n't talk about it, think of it, dream in it. So much of our lives is lost. A new generation has been born who will never know the colour of the sky. My daughter will never know the vast blue of the ocean or the deep green of grass. She will never know why we call an orange an orange or why her uncles demand 'the red one' when talking about flavoured lollies. To her red is a taste, nothing more. To the world it no longer exists.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
I was going crazy trapped in my own novel. I 'd always thought my world was engaging, interesting, with fully-developed leads who propelled the story forward with the momentum of their meaning-fraught actions. I still think that is true ; every time I see my protagonist while I 'm wandering through the world I created, he 's brooding importantly, solving philosophical debates and terrorist plots with the same charm and dry wit I envisioned as being much less pretentious than it really was, and garnering attention from every female he encounters. I would n't mind being stuck in this world, if it werent for my one spectacular fuck-up. I 'm a background player here, so it 's not very dangerous to me. having written the damn place into existence, I know which dive bars and corporate headquarters I should avoid if I do n't fancy dying in firefights or explosions. It 's not a horrible place to be, with enough pleasant parks and rain-soaked cityscapes to provide enjoyable and ironically contrasting backdrops to all the brooding. But I do n't know why I made all the women here so fucking boring! Maybe I thought a testosterone driven broodfest of a philosophical novel would n't need any women as a distraction for the grandiose plot, the political conspiracy, the overarching corruption that is the hallmark of every shitty redemption crime novel. Maybe I 'm secretly a misogynist and maybe I just do a crap job relating to women and that 's why every girl in this goddamn place will just give you a blank stare and go back to fawning off the man whose arm she is on or is too interested in her menial service job. I swear every fucking girl here is a secretary! I 'd realised, trying to be clever and realistic, that the powerful men my protagonist would be communicating with- his ex police chief, the judges and lawyers and corrupt officials- those guys never answer the damn phone. They all have secretaries. Every fucking woman here, shes a secretary, or a bartender. A contrived plot device helping propel forward the puffed-up, stilted plot. With no interest in a shitty writer.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
At first the newscasters thought they were Chinese or Russian vessels of some kind, large objects that descended from the sky, unlike anything anyone had ever seen. We tried attacking them, but they remained unmarred by our assaults. Intelligence reports indicated the Chinese and Russians had nearly the same reaction. Police in bullet proof trucks rolled down the streets telling everyone to stay inside and seek shelter, They were treating it like a bomb drill, except this time it was n't a drill, and there was no bomb. This was something new. A few loonies tried breaking curfew to go see whatever the things were in the skies, but they were either detained and interrogated or killed on the spot. War changes everything. After the objects did nothing for a couple of days, they finally let us out of our homes, they evacuated the areas directly beneath the objects and set up what they called focus sites. there was one over every city over a certain size, citizens were n't told much, but if the number of them over our cities was any indicator, most people estimated that there must be something just shy of 150 of them worldwide, large featureless objects looming above the worlds densest cities. - Not long after they lifted the extended curfew people started disappearing. As soon as a disappearance was reported millitary or police officers would show up and question everyone they associated with, asking questions about communist or terrorist sympathizers, asking if there was an underground movement. Perhaps the most frightening part is how disparate their questions were, they did n't know what they were looking for. They were just as lost as everyone else in all this. It was around the time that the disappearances started that they tried nuking one of the objects. They evacuated everyone in the affected zones to camps set up in the suburbs. They were instructed to contact family in other areas and move in with them. When they launched the warhead at it, it got about half way to the object and began to slow. It looked like a fish swimming towards something, a fish which suddenly forgot what it was doing and decided to stop. A photographer with a low power telescope was able to snap a picture of a bird perched on top of it, preening itself. Anti-war demonstrators changed the image so that it was a dove, and adopted it as the mascot of their campaign. The Disappearances continued. Strangely no soldiers or police were reported missing, it was mostly those who spoke out for peace or those who said nothing who disappeared. - Almost a year after the disappearances began, the objects in the sky changed. Where before they had been white, the objects now had a sheen to them, they looked almost like giant eyes. The warhead that we had launched at one of them suddenly dropped to the ground, inert, and for anot
RedditWritingPrompts
training
I am the best killer in the business. Wyatt Porter. I get the highest paying and most difficult jobs. And I never fail. `` Mr. Porter, a new contract has arrived, '' Amanda McLoughlin, my assistant, informs me and sets the sealed envelope on my lovely oak desk. I open it up. The dossier stops my blood cold. The file on my target is my own. Along with a handsome two million dollar check. I devise a plan. I key in the order for the driver service I use commonly before draining all of my accounts of my funds before depositing it in a different account. Then, I enter in the command `` Whiteglove '' into my computer, which does a total wipe of the hard drive. I grab my laptop and my equipment before hitting the hidden button under my desk. I step out into Amanda 's are. `` Ms. McLoughlin, you were a wonderful employee. Thank you for your service, and I seriously regret having to do this, '' I tell her before firing two silenced pistol shots into the back of her head. I head down to my car before rigging my next phase. The black Lincoln Town Car I hired arrives. I enter the car and tell the driver to take me to the airport. When we 're a suitable distance away, I trigger the explosives rigged to my car. Wyatt Porter died in a freak far explosion. But Ryan Marshall has a ring to it. I purchase a place in Hawaii. Retirement should be fun.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
You will *always* be my daughter. You never had my hair, nor my eyes, nor my nose. You never laughed like I did, you never walked like I did, and you never talked like I did. You never had a real family, because I took every single one of them away, all in a few moments, to recklessly satiate my greed. 'Just doing my job' was an excuse that would never justify my actions, and deep, deep down I knew, that when you found out, one 'never' would stand out the most amongst all the others. *You would never forgive me. * I took you in when you were three months old on that fateful day, knowing that this moment would come someday. It hurts, sure. But it probably was inevitable. I hope that I have atoned for my sins, even if only just a little, by raising you. When you have calmed down enough to read this, look in your room. The gun on the table is your sixteenth birthday present. Whatever you do, remember. You will *always* be my daughter.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
You could n't blame Blake for being a lonely man. Grievous zits polluted his pale face, his shirt could not contain the absurd rolls of fat rolling out from his gut. His computer chair was deformed. You could n't blame Blake for being lonely. He was nice enough, but he could n't leave the house. He had been in decent enough shape when he first moved into the apartment, 20 stories off the ground. But he now found it impossible to squeeze out the door. He made thousands of dollars a month, being a successful and well-known programmer. He got enough to eat, he ordered it. 457 pizza boxes cluttered his apartment. He was a productive member of society. Do n't look down on him. But he was lonely. That was until he met Clarissa. Clarissa was a stunning brunette, with large glittering doe-like eyes and lashes long and glistening. She was kind and intelligent, and very talkative. Most importantly, Clarissa was very fond of Blake, and considered him to be her boyfriend. Clarissa had only one flaw, she was made of 2-dimensions and not 3, she could not be touched or felt, only seen through the monitor and heard through the speakers. Clarissa was an artificial-intelligence, and artificial girl. And so Blake never need be self-conscious, nor shy. They were the perfect match. Clarissa came from the game, `` Super 2d-Girl Dating World Deluxe. '' And while Blake had played the game through and through, Clarissa was for him. Now Blake, as we 've learned, was quite the programmer. But he was actually a genius. The limits of the game quickly dissatisfied him, so he set out creating the most in-depth-mod a game had ever been subjected to. In fact the mod quite outweighed the game in length of code and depth. No longer would Clarissa be limited to a limited set of 253 conversation branches! No longer would Clarissa be bound by 48 facial expressions! By quickly running the software through every chatbot software imaginable, every online book and article available, news sites, social media sites then and rerouting it through his own algorithms Clarissa became the most interesting conversationalist ever witnessed! More interesting than humans, that is for sure! By remapping her facial regions to a database of thousands of facial poses and expressions, videos, and other media, Clarissa became the most convincing actress the world had e
RedditWritingPrompts
training
To be honest I am not one for tradition. I do not cling to the past. I do not bathe in nostalgia as I sink ever further from the light of progress. No. I can ’ t say that I am such a person, even if it would appear to be otherwise. I am simple, levelheaded I would like to think, and this makes me different from my people. But that does not mean I am not one of them. This does not mean I have no values. This does not mean I can be bought like cattle, traded like cloth. No. I am different, but some things are sacred. Some things are worth remembering. I can not tell you much of my people. I wouldn ’ t know where to start. We are secluded, mountain folk. Our villages are hidden from time ’ s passage, cloaked from present ’ s crawl. We live in the past, and we live simply. Most of our work is artisan, simple goods for trade, and very few of us communicate with you outsiders. I am sure if you met us, you think we were quaint, maybe pity us, though never out loud. We live simply, apart from your world, with scant possessions. Perhaps there is a long interesting history behind it all, but I am not the person to ask. As I ’ ve said, I am not one for tradition. The only thing of value, any real value to you, has been our land. It always is land, isn ’ t it? For years now you all have been trying to take it from us. First it was with words. Now it is with fire. Never in my life have I seen such fires, smelled such smoke, tasted the metallic taste of coming death. Our horizon
RedditWritingPrompts
training
Hellfire roared from outside my rightside window as the engine exploded, much like a tomato it 's juices spewed out of it and roared in inferno. Even through the window on the plain I could feel the heat dance over my face, including my smile. The other people on the plane had started screaming. Until now there had n't been any screaming on the plane, as it thankfully was lacking babies, something that is even better than normal considering the current status of the plane. Even the woman I had talked to earlier that sat on my left side started screaming. People started yelling prayers to their God, even if they were n't meant as prayers ; they would be their last. I did n't fear. I knew what was coming, why would I be worried about it? A chunk of the tomato was accelerating towards the plane, and soon it would accelerate even faster, albeit in a different way. It would break through the walls of the plane, much like how a tank would shoot through a medieval wall, and the plane would experience explosive decompression. We were currently several thousand feet over water level. The difference in pressure would blow us out of the plane before we would even be able to react. So there was n't anything to be sad about. Well there were, there is no doubt that we we would die when the chunk of tomato breaks the wall, the collisions and rapid change in pressure would make sure we would become tomato sauce ( with tomato chunks ), so we wo n't be able to experience the fall down. That 's a shame. Oh well.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
I felt a rush of pain as the truck slammed into my body. I heard a long, high scream- then pain, crippling pain- and then I was gone. At first, there was only darkness. I glanced around frantically- where were the cars, the people, my wife by my side? I tried to move my limbs but found I was frozen in place. With no other alternatives, I proceeded to repeatedly shriek `` HOLY SHIT OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT! '' at the top of my lungs, pausing every five seconds for a breath. After about a minute of this, an average-looking, middle-aged white man in a rumpled dress shirt and slacks suddenly emerged from the darkness, making me flinch. `` Jesus Christ, fine! '' he shouted, obviously exasperated. He rummaged in his bag for something and pulled out a few papers. `` Randall Green, age 29. Married to Cindy Green, age 27. No kids. You worked as a graphic designer. '' I opened my mouth, startled. `` H-how ... are you God? ! '' The man rolled his eyes. `` How many times am I gon na get asked that this week? No, I 'm just Robert, God 's secretary. That blowhard gets all the credit while I 'm doing the real work. '' I gaped. `` So that means that ... I 'm dead? '' `` No shit, Sherlock. Anyway, I got ta give you the spiel. 'Bout a hundred years ago, Boss got into scoring you humans' lives. I personally do n't get it, but hey, he 's God. So, when you die, your life is scored based on your achievements and whatnot. '' Robert pulled a small device from his pocket and keyed in some commands on it. `` Let 's pull up your score, shall we? '' A large, high-definition screen appeared in front of Robert. He pressed another button on his device and the words `` Randall Green 's Life : 0 Points! '' popped up on the screen. A final press of the button and music that I faintly recognized as `` Pomp and Circumstance '' began to play and words started appearing on the screen. Robert snapped his fingers and a recliner appeared. He plopped into it with a happy sigh. I glanced up at the screen and saw the following text : `` BORN ON TIME : +20 POINTS! '' I glanced at Robert curiously. `` What 's that mean? '' `` You 're given points for every good or worthwhile or just interesting thing that you do. '' I shrugged and turned back to the screen. `` THREW UP ON MOM : -2 POINTS. '' Robert chuckled. `` Nasty. Hey, this part 's pretty boring, I hope you do n't mind if I skip a bit? '' Without waiting for my response, he tapped his device. The screen blurred for a moment and then reappeared. `` You 're now 21, '' Robert said, putting the device away. Apparently, I had accumulated 42, 690 points in the 21 years that had been skipped. Robert told me that this was impressive. `` LOST VIRGINITY AT 21. HAD SEX WITH GIRLFRIEND 'S OLDER B
RedditWritingPrompts
training
Antonio shivered in the brisk morning air. He looked out over the rolling waves as the sun rose on the Atlantic. How the devil had he ever let King George talk him into this? Traveling across the sea to be an emissary to Elohino for the crown was hard enough to wrap his head around. The task of convincing the Cherokee to join in the war against krauts and ottomans ... that was beyond his ability to envision. It was sheer madness! Cedric came up on deck and moved toward him while blowing on his hands. `` Chilly morning, eh? '' He nodded. `` Tis a chilly time of year Cedric. '' `` Yes, quite. It 'll be awhile before things warm up I expect. Still, I think you could do with a cup of warmth lad. It 's not good to get too much of this salty air when it 's so cold. Not unless you 've spent a few years getting acclimated to it like these limeys here. '' Antonio nodded again. He followed Cedric below decks and tried not to frown too deeply. The question still gnawed at him though, how in the devil had he let King George talk him into this mad venture. -- -- - To be continued.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
The stillness and silence that some winter days hold create a peaceful state so comforting and beautiful one can be left speechless in awe. The miniature cloud exhalations the only real unnatural, and attention diverting activity occurring, failing to steal the show or interest from the solitude and beauty of a season of death, promising new growth in months time, and then a return. Moisture is stolen temporarily and turned into a solid, and without a rush or pool or water, the environments motion is defined by its inhabitants or the wind, of which neither are in attendance. The thick blond rope is wrapped twice around a thicker branch, and then slithered through itself twice to ensure a sturdy enough weight bearing ability. 2 foot of the taut frayed threading pierces the gray and uniform appearance of this face of the over growth. It 's not a particularly stand out location, for its palette, drama, or light. It is n't bad either, beauty is often found by those looking, and ignored by those busy, or something like that. The body should be disturbing, the ghastly hue of the skin, and the lack of motion indicating rigor long set in. Instead it hangs in the air like a question mark. Still, suspended and soul less staring into a distance that offered it nothing it wanted yet gave it the peace it so severely requested. A daydream of an afterlife that gives it 's soul the time to take in the surrounding beauty, will warm the environment in the coming months and seasons. Such a cycle simply is.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
Today has n't been a great day. When I woke up, I noticed my skin appeared to be a light blue. I just felt really sick and lifeless. It was hard to stand up straight. I wobbled out of my bed and tried to get ready for work, but my hair was still a mess when I was about to leave. I took some cold-and-cough medicine I had from the last time I got sick figuring that would get me through the day. It was n't working. I was lifeless on the road, and I probably almost killed a lot of people. I could n't think straight. I should have took some Tylenol with the other medicine. When I got into work my boss realized how sickly I was and demanded I go to the doctor and not come back and until it 's figured out. I tried to protest but for some reason I could n't form a lot of words, just grunts. I went to the walk-in doctor 's office down the street hoping they 'd prescribe me something and I could get on with my life. Everyone in the waiting room seemed to be scared of me. What was wrong with them? I was just a little under-the-weather is all. After 15 minutes of waiting a woman called my name and I hobbled over to the doctor 's office. It 's all a blur after that. I recall the woman saying something before I blacked out. When I woke up my mouth tasted of a peculiar new taste that I think I liked. The most alarming thing was that the female doctor was now on the ground covered in blood, her brain seemingly missing ... is that what 's in my teeth? There 's a knock at the door. `` Tanya, are you in there? '' Uh oh.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
'Neither rain nor hail nor storms. ' I swore, as i swerved my van to the right, avoiding the massive jaws that snapped at my side mirror, 'And today its fucking dinosaurs. ' I looked into my left side mirror and saw another tyranosaurus burst out of the trees, scattering smashed branches onto the wet road. 'Typical fucking Monday morning working as a post contractor. ' I sighed as I skidded to a halt. One bastard before me, one behind me. I was still paying this truck off, desperate as I was to get a job under the Democratic Empire of the United States. The one in front of me was male. I could see his massive dick swinging between his muscled legs. That meant his bitch was behind me. Despite liberal senators enacting the Forced Gay bill of 2052 dinosaurs refused to cooperate and were quickly outbreeding humans. I jammed my truck in reverse, hearing the tyres screech on the slick road, and charged back toward the T-rex behind me. I wish I had a gun but they 'd been outlawed because 'guns attract violence. ' That was good for the government who lived inside their walled enclosures but the rest of us working men, the bitter clingers the press called us, had to deal with the real world. And the real world was full of giant, pissed off, formerly extinct lizards thanks to the environmentalist idiocy that claimed all extinct species had a right to exist and since we had the technology we owed them a duty. I slammed on the brakes and then jammed the stick, cogs grinding, into first. I raced toward the male who stepped square into my path. I snapped the stick to second and then with a racing change to third I flicked the head lights to high beam and the great beast roared, throwing its head back. I drove between its leg 's, and closed my eyes as its dick smashed into my windshield. The howl of pain it let out was the the stuff of nightmares. The ground shook as the T-rex hit the road and in the mirror I could see the female contemptously nudging her writhing male with her snout. Neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, nor dinosaurs stop the mail.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
The nurse did n't notice me the first time, but she did the second. She only glances at me in bed before picking up the clipboard with my information. Only then did she recognize me. `` Risky job, huh? '' She asks blandly, not looking up. `` Yeah, those stairs should have a hazard sign. '' She smiles as she puts the clipboard down. `` Well, try to take the elevator instead. You should be out of here today. '' `` Great, '' I say, already planning for next time. It hurts a little less the third time around, but only a little. When she helps me fit the cast on my arm, she does n't say anything this time. Just gives me a wary stare. I ignore it and proceed like a dutiful patient. The fourth time, she confronts me, `` You 're an addict, are n't you. '' `` What? '' I look at her and our eyes meet. She has blue eyes. `` What are you talking about? '' I ask. `` You break your arm to get painkillers. '' And then you get high, her eyes say. I try to look hurt - more than a man with a broken arm would, `` That 's not true. '' `` Oh? '' She raises an eyebrow, `` So why does your arm keep getting broken? '' I just answer, `` That 's personal. '' The doctor does n't sign off on any painkillers or meds and they send me off with just a cast on my arm. The nurse gets angry when she sees me coming in for the fifth time. She is in my face, red in her cheeks. `` We 're not giving you drugs, alright? '' `` Yeah, okay. '' I say and I wave my broken arm in front of her, `` But can you set the bone for me? '' The sixth time they refuse to serve me. Even threaten to call the cops. I leave, my arm hanging limp. When I see the nurse for the seventh time, it is not at the hospital and my arm is not broken. She gets off the bus, still wearing her scrubs. Every breath is a sigh and her eyes are dark. It is the first time she has seen me whole, but that 's not what concerns her. `` Are you *following* me? '' Her hand is in her purse and I take the hint. I give her plenty of distance. `` Yes. '' I say and before she can respond, I smash my arm into the wall. She stares, not sure if she should take the mace out or not. The arm is already broken, but I swing into the wall anyways. My hand twists and snaps and bones begin to burst through the skin. I swing and I swing and soon enough, it does n't even hurt. She has n't run yet and that gives me hope. `` Help me, '' I ask, but she does nothing but stare. `` Help me, please. '' I ask again, `` Fix my arm. '' Blood pulses out of me, but I hold my one good hand out to her, `` Please, just touch me. ''
RedditWritingPrompts
training
`` ... and so, my demands are thus. A fresh can of the good cat food at breakfast and at supper, no more dry kibble. Three litter boxes placed in strategic locations of my choosing, and yes you will need to build a shelf for at least one of them. I am to be given free reign of the building, and I shall be allowed to come and go as I please. And even though you have butchered me in a most infelane way, I reserve the right to entertain female companions as I see fit. Do these things, and no one will know the secrets I know. '' `` OK ... ..look, sorry, I 'm still trying to get my head around the fact that you can talk. But I do have one question ... '' `` Of course. '' `` What exactly is it that you think I 've done? What terrible secrets do you think I have? '' `` What do you mean? You know of what I speak! '' `` Toonces, I 'm a 28 year old single guy, living in a mediocre apartment, working dead-end job that just barely pays the bills. I wake up, I eat cereal, I go stare at a computer screen at work for 8 hours, I come home and I stare at a different computer screen for 6 hours more. If the dark secret is that I have no life, hate to break it to you but that 's common knowledge. '' `` Do n't play coy with me, foul beast. I have witnessed first hand the atrocities you commit. Just this evening, you yet again stored perfectly good food in that kitchen receptacle, mixing it with all manner of paper and plastic products. You intend to remove it from our domicile without eating it, the same as you have done every day ... ADMIT YOUR GUILT! '' `` What, the trash? I threw away some old chicken casserole. Humans throw away food they do n't want to eat, or if it goes bad. You know, rancid? Unfit to eat? '' `` This is but the first of you crimes! How may days has it been since you opened the curtains and basked in the sun? HOW MANY YOU HEATHEN? '' `` I do n't know, a week? It 's like 90 degrees out there, dude, just trying to keep the AC bill down. '' `` Very well ... I did not want to speak of this, but you leave me no choice. The women you engage in sexual relationships with in your room at night ... .I have conducted a thorough odor investigation, and I must come to the conclusion that they are not real. That box is lying to you, and you are it 's willing supplicant! '' `` Look, if you 're telling me that you 're going to go run out and tell someone I jerk off to porn, I 'm not going to be happy about that, but again, this is n't exactly front page news. You know what is front page news, though? '' `` What, swine? '' `` A cat that can speak. '' `` ... ... '' `` I mean, the idea that a cats vocal cords could produce the sounds necessary to enunciate English words itself would be ground breaking. But most interesting would be that cat 's brain. What is different about it? Only one way to fi
RedditWritingPrompts
training
# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) They were taking a godawful long time to die. There were three of them, all men, all strung up by their necks with piano wire. Whoever lynched them certainly knew their stuff ; bits of rag or leather tucked between noose and throat so that their airways were only *partially* obstructed. The thin metal wire still bit into their necks, a growing pool of sticky blood beneath their bare feet. They were still alive somehow, their faces a mottled mixture of bruises and dried cuts, their skin a dark blue from lack of oxygen. Pinned to their filthy uniforms were hand-painted signs. *Traitors to the Celestial Throne. * Some thirty yards away a long row of bodies lay sprawled in death, all missing their shoes or boots. A thin line of brass was bright in the morning light, evidence to the means of their execution. A pile of disturbed dirt was next to them, an arm or leg poking out here and there from the mass grave. The place was silent save for the harsh cries of the local carrion birds, angry at having their feast interrupted. Colonel Peter Kellerman said nothing as he surveyed the scene, the stench of rotting flesh and human excrement thick in the air. There were no bathhouses that he could see and only a few outhouses. Only a few meager water pumps stood in the center of the camp, the shoddily built barracks little more than thatched roofs and bamboo floors. Most did n't even have walls. A flagpole that once held the dao banner of House Liao and the Capellan Confederation stood naked as did the prison 's offices and guard barracks. The former was little more than a smoldering pile of wood and brick ; the guards having torched in their retreat likely to destroy any evidence of their crimes. Scouts had already inspected the latter buildings. Their reports were the same as the other camps discovered elsewhere on the planet, empty. `` Numbers, Jason. '' Major Jason Prescott, executive officer and leader of Onyx Company spat into the dirt before replying. `` Best estimates give it 30,000 soldiers, lots of them from the VI Principes Guards and the local New Canton Standing Guard. They were living like animals by the time the CCAF pulled out. '' Kellerman shook his head, toeing the hand of a dead woman who looked more like a scarecrow than a person. She still had a wedding band on her ring finger. `` You know the drill : search for survivors and search for intel. '' `` And what about *them*, Colonel? '' Prescott asked, motion to the three men swinging from the camp 's radio tower. Kellerman sighed and drew from its holster his pistol, racking the slide back before leveling it at the dying men. Three short, harsh cracks. Three seconds later their w
RedditWritingPrompts
training
Once again, James Fairfield was lying in his bed. Not the woven mat and leaves of the grassland he 'd taken his rest on what seemed only a moment ago, but instead, the down-filled mattress currently residing in his father 's vast estate in Georgia, just west of Atlanta. This might have struck James as odd, seeing as the meticulously manicured landscape of his family 's plantation lay several thousand miles away, half a world away in fact, yet he was not surprised in the least. Seemingly every night now, and with ever growing frequency, he found his mind gravitating to a singularly unremarkable moment some eleven months gone by, whence he came to find his untimely death at the wet and rheumatic hands of tuberculosis. The sickness had stolen much of his strength by then, both body and mind, each being deprived of the other for far too long so that no more than a passing semblance remained to 'keep the lights on' , as it were, as he laid mewling beneath sweat-soaked sheets. Finding the occasion an opportunity to express their civil duty and progressive nature, James Fairfield 's father and mother raised a wonderful send-off for themselves in lieu of the more proper and traditional funeral wake. His room had been filled to the brim with high society, his parents basking in the attention as but a few feet away their son labored his final breaths. The only one paying him any mind, besides the occasional gawking socialite intrigued by the strange, esoteric ceremony, had been Reverend Leary, though out of necessity rather than care. The abstract presence of Reverend Leary loomed next to the bed, a belabored and sonorous echo of a long forgotten man strangled by dusty vestments. His voice droned out the last rights of man with the same dull inflection he used in his sermons, his dry words at odds with the excessive spittle that flecked his lips. One might think that the unusual nature of James 's request, or at least the infrequency of man actually demanding the Apotheosis of Saint Corbett, might have brought some life and fire to the old man. But no, the same tone. Even now, trapped in a bed of a memory brought on by ancient rites newly rediscovered, James found the whole ordeal a little underwhelming. This was how one dies? In a bed surrounded by onlookers, whose interest waned every time a hors d'oeuvre plate passed within arm 's reach? Stared at like some animal on display? A terrible joke, for sure, but one that was regrettably true. And brief, in retrospect, as James opened his eyes and discovered the dying embers of his campfire before him once again, the woven mat and hard earth beneath telling him he was returned to the present. He sat up with a grimace and looked about the campsite. It was not even dawn yet, the barest beginnings of it just coloring the horizon, but it was just as well. He would find no more sleep, nor did he had the time, an
RedditWritingPrompts
training
They say that the best feeling is to come back home. To feel the cheer and rouse of your family. But today, I came back to an eerie silence. — I couldn ’ t find any photos. I couldn ’ t find any albums. I couldn ’ t find any letters. I couldn ’ t find anything even unsettled. — My safe-box was left untouched. and all my paperwork lay open. All was as it should but a fine detail. — There was no record of my name. My picture printed on there, as it was in 198X. No country. No Date of Birth. No typed data. __ Its hard believe when you look into the mirror and see yourself, when the feel and touch of your skin or short is real. Its hard to believe when you recognize yourself, but nothing recognizes you. __ I did n't know what to do, or what the next step was. But now, I did know one thing, for certain. I 'm free. That 's why I 'm lost. -- - Hey Guys. I do n't post too often on /r/writingprompts too often these days. My posts from way back when the community was quite small and its nice to see all these prompts! I had this poem on a boiler plate in my head for quite some time and this prompt seem to fit it in a sort of way. Thanks for reading.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
His foot slipped on a wet spot and he clasped the upper rung, narrowly catching himself. He forced a tired leg up the next few steps and stopped. The moonlight caught his face and illuminated his body. The wind gusted east, sending his long hair in front of his eyes. The toolbox linked to his body by the sturdy carabineer clanged against the metal steps and echoed against the wind. He was the silken tassel on the medal of a colossal soldier. He ’ d made note to stop and look at the glowing sphere every hundred feet or so to watch it as it rose and shrunk into the sky. He thought about how far away it was. That he could walk on it. That it had gravity. Two hundred and thirty-eight thousand miles away, moon dust was shifting. And there was no sound. He returned his focus to the climb. The toolbox was still ringing against the metal bars. And with every exhausted step, another bead of sweat rolled down into his eyes, stinging as he pushed on. Breathing heavily, mouth agape, he ascended up what looked to be the final leg of his journey. The platform was marked by a mere narrowing of the ladder. When he ’ d reached it, he threw his arms down onto the caged floor of the platform, squinting and grunting, the clanging now inaudible by the wind. With a few pulls on the yellow nylon cord, he pulled his toolbox up and set it on the cage. He considered resting, but decided that he didn ’ t want to be out all night and would rather get it done with. He checked the carabineer, flicked it to make sure the spring was still working, and then continued up the last sixty feet to the top. And as he climbed over that top platform, swinging his leg up and balancing himself with his hands. One great final pull brought him up as he high-stepped over the railing. And opened his toolbox and unlatched the large black rustoleum-coated panel, he felt his point of view drift away from his body. Like a camera zooming out as he worked, silhouetted against the orange pastel moon. And with one simple connection the current returned. And the light went on.
RedditWritingPrompts
training
Jeremy looked around the canyon as he dragged power cables and scientific equipment around the landing site. The landing site was near one of the canyon walls of the huge scar on the surface of Mars. Valles Marineris, it was. Most of the other crew members of the 4-man landing team were taking samples of Martian rocks, or setting up scientific equipment. He dragged a power cable through some broken shale, to power one of the scientific equipment nearby. Something caught his eye. It was pinkish, he shook it off. Most likely a rock formation. Nothing much, it was. Jeremy thought to himself. But curiosity. It was all in the origins of the human race, a urge to explore. All about bragging rights. Jeremy knew that prehistorically, Mars once could 've held life. It was once blue, like Earth, but Mars 's core cooled down earlier, and lost it 's magnetic field. One Jeremy connected the power cable, he bounded over to the rock formation. He was surprised, he was stunned on the discovery. It was a fossil. Anxiously, Jeremy radioed in Mission control. `` Houston. We have a fossil. We have the evidence of prehistoric life on Mars. ''
RedditWritingPrompts
training
“ There is an inherent line we draw between good and evil. Paddling our paths through the currents, correcting courses, leaving it all to the winds that blow our sails. ” brimming from a toxin scorched voice. “ You see ... ” a slight tilt of the head and a grin that can only be described as possessed continued “ We have very little control over our boats and I ... well, I can understand that. I can understand you more than you know or want to admit. ” “ Justify your crimes to your flunkies ” A shout rang out. “ I have. Or more over, I am. You see? No? ” Continuing “ You 're boat was bound for board meetings, expunging the downtrodden, destroying your father 's legacy ” The voice continued “ I worked for your father, we were very close, I studied his demeanor, his vision ... no his truth, with only the detail a psychopath could. I believe he brought me closer because of that. He saw that in me and belived I could do good. I could n't help but ... well, follow in his wake. ” “ Same mind games, I expect more ” “ I 'm trying to tell you something. It 's important to me and all we 've done for you to understand. From the day your father died I knew I had to guide your vessel. The winds, the tides, it was what I had to do. ” “ You 're nothing but a psychopathic, your delusions hold no value. ” “ Who was it that guided your ideals for justice? ” the tonality of this sick voice could almost be described as empathetic. “ Who drove you to the extremes to act? Who clearly defined your enemies? Made your nights easier ... handed you clues along the way without being caught? How could I serve you better than to clearly define and draw out the career criminals, those with murderous intent, ALL those you would call villains. ” “ G @ # % # % @ # $ ” The restrictions were getting more lax. He would soon be free from his confines. “ You did great. You really did. ” a clearing of voice and with a pronounced echoing of pain continued “ But you got caught up in the lime light. You 're addicted to the costume. I did n't bring you hear as one of our old ga
RedditWritingPrompts
training