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[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.	“I had no idea what the numbers meant at first, but everyone had one. The highest I had seen, before I knew what they were, was my uncle, a Vietnam veteran, five. I learned what they really meant two years ago, walking home after my first day of middle school, a passing car swerving all over the road, had to be going at least 60 miles an hour, the driver was a seven. The car flew through a house, leaving nothing but a hole in the wall and smoking scrap metal. According to the news that night all the passengers and the owner of the house had been killed, those numbers measured danger, and from then on I steered clear of the high ones. Flash forward until now, a couple months into my freshman year of high school. Most kids aren't all that dangerous, usually around a two; some of the meek scrawny nerds are a one, and some of the linebackers who look like they've been taking steroids for years are a three. A new kid shows up and flies under everyone's radar but mine, six. This guy isn't some stereotypical gangbanger or hoodrat, just a normal looking kid who looks like he might have moved from a neighborhood much more posh than this one. I keep my distance as usual, but resolve to keep an eye on him. Nothing seems to go wrong, in fact he's pretty popular, but I still become more wary of him, of his number, of seven, of eight. I'd never seen anyone's number change before, but this guy's just keeps going up at record pace. A day ago it happened, ten. I had been to a prison once to visit my idiot brother who got busted for selling weed, and nobody there was even that high. I don't know what this fucker is planning, but with a number like that it's got to be a national security issue or something.” This journal entry was recovered from the home of US Department of Defense supernatural human subject #2718, who was recovered following a school shooting incident. We have determined that the numbers he sees are likely correlated not only to the danger a person poses, but also faces. Further experimentation and interviews are required to determine any potential applications of this ability. Subject is deemed safe to return to society, following debriefing and signature of non-disclosure agreement. (I kinda suck at writing endings, but I gave it a shot. My first non FF/CW post here!)	He looked at me. His eyes were dark and sunken into his pale face. I sensed something - something terrible - but I didn't want it to be true. Ten. Just a number to some, but to me, it was something terrifying. I could sense danger, but not in the animal planet documentary story of a dog predicting a storm kind of way, it was more of "this persons dangerous stay away". Ten. It was the highest number I've ever felt. The last time it was even above a three was at the local gun show that I went to with my grandpa. But even then there were only fives, sixes, and maybe a stray ex-ranger or marine who clocked in at an eight. But never a ten. The kid across the hall must've been about 15 years old, a year younger than myself. Freshman no doubt. I could tell by the way he carried himself walking through the hall, scared and timid, or maybe it was because he was new. Either way it didn't really matter. He was new and he was dangerous. The boy didn't glow with a scary or dangerous aura as some kids do, you know the senior who has about 50 pounds on you, has way too many tattoos to still be in high school and probably carries a knife or that constantly pissed off and high on caffeine kid who is always in the principles, no he didn't look like that. He just looked sad, depressed even. Days passed and I didn't bother him and he didn't bother me. I saw him from time to time in the halls and the alarm in my head shot off again and again. Ten. But I did nothing. What could I do though? You can't just approach someone and yell at them because "I can sense danger and you are a really dangerous guy". Ya start a huge scene about my magical powers that'll work! Definitely won't get my ass kicked for that. But still I felt like I needed to do something, warn someone, I can't just sit idly by as this kid roamed through school. I couldn't tell anyone though, no one would believe it. So the days passed and I started to forget about the boy. Not truly forget, I knew he was there, but more that I blocked him out. Maybe it was because he scared me, I don't know. It has been four weeks since he arrived. TING, TING, TING. I knew I should have said something. I could've if I wanted too. Or maybe this was how it was suppose to be. I wasn't much of a believer in a "pre-determined destiny" kind of philosophy and yet I didn't try and change anything. I let it happen. TING, TING, TING, TING. This all could've been avoided. Fuck me, I was given this power and I never even fucking used it when I had the chance. TING, TING, TING. I deserve this, but they don't. They're innocent. TING, TING, TING, TING. They kept hitting the floor. I urged them to stop. Stop it, please! PLEASE GOD STOP IT. There was no god now though, he had turned a blind eye to this just as I had done to the boy. And this is the price I pay. TING, TING, TING. The shells hit the school tile as the boy with the gun marched through the halls ripping the life out of each and everyone who lined the halls. The blood pooled up at his feet. TING, TING, TING. He wouldn't stop. I kneeled and excepted my fate. The last thing that went through my mind was ten. TING. Just before the bullet erased everything.	2014-11-29T12:35:37	2014-11-29T12:31:42	199	38
[WP] You're a 'comically incompetent' supervillain for a group of C-List heroes. They are no real threat to you, so you endure their childish speeches. However, when the heroes raid the civilian business you run on the side and injure your employees, you decide to take yourself seriously for once.	"Who did this to you?" I asked, a fire lit within me. "T-the...t-the...h-heros." The man barely got the words out as he tried to sit up, his legs bent in weird angles. His eye blinded by blood dripping down from a gashed eyebrow. His face swollen to an unrecognizable degree. I reached out and helped him to a chair. "Thanks." "Don't mention it. I'm assuming you mean the C-class heros that have been harassing me with their childish speeches? The man nodded painfully. A window cracked under my anger. I'm usually a chill guy. The type that doesn't take life too seriously. I've been dubbed "The comically incompetent villain." And I had no problem with that. I was completely happy with the way things are...but this? I looked at my other employees that were hurt in a similar fashion. I walk into work every day as their boss. They smile and always go above and beyond for me. Even when it gets tough for them, they don't complain. I've gotten to know each and every one of them. I know about their lives, their hopes, and their dreams...as well as what holds them back and the lessons and regrets that haunt them in life. I looked at the pudgy women that always brings in the most delicious donuts in for everybody to enjoy. Her smile contagious. I looked at the guy that always asks how everyone is doing and listens like a true man. I looked at the older man that is always willing to teach whoever is willing to listen about the job. I looked at the jokester that never failed to make someone laugh. Then finally I looked at the young man that just joined and was once full of life now unmoving on the floor. Thankfully he wasn't dead...yet. These are my people. They call me evil. They call me a villain. They say that villains treat people less then human. But what about them? People say they are hero's but as I looked at this display before me, it does not seem that way at all. I learned long ago that there really is not a right or wrong way. Just your way...and what ever suits his or hers self-interest...The world is terribly grey and I'm about to show them the way I do things when I'm pissed off. I looked solemnly at my employees. "They will pay for this. You have my word." I said with a raw emotion that I couldn't describe. The employees looked at me sympathetically. The old man Phill spoke up gruffly between broken teeth giving him and odd lisp as he talked. "You don't have to. We understood the moment we accepted the job that something like this could happen one day." I just glanced at him before turning around. I couldn't look any further. I started to make my way out the building. On my way out the door I said something more to myself then to them. "I will go and I will show them what regret looks like." ... It was raining cats and dogs outside as I paused Infront of a bar close to hero HQ. Thunder and lightning flashed in the reflection of the windows. This is the place these C-class heros like to hang out. I walked inside casually and spotted the heros I was dying to see. The other people saw me. Noticing that I'm not here for fun, they either left the bar or walked where they thought would be out of harm's way. The group glanced at the front door and their eyes widened before smiling at me. The bald guy laughed while his team joined in. The skinny man next to him lit a cigarette while the women with butch hair and tattoos slouched down into a seat comfortably as if getting ready to watch a show. "You finally made it! I was thinking you would be joining us. Did you like our little gift we sent to your employees? I think they liked it." The muscular hero with a bald head said mirthfully as he downed a shot. "You lot sure enjoyed yourselves. You guys have been extremely lucky that I've been such a tolerant guy. Now your luck has ran out." That group burst out into laughter. The bald man walked up to me until he was face to face. "You? A failure and laughingstock of a villain? Alright show me. Show me why even A class heros don't dare touch you?" The bald man with super strength hurled his shot glass on to the floor. The glass exploded as he clenched his fist—A hail maker in the works. I raised an eyebrow. "Alright, but don't blame me. Blame your stupidity for pissing me off. Ah, this really is Darwinism at it's finest." I smirked as I gathered my power. Suddenly, the skinny man that was smoking started coughing up a fit as he struggled to get ahold of himself. The women's chair leg snapped as she fell on her ass stunned. The bald man that was at this moment in mid swing tripped on his own two feet and fell face first into the pieces of glass that was now on the floor. "Ahhhh! My eyes!" The man growled in pain as he stood back up. Now blinded, He tried to go for a tackle. "I'll kill you!" He yelled as he looked as if he was crying blood. I dodged easily as I picked up a beer bottle that just happened to be conveniently right where I needed it and smashed it on his head as the force of his tackle carried him into a table that tipped at an awkward angle as a fat man tried to shuffle out of the way. The table hit his solar plexus knocking the wind out of him. He fell unconscious as a loose lamp chandelier dropped right on his head and took the table with him launching a mug that was on it up into the air as the skinny man got ready for action. He grabbed a knife from his belt. The knife glowed a blue color before launching it at my face. The knife practically disappeared before getting blocked and redirected by that very same mug that just happened to fall precisely in the way of the knife and my face. The bald man woke up as the knife hit him in the kneecap. I walked slowly towards the skinny man as he looked increasingly frightened as his knives seem to miraculously miss or get blocked by objects in the bar that I casually threw in the way. The flying objects always seemed to be miraculously aimed at the bald man as he got increasingly injured as I went. When I was in reasonable distance from the skinny hero, I punched out aiming for his ugly face. The skinny man glowed blue and dodged only to trip over the wet floor and hit himself on a fallen edge of a chair in such a way that his neck cracked, knocking him out cold as he fell to the floor barely breathing. I glanced at the women that just managed to stand up only to witness the carnage of the past few moments. "S-screw this." She turned and dashed out the bar into the rainy weather as her hair got wet only to run straight into a random stranger that knocked her into the street right Infront of a speeding car. She looked in a panic at the car as it honked it's horn aggressively before glowing purple and teleporting a few meters away. She laughed while breathing heavily as she thought she was out of the clear before lightning struck. She convulsed as lightning went from her skull to the ground. She collapsed down onto the pavement dead still. I took a deep breath as I relished in my revenge. The other spectators in the bar looked at me like frightened animals as I made my way out. I'm thinking sushi tonight when I get home. The villainish man thought as he slowly made his way home without a single shred of guilt... Note: I wrote this In like...under an hour. So definitely not my best work. Lol but it was fun. xD	crack Crack Crack " Please I beg you stop!" mighty lad screamed. A steel cane rams into his jaw "Martha, Benjamin, Alice, Steven" the wack hatter mutters Mere hours ago Angelstar wack hatter's boutique cosplay shop was attacked by the league of cool crime stoppers. The employees were beaten to within an inch of there lives and arrested and now sit in jail for aiding a criminal. "How did you know" wack hatter growled "We have been watching you for a while now you're movements your identity is not so secret Dennis" " So you assumed my employees had anything to do with my other life you fools" wack hatter sighs "They helped you move glycerin into warehouses your going to bomb the mayor's home" mighty lad wheezed out "We sell soap" "What" "Glycerin it's one the main ingredients in soap it was Martha's soap actually" "That doesn't change the fact it can be used to make bombs Martha was probably your second in command" Whack hatter growing angrier by each word muttered by this wannabe beat cop. Yells " She was pregnant you piece of shit" "What" "When she was arrested she called me the beating you gave Martha led her to going in the hospital" "Oh no no no" "She miscarried, a beacon of hope destroyed a soon to be family even my origin is happier than that" "Oh God why this was superwonder's idea we were just following her orders." "During our call we spoke of revenge and how she wants to murder each one of you. You, mighty lad are the first to fall and soon this whole city" With one solid whack from his cane whack hatter killed mighty lad instantly leaving a crater in his skull. After the killing only one thought bounced around Whack hatter's skull "How the fuck do you make bombs out of glycerin"	2022-11-28T18:01:32	2022-11-28T17:41:23	217	81
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend. edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect.	It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do. The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease. I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth.	He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position. As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey. He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him. He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass. "Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you." *** I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha!	2015-03-31T10:42:03	2015-03-31T09:57:05	30	10
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history.	For a base with a time machine, ours sure does look weird. Over by the side you've got a 3D printer, and right next to it you've got a whole assortment of coins, swords, guns and other historical artefacts that we've mainly been able to buy off of eBay and the occasional, uhh, donation from the British Museum. That's because of time travel's fundamental core principals. Whenever you want to time travel, you need to go into the weird big tube thing in the middle, with two things. Firstly, you need to have a trinket printed with the 3D printer –this is very important – and you need something else with you. This is because of the core principal of time travel. Whenever you time travel, you go to the time and place where the item you have was made: in time travel circles we call this an "anchor" item. Which is why the 3D printer is necessary: without it there's no way you could get back to the present. Even if you brought your phone with you, you'd end up in a factory somewhere in China a couple years before your present if you used that as the "anchor" item (trust me: I've been there. It was a miracle that my friends were able to scour social media to find me and use local trinkets to reach my time, but that's a story for another time). After the phone debacle, I worked with my historian friends to pinpoint some astounding historical events: did you know that the Roanoke colony was kidnapped by aliens? When we aren't uncovering groundbreaking historical facts, we're probably somewhere in time gawking at pivotal battles or other groundbreaking events with footage that would win us the Nobel prize if the Nobel prize could award people for historical achievements. A common haunt of ours is the first performance of Beethoven's 9th Symphony in Vienna for the simple fact it's beautiful. I'd show you but you don't have the qualifications for that and it's really expensive to run these machines. Anyways, one day our team managed to get a weird statue in the New-York Historical Society and got it across the Atlantic. They said nobody really knew when it was made because the carbon dating machines always malfunctioned while trying to carbon date it or something, so they decided to put it through the time tube and find out where it got. We printed some trinkets, got into the tube with the statue and got out the other side. The first thing we noticed was that everything was really light for some reason – way more than usual. The second thing was that there were nothing around, just some weird robots (I think?) and a factory that looked like it was centuries ahead of our technology. I walked over to one of the robots and for some reason I don't quite know, I decided to ask it "When are we?" in English. Yeah. In a language that almost certainly didn't exist at the time, but what are you going to do? I mean thank God for the universal translator machines we invented because otherwise I have no idea how I could remain sane while learning forty ancient languages fluently, but this is the first –and currently only – time I haven't used the universal translator to anything outside of my team and places and times where and when modern English was spoken. "Ah, so you've discovered time travel haven't you?", the robot replied in fluent French. "I know this is going to be a bit tricky for you to understand, but it's currently 4 million BC. Yes, your BC. And we're on the Moon."	''Alpha-Zero are you with me?'' I can’t see anything. ''FUCK! I just stepped on a giant...something.'' He yells on the radio. ''Why our night-vision isn’t working, Clarkson?'' I ask. ''We just got here, how the hell I’m supposed to know?'' ''I know that you just got transferred Clarkson but this is not how you talk to your superior. Alpha-Zero going to re-ignite electro panels.'' ''Go ahead, Alpha-Zero. I will be here with Clarkson.'' I say. ''Here where exactly? I have no idea where you are.'' I decide to ignore the Clarkson for a moment, he seems anxious due to our unknown surrounding. ''Alpha-Zero, what is the update on the panels?'' There is no answer. ''Temperature dropping fast. We are at minus 45 Celcius, we were at minus 5 when we arrived.'' Clarkson reports. ''Then we should be grateful that we have these suits, right? Where is Alpha-Zero at? Alpha-Zero report!'' ''I’m here captain. My radio stopped working for a moment.'' ''Care to update me about the lights?'' ''Uhm...They are gone.'' ''What you mean they are gone?'' I ask. ''I can’t spot them. When we entered this time-line I stored our anchor so we could safely go back to our time and placed the panels right next to the storage. Both anchor and panels are gone.'' ''Can you scan our panel, Clarkson?'' Clarkson doesn’t respond. ''Clarkson come in!'' ''Should I engage code-552, sir?'' ''Go ahead, Alpha-Zero. I had enough we are at red alert from now on.'' ''Alpha-Zero activating drone number 1 and drone number 2 for code-552.'' Each drone goes in the opposite direction and they scan terrain to inform us about this area. ''Drone 1 initial report came in, sir.'' ''I’m listening.'' ''Drone 1 reads two life signs. 250 meters of distance between signs. No viable atmosphere, the temperature at minus 60. Low radiation reading and...'' ''And?'' ''Drone 2 lost contact with me which was going to my direction. Drone 1 still searching.'' ''I want you to use your echo-locator. Signal towards where we lost Drone 2.'' ''Roger that! Sir?'' ''Yes?'' ''I’m hearing a strange noise coming from my right side.'' ''Which wasn’t the where the Drone 2 gone dark, right?'' ''Yes, sir. It wasn’t going that direction. Maybe it’s Clarkson.'' ''You said it yourself. Drone 1 only read two life signs.'' ''Unless he went dark for a reason, sir.'' ''What reason that would be?'' There is no response. ''Alpha-Zero, come in! Are you there?'' I access to Drone 1. I use it to navigate my way. I start to walk towards Alpha-Zero. I walk very slowly and cautiously because the ground feels strange. It’s almost like I’m walking on something alive. I hear some sort of mumbling on the radio. I stop walking. I use drone 1 to circle on the area and see if it picks something. I lower the flying altitude and a few seconds later it starts to read movement on the ground but it doesn’t present any life sign. It’s coming towards my direction. ----------------------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.	2020-04-17T11:47:23	2020-04-17T10:18:20	106	64
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.	It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast. Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.	I held him for the first time in my arm. Those little fingers grabbing mine for the first time, that cry of help as his lungs took the first born breath, his little lips moving in the air while he was sleeping... I'm still holding him, still holding.. Still holding him even though his last breath he took was one week ago...	2017-05-31T07:58:46	2017-05-31T07:14:34	272	116
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.	Please let me know what you think! The book looked oddly delicate for something so big. The plain, black covers were frayed and the pages within soft and thin, tearing away from the spine in some places. It looked like a book that had been shelved, and re-shelved often, loved and read over and over again. My name was written on the first page, not in some curlicued calligraphy, but with a plain, steady typewriter font. I couldn't help finding that oddly appropriate. I had expected some novel, some plain and staid recounting of my life. But the contents had belied the plain cover. "You have a choice," I read. "Do you choose to accept Malcolm's proposal?" I had turned him down. In reality, I had decided to leave him behind, to forge my own career, rather than support his. What would have happened, I wondered, if I had chosen to stay? I had heard someone say that, for every choice we didn't make, there was another universe, where we did make that choice. Had some other version of me made the decision to stay? What had her life been? Almost of their own volition, my hands turned the page. I only caught a glimpse of the words at the top of the page. 'Yes,' you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. 'I'll marry you.' My fingers brushed over the words, and suddenly they were words no longer. I was standing in front of a grinning, jubilant Malcolm, as he slid the ring over my finger. A lifetime flashed through my mind, or perhaps it was only a few minutes. It was hard to tell the difference. A wedding, in some garden, laughter and joy as I walked down the aisle. Standing behind Malcolm at a rally, clapping and cheering as he talked. Even to my own eyes, I seemed young and idealistic. I lived through the birth of one child, then another, watching them grow and mature. Bittersweet tears ran down my cheeks. I could have had that. I could have had a life and children and a loving husband. I had become involved in various charities, making a real difference in real lives. And then, as abruptly as the barrage of images had started, they stopped, with no clear ending. "What happened?" I asked. The dark figure who had brought me here, to this library said nothing. But I realised that it didn't need to answer. "I died first," I said numbly. "The other me, the one who chose to marry him, outlived me. Her story's not done yet." I wiped the tears away. "Good for her. I know she'll make good choices." There was a soft question, so quiet that I almost missed it. "Do you regret not marrying him?" I thought of my quiet life, and my cat. I thought of the occasional dates I had and the solitude of my home. I thought of my sister and her brilliant, vibrant family. I remembered my niece, and my nephews and their adoration of their slightly insane aunt. I thought of my promising career, and of dying young. My life may not have been exciting, but I had been content. And I thought of the other me, who had married a man she had loved and had had children who surprised and amazed her. I remembered her tiredness and frustration with her routine life. But, in the end, she had been content with her life, too. I laughed, "No, I don't regret it. I don't regret making my choice. No life is perfect." A shadowy hand flipped through the pages and I saw yet another choice on the page. I settled down to read, to watch the lives I could have led and the people I could have been. /r/YarnsToTell	I sat at the desk dumb-founded. “You mean... you mean this is everything that could have happened if I just made a different decisions?” The spirit in front of me is a friendly face but the marks on her neck tell a story of sadness. She looks at me as if I’m the first she says this to. “Yes. From the day you were born to the day you died. Every decision and every outcome. Although trust me when I say that anything before the age of 10 is more just whining and boredom. You may have done something crucial back then that caused a different outcome but it’s highly unlikely. Anyways. The book is yours. Feel free to read and digest it. But just know, you can’t change anything. Everything that happened is set. You can only see what could have happened.” She gave me a look that may have been a look to scare me but really I just wanted to get out of there. I picked up the book and walked out of the office. As soon as the door behind me closed, I let out an unneeded breath. I looked down at the book in my hands. Every decision. There was one passage I just had to read. One passage I thought was the reason for all the karma and the outcomes I made. The one reason I died. I was in a car accident. A severe car accident where We ran off the side of a cliff and into the ocean. As far as I’m aware, there were no survivors of the accident but I didn’t see anyone else. It was just me. I looked around. It seemed like I hadn’t left Earth. I was still on the green and blue planet. But I knew that wasn’t true. When you die, you become a spirit and go to a place that is similar to where you left. So I was in California, on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. I sat at the edge and opened the book to the date I knew it all started. The date I knew I had meet my match to death. I took another unnecessary breath and opened to July 18th, 2010. The day I meet Parker. The day I opened myself up to pain and abuse and neglect. The day I opened myself to telling myself that it wasn’t him. The day I started to leave my family behind. On the page it has Parker’s name and the place we meet. The skate park. I couldn’t skate but I would go with my best friend, Amanda, and we would check the guys out. I remember the day so clear. I introduced myself “Ava.” And he told me his name “Parker.” I remember being taken in by his sharp green eyes and the dyed jet black hair. The way his pants hung loose on his hips. I was a senior in high school and craved attention from any male I could get. We had talked and talked and soon became more than just friends. When I graduated, we left the small town we lived in Colorado and moved to California. It was a mistake. We couldn’t find a job or a place to live that we could stay in longer than 6 months. Drugs became an obsession for Parker while I stayed away and just waitress. It was long hours and strained our relationship but one of us had to work. The drugs became more of a problem and when I refused to give him money for them anymore, he hit me and told me to obey. That’s when I thought I wasn’t going to be able to leave. I had planned on leaving after I had saved enough money. I knew my sister would let me stay with her, I just had to get to her myself. I had been stashing money and lied to Parker that I didn’t have anything for him. He found it. My sister came once to save me but I was too weak under Parker’s control. I told her that I was fine. “Ava. Your arms are bruised and you have lost weight. Not to mention the look of this place. You need to come home. We’re worried.” “Worried? Where were you when I turned 18 and moved out here? You didn’t seem to care then. Why care now?” And the door slammed in her face. I have never felt more guilt. Then just a few months later, comes the day I die. I finally made the decision that I couldn’t do this. We were driving up the coast just to get some fresh air. I looked over at Parker and felt fear not love and that’s not what I wanted. “I’m leaving.” I had blurted. Parker looked over at me, stunned “What did you just say to me?” “I can’t do this anymore. I missed my sisters wedding. I missed the birth of my nephew. My mom is sick. I just want to go home. You and I are not compatible. We ever were. We lived in a fantasy and hoped it would work but we need to face reality. We’re broke. You do drugs. I can’t work 7 jobs to make ends meet. It’s time to let this die.” At that, Parker had agreed but not to let me go. To let us die. He jerked the wheel and went over the cliff. I remember screaming and slamming on the door to get it to open but the pressure of the water was too much and I couldn’t get out. Soon water started to enter the car. Parker just laughed and said we deserved to be together for eternity. I think he died laughing. I looked down at the page. Page number 37. The options were (approach Parker, pages 37-150) or (stay with Amanda, pages 150-350). I turned to page 150. Edit: so sorry about the formatting! I did it on my phone but it should be all fixed now.	2018-07-03T23:03:08	2018-07-03T22:39:59	1,341	92
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."	The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe. “You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished. “Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said. “You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said. “Yeah?” The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.” Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.” “Explain,” the captain said. “I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.”	My name is Supply Sergeant Marcus Grant of the Terran Armada’s third support unit. I have been in a secure isolation cell in a wing of an Intragalactic Transport Centre hospital for the last 3 weeks, or maybe it’s more. The days have begun to run together. The doctors here have told me that I have gone mad. Or that, by all accounts, I should have. I believe that I am in full control of my physical and mental faculties. My repeated requests to speak to a Terran Governmental representative have thus far been denied. I do not believe that any human knows where I am. I arrived here after being accidentally locked in a cargo hold on a warp drop into the Epsilon Sagiitarii track. It’s been 3 weeks and I still don’t know how to tell them that I panicked and took an ambien not long after take off and fell asleep watching Law and Order Spacial Victims Unit before we even passed the Kuiper belt.	2020-07-14T02:58:11	2020-07-13T22:38:35	381	74
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	I miss you big guy. I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin. I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had. Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death. I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad. I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking. Don't miss your cooking though :P Miss ya big guy	Dear J, Hey J, it's me. For the sake of your privacy I'm going to omit your name like I always do when I mention you. But, I miss you. And I really fucking hate that I miss you. When I was with you, I felt like somebody, I felt like someone who had a(in my mind) foreseeable future. I haven't found anybody like you and I recently finally got over you. Without you in my life I feel like I'm adrift in an open sea, and I see an island in the distance growing smaller and starting to fade away. I have no drive in my life. I've pretty much stopped writing for fun, I have no passion, no drive, no goals for any future. Most nights I just want to find some isolated place and drink myself to death. I tried crying, but I could never manage to make any tears at all. I know, I should hate you for what you did. And most of me does, but every night, when I close my eyes, you're always on my mind. Fuck you and with regards, Dalrey_Wil	2017-11-05T22:27:41	2017-11-05T22:17:00	102	16
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session	"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?" "I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started "Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said "...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'". The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen. "Roll for persuasion", he said Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly. "Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"	“I sneak up behind my target, aim my derringer at his head, and pull the trigger” “Roll a d20 twice against your agility and once against your dexterity” A 5 A 17 D 12 “You successfully sneak up on your target and shot him in the head. However you chose a poor spot to hide while shooting and get spotted by a nearby theater patron. Your target dies within hours while you flee the scene under pursuit. The police know your identity” “Imma hide in this here barn”	2018-05-29T09:37:40	2018-05-29T09:28:35	303	39
[WP] murder is legal, once a permit has been obtained from the local police department. Permits require a declaration of a target victim and justification to commit the act. Once a permit has been issued it is valid for 72 hours. Once expired you can never get another for the same target victim.	When Murder Permits were first announced the media had a field day. It sounded like a bad joke, or something out of a strange, low-budget science fiction movie. But it was completely legitimate, and it turned out that there were some rules and regulations attached to the permits that would give you a 72-hour window in which to take another person's life. The first rule is that any item used for the action of murder had to be something you lawfully owned. If you had a car, it had to be fully paid off and registered under your name. If you had a firearm, it had to be registered under your name for no less than than three months. People became creative at circumventing the law; As a result of which, regulations became stricter on items such as hunting knives, wood chopping axes, feral animals, and fireworks, just to name a few items. For the first few months after the bill became law, it was complete and utter anarchy. People were being killed quite regularly, and with quite a lot of public bloodshed, the city was in a state of panic and disarray. As time went on though, things calmed down, surprisingly. It turned out that there were quite a few more permits registered and requests taken out than were actually executed, no pun intended. It almost seemed to have a positive effect on society, as individuals who normally were complete boorish morons began to temper their behavior with civility and kindness. It was, of course, a change under duress. But it was also a change that resulted in fewer requests for termination. Ultimately, it became quite common to threaten to "request termination" for someone, if their behavior was becoming incredibly abhorrent or socially repugnant. And we all became a little more jaded to the deaths. Whether it be because of the fact that we had seen so many people dying "randomly", or because we now had ultimate power over life and death and our own fate, that is up for debate. Scholars continue to debate over such a thing, but for the rest of the world life has moved on by and large. But the law was still in place. And as a result, people did still make good use of said law. A lot of the killings when looked at from hindsight, made quite a lot of sense. Things such as a sexual assault victim, coming back years later to take revenge against their abuser. A racist and moneygrubbing boss being taken out by an employee. A divorced spouse taking revenge on the partner whose assault and physical abuse, they suffered with for years in silence. As a whole, these killings seemed to benefit society either directly or indirectly. And so long as everything was done by the book, there were no criminal charges to pursue. Which brings us to today. It is a day like any other. But what a day it is! Today is the day I tie up loose ends. I have everything ready, and all I have to do is swing by her place to say hello. And goodbye. To my mother.	I packed as quickly as I could. Someone was going to be coming through my front door shortly, and whether the police or the family, I didn't want to be here when they did. It'd be my luck they'd send fucking Ronnie, and I couldn't think of any more embarrassing way to die than to have that stupid ox shoot me. I tried to fit the last few things into my bag, as my girlfriend's cat kept running by to hiss and bite at my hands. I hoped it it was the family that got here first, they'd shoot the damn thing. I had all the cash loaded up - mixed bills, with a few stacks of hundreds. Most of it was safely in an account under a false name, but it was important to have hard cash for this kind of thing. I hesitated over the notary stamp. It had seemed like such an easy thing. Pick up the stamp, forge the magistrate's signature, backdate it, and hit the kill permit with the stamp. $1000 a pop, a few times a month on average. I just had to deal with Ronnie showing up, ogling me, and going off with the paperwork to make whoever he'd killed the night or the day before a legit, legal hit. I'd drop the notice in the mail, and I assumed that he then took them out of whatever cooler they went in while I handled the paperwork a couple days later. No need to even worry about the 72 hour window, job's done. Boom. The fucking cat ran through again, and I thought about whether I ought to shoot him myself. I grabbed my bag, and started to the door and sweet, sweet freedom. I had my boat ticket in my bag, and the docks weren't far. Mojitos in the sun, starting in three days. The door blasted open. I saw Ronnie, leering again over the sights of his gun. Something hit me, then again. I stumbled back, scrabbling for my gun, but I was so cold. My numb fingers couldn't hold it. The table broke, and I slipped in something. I landed next to my stamp, and saw Ronnie's ugly shoes above my head. He says something, but I never quite process it. I'm sure it's lewd, because he's an asshole. I wonder who's going to sign off on me.	2019-07-09T10:26:59	2019-07-09T10:17:40	46	32
[WP] Two men play a game of chess. One can read minds; the other can see the future.	They walked up and took their seats. They looked at the board. They looked at each other. They looked at the board. Moments passed. Eventually the telepath looked to his opponent and said, "I have the worst fucking migraine right now." "Me to," said the psychic. "Let's never hang out again." "Agreed." They left.	One man sat at the base of a tree, Branching and twisting to eternity. With heart of oak and legs entwined, he ruled as king of infinite mind. Across the board, he then did see, A kindred soul with eyes like he, His face showed wonder and he sat carefree As he stared up the branches and the twists of the tree. At length they sat, and enjoyed the breeze, Searching, trunk, branch, stem, and leaf. They climbed and flew with agility and ease, but the fractal outgrew what the two could see. The king smiled, and he seemed pleased, For finding another who dares to climb trees. He plucked a leaf, white coloured in hand, and sent a lone scout to a faraway land. The other man smiled and gestured around, Of this bushel of leaves, only a single was brown. Much like a showman preparing a trick, He closed his eyes and gave his hand a flick, The branches rustled, and shuffled around, And when his palm reopened, his leaf was brown.	2017-01-19T17:36:57	2017-01-19T16:24:18	372	11
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.	They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all. Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.	"Commander, we have it. We've taken the facility that houses ten - ten! - nuclear missiles capable of reaching the United States! Can you believe it? Ten! With the fifteen suitcase nukes we've seized in the last three years since 2020, we can finally take the battle to them!" "Yes, yes....this will show the world at last that I have power and that I am a man to be feared! The world will bow their knee to me, now!" "Er...don't you mean, to God?" "Yes, yes, whatever. Sure. To God." door closes "The West will know to fear me, now." --- "Ma'am, we have the confirmation that the militants have possession of nuclear materials and have begun their intention of using them against targets within the United States." "I understand. Major!" "Ma'am!" "Inform the President that we are preparing Operation Pound Of Cure. We will wait for the Executive Branch in Colorado. 15:00 hours. Mark." "Yes, ma'am. Time to end this." --- "ʂʓϭϣѮ, look at that. Look at that." "Sir?" "Ms. խֆ∂ⱷɤ is an important client of ours, would you agree?" "Yes, sir?" "Perhaps the most important client we have, yes?" "Yes, sir?" "And the backdrop of the view of her place of business, her main draw, my source of pride, is....is....infected with some sort of fungus that has covered those beautiful greens and brilliant yellows across the entire surface with their...their greyish colonies and is turning the blues - the blues that cost me my youth and my grace and my soul to create - into browns! And, and, and, remind me again, the purpose of the life on that world?" "...to keep the greens green and the blues blue." "And whose job was it to keep the surface of it clean? To kill infections before they got a foothold?" "Mine, sir." "What are you?" "A fuckup, sir." "Yes, but what are you at the moment?" "An incredible fuckup, sir." "That's about to...?" "Yes, sir, immediately sir. I'll sterilize the planet at once, and reseed from stock. There won't be another repeat of this." "There had better not. This will be the seventh time this contract we've had to do this....I don't know how I'm going to explain this one to her."	2016-01-29T07:22:10	2016-01-29T04:24:26	43	19
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal. Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears. Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...	First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it. "Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'. "Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'. "Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist". "It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.	I sat there, waiting. Friends, family, all waiting to see the word. Would it be SCIENTIST, as everyone thought? Or would I get ARTIST? Maybe TEACHER? Who knew, until 2 appeared in mine. The only ones with 2 were the bigshots. But then... I saw them. MASTER ASSASSIN appeared. I walked to my room, grabbed the Remington 700 and MP7, picked up my backpack, threw 2 boxes of ammo in, and walked outside, off into the sunset. -------------------- 2 years later -------------------- There I am, with my spotter, laying in the snow, snowboard beside me, ghillie on. Down the hill, my target awaits. I take aim, and fire. He crumples with the hit. I strap my bindings on, and my spotter puts his skis on. We ride down the slope, and see the body. I whip out my camera, snap a picture, and pull his wallet and IDs. I take my sat phone and dial up a number. "Auth code" the other end answers. "Alpha 9 2 2 4" "Roger, agent Smith. Sailfish is a success?" "Confirmed, Sailfish was successful. En route to CABIN." and I hang up. I look at my arm again, and think, just another day as a MASTER ASSASSIN.	2017-03-16T03:20:58	2017-03-15T21:30:06	427	26
[WP] You find a genie lamp where the genie offers you unlimited wishes. The catch is that you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get progressively harder for every wish you make. If you answer the question wrong, every wish you made will be reversed with negative consequences.	"I can make as many wishes as I want?" "Yes. As long as you can answer the question." "And If I get it wrong you reverse all the wishes?" "Yes." "I want to make a wish." "What is the sum of three and six?" "Nine." "What is your wish?" "I wish the world was an unimaginable hell hole." "Done. Go outside and hear the screams." "Not yet. I want to make another wish." "What is the product of four and eight?" "One."	The Logic Genie materialized out of an unearthly smoke. "You may make any number of wishes, and I shall grant them therely. But beware: you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get harder for every wish you make. And if you miss a question, be warned, there will be consequences." The Genie glared and thundered at me. "Very well. I accept." The Logic Genie exploded smoke; the landscape obscured into oblivion and there was suddenly nothing else but me and it. "What is your first wish?" it growled. "I know that if I were to wish for something like the ability to turn into the world's foremost mathematician, there would be some caveat like he's 99 or something and senile." "Very good" the great female-sounding voice boomed. "What you didn't take into account is that the first rule of wishing is to preclude infinite wishing. I didn't hear any such prohibition in your description of the rules." "You are correct." "Then why wouldn't you preclude it? Well, I'm afraid that's check mate anyways." "So you're ready to make your first wish?" "Yes." I said. "I wish for infinite wishes, under the specific condition that I can end the wishes at any time." "As you command..." The Genie boomed. The Logic Genie materialized out of an unearthly smoke. "You may make any number of wishes, and I shall grant them therely. But beware: you must answer a mathematical question that continues to get harder for every wish you make. And if you miss a question, be warned, there will be consequences."	2017-06-17T23:24:32	2017-06-17T21:55:12	266	28
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.	When I was 17 or so there was lots of hype about 'unlocking the secrets of immortality' something about dna or oxidation or something. I didn't really pay much attention. After all, how many 'health facts' lasted so much as a year before being changed for whatever reason? How many 'wonder drugs' that amounted to so much nothing? Then, nearly a decade later, they did it. 12 liters of 7 different drugs, carefully administered over the course of a week, to stop age for eternity, to stall death as long as could be. The only side effect they found was infertility. A boon more than anything, considering overpopulation. Well, the government swooped down on that procedure faster than a bullet, and within the week rules had been placed. 25~26. That was how old you had to be to take the procedure. No exceptions. After a while, those of us 27 or older started being called stuff like the 'old humanity' and 'final generation' and so on, while the younger ones, the ones who took the surgery where called the 'new generation' When I was 47, the last child of the 'old generation' was born. When I was 72, she took the operation. It was the end of mankind as we knew it. A quiet, lonly end that few noticed and even fewer mourned. Then, when I 85, the side-effects, the true side effects of the operation was discovered. The operation had not made anyone infertile. Far from it. What had happened was simple. The stopping of aging had simply slowed the growth of the embryo, so slow that noone noticed. And by the time it grew big enough to discover, advances in medicine meant noone ever visited the hospitals. But as the embryo grew, it's development accelerated, and now a decade since the first pregnancy was confirmed, pregnancies where being reported from all around the world. It was on the news, even now. The first birth in nearly seventy years. I did not turn on the TV. My wife had passed two years ago, and I felt it my time coming. Whatever befell this generation of self-made immortals was their problem now. Not ours. But no matter what happened, one thing was certain. This new child to be born, they would truly be the new humanity.	"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone. So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends. "So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people. "What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again. "I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled. "Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint. "No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..." "What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84. "What news?" Jeremy asked. "What!?" Leonard yelled. "Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. Never leave home with it. "Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method. "You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days. "Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy. "Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said. "Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me." "Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said. As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger." "Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard. "Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age." "What!?" Leonard yelled. "I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said. "Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds." "Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in. "Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said. "Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders." "That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said. "Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he was an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?" "Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted. "Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in. "Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed. "Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off. "You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began. "...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?" "Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug. "Yes. I remember." "Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation. "Ye gods."	2018-06-04T21:32:48	2018-06-04T21:07:17	57	25
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years. I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!! I can't wait to see what you guys come up with	When Dudley opened the door his jaw dropped. He hadn't seen Harry since they had left Privet Drive with those wizard folk, hiding from Voldy... Something. In his head, Harry was bigger, and gave off a vibe of just being wrong, but as his cousin stood on his front walk, he seemed no different than any other visitor. Dudley was shaken from the memory by Sophie calling from the other room "Dad? Is it Penny? She was supposed to be here by now." A group of young girls peered into the hallway. "I'm sorry," Harry said, "I'm interrupting your party. I can come back." He turned as if to leave but Dudley put a hand on his shoulder. "Girls, I'll be out in the garden if you need me," Dudley called back to the party, then stepped out onto the grass with his cousin. "I assume this isn't a social visit?" He said, looking Harry in the eye. Harry sighed, and reached into his blazer jacket, pulling out the letter. "This isn't like last time Dudley. You're her father, she doesn't have to go." He said, holding onto the envelope when Dudley tried to take it. "No, no. She's... She's like you," Dudley said resignedly. "But... She's not like you, right? You were... I dunno. I could tell you were different, even when we were kids. Sophie is just a normal girl, if I didn't know already..." Dudley flushed and looked away from Harry. "I hated you, Harry. I don't know why, but just being around you made me angry. Mum and Dad were the same way. After you went to school, things were different. And then when you came home for the summer it was bad all over again." Dudley ran a hand over his face and was surprised when they came away wet. "I don't want my daughter to go through that." Harry stood for a moment, chewing his lip, as if he was thinking hard before he responded. "She won't. I found out when I... Well, that last year, when I left. I was sick, D, magic sick. When Voldemort killed my parents, part of him went into me. It's what made me... Like that..." Harry spread his hands "It's gone now though, I'm okay. And so is Sophie. She won't be like that. She'll still be your daughter." Dudley nodded to himself and stared at the crest on the envelope. "You work here then? At the school? You'll look out for her." Harry shook his head, "No, I work for the Ministry, but I have friends who do. She'll be well cared for, Big D." Dudley frowned "Nobody has called me that in ages." He patted his flat stomach "and I'm not so big anymore. You'll help us? Get school supplies and everything?" Harry nodded and grinned, "my younger son is starting this year too. We can go together." Harry held out his hand, and Dudley took it in a firm grip, "it's good to see you again."	Sophie sat on the carpeted stairs mesmerized. She had never seen this odd lanky man before, and he had the most peculiar scar on his forehead. He wore a long over coat with a simple sweater underneath. He had circular glasses that blocked her view of his face. Sophie stared at him awestruck and amazed. She thought it was funny how his legs seemed so skinny and small compared to her fathers rotund shape. "It's been forever, Harry," Her father muttered. He kept adjusting his apparently tight collar. Sophie could see the heavy line of sweat around his large forehead. "It has Dudley, I've seen you haven't changed much since..." 'Harry' seemed to pause slightly as Dudley winced at the mention of his late mother and father. "I'm sure you wonder why I've shown up today of all days-" "I'd rather not with Sophie here," He turned to her. She immediately ran upstairs giggling and pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. He paused just before the first step and looked up making sure she had really gone up. Sophie smiled as she peeked out from behind the wall, but her father was already back to Harry. She sat on the top step and fiddled with a small feather that she had found years ago in her room. It was a gorgeous white with small specks of black and grey. Waving it around she thought of how it came to be in her room. The front door opened and her mother walked in carrying heavy groceries. Sophie blinked her long eye lashes before she realized that her mother was motioning for help. Skipping down to the living room she helped her mother as her father and Harry talked in hushed voices staring one another down over the coffee table. "Mum, what are they talking about?" Sophie wondered aloud as she watched not helping at all. "I don't know, Sunshine," Her mother was organizing food by vegetables and deli meats. "But please be a dear and help your poor old mum." Sophie relented and tried to listen as she moved back and forth from the counter to the fridge. Eventually her father stood up. He had a large (probably fake) smile on his face and a crunched up envelope in his hand. "Sophie, come here." She moved over slowly blinking and trying to look innocent. For all she knew he could be a associate from her school, and for all she knew she wasn't the one who drew inappropriate signs in the girls bathroom upstairs. "This is your uncle Harry," her father placed a clenched hand on her shoulder. Shocked she flinched and adjusted her shoulder. "You mean the one you said was put in a foreign jail?" Sophie blurted. Harry's eyes became dark and his face was moments away from becoming a frown. Her father laughed. "No no no," he wheezed tightening his grasp on her shoulder. "The other Harry!" Sophie searched her brain. "The one in the looney bin?" She said a little to loudly. Struggling to hold in a laugh Harry glanced back at her father with an angry look. Dudley looked more flustered and his face started turning red. "Dear, this is important, so please pay attention," he sputtered. Sophie glanced back at her mum who was getting dinner ready. "Go on, Harry." Uncle Harry motioned for her to sit next to him on the floral couch. Sophie sat as far as she could from him as her father sat in her grandfathers chair. Her father reached his large hand out and opened it showing a crumbled and sweaty letter. She snatched it hoping for a birthday present containing some kind of cash, but it was to light. Sophie paused staring at the emblem pressed into the letter. Now it was cracked and crushed but she imagined what it would look like as it was before, sitting in her Uncle's large coat pocket perfect and not yellowed from her fathers sweat. She looked up at her Uncle who now had a look of suppressed joy. Sophie was confused and looked at her father who had a look of sadness. "You're a wizard, Sophie." And her mother dropped the plates she was carrying and they shattered all over the floor.	2019-10-16T11:39:46	2019-10-16T11:35:26	179	66
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.	It was a Saturday. After a long week at work, Todd decided to sleep in. He got up half past ten, took a quick shower, then headed to the nearest Denny's for breakfast. Todd ordered his usual... a Grand Slam. With a smile, the waiter left after taking his order. Looking out the window, Todd regretted getting up so late. It was a beautiful day... sunny and not a cloud in sight. Suddenly, he felt a slight tap on his shoulder. It was his waiter. They ran out of bacon.	It was a beautiful night for urban exploring. This part of the town was intensely silent. The warehouses used to bustle with tobacco, textiles, and workers and businessman. But times had changed, and the businesses had gone overseas. Now they were simply beautiful old shells, filled with old machines and boxes of never used materials. Sometimes Emily and I found the old machinery and tried to guess what it was. We might look it up later to find that it was actually part of an old loom, or a tobacco curing rack. In this building, we noticed a heavy metal door with some kind of wheel that still turned, opening a room that had likely not been opened in years. We both walked inside onto a metal scaffold. We found it to be an old silo of sorts. Our flashlights revealed an old set of stairs curving down around the outside of the room. The smell of old tobacco was musty, but pleasant. We got out our cameras and decided to film it a little bit. I walked cautiously down the old metal stairs to the very bottom. There was some kind of odd hourglass looking contraption. Curious, I tried to look it up by the serial number, but I couldn't get a signal on my phone inside the metal walls. Emily called down to me, "I can't get this door to open." Edit: Clarity, spelling.	2017-05-31T07:58:46	2017-05-31T07:25:11	272	20
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte.	The door chime rang with its usual Fingernails on a Blackboard ring that only sounded when -HE- came in. I didn't even have to look at the clock; it was 3:33 AM. He was always very punctual. "Hello, Sir. The usual?" This time the Demon sighed deeply. It was a hot and humid night but his exhalation dropped the temperature by 30 degrees. I was grateful for that, to be honest. Our AC unit was in dire need of replacement. Well, this was a new development; He had barely spoken in the past and he seemed all business on his visits. I glanced up at him, his dark shadow swirled in the vague shape of a very large man. Occasionally I'd see glints of light in it, almost as if someone had tossed a handful of glitter into a tornado. I didn't know what to say, so I said it. "Is everything okay, sir?" He roiled/moved/drifted towards a stool at the bar. Suddenly the seat disappeared, replaced by a black cloud. I guess that's how a demon sits down in our world? I had started to make his usual request, a Latte, light sugar. As was the case when he ordered, I burned my hand. I was used to this. I kept a dixie cup of water in the freezer for these moments. "I'm sorry about that, Julie. I am trying to control things, but they don't always work the way I want them to." I turned towards him, my eyes wide. He knew my name? "Of course. You're wearing a nametag." He could read my mind? "Yes, Julie, I can." 'Wow' was my next thought. At this the head-portion of the shadow seemed to chuckle. I blushed. The demon leaned back and looked at me with what I assumed was a smile? On his face? "Yes, Julie. This is what I look like when I smile. Although I rarely smile. I'll let you know one thing that disturbs me tonight; I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sir'. 'Sir' is my father. I'm Garettazikiel. Pleased to meet you. I'd offer my handshake, but I would just burn you. Gary for short." He added. "Gary. Well, nice to meet you too, sir. I mean, Gary. I'll try to remember not to call you 'sir' but I'm kinda sorta used to doing that. The big boss doesn't like it when we're too familiar." Here I added air quotes. "He says he wants a 'higher standard of service' for our 'guests'". I couldn't help but roll my eyes multiple times. Gary laughed at this, an honest and heartfelt belly laugh. "Your boss and my boss might just be related" he said.	I poured the cream in the Dark Lord’s latte. I was told to make it dark as a corpse’s soul, and sweet as the honey of a million deceased honeybees. Whatever the hell that meant. The demon lackey grunted when I handed him the latte, and tossed a penny in the tip jar. “Thanks,” I said with the most insincere politeness I could muster. “Is that sarcasm I detect?” Said the demon. “There’s a line forming, so if you don’t mind…” The demon was having none of it. He slammed the latte on the floor, growling deeply. I glanced at the fallen cup of splattered latte. “You’re going to have to tidy that up.” “You’re dead, barista boy…” I laughed inwardly. Little did he know my covert secret. But I didn’t want to lose my job by revealing my side hustle. The demon jumped up on the counter, and kicked his black clawed foot at my face. “Ok then, I guess this is happening,” I said. I grabbed his support leg, and tripped him to the floor. He hit the tiled ground with a loud thud, cracking his skull. I reached into my boot, where my demon-slaying dagger was concealed. I held the knife to his black throat, told him to freeze. He didn’t listen. He grabbed my face with his claws, puncturing my cheek. Big mistake, freakshow…. I slammed the dagger into his hand, and he screeched. “Where did you get that weapon? You’re a damned rat!” “No,” I said, lunging the dagger at his dark heart, shoving it to the hilt. “I’m a damned demon hunter.” I wiped the green goo off the dagger on his raggy clothing, and stepped over his corpse. The Dark Lord would not be receiving his beverage today. And he would never receive it from me ever again… I threw my apron to the floor and strode out the front door, into the cold morning air… Because now and forever… I quit.	2022-10-30T12:11:47	2022-10-30T08:28:01	200	73
[WP] Describe "her" or "him" (you know the one) with tons of imagery. Finish on their name.	Her toes are cracked slightly, worn from years of soccer and upcountry camping. They're painted a vivid dark blue, striking no matter the backdrop, even though the finish is fading. The smallest toe on each foot is bent somewhat from the undersize cleats she refused to throw away last year. Her feet are a pale white, smooth and unmottled, except for a slight indent where her sandals have gotten used to resting. There's a mark on her left ankle from the nick of a careless razor pass. Her legs, smoothly muscled, are just beginning to show the very slightest of stubble. They are long and thin, and covered near the top by a light cotton dress, sky blue, soft and wrinkled, sort of airy, like it isn't really there. The dress has no waste, tapering instead just below her breasts, which are cast in the shadows by a leafless tree between us and the heat of the sun. The collar is a shallow v-shape, and gives an oddly square look to her shoulders, which support smooth white arms and two imperfect little hands, the nails painted with a clear laquer that splits in the middle of her left thumb. Her neck is impossibly slender, it seems, for someone so fiercely stubborn. It supports her head, and her sharp blue-gray eyes, the tiny wrinkles below them, the smallish rounded ears, and hair the color of honey. The hair. It's everywhere at once, long strands that flow in every direction, thin and curved and straight and shallow and shaking around as I run my fingers through them. Her lips. They're pursed in that happy, slightly-judgmental shape that they always get in when she thinks I'm being silly, but I'm not being silly this time. I'm sad. We're laying in grass that her father has given up taming for the season, the yellowed blades sporting mottled interruptions of hardier weeds, the sharp edges of the dead lawn scraping our backs. The sky is pale and harsh, a blue that could only come from the dead heat of summer, when it's nearly one hundred degrees outside. There are no clouds to happily personify. She's leaving back to college tomorrow.	The broken bodies of doves lay at his feet. Steam curled off the barrels of his pistols. His head was bowed as he entered the room. his posture said that he didn't care what the zookeeper had to think. The way his bandolier was slung 'round his shoulder indicated a deep apathy for his situation. The zookeeper's face was red with anger, "GOD DAMMIT JONATHAN!" --- I don't know if this is what you meant. But it was really fun to write.	2012-08-12T16:05:52	2012-08-12T15:58:54	50	26
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came.	The problem with intelligence is that there's no one measure. The first generational tests were an utter disaster. Before the arranged marriages had even been finalised there had been three duels and one fatality. But it was nearly 1000 years later. The new generation had reached age and through these tests our understanding had reached near perfection. The new group of ten were split as the smartest and dumbest person for each of five types of intelligence. The most creative, the brightest scientific mind, the most physically capable, the most socially adept and the greatest philosopher of the age. We had the best and the worst from each type. I looked around the room, when I'd been invited I'd assumed I had to be the brightest scientific mind. I'd graduated at sixteen, doctorate by twenty. But the truth was as I heard the stories around the room my uncertainty grew. The room had six women and four men, ethnically diverse. I was the only wheelchair user in the room, but I had been told that physical aptitude didn't mean strength, but spatial ability, fast reflexes and motor memory. So, I had no idea why I might be there. We had: a great nanophysicist, creator of the nanorobots you probably use to clear your house; a tall man who had sat in silence for the whole meeting so far; a man, short and plump, decorated war hero and poet; a famous musician; political advisor to the First Minister; a maid who spoke at length about his upbringing; a famous author; a builder; a scary looking woman who didn't speak English; and, me. The problem was that as we went around the room each persons strength and flaws seemed matched and fixed. The war hero was physically agile for sure, and creative, but also a bumbling fool who's speech was logically inconsistent. The musician could express her thoughts on the world well, but was she creative when she never wrote the songs herself? The man in silence never spoke a word that was unconsidered, so must he be the logical force? "So," I said awkwardly. The silence having dragged on too long. "I know we're meant to be deciding who marries who, but, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm gay, I'm not wanting to end up in a heterosexual couple unless I have to." The war hero nodded and looked at me, "I guess we can..." "I'm a pacifist - I'm not sure I could given what you've done." The musician piped up, "That's no way to speak to someone who fought for your country." "He invaded my country. Heck, he could have been the one who bombed my fucking house when I was a teenager." The nanophysicist raised an eyebrow. "Do we really need to to talk politics here, we're just waiting for the experiments to start." "The experiments have already started, this whole thing is an experiment." The builder sighed. "Obviously." The maid said. "What do you think the first experiment is? The wedding arrangement thing is at the end of the week, right?" The room went silent again. "Seeing how long it takes for people to get angry?" The war soldier glared at me. I rolled my eyes, "Maybe it's just to see how long the author can take to give everyone dialogue." The quiet man spoke, "I know what the experiment is. This room is locked and airtight."	I pace the waiting room. Up and down, up and down. Everyone is isolated from each other initially to prevent reading the others and finding out which group they came from. Well, most of the candidates knew which group they came from anyway. The room had a couch, a dresser, and a bit of refreshments on the small table in front of the couch. "Well, figures I'd be the top 5 dumbest people in the world." I smoked my way through high school and dropped out of college. For what? I thought I had a plan. My buddy and I, the start-up. Then shit went south and the fucker ditched me. Started doing odd-jobs, lived on the streets for a bit. Smoked a bit of this, shot up a bit of that. Got my ass beat so many times I barely feel physical pain anymore. Oh, that reminds me. If I'm going to humiliate myself on global television I might as well just do it while I'm feeling good and not getting the shakes. I'm sorry, mom, dad. I should have listened after all. I pull out my syringe. \| "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, to the 3rd GC! I am your host for today, Quin Jackson, and I am joined with my amazing co-host, Victor. The Generation Contrast is a decennial event, where by 5 of the brightest minds of each new generation has to work with the 5 dumbest minds of the generation for the GC test. Now the GCT has been set, funded and organised by an anonymous individual ever since the creation of the GC in 2020. Even I don't know who he is." The crowd murmurs. "Now, we are going to move on to the live interviews, where the participants will be interviewed individually in their respective waiting rooms." The crowd goes wild as the anticipation to see who were the lucky few to be chosen. Or unlucky. "Now, we will be looking at James, 26, jobless. But one of the smartest men of the generation. LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS TO TOGETHER FOR-" The stadium's large screen changed from the faces of the casters, to a man sitting in the waiting room with his face in ecstasy and his arm with a needle sticking out of it. His entire head was thrown back on the couch as his eyes rolled back. \| As I shoot up, thoughts run wild in my head. What's going to happen to me after the GC? Will my life be better after being known as the biggest dumbass in the world? Fuck it, I might just off myself after this shit is done. I'll OD on whatever, feel good when I pass out at least. Or not, if I get money. My thoughts clear as the my body circulates the liquid of the gods. That hits the fucking spot, Mable's stuff is damn good as always. As I roll back my eyes to enjoy the pleasure, the door opens. And suddenly, the whole world can see me shooting up heroin. \| "JAMES? WHAT THE-? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?" Quin turns off the mics and calms Victor down before he destroys the production desk. "FUCK, HAVE YOU NOT DISGRACED THE FAMILY ENOUGH?" "Victor, you have to calm down. We have the biggest gig of the decade. Don't let your brother or anything stop you. And why are you pissed off? He's one of the brightest minds in his generation." "It must be a mistake. That doesn't make any sense for him to be here as one of the smartest. Dumbest, maybe, but not a snowball's chance in hell is he one of the smartest. You know what, professionalism. Let's get back to the show." Quin smiles at Victor. Quin turns the mics back on. "Er, James seems to be in, well, wonderland. We'll get back to him in a bit." "Apologies, everyone. I was not expecting my brother to be on the GC." The crowd has mixed reactions, as Quin and Victor masterfully shifts the attention away from James and to the next participant. "And moving on to the next brightest mind..." EDIT: Formatting	2016-03-03T07:43:23	2016-03-03T05:47:53	35	26
[WP] Your father left 20 years ago the night before your birthday to get Cigarettes, Milk, and Bread. Today he comes home with long bedraggled hair, weather beaten skin, and a sword on his hip. The first thing he says to you is "You're never going to believe what happened."	I loooked up at this tall, hardened figure. "You'll never believe what happened," said the sword wielding, bearded man who claimed to be my father. The last time I had seen him was when he went out to get cigarettes, milk, and bread. I decided to listen to him. "What happened?" I asked, curious. "I got cigarettes, milk, and bread, that's what."	I say nothing and watch as his anticipation becomes impatience, which becomes disappointment and finally anger. "You're not going to ask me what happened?" he asks. "Don't you even care?" "20 years," I say, "I waited 20 years. You can barely wait 20 seconds." "A wit! How wonderful!" he mutters, "You people are all the same: so caught up in your mundane little world with its mundane little problems. Can't handle reality as it really is. Would shake your common little worldview to the core. Thought you'd be different, being my son and all, but I see I was mistaken." He shakes is head, batting himself in the face with hair that hangs in long greying strands. I do understand, though God knows I wish I didn't. "Dad, why don't you come in and we can talk about it?" My voice sounds calm, controlled, as if visits from a wild-eyed man with a sword are an everyday occurrence at Casa de las Estrellarias. A brief moment of panic, because what if this does become an everyday occurrence, but he's grinning now and following me through the front door. "I'm gonna take a leak," he exclaims, "Been so long since I've been able to go anywhere civilized." And I say a tiny prayer to the powers that be for making this that much easier. I don't have the doctor's number, but mom does. I pull out my cell and dial. "Mom, Dad's here," I whisper, "I can't talk long because he's here and he's armed. I know. Yes, mom, I know. Yeah, I need you to call the hospital. I'll be safe. I do have experience dealing with these sorts of things you know. Just make sure..." But that's as far as I get because suddenly my father's behind me and he's got the sword pressed to my throat, and even though it's blunt, he's holding it close enough that I start to choke. "Who got to you?" He growls. _____ Once, when I was six, my father tried to throw me out a window. This was before the diagnosis, before anyone caught on that anything might be wrong. Mom was away for the weekend, a wedding or a funeral or something, and had left me at home with him as babysitter. I used to like it when dad babysat, because he basically gave me the run of the house while he sat around in the basement and "tinkered". Or he'd tell me about this elaborate fantasy land that only he and I could see, only I could never see it as clearly as he could. He told me that was completely normal - he'd only caught glimpses of it until he came into his powers at 19, and now he could see and do all kinds of things that normal people couldn't. I was sworn to secrecy, because of course if mom found out she'd just worry, because mom was always worrying about things she couldn't understand. But back to the attempted defenestration. On this particular weekend, dad was in one of his chatty moods. He'd told me about how he'd seen a strange black cloud hanging over the neighbours' house this past week and was afraid this might indicate a demonic possession. I must be extra careful around the neighbours from now on, and never ever accept gifts or food from them because gift were the demon's way in. Dad's dream world had been getting increasingly dark of late but none of this seemed overly strange to a kid who was just discovering Dragonball Z and the joy of ripping grown men's arms out of their sockets. As luck would have it, I had been given a couple of cookies that day and like any respectable six-year-old, I had scarfed them down. I can't actually remember my dad's face then, but I can imagine it going chalky and white and he grabbed me by the front of my shirt as carried me, kicking and screaming, up the stairs. I can imagine him explaining, calmly and logically, that the only thing to do now was to conduct a test. If I really was possessed, surely the demon would show itself at the first sign of real danger. Of course that's not how it would have gone though, because that would have given away the plan. What I remember is the terror and the confusion of being safe in my dad's lap one minute and hurling through my parents' bedroom door the next. The window was closed. That's what saved me. He couldn't figure out how to get the window open without putting me down. The moment he let me go I scurried off to safety: locked myself in the bathroom and went from there out onto the roof where I stayed until he decided the magic had protected me. "Sometimes your old man is a damned fool, you know that? No demon's a match for any son of mine!" ____ All this to say that had it been 20-some years earlier, and I still 6 and he still 35, I'd be totally screwed but he's 57, and has been institutionalized for two decades now. I force the sword down and away with all the advantage of youth, health, and superior height. "It's mom," I say. "I'm calling mom to let her know you're all right. She wants to see you." He looks dubious. "Your mother is a wonderful woman," he says, "But she'll never understand. Not like we understand." There's truth in that for which I'm eternally grateful. "Of course not," I say, aware that she can hear every word through the still active phone, "Because she doesn't have the magic. I got that from you, dad." "So you did? I thought as much. Your mother told me you had some trouble towards your last year of college. Didn't say what it was, but I knew. What they got you on?" he asks, more reflex than question. "Risperidone," I say with a sigh and guide him towards the living room.	2016-07-20T08:21:53	2016-07-20T08:18:42	88	51
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends his Christmas letter to Satan. Satan is touched by this gesture and decides to write back.	Dear Timmy, My sincerest thanks for, what I must say, was an adorable read. Everything on your list Timmy sounds fabulous and as you have asked ever so kindly, I will provide. I know you will consider these items of which you desire a "gift" but please be assured Timmy that I, Satan, deal in favours. Enjoy your toys ,Timmy. I will see you shortly. Forever observing, Satan	Dear child, Finally, someone broke the spell. I was trapped into the hell and the only way to get out from here it was receiving a letter earmarked for Santa. Yes.... I'm the real Santa, and I was a victim of a spell. Because I was trapped here, every children's parents were charged to do my duties. But now thanks to you I'm free to go back to the north pole and start my work again. I will fulfil all of your requests. Moreover, I'll give you the possibility to have a ride in my sledge. Feel free to ask whatever you want.	2018-10-28T13:49:44	2018-10-28T13:06:41	54	23
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed.	I couldn't tell you offhand which video game I played did me the most good, but I enjoyed playing them all to death. I always thought I was just very talented. It never occurred to me that I never had the skill to do a thing before I played the game version of it. It was just that I only ever got interested in the real thing after seeing it in a game on my computer. In \_Doom\_, I learned how to find secret doors. Any secret door, any cabinet, any hidden compartment, it didn't matter. If it's there, I can feel it, I can go right to it. In \_F.E.A.R.\_, I gained hyperreflexes. I could slow down time...well, speed up my consciousness at least, if not my physical body. The AIs were hopelessly outmaneuvered, every single time. The very next day I went to play paintball, and I dominated. I been playing for a long time, but could never quite get the hang of shooting people with fake guns. But after that day, I owned. In \_Half Life\_, I learned how to make friends and influence people. I've always been an introvert, but somehow I can supernaturally turn anyone into an instant friendly after simply making physical contact with them. Even in bar fights; it's so weird. Two brawlers ready to duke it out, I tap them both, they forget about everything except how I'm such a great guy and they'd follow me into machinegun fire if I asked them. This doesn't happen with every game. It worked with Doom, but not with any Wolfenstein or Quake game I tried. At least, I never noticed anything special. I tried the second Half Life, zip, nada. I was hoping maybe for telekinesis? A girlfriend who could kick butt? I did get something, at least. Well--if you want to call being able to handle extremely sharp objects without ever cutting yourself a "power", then that's what I got out of it. being able to juggle sawblades and swat shards of glass out of the air is a novelty to be sure, but not really a useful survival skill in most situations. Then came Alien: Isolation. What a mind job. It turned me into MacGyver, or it seems like I did. It also gave me a second skill, to hide from anything and everything as long as that threat was physically undefeatable. If I was armed or capable of harming the individual hunting me, the power didn't work. Weird, but still useful I guess. It did help me avoid a bunch of drunk belligerent muscleheads one night. I panicked and got cornered in a deadend alley by them, I was right in front of them and they could hear my footsteps, but couldn't see me. They gave up and left. Maybe this means I could never be caught by a SWAT team. But against my little girl, yeah, she still finds me every time. Now, even after all this, part of me refused to believe the impossible. That is, until I took a terrible crash on my bike one day when I went out riding. The motorcycle itself was obviously totaled, and I had road rash all down my leg. I could already tell I had broken an ankle and probably something else. I was a mess. But by pure luck a stranger showed up and offered me a bottle of blue Gatorade. I was so thirsty I drank the whole thing in one sitting, without thinking, just feeling gratitude for his kindness. Then I stood up without thinking--and then I noticed, I stood up. I STOOD UP. No ankle pain, no road rash. Whatever was in that bottle I had no idea, but that wasn't Gatorade. I was freaked out. I looked around but the stranger was gone. But that's not the weirdest part. Last week, I got gifted this game I'd never heard of, through Steam. The gifter somehow added themselves to my friend list for 24 hours then just as mysteriously vanished. The company who makes this game? Never heard of them. I'm spooked. But curiosity overcame fear, and I installed it on a box I wouldn't mind having to wipe if it was malware. But the game's legit. It was called "Ultimate Survival". It took up 50 GB too, which I must admit piqued my interest enough to wonder how much free content and replay value it had. I installed the game, and wouldn't you know it, it's VR only. I don't own a VR set. But wouldn't you believe it, today a VR set got shipped to me by UPS. No return address. Yeah, that's no coincidence. Now I am interested. So now I have the VR set on, and I start the game, and the introductory cutscene was surreal. The environment of a warehouse somewhere, lots of fancy machinery in the background, and a fellow in a suit, sitting in a chair with his face blurred out and his voice electronically deepened like in the movies. "We know who you are, and what you can do. Are you ready to learn some real skills?" Uhhh... "It's okay to be hesitant. You've only just begun to understand the power. I was the same way. I thought I was alone, but when my cousin mentioned you had suddenly become an unstoppable airsoft player after being a hopeless amateur for so many years, I realized I had to investigate you." "What?" "No, my friend, this is no cutscene. This is real time. We are not in the game, we are in VPN." I threw off the VR headset in shock--only to have the man in the suit appear out of thin air next to me, and holding a duffel bag. I was frozen, but he didn't make a hostile move toward me. "Yeah, I learned that trick from World of Warcraft. You should try it sometime." "Who are you? What do you want?" "What I want is your help. Who I am--well, let's just say that really was just an ordinary bottle of Gatorade. Unfortunately that healing effect only works with blue, for some reason. Doom II healing potions only come in blue. And no, I don't know why it didn't happen with the first game." "You--it was you--" "And there's more of us than you know. We need your help. There is danger coming, and we need all the help we can get." I composed myself. Wow. "Okay. Fine. What's next?" "Next--" He sets the bag down, producing a PS4 and associated cabling. "Next, we play some Call of Duty."	At first I was really excited, Imagine all the cool things I could do. I could be a super hero, or a powerful mage, the rules of the the normal world no longer apply to me, I can do anything! Very soon however I realized the rules did apply to me, but the rules of the world had changed. Maybe the rules were always like this, but now that I have this power I finally know them. First I started to notice people had levels. This wasn't too strange, but then I realized people fell into different categories based on the color of their name and level displayed. It took me a while to understand what these meant but it quickly became apparent. These categories were Grey: NPC, Blue: NEUTRAL PLAYER, Green: ALLIED PLAYER, and Red: ENEMY PLAYER. Once I realized this I was horrified, most of the people I knew were NPC's. My mother, my sister, even my closest friends: all NPC's. They weren't real people, they were just following some program. What hit me even harder however, were the Reds. Once a Red PC sets a target they attempted to kill them on sight. PC's Increase level in a variety of ways it seemd: quests given by NPC's, helping Green and Blue PC's, discovering locations, crafting, and many other ways. The quickest way to gain levels, was killing other PC's. Red PC's would hunt down other PC'S and kill them in broad daylight. NPC's never noticed these killings they were completely oblivious to this brutality. When a dead PC turned up, NPC's almost always just saw a death by natural causes. The NPC's didn't care if they saw a PC tear someone in half, to them it was just some tragic accident, they were programmed to believe it to be so. Red PC's almost never faced consequences by the hands of NPC's, the rules of the Game protected them. I don't know how I came to see the world this way, all I know is I have to find a way to level up and become stronger, because that's the only thing that matters in this world, high level PC's live comfortable luxuries lives, while low levels rot in the slums. This is the caste system of the world, and I intend to survive this Game and make it all the way to the top.	2018-08-14T13:06:43	2018-08-14T11:03:17	16	11
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.	I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd. He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl. Around her neck. What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.	The snow made a crisp crunching sound like bones of tiny birds being crushed. My feet methodically packed it down at a constant rate. It was around 7 o'clock and everyone was inside already. Everyone was taking shelter in their humble abodes due to the fact that there had recently been a series of killings in our little secluded town. All of the victims had an "X" carved into the palms of their hands, and they had all been killed in groups. The murderer only went after groups. I smirked at the thought of someone taking out a group of people singlehandedly. Then I finally reached my home where my mother awaited at the door tapping her foot against the oak wood floor rapidly with an irritated look on her face. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw me approaching and she asked me where I had been the whole day. I assured her that I was just hanging out with some friends. A worried look came across her face and she told me that it’s dangerous to be outside at this time, considering the recent events, I didn’t blame her. She warned me to come home early the next day or else she'd ground me. It was winter break, there was no way I'd spend most of my day inside. We both went inside and our paths split when I took the steps to get to my room. I crossed some things out on the paper that lay on my dresser and then I continued to stare at the pen I used. Intrigued and consumed by an odd idea, I began to draw an “X” on the palm of my hands. I looked down at my results and sighed. I slid the paper and pen back onto my dresser and then proceeded to turn in for the day. I awoke to a loud banging on my door. Sunlight filtered through the window and gave my room a sort of sweet aroma. It seemed like it was about noon. I opened the door slightly only to find Solomon standing there with a huge grin on his face. Marcus, Lorena and Christina were waiting on the nearby sidewalk. "What is it?" I asked tiredly through the door, loud enough for them to hear me. "Dude, yesterday some kids were talking about the killer." Solomon responded. "What's so important about that?" I shot back while opening the door slightly annoyed yet slightly interested. "They said his hideout is some sort of wooden hut in the woods behind the school!" Solomon exclaimed. "Ha, how cliche." I stated satirically while putting the proper winter attire on. I knew what we were doing today. I also knew those kids were lying. How would they know where the killer's hideout was? It was still worth checking out, and I had nothing else to do so why hell not. Solomon smiled and walked back towards our little group of friends. I closed the door behind him and followed. "Hey!" They all said simultaneously. I let out some sort of muffled word signifying that I had acknowledged them. We were walking alongside the train tracks and Marcus was trying to pull out some of the loose railroad spikes just for fun. Solomon and I made a joke about how he was weak for not being able to pull any out. He challenged us to attempt it and naturally we did. Solomon pulled one out first try. Marcus was over encumbered with feelings of embarrassment as Christina and Lorena let out a roar of laughter because of his supposed lack of strength. I then proceeded to pull one out as well. It wasn’t that funny. Marcus ran ahead and Solomon tossed the spike over the barbed fence. I placed my spike in my rucksack and we continued out towards the entrance to the woods, none of them noticing the various spots on the train tracks that were missing spikes. We lost sight of Marcus in the distance as he stormed off towards our destination. Was he really that mad over some banter? Solomon, Christina, Lorena and I took our time and eventually found the hole in the fence that would allow us to enter the woods. As the four of us followed the dirt path we heard some sticks breaking behind us. Instinctively we all turned around. A man in a blue jacket appeared and lunged at Christina. Lorena screamed and Solomon yelled Solomon didn't get to finish yelling as laughter filled our ears while Marcus was taking off the oversized jacket. I knew he was trying to scare us the whole time. "Hahaha! You should have seen your faces" Marcus stated. “You almost gave me a heart attack." Christina responded. We all gathered our senses and continued for about another thirty-minutes until we eventually found the hut. At this point the sun was setting it was getting fairly dark. The moon was finally revealing itself and it was giving off an ominous vibe which I kinda enjoyed, but somewhere in that vibe one could sense some sort of bloodlust in the air. I was the first one to enter the “killer’s hideout” and the others followed shortly behind. I allowed the others to begin exploring the rather simple cabin when I placed my rucksack on the ground and opened it. I removed the railroad spike and locked the door while scoping out the room. “This place would actually make a decent hideout” I thought to myself. My mouth watered and butterflies grew in my stomach. I loved this feeling. Then one by one I began to pummel them all to death. As all four laid dead on the cabin floor, I continued to carve an "X" into each of their palms with such a delicate technique that you’d think I was a surgeon. I now had four more names to cross off of the list that lay on my dresser.	2017-05-31T07:11:19	2017-05-31T07:05:52	1,143	51
[WP] Humanity is the Galaxy's Idiot Savant I was inspired by Year Zero for this prompt. Basically, humanity is pretty atrocious at just about everything when compared to the other races of the galaxy, except for [The Thing You Choose]. We're obscenely, unreasonably, astoundingly good at it. So good that the rest of the Galaxy marvels at how good we are at it in comparison. Though they may outclass us in every other way to a laughable degree, we're far beyond anything they could even attempt at this one thing. And to us, it's totally normal, hardly out of the ordinary. You can write about what the galaxy thinks when they find out, what we think when we find, etc. etc. Preferably, stay away from war.	Commandant Seventeen inhaled, bristling. Its subcommanders sat in a ring around its control chair. They awaited its orders. "Heat beams," it said, lacking its usual blustery confidence. Subcommander Eight swallowed, afraid of what would happen to it for dissenting. "Commandant," it started, "we don't have enough heat beams. Their planet is ninety-one percent water by volume. We would have to commit your entire fleet plus those of..." It checked a datapad and conferred with its peers. "...Commandants Five, Seven, Eleven, and Twenty-Three," finished Subcommander Six. Commandant Seventeen was displeased. "Six. Eight. Contact them and determine their disposition. The coreward front may have to wait." Six and Eight immediately left to relay the reinforcement requests to Central. "Twenty-Two," said the Commandant. "Options?" "Subcommander Eight's flotilla could enact standoff bombardments to quell any potential threat," said the Commandant's intelligence specialist, "but I have developed a plan that may neutralize their danger to us and simultaneously push our flanking campaign farther spinward." "Explain," said the Commandant. "As you know, the enemy has fortified a number of oxidation-resistant underwater installations dropped from orbit to the ocean beds of their border picket colonies. The installations are siege-resistant until the ocean has been evaporated, but heat beams require a low-orbit activation that leaves us vulnerable to conventional attack in addition to the regular danger of fusion warheads." "And how can this primitive race help us?" asked the Commandant. "We can recruit them to our cause and have them fight for us. All we'd have to do is give them the right incentive," said Subcommander Twenty-Two. "Why, Twenty-Two, would I want to do that?" it demanded, growing impatient. "You see, Commandant, my analysts have discovered that water is not toxic to these 'humans'." The other subcommanders looked shocked. "They bathe in it," continued Twenty-Two as the shock grew to a murmur. "They swim in it," it said, keeping a steady tone over the rising din. "They drink it."	Abasoom crept forward, his arachnid-esque limbs clicking against the newly shined bulkheads. In front of him, the remote door slid open silently, revealing the star-ships vast bridge. "Izotiquoar!" Abasoom yelled at his partner, who was manning the ships sensor suite. "Sir?" Izotiquoar, the ships communications officer replied "What have we learned about these . . . HU-MA-NS?" "I've collected some quite . . . shocking data on them" "Whats so shocking about it?" "Well they are . . . exceptionally idiotic" "Explain" "Well to begin with it took them nearly three thousand earth years to develop nuclear power!" "Three thousand! and still no cold fusion!" "Exactly, and that's not all, they still struggle with basic philosophy such as the meaning of life." "Do they at least know if man is naturally evil, or naturally good?" "No, not even that preschool stuff" "Well, I'll have to take this up with their leader, who is he?" "They have over two hundred leaders" "What!" "They have not globally unified yet, they are separated into squabbling nations" Abasoom scratched his thorax and looked up at the dozens of holographic screens, suspended in space above Izotiquoar's workstation. Each one of the displays showed the tiny blue ball that was Earth. He contemplated the fate of the planets inhabitants. Izotiquoar spoke up. "But Sir, there is one outstanding feature of the HU-MA-NS" "I find that hard to believe" 'They are exceptionally good at . . . killing things A shocked expression spread across Abasoom's mandible adorned face "One of the first things they invented was a . . . SP-EEEE-R. Its a sharp stick that they throw at each other" A schematic appeared on the screen above, it depicted an elongated, sharp twig. Abasoom marveled at the tool "Holy Strogonar! what is that, horrific . . . contraption" "And thats not all sir, next they made these" A whole array of blunt and sharp melee objects manifested themselves on the holograms above "The killing potential alone could wipe us out!' "Sir, that's not even the tip of comet, they've spent years perfecting this craft of . . . W-AAAA-R, these things where from thousands of years ago!" "This is horrifying, show me what they have armed themselves with today!" Images of oblong black objects, sleek winged vessels and squat, armored, internal combustion vehicles appeared on the screen above. Abasoom's compound eyes widened in sheer horror. He pointed to a handheld metal device "What is that!" "They call it an. . .EMMM-FORE" "And that?" "An AERO-PLAANE they use them to destroy TAAANKS" "What else have the savages armed themselves with!" "They have a variety of different explosive devices" "Is that it?" "No sir, instead of using rockets for exploration, they use them for payload delivery, big ones are called . . . I-CEEE-EMMM-BEEE's" Abasoom was taken aback by the atrocities that the HU-MA-NS had created for themselves. Wiping green goop away from his temple, he spoke. "What is the pinnacle of the HU-MA-NS weapon systems?" "Well Sir, that would be called a Nuclear Mis-" Izotiquoar was cut off when a warhead hit the star ship, unleashing millions of megatons of nuclear fire. The explosion tore through their ship, denigrating anything within 5 Km, leaving a radioactive stain where Abasooms ship used to be.	2014-04-08T18:57:42	2014-04-08T16:00:19	30	16
[WP] People lose the ability to deny requests. They must either a) fulfill them or b) ask someone else to do it. There are volunteers who take bad requests in exchange for compensation or exemption from law. Write about the life of a volunteer.	"We've got a code red. I repeat, a code red." The voice screeched over the intercom at the Solicitation Station, sirens sounding and flashing lights bathing the Volunteers in red. With urgency we strapped on our boots, fireproof trousers, helmets, utility belts, and communication gear, before sliding down the pole onto the first floor. I jumped into the passenger seat of the truck, while Milo took the driver seat, the engine roaring as we exited the garage. "Location?" shouted Milo, as I was relayed information across the radio. "Twelth street, number 455. Apartment six on the bottom floor. There isn't much time, antipated two minutes and thirty seconds until disaster." "Damn!" Shouted Milo, and the truck lurched faster, weaving through traffic that had stopped to allow us to pass. I'd only been a Volunteer for three weeks, and this was my fifth run. I feared it might be my last- but that's what we Volunteers do. We risk our lives to save others. By the time we turned on twelveth street, we could hear the screams. Tires screeched as Milo threw the truck into park, and we raced across the small lawn to the door, throwing it open. There was a family in the kitchen- a father, a mother, and a small girl. The girl was the source of the screaming, her face red, her eyes wide with terror. Tears rolled down the mother's face as she pleaded with the father, his own face filled with panic as his hand held a large kitchen knife to his throat. His muscles bulged to draw it closer, while the mother tried to pull it away- a tug of war that brought the blade closer and closer to his arteries. "Report says that the girl, Mary, said she wished her father was dead after being told to eat the greens on her plate," The radio had told me on our way over, "Currently the father is restrained, but not for long." "Help," Gasped the father from the kitchen, his cry mimicked by the mother as she saw us. As we rushed over, I saw my reflection in a mirror in the hallway. I was bald, the smooth top of my head replacing where there had once been thick hair. My skin was pale, far paler than I could remember, though recently I had done my best not to check. My face was skinnier, more gaunt, more stressed, the bones showing through the cheek. And though I couldn't see it, my eyes drifted to my left shoulder, where a growth had been removed just two months before. A cancerous tumor, one that the doctors said had spread throughout my body. One that gave me two months to live, at best. I remember the doctor handing me the application to become a Volunteer, stating it was the most noble way to spend my remaining time on earth. And I felt a small smile tug at my lips when I looked at the father, and his knife. I knew what I had to do. To give my life, so others may live. *** By Leo	The job came with its pros and cons, just like any job did. I had entered into the agreement with Ms Geraltson ten years ago, just as her movie career was taking off and she was voted sexiest woman alive. It was about then all the requests from the crazies of the world began to flow in, all of them wanting to fuck her in the most depraved ways possible. I was a lowlife turning tricks for my next fix when Ms Geraltson found me and proposed our arrangement. Every time a scumbag came to her with a dream of performing a disgusting sex act on a movie star, she would pass those requests onto me. These people would then have to fufil their sick fantasies intended for Ms Geraltson on me or risk going to jail. That was the con of the job, getting fucked by these sick bastards. But once it was made known that I was the one you’d be dealing with the requests really trickled up. But sometimes people would still ask her, who knows why. Maybe they didn’t know about me, but whenever I got that call from Ms Geraltson I was over the moon. You must be asking why? Am I a masochist? No. Well maybe a little bit, but there was a little proviso written into my agreement with Ms Geraltson, that was the pro of the job. Whenever one of these people fucked me in place of Ms Geraltson, then Ms Geraltson would allow me to request to fuck her in turn. Nothing as sick as what these perverts were suggesting, but when you can sleep with the sexiest woman alive you take anything you can get. Even ten years on, while she’s not even voted onto the top 100 sexiest alive anymore, she is still a very attractive lady. And I’m discreet, nobody knows about our arrangement, which is why it has lasted this long. In fact a few years into our arrangement she recommended me to another superstar for my discreet services. So while I occasionally have to fuck a perverted old man, I also get to sleep with some of the most attractive women in the movie world. I love my job. ---------------- [Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!	2016-04-03T11:41:29	2016-04-03T09:58:12	208	50
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.	A man in a heavy trench coat with a thick beard approached the door. The number over his head, 1517. "Well, that's over 21" I thought. On his way through he tripped over the step and two dwarves toppled out of the coat. Their number were 15 and 17. "Nice try" I said, "no filthy dwarves in my good elvish bar."	I stared bleakly at the faintly glowing digits. As if it couldn't get worse, the last number - a five - slowly transformed into a six. "We have reservations." The average-looking gentleman put out his hand and I plucked the driver's license out of it automatically. It read like any other I'd looked at tonight; the birthdate was just a few years before mine. The numbers over the woman's head read as twenty seven. Blonde and beautiful, her eyes were stunning and fixated almost entirely on her ancient companion. A man five thousand years her senior. "Yes," I rasped, from a shock-clogged throat. "VIP room upstairs." He scowled at me then, and I felt a weight of scrutiny I didn't know could exist. Like a bug under a magnifying glass. In the sun. I winced away from those eyes like they were an assault, and backed out of the way, stumbling over my feet. I had no desire to know this man, but I had the unnerving suspicion that he'd now want to know me. And that couldn't happen.	2017-09-01T22:32:16	2017-09-01T19:55:18	1,408	140
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100.	They told me I was lucky. My whole life they said that the stat assessment showed I was one of the luckiest people alive with a score of 100. I swore it wasn’t true. If I had been lucky, why was I born to a poor family? I never got to play games of chance, since those were forbidden to luck score 100s. Then the revolution happened. The leaders swore they would prove that people controlled their own destiny, that luck had nothing to do with success, and, as proof, they would throw the 100s in prison as an ultimate sign of human triumph over the odds. Having a lower rating began to be a mark of pride, an inspiration. Some of us tried to run and hide. That’s what I did. I managed to hide a while, too. It was, ironically, just bad luck that they caught me. The guy whose identity I was using’s brother happened to be a member of the Luck Police, and he was visiting relatives across the country the day he caught sight of my fake name on the ID I gave the clerk at a convenience store. I couldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway. They had just created the AR rig that let you see people’s stats just by looking at them. None of our underground community knew how to fool it. It updated in real time. So, off to prison I went. With all of the other “lucky” ones. That’s when I met Eddie. Most of us, at this point, had our ideas about the system. Most of us thought it was complete bullshit, created so that the people in control could make an enemy to unite people around. Eddie, though, he had a different idea. He swore that it was real. He said he had been a scientist and had helped develop the measurement system, and swears they had gotten it right, but it was hard to argue with the evidence. All the luckiest people wind up in prison, so how are we lucky again? Even locked up as one of us Eddie swore it was true. Even talked about how coming across the measurement at all was a lucky break. He had been studying DNA for a marker for gambling addiction, when he found the luck gene. Eddie was right. I still remember hearing the whispers. Carl was a 96 now. The AR rig swore it. I was with Eddie when we saw Carl, and through the rig, we could see it too. Right beside him: Luck - 96. It was an odd color, though. It was green, not white like normal. I asked Eddie about it. He frowned. “We had theorized that there were things that could give a temporary boost or penalty. Luck clovers, breaking mirrors, and things. I guess the research on those is complete, and they programmed them into the rig?” I looked at Carl and there, behind his ear, I saw it. A four leaf clover. But those were supposed to be... I saw the look of horror on Eddie’s eyes as he did the same calculations I was doing. The green luck boost. It moved his score down. Eddie shook his head and stared at his feet. “The sons of bitches. They got it backwards. It’s like a golf score. Lower is better. We are stuck in here because we are the most unlucky bastards on the planet.”	Dana slammed her tray on the table. Not so much out of anger, but from a complete lack of caring. It'd been hard to find the energy to do much -- including being gentle with her lunch -- ever since she arrived here. It took her half a day to realize what had happened, how she'd been captured and why she'd been dumped in this pit. Rage consumed her for the first twenty four hours, followed quickly by helplessness, and now a justifiable depression. "It'll get better," Julie offered as she sat down across the table. Dana had no desire to continue discussing the situation. She had no desire to do much of anything. But she had to talk to someone, and her options were limited. "This isn't how my life was supposed to go." "You and me both, little girl." Julie's voice was light and without rasp. It always caught Dana off-guard that a woman so old, who'd spent most of her life trapped in these walls, could maintain something that sounded like optimism. "But it won't always be like this." Dana shook her head. "You said no one's escaped. Never even been released on parole. And it doesn't sound like that's changing anytime soon." Julie's eyes revealed no emotion but empathy. "It's harder for you. I can see that. Successful thief who never faced a pinch you couldn't slip away from. Damn, even when you found out you were coming to this Hell-on-Earth, you figured it was only a matter of time before you were out again. How many centers have you busted out of?" "They never even got me to the facilities," Dana said with a touch of pride. "And you didn't think they were going to figure out that you're a Lucky eventually? That they'd eventually send the service after you? You're too smart for that." Dana just shook her head. She knew Julie was right, but that wasn't what really bothered her. "But this place..." she gestured aimlessly around her. Julie nodded. "No light. No field time. The food isn't worthy of swine and the guards are going to make you hate every day of your life. But it'll get better." "How? How is that possible?" "Not for us." Now Julie couldn't help but keep a small tremor out of her voice. "Little girl, this is our fate, I'm afraid. But for the others like us, it won't always be like this. Living in fear that once they discover you're a 100, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. It's a story as old as time itself. Damn near every civilization since we were walkin' and talkin' has done it to someone else -- a different religion, just looking different, or simply being born in the wrong part of the world. People persecute what they're afraid of. Always have, always will." Dana shook her head. "I don't understand." "We were to born before the world understands and accepts the Lucky. But humans change. They learn. It takes them sometime and they often make a damn mess of it along the way. "You and I, little girl, we're going to suffer. But maybe a guard becomes sympathetic, or a warden has a change of heart. Maybe our story gets out, the world finds out about this place and what we went through. Then things will change -- they always do -- and it'll get better for the other Luckies out there." A banging rang out and reverberated off the small rooms steel walls. It was one of the guards, standing on an observation deck above them, banging his gun on the metal railing. "Mess is over! To your spots!" Dana and Julie stood up. The lights in the dining room started dimming as the two prisoners prepared to leave. No reason to wait -- after all, they were the only inmates there. "Why us, Julie?" She wouldn't see her again for another day, not until their next meal, and her heart ached for some sort of wisdom. But Julie only shrugged as she looked Dana in the eye. "Bad luck." \-------------------- 10/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \-------------------- edit: some grammar errors that make me doubt my own literacy	2018-06-29T12:50:06	2018-06-29T11:25:34	41	18
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	Elizabeth I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you. - the paramedic who tried to save you #2321	Dear Jenna I'm so sorry my friends lied to me about how they felt about you to spare me. I was blindly in love with you, but they hated everything about you. Even with my awful anger problems I never got mad at you. They saw how you treated me but I didn't think it was awful. No matter what I loved every second I spent with you. You were my heart and soul and the only reason I survived those 4 years. Then you met him and we had our first fight. In the skinny thats what led to me leaving though I said I never would the same day I told you I love you. I guess we both lied. I wanted so bad for that to not be my reasoning but I think about it every day and every night. Two years later I know it was him that drove me to the edge, and off just as quickly. Then you lie to me again. You stay at my house, our party, our one weekend home from college. You say you want to stay the night but the messages you accidentally sent to the wrong chat say differently. You insult my friendship with other people because your other friends don't like them though you said I was your best friend. I lost it, in my anger I called you out without thinking. I didnt calm down for the month it took for you to talk to me again instead of trying to tell my friends how awful I was to you. Then I backed out and said I wanted to leave, you tried to get me to talk but I just couldnt do it again. 2 years later I've thought about you every day. I live with my girlfriend and I think I want to marry her. I have my same friends except for The ones that crawled back to you once you batted your eyelashes at them again. I have a better job as a dropout than I would have ever gotten with a degree from the college you convinced me to go to. You chose a man who pretended to be from a different state, with a fake accent, and a fake name who left as soon as he found out you wouldnt sleep with him. You chose to blend in with your new friends rather than defend our mutual ones. You chose to trash me to every one you knew and even have your mother talk about a restraining order when we hadn't seen, talked, or been in the same city for months. I still love you. I still miss you. You are still the one that got away. But I found a new one and I want to move on. I hope this is goodbye. Goodnight.	2017-11-06T02:41:21	2017-11-06T01:13:39	27	12
[WP] Aliens establish first contact with the government of another country. The White House gets offended. Bonus cookies if the government in question is either of a really tiny country (geographically) or is a generally insignificant player in international politics.	The President sat angrily behind his desk the entire cabinet awkwardly standing in the oval office. They all look around no one wanting to be the first to speak up. One journalist finally pipes up. "Maybe it isn't so-" The President loses it slamming his hand on the desk. "It isn't so bad? It isn't so bad that aliens are here and so do they decide to talk to? Not the last of the free god damn world, no! They want to talk to the fucking leader of Liechtenstein! Where the fuck is that?" The secretary of defense chimes in, "It's located in the Rhine River, in between Switzerland and Austria." The President slumps in his chair and flats at his cabinet. "It was supposed to be me. We intercepted the signal we invited them. And the want to talk to fucking Liechtenstein." The phone rings and the president just stares at it. The cabinet shifts uncomfortably and finally the 1st lady grabs the phone answering." Hello this is the first Lady..mhm, yes. Okay I'll tell him. Thank you." She hangs up and steps back away from the desk not making eye contact. The President looks at her expecting, "Well what is it?" She looks up biting her lip, "Well, that was the governor of Liechtenstein." The President stands placing his hands on his desk his eyes bright. " Yes and??" She bites her lip and sighs, "He said... Thanks Obama"	"Sir, it's happened" "What has happened" "The others, they have... uhm... they've made contact again." "What the hell do you mean they've made contact? The Joint Chiefs haven't contacted me" "Sir they have made contact with another country" "Which country?" "Botswana, sir" "Botswana?! What could they possibly hope to achieve there? We told them we were trying to change, but change on the scale they demanded takes time. Attempt contact with them immediately!" "Mr. President we are still unable to reach them via all communications attempts. We aren't exactly sure but our analysts believe it is due to recent events in Iran..." "I am the President of The United States of America, I will not stand for this! Get me a secure line to the Pentagon!" "Right away sir" Unbeknownst the general population, an alien civilization had been in sporadic and infrequent contact with the United States Government starting in the year 1950. It was unknown the the government how to contact the beings who referred to themselves as "the Shaveh" and communication would only occur when the Shaveh initiated it. The year 1950 was the beginning and contact would take place again in 1965, 1990, 2001, 2003, and 2014. The messages conveyed started out cryptic, vague, but with each contact there meaning became more clear. By 2014 no two way communication was had, and only a very brief message was delivered. The message was the source of many sleepless nights for the President and each time he read it, an uneasy feeling came over him. A feeling of desperation, of something that he couldn't or wouldn't be able to stop. The feeling of an addict who has gotten clean but knows, knows its only a matter of time. The message read: You have been told in all things, love, honesty, equality, peace. You have ruled with hate, deception, discrimination, and war. Your time has passed.	2015-04-27T08:35:33	2015-04-27T08:07:44	37	18
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.	She had been sixteen when she first saw him. He had planted a cold kiss on her mother's colorless lips after his work was completed. And tonight she would see him again, as she had once a month for the past two years. She always chose the night of the full moon. It felt more romantic that way, since the moon had been round and full that fateful night. And the silver beams illuminating the room offered a certain ambience. "You're a real artist, Libby. Truly." His familiar voice rasped from behind her. A voice like crackling, burning flames. A smile pulled at her lips as she turned to face him, the knife held in her calm, idle hands. A paintbrush used to create her masterpieces. The crimson paint of her most recent victim still coated the silver blade. "I was starting to worry you would not show," she said, batting her long, pale lashes against her cheeks. "Do you like it?" she asked hopefully, motioning to the motel bed behind her. She watched him peek around her, unflinching as his black eyes took in the flayed man laid spread eagle on the mattress. "Impressive. But then, it is easy for you to lure them in, isn't it? They see a lovely thing like you and abandon all sense," he replied. She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "Because I am a woman I have an easier time of it?" she asked, annoyed. "Some of them become suspicious. And you should see the look on their faces when they see the knife," she smiled, hazel eyes sparking at the memory. He smiled his cool, alluring smile. "I'm sure his face was a mask of terror," he said, plucking her weapon from her hand and setting it aside. "Come here." Her body instantly reacted to his command and she found herself in his lithe arms. She knew morning would come too fast, as it always did. But for now she was content to indulge in life's small pleasures. Plus there was always next month to look forward to. She awoke to the sunlight filtering in through the dusty blinds, warming her face. She stirred among the comforter splayed out on the hard, dirty carpet that smelled faintly of mildew and piss. It was worth it, though. She sighed and sat up, hoping he was still there, though she hoped in vain as usual. She sprang to her feet and donned her sweater and jeans, ignoring the body drying out on the mattress. There was still time to take care of that. Biting her lip, she padded across the room to the nightstand and plucked up the note that lay there, her eyes drinking in the familiar scrawling handwriting: "Libby, The nights we share have been a favorite part of my routine for some time now. The warmth I find in your arms has been an unfamiliar solace, one I have come to treasure. Until our next rendezvous, I shall think of your iridescent eyes, alight with the same passion that stirs my own blood. I shall see you again when next the moon reaches its most stunning phase. Yours- G.R. P.S. I left a gift for you outside." Libby smiled and set the note down, her heart jumping in her chest, curious to see what he had left her. She hurried to the window and glanced out. There, hanging from the corner stoplight, was a young woman torn open from throat to naval. Her bloody entrails were hanging free and her ragged skin flapped in the summer breeze. He was such a romantic, the one the police had labeled "The Grim Reaper." He knew the way straight to her heart, and it certainly wasn't flowers. -------------------------------------------- Edit: to add this - r/PhantomFiction, should anyone wish to peek further into me brain. :)	I remember the first time I saw him. It was love at first sight. My uncle was dead on the floor, and he came. He pulled back his hood. I was terrified, but he had the face of an angel. His voice was calming and sweet. I vowed to see him again. There was the easy way, but it only guaranteed a brief visit with him. So, I plotted another way for us to date. As I grew, people around me had accidents. He would show up. We would talk though not for long. He told me to move on, but I never listened. I only wanted him. I wanted his icy hands all over my body. I was persistent. I kept after him. Though over time, his discontent with me grew. I could not stop. More died to feed my need for him. I wanted him in the deadliest of ways. On my 25th birthday, after my 33rd victim, he appeared. I threw myself on him, but he pushed me away. "Abby, look, you're a cute girl, but I'm the Grim Reaper. I don't have genitals." "That's okay. We can make due." "Okay, fine, I was trying to be nice, but I'm going to come out and say it. I like men. Ted and me have a quite a life together." "Ted?" I ask, tears welling in my eyes. "Bundy. Yeah, great guy. Don't feel bad. You're not the first to do this to win me over. I mean, Gacy, what a nightmare. Thought dressing up like a clown for me was sexy or something. And then there was Ed Gein. Sweet guy, but a little off. But, Ted has been a dream." "Aren't there other Reapers?" I ask, "Maybe you weren't the only one." "Nope, I'm it. Look, I have to go, but I'll see you in a few years." "A few years? Why?" "Oh, do you want me to spoil it?" "Yes," I demand, "I need to know." "It's going to be a shocking conclusion to your life." "I get the chair?" I ask. "Yep, well, happy birthday!" He kissed me on the forehead. I don't know if it was to add insult to injury or what, but, like that, he was gone. The police arrived soon thereafter. The trial and sentencing were quick. It took a few years, but I saw him again, hoping something had changed. But, Ted hugged him as soon as we arrived on the other side. Ted was a dream. That was much was true. *** If you enjoyed this, I also wrote a prompt about a serial killer ending up on a jury. [Here it is.](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/comments/3vqslq/wp_you_a_serial_killer_just_getting_started_have/)	2017-06-07T18:45:32	2017-06-07T16:55:56	1,265	392
[WP] 2 years ago, tired of all the bugs in your house, you made a deal with a spider. He would protect your house from pests, and you would not kill it or drive it off. When you made the deal, you could have held the spider in your hand, now, it is much bigger, and its definition of 'pests' is also.	It all started with the cicadas. The darn things were everywhere. It was like that was a trigger for the other insects. No matter how clean my kitchen was, I’d find ants on the counter, looking for scraps or crumbs. Tsetse flies and gnats seemed to spawn from nothing. Mosquitoes would take advantage of any door or window that opened. I hired exterminators. I got sticky strips, roach motels, sprays, bug bombs… I’m pretty sure I caused Raid stock to climb 2%. One day I came home and slumped at the kitchen table. I put my head on my arms and felt a fly land on my neck. As I swatted it, I felt a tap on my forearm. Thinking it was another bug, I raised my head. It was a smallish spider. One of its leg was raised and I could’ve sworn it was staring at me. Without breaking eye contact, it raised another leg, a rear one, and seemed to be pointing. I looked in the direction it seemed to be pointing and I gasped. A web in the window above the sink had almost a dozen wrapped bug corpses. I looked back at the spider and it NODDED! Then it turned and walked away. I watched as it spun a web and then floated up to the window, where it climbed up into the corner. Disbelief on my face, I just walked from the kitchen. That was two years ago. —————— I slammed the door as I walked in the house. “Shelby! I’m home!” I heard the odd rustle of feet as Shelby came down the hall. In the two years since that initial meeting Shelby had grown. A lot. They were the size of a medium dog. Their eyes stared at me, unblinking. “How was your day?” I asked them. I had given up considering it weird that I talked to a giant spider that was my roommate. Shelby motioned with one leg, the hairs on it bending in the direction of the feeler on the end. I looked to where it was pointing: towards the living room ceiling. There was a large web sac in the corner. Alarmed, I looked from it to Shelby. “What is in there?! That’s not a bug!” Shelby beckoned, and then turned to go into the kitchen. I followed. Once in the kitchen, Shelby stood at the end of the table, one leg resting on the tabletop, their unblinking eyes waiting for me. As I neared the table, the leg moved and revealed a spiked collar on the table. I picked it up and saw the tag on it. ‘Brutus’ That was the name of our neighbors dog. It frequently would break free from its leash and come into our yard. It would use our yard as a restroom and no matter how many times I talked with the owner, it never got picked up. I hated cleaning up after Brutus when I needed to mow and would regularly complain to Shelby about it. “Shelby! You can’t eat the neighbors dog.” They stared at me unblinking, then gave what I had learned to be a spider shrug, then went back into the living room. I knew it was too late for the dog. As I sat at the kitchen table playing with the collar, I tried to think on what I should tell the neighbors. Should I tell them anything? What would I say? ‘Sorry about your pain in the ass dog. My roommate, a giant spider, ate it.’ I didn’t see that going over well. Sighing, I went into the hall and headed upstairs. I tried to block out the sounds of Shelby having their dinner. The next morning, I heard knocking at the door. Going downstairs, I made sure Shelby wasn’t nearby before I opened the front to be greeted by Brutus’ apparently distraught owner. “Hey. Listen, I know I haven’t been the best with my dog and your yard, but Brutus is missing. Have you seen him?” I could tell that they’d been crying. I felt bad for them. I mean, if I lost a pet, I’d be sad, too. But then I started remembering all the literal shit I’ve dealt with from Brutus. And then I thought about losing Shelby. “I’m sorry, no. When is the last time you saw him?” They were telling me about letting Brutus out on their leash and I heard the rustle of Shelby’s footsteps. They sounded different, though, like from an angle I wasn’t used to. As the annoying neighbor continued their sad tale, I saw a string of web drop from the porch ceiling behind them. Shelby slowly descended from around the gutter, clinging to the ceiling. The neighbor trailed off as they saw my eyes go wide as I started shaking my head. When they realized I was looking behind them, they turned. As they opened their mouth to scream in what I’d guess was terror at seeing such a large spider, Shelby shot a ball of webbing into their mouth, silencing the scream before it could begin. The ball was quickly followed by Shelby themself. With a speed I had never seen before, Shelby quickly wrapped the neighbor in restricting webbing. As the wrapped body fell, it hit the porch with a surprisingly gentle thud. Shelby bit their neck to stop their struggling and then proceeded to drag them into the house. I could only move aside in shock. As Shelby strung them up in the living room, I finally managed to get my brain and mouth to sync up. “SHELBY! What the crap are you doing?!” They stopped their web spinning and looked at me. They quickly anchored the now white lump to the living room ceiling and then dropped to the floor. Waving a leg at me, they walked to the kitchen. I followed. When we both got in there, Shelby stared. I stared back. Finally, in confusion, I shouted, “What?!” Shelby pointed to the window. It took me a minute to realize what they were pointing at. It was the first website they had made, where they had caught the annoying bugs. Then it dawned on me. Shelby was catching things that bothered me. I dropped into the chair, unable to saying anything. Shelby came forward and put a leg on my arm. I put a hand on their feeler. It was rare for Shelby to touch me. “Shelby, you can’t do that. You can’t eat someone just because they’re…” I was interrupted by a knocking at the front door, which I had left open. Shelby quickly climbed to the ceiling. We’d had people stop by before and they knew to stay out of sight. “Hello?” a voice called from the front. I walked quickly to the door. It was a man in a white shirt, black pants and tie, and had a book in their hand. When they saw me, their face lit up with a smile. I saw Shelby peeking over the edge of the gutter. “Good afternoon, sir! Do you have time to talk about our Lord and Savior?” I stared at him for a moment. Sighing, I looked past them, made eye contact with Shelby and nodded.	At first, it was manageable. He was the size of a pea, and I had thousands of opportunities to kill him. The weeks flew by. I had noticed he was growing, but I did not care much at the time because I had just gotten fired and I figured he was just getting fatter. Then I had my "encounter" with him. My girlfriend was over at my house. She complained about an awful stench, but I shrugged it off. I had gone into the kitchen, when she let out a horrifying scream. I will never forget what I saw. Behind the sofa, was a dead colony of centipedes. CENTIPEDES. In the piles of detached centipede limbs, was the spider, who had grown far larger, maybe even the size of a tarantula. My girlfriend left immediately, but that was the least of my problems. No way am I going to remove this colony by myself. Wasn't the spider supposed to keep these guys out? What if he grows even more? At this point I started fearing for the safety of my cat. Pest exterminators were forced to close because of Covid, and the spider wasn't going away. I had to do it. I decided it would be next morning, I put on my hiking boots, and waited downstairs. About 15 minutes went by. It emerged from its cave, namely the sofa. I nicknamed it, "Abomination" and rightly so. It appeared massive. I was worried if I could do this or not. I waited. It didn't move. Seconds went by. I remembered my cat, thinking about what horrible things would happen to her if I did not carry out my mission. I blitzed the spider, and stomped down, hard. A rush of disgust and fear came as I felt a hard crunch. I put all my weight into it and pressed down once again. What felt like hours was in reality a minute as I confirmed the Abomination was really dead. I kept my cat upstairs for the rest of the day, and checked on it the following morning. It was still dead! I had done it. Relief, god the relief. It seemed trivial to be filled with joy because of a dead spider, yet here I was! The next few days were good. Getting around the house without a tug of fear was brilliant, and life seemed to continue on as normal. I had summoned the courage to tackle the dead centipede colony when I noticed movements in the pile. Tiny, but vivid movements. Wait, are those his babies!?	2021-07-03T17:52:50	2021-07-03T17:16:52	580	113
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible.	The red light of the huge screen cast an eerie glow over the faces of those assembled in the war room. But in contrast to the lighting, the atmosphere was light. Jovial, even. "As you can see, my Lord Emperor," the general was saying, a satisfied smile covering his face, "the enemy are on the run. The last assault by the Atlantea-class demons completely broke their fleet, allowing us to reinforce our beachhead. Already attacks by the Titan and Marauder demons have broken their line in several places." He pointed to a dense collection of red dots. "Now the Flamedancers have been mustered so we will encircle and destroy their armoured divisions. That will leave nothing between our army and their capital." "Excellent, excellent, General Kruger. Your forces have performed according to my expectations", drawled the Emperor. "With the capture of Washington, the stupid Americans will have no choice but to surrender. After what we did to their Pacific coast with Vulcanus, they are on their last legs." He looked at his watch and then back at the General. "Tell the Lord Summoner to commence the assault." The General saluted and drew a combination on his console. On a smaller screen a man appeared. He was elderly, sporting an untidy white beard and bushy hair. In contrast to all the men in the warroom, he was looking a bit uneasy and hesitant. "Lord Summoner, are you ready to commence the assault?" The man coughed. "Well, yes, I suppose you could say so, though all things considered, maybe it would be prudent..." The General leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you are NOT prepared?" his voice could have put the Antarctic ice to shame. The Summoner looked like he was trying hard to swallow something."Well, you see, the thing is that, I have the most awful hic hiccups, and I was worried whether..." The Emperor spoke. "My Lord Summoner, are you seriously suggesting that we delay the final offensive of our war, out ultimate war, that will finally establish the thousand year Reich, because you have hiccups? Perhaps, you are tired, my Lord? Tired of life?" The Summoner went very pale. "Of course not, my Emperor, of couse not! I will begin immediately." The Summoner walked across the room. There, complex circles and diagrams had been drawn. In the middle, in a floating cloud of red mist, lurked a huge shadow. Only two golden eyes were visible. The Summoner begin reciting the well-known chants which would bind and compel the Demon Lord, ordering him to in turn compel his minions to war. His voice rose and fell, but in spite of his best efforts, hiccups leaked out, upsetting the rythm, distorting the syllables. Inside the circle the golden eyes narrowed. The Summoner picked up a golden goblet. Now he had to drink a potion of power brewed from the blood of innocents, cooked on a battlefield. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank. A huge hiccup exploded out of nowhere. The potion went down the wrong way, the summoner started choking. The goblet dropped from his hand, spilling the dark crimson liquid, which ran across the floor, over the circles and into the red cloud. All those witnessing the spectacle in the war room froze. The Summoner continued to cough frantically, while trying to back away, his eyes suddenly as large as saucers. A clawed foot stepped out of the circle. The Demon Lord stood in the room, free and unchained. "And I am free. You made a mistake. As I knew you would. Humans always make a mistake." He reached out and grabbed the Summoner. "Something stuck in there? Let me help you." And with one wickedly curved claw, he tore out the throat. The Demon Lord looked through the screen at the Emperor. "Five years, you have imprisoned me here. Five years have my forces bled and died on this alien world. Five years have I been kept away from the war to end all wars. I do not even know if my home still stands, or if the Sleeping Gods of the Forgotten Deeps have drowned it. For this you shall pay." "You think you have seen our power? Human, taste our true rage!" The monitor winked out. Neither the General nor the Emperor had any words. And then it started. "General, the demons!" an officer shouted. "Fifth Army reports they have turned on us. They are killing everything!" "General, the Atlantea demons are sinking our ships!" "General, fires have broken out in Hamburg, Dusseldorf and Paris! General Gruber reports that he cannot hold. Colonel Schwartz is calling for help." "General, army headquarters in Spain, Portugal and England are no longer responding" "General, Vulcanus just appeared in Italy. It seems like Vesuvius is once again stirring." And they kept on coming. The death cries of a burning Empire. Edit: Fixed typos	The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany. But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die... Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk. The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few VERY INSIGNIFICANT details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up. I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me.	2017-08-18T03:34:46	2017-08-18T02:09:31	107	15
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”	We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much. I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible. During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back. The genie left, and I understood.	The genie laughs and blurts out with elation: "By doing nothing of course!" "What do you mean 'by doing nothing?' and what do you mean 'of course!'?" "What did you expect me to say? Did you expect one good deed? One invention?" "Well...kinda. Maybe hundreds of good deeds?" "Tell me, which human do you know of that has done a good deed such as, oh I don't know, donating their clothes to a charity shop let's say; and made a grand difference?" "Ha! I would have expected something a little less innocuous than that. You know like, solve world hunger, or, create something that purifies water." "I can see why you would think that would help a lot of people. And it would. But, you did see that said *TRILLION* ...right? Not million or billion." "Well billion is pretty good!" "About a thousand times fewer people than you *will* help though. Look, you could create something that purifies all water, sure. You would ease suffering for millions. But is it not the nature of humankind to find problems to solve?" "I mean, I suppose. Not exclusively, but, yeh I guess." "So you purify all water. Now what is the next problem? People still suffer because now they can stop focusing on water but focus shifts to no food. Let's say you solved world hunger too! Now they argue over land and property, women, and fight for justice. Justice basically born out of the wish that people would stop arguing and doing harm to each other." "What so I should skip solving the problems, and instead treat the symptoms by just becoming a lawyer or a politician?" "There was a trillion on the end of that 137 remember." "I don't understand how I can help so many by doing nothing!" "That was the point! Everyone until now has always looked for a way to solve other people's problems. But look how destructive humanity has been in the search to solve other people's problems! It's like your old proverb, where the monkey reaches into the river to grab the fish, exclaiming as he does so: *'dear fish! kindly let me help you or you'll drown!'* and placed it safely up a tree." "How have we...But look at all we have achieved!" "Achieved? Let me paint a picture of humanity's achievements with the example of solving the problem of no light at night, by creating electricity. Ok, great we can see at night. Now how do you get the energy to maintain the electricity? You destroy the environment. Ruin it for others. See you cannot have something without taking it from someone or something else. The rainforests are destroyed for the wood to burn or oil to rub on your faces; the water is poisoned to get gas to pump into your flashy cooker; your -" "- OK! I get it. Don't preach. I understand what you're getting at. Yin Yang and all that right?" "Close." "Can you tell me how I change the world for 137 'TRILLION REMEMBER' people, by doing nothing?" "No." "Why didn't you say that in the beginning?!" "How can I tell you how to *do* nothing? That - literally - doesn't make sense." "YOU SAID IT! You said, and I quote: By doing nothing of course!" "And my responses have been questions have they not?" "Yes." "What you seek does not come from *knowing* the answer. There is no real quick-fix in life, they are all postponements of the truth. What you seek comes from the journey of discovery. You must learn what it is, to be."	2018-08-15T05:06:03	2018-08-15T02:53:07	374	164
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most? Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone!	I could never lie. It got me into serious trouble growing up, I just used to nod and admit. I learned to be good to a degree but more importantly, I learned as a 10 year old boy that I could see others lying. It was difficult as a child. You can’t really call bullshit on an adult, but as I got older, I became an investigative journalist. Thousands of cases I had reported before being spotted by the FBI. I wouldn’t work for them because the money they offered was a pittance to what the newspapers offered, but I did help them. They helped me too. It was the murder of my wife that haunts me the most. She was shot down in the street 3 blocks from her lovers house. Yes. I know what you think. Why didn’t I know she was having an affair? Truth is, I never asked. I only know the true answers to questions I ask, and only if they flat out respond with a lie. “Have you been cheating?” I once asked “Are you seriously asking me?” She would deflect. So the case. I wasn’t involved fully but I was able to go in the room and ask people if they killed my wife. There were 3 suspects. The lover. Me and a gang member in the area she was shot. Obviously I can’t lie. So I was out of the running straight away. The gang member. He was easy. He sang like a fairy and even got himself arrested and charged with murder of other people. But the lover was hard work. He knew not to answer. He had a very good lawyer. Every question I asked was deflected or unanswered. It was frustrating. “Did you kill my wife” “I slept with her!” He would answer. True. “Why did you shoot her” Silence “Where is the gun?” Silence I interviewed him for a very long time. I couldn’t break him. For the first time there was no way to trick him. He was to be released. I walked to the boss and asked him if I could speak to him alone. After the release. Man to man. Unrecorded. Unconventional. The boss said he would see what he could do. The lawyer said it was unadvisable but the lover agreed. He wanted me to know he didn’t do it. He knew I could see his lie. The fbi video and sound man turned off the camera and voice recorder lights. A trick often used to appear as though they are off. Paperwork after would be sorted for the over recording. I walk into the room one last time. My boss on my left, I sit opposite the lover. Boss sits opposite the lawyer. “Please” I say. “Did you murder my wife?” “No!” He answered instantly. Believably. I look at the camera and smile. Look at my boss and say “he’s lying!” The lover becomes irate. Screaming. Calling me a liar. Me? Everyone in the room, hell everyone in the world knows you can’t lie to me and I can’t lie. I stand up and allow the men to do their work. He’s going down. I hear him from the corridor shouting “He’s lying. He’s lying I swear.” I smirk. And walk away. Nobody cheats on me.	"I'm curious, why bring up a case against someone who's no longer living?" "For justice, your honor." 'True. No, it can't be... It's not possible that he would do something like this.' Someone at the rear courtroom shouted. "Liar!" The outburst was met with harmonious cheers and applause. 'Keep these people under control.' "Order! I will have order in this chamber!" I pounded the gavel and the mob settled. "You do understand that what you state to be true is highly unlikely, and that I will know if you are lying to me?" "Yes, your honor." He had an honest face, and his words reflected it. "Then answer honestly, did the person in this photograph make unsolicited sexual advancements toward you?" He examined the portrait on the easel in front of him, I could see the disgust in his eyes. "Yes." The crowd murmured a bit at his response. 'True.' "Did you ask him to stop, and did he ignore your requests?" The fire in his eyes, a true hatred. "Yes." The crowd's anger rose. 'True.' "One last question: Were you molested by the person in this photograph?" His eyes were filled with tears now, but he answered firmly. "Yes." An eruption of furious slurs lashed out from those in the crowd. True. No. Oh, God, no... The mob was fuming, and I had to act quickly before things got out of hand. "Order! You will all sit down or be banished from this chamber!" The crowd settled, and I knew what had to be done. "You have come to this courtroom with accusations against the most beloved figure in this community, and as I suspected, they are falsehoods." Roaring cheers filled the room. People stood up and hugged, most were crying tears of pure joy. "No... No, you're lying!" The boy struggled and screamed as the guard pulled him away, but nobody could hear his words over the people's celebration. 'This is the only way. The people will get more from the idea he represented, than from the jellybean he actually was....' r/BeagleTales	2018-05-15T22:42:10	2018-05-15T21:38:10	97	48
[WP] Write a suicide note in a Dr. Suess like fashion.	Although it seems like I am happy. My life right now is rather crappy. Times are tough and moneys tight. But that's OK cause it ends tonight. I wish you well, and all the best. I'm glad to get this off my chest. By the time you read my one last quote. You will realize it's my suicide note. With love in my heart, I bid you farewell. Fuck this world,I'll see you in hell.	I am sad Sad I am Have i gone mad I might just have I would not could not anymore my life is just one great big chore I try to dream but cant escape This life that i have learned to hate Ive rustled and bustled and truffled about With bad thoughts and worse thoughts I can't drown them out So think me a coward if thats what you must And this cowards body will be turned to dust Goodbye to you all I can't say that i'll miss you but don't cry for me now, Because I'm fresh out of tissue Edit: Formatting	2015-01-17T05:25:17	2015-01-17T04:21:47	42	15
[WP]You're a famous artist, tasked with the mission of going back in time to mentor Hitler and improve his art, so that he never goes into politics.	"Again, Adolf, and not so lifelike this time," I said, examining the cityscape he had started on the canvas. "Don't paint what you see, paint the bare bones of what you see, and then how it makes you feel." "But das ist... ist... antithesis," Adolf protested. "Exactly. Every other applicant to the academy will be painting lifelike portraits. What you must do is zig where they zag." Truth be told, his paintings were really coming along. Not a Monet or a Manet or a Modigliani, but certainly talented enough to catch the eye of the examiners at the academy. Adolf got a new canvas, and started again. Within minutes, the outlines of a Vienna streetscape began to emerge from the canvas, but... different. Finally, an image influenced by reality, but not wholly of it took shape. Colors and textures blended, and when he had finished, a painting that seemed worthy of a place in a museum sat on the canvas. "Fantastic, Mr. Hitler," I said. "This will certainly gain your acceptance into the academy. I have taught you all I can teach you." "Danke mein herr", said Hitler. I walked away into a crowded street, and pushed the recall button on my teleportation device. There was a flash of bright light and... what the heck? Nazi Germany is a thing in 2112? It couldn't be. What did I do? I wandered the streets of New York, which I soon learned was called Neues Goebbels in this time period. As I passed the building I remembered as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I was greeted by a giant banner advertising a show of the paintings of German Impressionist Master Adolf Hitler. In the center, the painting of Vienna that he had made under my tutelage was shown prominently. I went into the museum, and walked up to a worker at the front desk. "Pardon me, but who founded the Third Reich?" The front desk attendant, a blond girl of no more then twenty, began, "His name was Horst Muhlenberg, and he began life as a failed composer..."	I put on my sunglasses so nobody would notice me sneaking another look around at all the other tents. It's overwhelmingly likely nobody was actually looking at me or would have noticed, but I couldn't afford to compound my embarrassment. As I suspected, I was the only artist left that had not unloaded a single painting yet. This was my third completely unsuccessful art show in a row, but I don’t know what I was expecting by only bringing paintings of german shepherds. It was certainly starting to feel like the beginning of the end of my sham of an art career. Once the show was over, I waited another 15 minutes before packing up all of my paintings back into my station wagon and making my way home. As I approached the door, I noticed clear signs of forced entry. Somebody had broken in. I pushed open the door as slowly and gently as I could to avoid its characteristic squealing. The door creaked loudly in spite of me. I took a few steps inside and noticed that I had not taken a breath since I first saw the broken door. Before I could manage to rectify this, a bag was put over my head and someone picked up my legs from under me. I couldn't move my arms. I couldn't move at all. I tried wriggling out of the mysterious stone grip, but quickly was rendered unconscious. It took me a few moments to blink the stupor from my eyes. I woke in a clinically white room with only a mirror on one wall and a door on another. I sat at a steel table in a steel chair. This room was built for methodically uncomfortable simplicity. As I tried to stand, I found my hands cuffed together with a long, thin chain that was threaded through a hole in the table. I yelled something, but I could barely hear the sound of my own voice. Just then, a woman in a tasteful skirtsuit came in and stood at the other side of the table. Her face was warm, but her eyes were fixed on the task at hand. "Good evening. My name is Amanda. I'm with the CIA's Anti-Fascist Task Force. It's my job to oversee special operations in a priority area of national security," she began. "You'll have to excuse our methods. As I'm sure you can understand, it's of paramount importance to us that our location remain 'need-to-know' as it were." At this point she let out a cute, scripted chuckle, but I couldn't figure out what possibly about that was funny. "What am I doing here? I'm not a fascist!" I exclaimed. "I've done nothing wrong!" "Don't worry, sir. We're quite confident in your patriotism." At this moment, she placed her thumb on a seemingly random part of the table. A thin ring of bluish light circled her finger and the cuffs fell off of my wrists in one quick moment. "You're here because the United States Government is a fan of your paintings." I laughed. I probably shouldn't have laughed, but I laughed. "Nobody is a fan of my paintings. I'm barely a fan of my paintings." "I can assure you. After nearly a year of careful curation, assessment, and deliberation on many tens of thousands of potential artists, and of course a long phase of background checks and intelligence gathering on you, you're our man. You have a critical role in an upcoming operation on a high priority target." "Wait, you want me to kill someone?" She raised an eyebrow in disbelief for a moment before recollecting her pristine professionalism. "No, nothing so clandestine. In short, we need you to teach a foreign diplomat how to paint. We'll be utilizing the latest in our technology to make the transit a quick and painless endeavor for you. You'll be there in a flash." The conversation continued for nearly another hour. She told me how the teleporter worked in more detail than I could manage to retain. She explained the logistics of the instantaneous translating micromachine they had embedded into my ear to comunicate effortlessly with the foreign nationals. I made a list for her of all the art supplies I could want. She stepped outside for a moment to hand the list off and only a few minutes later an intern in a lab coat wheeled in a cart with every item on the list, including many personal items from my home studio. Once I gave my approval on the inventory, he wheeled the cart back out of the room to be sent in advance of me. Before I could step out of the isolated room I had to sign an agreement to keep secret anything that was even arguably a privileged state secret. I took a deep breath as I exited the room. I followed a markedly long, imposing hallway with intermittent lighting hung from the ceiling every twenty feet. At the end of the hall was a windowless set of double doors. I followed Amanda closely and tried my best to keep up with the rapid clicking of her high heels against the cement floors. As she pushed open the door at the end of the hall, there was a suddenly a buzz of activity from all sides. Men in white lab coats yelled directions at one another from across the room and electrical engineers carefully followed the thick black cables on the ground to balance the power from the enormous humming generator. Amanda paid no attention to anything going on around her in the room and walked over to the complex mechanical structure in the center of the room. It was a machine of both impossibly slick scientific advancement and cluttered, functional design. The same intern that had wheeled in the cart darted over and begin twisting the heavy metal handle on the door of the machine before we had made our way across the room. With a loud squeal, he pulled the door open. Once we were next to the machine, Amanda turned to me with a smile and just sort of nodded to the claustrophobic chamber within. I hesitantly stepped inside. I could not believe how quickly this was all happening. These people seemed to be working on a very tight schedule, like their time was limited. Before I could wriggle around in the machine, the door was already shut behind me. I realized then that I had not taken a breath since passing through the double doors and fixing my eyes on the machine. A voice came over the loudspeaker in the chamber. "Alright now. We're just about set. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. This machine has been tested in all manner of conditions and has a margin of error less than twenty-five percent." I almost objected then, but he continued before I could. "You're going to feel a slight tingling as your molecular structure is decompiled, catalogued, and recompiled. Oh, it looks like we're all set here. Are you ready?" I opened my mouth to say something, but in the blink of an eye I found myself in an entirely new place. "I'm starting to have sec-" I was in a small art studio. The cart's inventory of supplies was scattered throughout the room. There were finished paintings hung and half-finished paintings on the floor leaning up against the walls. I looked out the window and the reality of the situation began to sink in on me. The streets were dotted with carts being pulled by horses. I saw children peddling newspapers on the corners. The citizenry was dressed in turn of the century style. Amanda had boldly lied to me! I was out of my time and into another. Before I had much time to think about it, there was a knock at the door. I didn't even look over. A young, handsome lad let himself in carrying a canvas and a small trunk full of his supplies. He noticed my total lack of concern for his entrance and dropped his trunk on the table with a thud. He had my attention. "What do you want?" I asked. "I've come for my lessons." I finally understood. "What's your name?" "Adolf Hitler. Shall we get to work?"	2015-12-11T10:52:24	2015-12-11T09:30:19	76	12
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session	DM: "Alright Jesus, you've just been executed by the Romans, Roll a death save." Jesus: \rolls\ "Natural 20." DM: "Alright you wake up with 1 hp, what do you do?" Jesus: "Alright I'm gonna play possum" DM: "Roll a deception check" Jesus: \rolls\ Ok that's another 20, plus my charisma modifier which is \+5 so 25 total." DM: "Ok you avoid detection and are placed in an unmarked cave." Jesus: "All right how long can I go without food or water?" DM: "About Three days." Jesus: "Alright I emerge from the cave three days later."	DM: Alright, so you all have been stationed on the Bolognian for a few days now. Tensions have been high with Bologna for generations now, and things are starting to get pretty heated once again. Player 1: Alright, so what are our orders DM: Your group's job is to sneak into enemy territory and scout out areas within Bologna and to report back with anything you find out. Player 2: So we are just scouting out, not trying to fight anyone? DM: Ya, Modena and Bologna are not in open war right now, but its close. Player 1: Ok I'll take point. Let's head straight towards the center of the country, then work our way back. Player 3: Sounds reasonable. Player 2: Let's do it! DM: Ok so about a week passes and you are on the outskirts of a town near the center of Bolognian territory. There are quite a few large buildings, a church, and a communal well near the centre of the city. Player 4: I sneak into the town square. DM: Ok, so you make your way past a few soldiers who are sleeping on their post and make your way into the town square. As it is night most of the market stalls and such are packed up. The square is nearly deserted. Player 4: Ok imma grab the bucket from the well and start looting some buildings. DM: What? Player 4: I steal the bucket and fill it with loot. Player 1: Is that a good idea, we are just supposed to be scouting around. Player 3: shhhh just let him do it. DM: Ok so you pull the bucket down from eh rope it is hanging on and go around to a few buildings. Most of what you find is dinnerware, jewelry, and various other small bits of valuable metals, but in total it is about enough to fill the bucket. Player 4: Alright let's get out of here. Player 2: I take some charcoal and graffiti the wall "Modena waz here" Lol so edgy. Player 3: haha nice. DM: You guys work your way back to Modenian territory with your bucket full of loot. When you get back to your officer to report what you found, he immediately starts chastising you for stealing the bucket from Bologna. Apparently, they sent word to the Modenian government about a stolen bucket and are demanding the bucket back. Player 4: No way, I stole this bucket, its mine now. DM: fine, The Bolognese have raised an army of 32,000 men and are marching on the city of Zappolino... Player 2: that is the most Italian sounding name I have ever heard... Continue... DM: Your country can only muster 7,000 men, and it seems as though you will be crushed entirely. Player 3: Lets set up an elaborate defence of the city and make sure we don't lose. DM: Roll to set things up. Player 3: Natural 20! DM: Nice, so you guys get some well-made defences and a great strategy in place to drive back your enemy. They come soon and stand against your defences. You suddenly realize how fucked you are. This mile-long wall of bodies bearing down on you like a force of nature. I need you guys to roll to see how the battle fares. ~everyone rolls nat 20~ DM: WEll shit, you guys manage to break the enemies formations and send them routing back home, successfully beating a force nearly 5 times as large as your own. Player 4: I take a group and chase them back to the border. DM: they are in full flight mode, so you are easily able to drive them out of the country. Player 4: And a steal another one of their buckets as a trophy. ~Party laughs their asses off, DM sighs and rolls his eyes. Everyone drinks a bit more, laughs and passes out sprawled over couches and floors.~	2018-05-29T09:31:25	2018-05-29T09:19:41	210	22
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	I miss you big guy. I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin. I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had. Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death. I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad. I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking. Don't miss your cooking though :P Miss ya big guy	Hey Em, I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown. But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some. And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words. You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck. After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride. I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with. So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may. -M	2017-11-05T22:27:41	2017-11-05T19:02:54	102	55
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting.	###Diagnostic Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria with Manic Episodes^1 DSM-IV Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria · Hallucinations prototypically of grandiose nature^2 · Schizotypal responses highlighted by delusional thinking^3 · Periodic states of mania often leading to injury or arrest^4 · Specific symptoms, at least 3 of these 5, present nearly every day: 1. Significant change in activity; extreme restlessness, inability to stay still 2. Change in sleep; staying up all night, usually in conjunction with delusional thoughts.^5 3. Recklessness & extreme behavior; taking actions, outside of normal occurrence, that lead an increase chance of bodily harm.^6 4. Constant and noticeable change of appearance; day by day changes such as clothing, weight, costume, makeup, etc.^7 5. Increased irritability; marked by an inability to allow for common actions to play out in normal time. Demanding rapidity where not possible.^8 Screen for conditions that may mimic or coexist^9 with Protagonist Dysphoria: · Substance abuse (eg. drugs, alcohol, medication) · Family history of schizophrenia · Borderline personality disorder · Bipolar disorder · Bereavement; notably the recent loss of both parents __________________________ 1. Eliot woke the morning of September 26th 2017 with the resolute knowledge that he was bound for something more. Something greater. There was nothing particularly notable about this morning, besides the fact that the curtain wasn’t completely closed so it allowed a ray of sunshine to illuminate his face. A spotlight for the rest of the day. 2. As he sat at the edge of the bed noted that he always seemed to put his left sock on first, despite being right handed. Wondering if this was abnormal. He never had a chance to put on the right one as he was interrupted by a large bang outside. Initially wrote it off as construction and headed downstairs. Stepped onto the cold tile only now realizing his bare foot. 3. He sat down to drink his morning coffee and opened up the blinds to an inferno in his midst. Realized the bang was the result of an asteroid plummeting through his neighbor’s roof. The street riddled with debris and dead bodies. People running down the street screaming. Aha! He thought to himself. Time to jump into action! Ran outside, the one socked hero he always knew he could be. 4. By the time he reached the wreckage became enraged at the fact that no one else seemed to be compelled to help. Banged his fists on a nearby police cruiser. Chewed out the cop who refused to be a willing participant, refused to be a true hero in a true time of crisis. As the heat singed his back, Eliot was thrown into the back seat of the car, pleading against this injustice. 5. Eliot sat in the cell awaiting a pretrial hearing for assaulting a police officer. Could not possibly imagine a scenario where this was a bigger issue than what seemed to be the impending apocalypse. He decided to take action. Had spent the last several years teaching himself to be alert even with minimal sleep. Lassoed the keys from a sleeping officer overseeing his cell. 6. Free from the cell, in the midst of prying the gun from the officer's belt found himself flat on his back, bullet in his thigh. Blood pouring over the ground. The officer, startled himself, called for an ambulance. Leaving Eliot enough time to hobble out the front door. Worse for wear, sure, but with a renewed resilience. Fighting against an obviously corrupt system. A system hell-bent on destroying the planet. 7. Realizing that they all knew his face now, shaved off his hair, sewing himself a contour fitting disguise, well except for his leg, still wrapped up in a tourniquet. But true heroes don’t feel pain. And he knew that. Traversed the streets dressed as the Ray of Light Hawk. Some combination of Big Bird and the Cool-Aid Man. Headed straight for City Hall, ready to demand some answers. 8. Eliot slowly realized that in the ensuing fiasco, and in readying the disguise, time was running out. Blood crusted Big Bird heading for the final showdown. Forgot exactly how far City Hall was, commandeered a small girl’s bike, tassels waving in the wind. Pedaling as fast as his bullet ridden thigh would take him. 9. About 5 minutes into this excursion found himself surrounded by police cars, and felt impending doom as the sky turned red, asteroids flying in every direction. Realizing that it would take a true master to escape this. And in a blaze of glory, was immediately subdued and returned to the medical wing of the Morningstar Psychiatric Hospital. __________________ ^[^More ^at ^/r/SquidCritic]	Ariel undid her ponytail as she sat up from her desk to walk shyly out of class, when she noticed a smiling man in a tuxedo smoking in the back of the classroom appear in a flash, and then disappear. “Uhh,” said Ariel, as she picked up her backpack she just dropped. Everybody and the teacher had already left, when she walked back to the corner of the room to see if it was just some optical illusion. She spun the globe on the table back there, and bit some dried skin off her lip. Then she heard the ominous dark laughter echoing through the classroom. “Uhh nope,” whispered Ariel, as she speedwalked towards the door. A breeze blew through the open window, and slammed it shut so hard the hinges weakened. She tried to open it. She turned the handle some, turned around, then turned the handle some even harder when she saw a strange floating black mist approaching her with half his face an on fire skull, and the other half healthy, though a strangely icy blue. His eyes were fire and ice as well, red and blue. Ariel screamed as she backed away, and dropped her shoulder down to break the door down. The hinges caved in, and she was sprinting down the hallway. She could hear whispers in the halls, as she ran. “Ariel’s always acting so weird.” “What’s she running for again.” “Wish she’d just talk for once.” Ariel turned the corner, and ran through a crowded hallway. She shut her eyes as she cried, and sprinted the halls she knew so well. When she re-opened them, she was alone at the entrance of her school, dimly lit like it was nighttime. The floating man approached from inside the walls. “You don’t yet know your powers Ariel,” he said, with his arms folded, and his eyes particularly fixated on her recently dyed pink hair. “GET AWAY FROM ME,” she shouted, as she bumped into a locker then sprinted towards the exit. The branches outside were swaying in the breeze, as she bumped into a tree scrambling away. Some textbooks fell out of her open bag. She didn’t take the time to run back to them. A voice came from the clouds. “Use your powers against me Ariel,” said the voice, as a floating storm cloud became his face fiery face. “WHAT DO YOU WANT,” she cried, as she threw her hands at the air. Pink leaf petals flew from her arms, at the sky. They sliced through the clouds, and revealed the sun behind. There was a sudden distortion in the air around her, as the reality around her re-became a bright, sunshiny day, and all her classmates leaving school for the day. Ariel collapsed to her knees, bending inwards, and breathed heavily staring around for somebody nearby. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and screamed for her life. “Hey.” Ariel turned around, and looked at all her classmates shaking their heads and continuing to walk to their rides. “Blaine?” said Ariel, just a little embarrassed. “Yeah,” said Blaine, holding out her textbooks. “You dropped this.” “Thanks,” she whispered, putting her hair behind her ear. She looked at him a few more times, before dropping her head and walking away back to her house five blocks away. She was a ways away when she heard him scream from behind her. “Hey Ariel!” She turned around, and put her hair behind her ear again. She thought she saw black mist again. It was only the exhaust of a car driving by. “Yeah?” she mouthed out, looking down some. Blaine smiled and put his arms out like he was enjoying it. “Your hair looks great!” Ariel rummaged a hand through her hair, and nodded some while she speedwalked back to her home. It was a normal day, with birds chirping in the distance, cars passing by, a cool breeze flowing past her skin. And she was growing more confident that what she’d experienced was only a hallucination. Then, she felt an icy hand come across her wrist, as she froze. “I know what happened to your lost brother,” he whispered, as the mist enveloped her being and cast her into his shadow. “I don’t even have a brother,” whispered Ariel. “Strike me down,” he said, gripping her harder, and shutting his eyes as he stared at the storm clouds. “Show me why they said you must be my next apprentice.” Ariel shivered as she froze, then cracked through the ice and threw her arm into violent circles until he let go. She shouted his way so loud it made her own eardrums bleed. The windows of thousands of houses broke all around her development, and made the man floating in the mist stare at her with horrified eyes as he splintered away in misty pieces and disappeared. Ariel waited in the silence, as mystified onlookers came outside their homes and wondered what had sent such a shockwave through the development. Ariel could only hearing the ringing in her ears, and the distant voice that seemed to be everywhere. Even within her mind. Good, he chuckled, as she felt a cold breeze pass her by, and darken the air of the forest in the distance. Very good. /r/Oscar_Relentos	2017-12-09T09:07:22	2017-10-18T11:23:06	377	38
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.	Alel bit his lip as the prisoner crumpled to dust, blowing away from a wind within an airtight room. Well, that was out the window. The judge simply stared with a bored look in his eye, confirming the kill before charting it down and looking to some other infinite list. “Charles Alel, take to the stand.” Alel grimaced as he stepped forward. Really? Couldn’t even use his preferred nickname? No matter. His mind was racing with things he could say to keep from dying, though it came up blank as the judge read through his charges. All too soon, Alel heard the judge draw to a close, not even registering when asked how he wanted to die. He needed time, though it wasn’t something he had. Maybe if he could just... get a few more minutes, he could - “Charles. Choose, or be disintegrated quickly and painfully within the minute.” A magic hourglass flipped, the sand draining ten times faster than it should have. Suddenly, Alel had a spark of an idea - though, whether or not the magic of the courthouse would even be able to carry through such a thing, he did not know. Alel’s heart beat harder and faster as the last grains of sand hit the bottom of the hourglass. “I wish to die in every way.” The words flew from his mouth, unable to think of anything else in the moment. The judge had preemptively raised his gavel, though hesitated with Alel’s words. He didn’t look bored or unpleased, but surprised. Curious, even. It was a fitting punishment, an undying death set to repeat over and over, and who knows if the courthouse could even do it. An infinite death. The judge merely locked eyes with Alel, raising his gavel higher before striking downwards. Alel could feel his heart beating quickly as silence filled the chamber. He could feel the eyes of other prisoners as well as the judge on him. His heart was still beating, though rapid from the adrenaline. A few seconds passed, as Alel began to calm... only to grip his chest in agony, pain wracking his entire body. His heart began to beat faster, and harder, as though it were about to burst within his chest - and then nothing. His consciousness didn’t ebb or fade, it simply ended. Then it began. Alel rose with a gasp, sucking the air into his aching chest. He gripped his chest and looked towards the judge’s chair - empty. How long had it been, he wondered? Alel began to stand, only to hear a sharp snap. He crumpled to the floor with a pained yelp, feeling more bones breaking upon making contact. He looked to his hands, now greying and withering. Old age. His eyes went blurry, and he could feel his body give way to the air in the room. Awake once more. Dead once more. Awaken, suffer, die. That was the punishment he had chosen. Aneurysm, seizure, cancer, diarrhea, suicide - he kept going through the motions. And though he didn’t know how much time passed in between each revival, the judges seat remained empty, as did the prisoner chamber. It took all of Alel’s willpower just to keep conscious, to stay sane enough to move with what precious seconds he had. The courthouse was carrying out his wish, killing him in every conceivable way. However, it didn’t restrict his movement. With each revival, he inched closer and closer to escape, to victory - or at least, a semblance of it. Eventually, he reached the door of the prisoners chamber once more, reaching towards the door with a flayed hand. He heard a crack, one that wasn’t from his bones. It was the wood beneath his feet. Alel looked downwards, seeing rotted wood beneath his feet just before it gave way to his emaciated body. Alel fell, helpless. As he fell, he closed his eyes. The wood was rotten, old. Left without care long enough to give way to skin and bones. He had died several times, physically - but he said every way. By falling, by suffocation, by cave in, by worms and dirt and seeds spreading through the Earth and into his bones, all things that wouldn’t be possible in the moment he made the wish. This was his fate. An infinite one, instead of an eternity of peaceful non-existence. What a fool he was. Alel closed his eyes, only to open them for a time, before closing them again. Perhaps, in time, the magic of the courthouse would break. But before that, this was his undying destiny.	"Well, that didn't work out as i thought" thought Alex, while the lifeless husk of an old man was being pushed away by a magical hand. "Now what? I've heard it all, and nothing worked. The best i came up with was within my loved one's arms, but the last guy who said that got stabbed in the heart by his wife, while she was conscious and crying her heart out. I can't do that to Peggy" thoughts continued to race through his mind while the judge called him out. "Alexander Borsworth, you have been found guilty of high treason against the council of mages, acts of terrorism, grand theft and attempted murder of the Archmage. The penalty of these crimes is death. Choose your preferred method of execution, you have 30 seconds". Alex ignored the old man speaking, while he thought of new ideas and immediately discarded them. "Porking out in a feast? No, the first bite would probably be poison. Old age didn't work. Rebirth was also terrifying to watch. What the hell do i do now? I gave my life to the cause, and this is what I ge-" he got it. That one fraction of a second of clarity, and he might just have thought of the one thing that could work. He looked the judge straight in the eyes, and pronounced loudly "i wish to die in battle, defending this world from the greatest threat known to it, and be remembered by all inhabitants of this planet, past present and future, as the hero who ended it all". The judge looked at Alex, and begrudgingly answered "so be it" and slammed his gavel. In the blink of an eye, Alex was no longer in the courtroom, but at the top of a white marble tower, surrounded by people he never saw yelling his name. "Alex! Watch ou-" the sentence never ended as a wave of fire engulfed the whole platform and everyone on it...everyone, except Alex. As the flames vanished, in the distance he saw the judge on the other side of the platform, staff in hand, robe torn to tatters. The judge then saw the look of confusion and surprise on Alex's eyes, lowered his staff and said "finally, you've arrived. Three thousand four hundred and seventeen years have passed since that day, since your damned wish, and now it's over. You are the last of your cursed 'rebellion', and i am the last mage in this world. Come, let us end this. It is as you wished after all" and with these words, he prepared an incantation, the last he'd ever cast, while Alex, still confused, raised his own weapon and, without realizing nor willing it, charged the judge.	2021-06-24T10:52:50	2021-06-24T10:44:08	44	22
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.	It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand. She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.	First time responding to a prompt, so be gentle. Grixbrug gave a soft, uninspired sigh. Nothing he did could affect the world anymore. His steps made no impacts into the ground; his bow would not draw; he could knock an arrow, but it wouldn't leave his inventory. How long had he been stuck in this hell. At this point he didn't even care. Their party had started with five members; a team that, Grixbrug decided, would be more than enough to venture deep into these infamous, dangerous caverns in a timely manner. Three had been members of Grix's own race, while their group had also managed to recruit a mighty Shu'halo and an agile Sin'dorei to assist. The Shu'halo was the first to leave their party, surprisingly. Not even their ability to harness nature and transform themselves into a mighty beast was enough. Though the party had, without their Shu'halo companion, attempted to proceed, disaster was rapidly approaching. It wasn't more than a minute later that everybody else had disappeared. The Sin'dorei, the last of his allies that Grix would ever see, had remained visible for but a moment. The agile woman had attempted to sneak around the vile serpents, attempting to use their skills at agility to remove on of Grix's enemies from the fight for a moment. The cursed event that had doomed his party brought her forward just as she was about to strike. Instead of being hidden in the shadows, the Sin'dorei was plainly visible. Grix watched in horror as she was eviscerated in a few short seconds; these were not enemies to mess around with. After a few seconds of recollection of how things had gone on, Grix realized what had happened. He saw it. The more infamous sight anyone like Grix could know. 'World server is down.'	2017-08-30T06:54:31	2017-08-30T06:35:06	5,691	10
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."	I wake up to the sound of a familiar jingle coming from my phone. Groaning I turn over and turn it on. But then something grabs my interest, an official text, like the amber alerts you get sometimes, saying DO. NOT. LOOK.AT. THE. MOON. My screen then suddenly bursts up with hundreds of text messages saying the same thing, it’s a beautiful night tonight. Look outside. I then see the time, 3:00 am. “Shit” I say, still half asleep, “ I have class at 7:30, ain’t nobody got time for trolls.” I then turn back over and have a wonderful nights rest and get to class just on time. But no one is there.	3:00 AM bzzz I groaned awake as my vibrating phone buzzed on the bedside table. I reached out from under the sheets and looked at the notification. It was a text message. >OFFICIAL WARNING: Do not look at the moon. THIS IS NOT A DRILL "What the hell?" I whispered. Who needs a warning at 3 AM to not look at the moon on a new moon night? Astronomers and space geeks probably. I put my phone back and closed my eyes. It's probably a prank or something. Nothing I need to lose sleep about, I got college tomorrow anyway. I dozed off... 3:13 AM bzzz bzzz bzzbzzbzzzZZZ I woke up with a start. This was getting annoying. I reached out to my phone and turned the screen on again. I looked at the lock screen. >78 New Messages The phone buzzed again. >79 New Messages >83 New Messages I swiped the screen and scrolled through the messages. I didn't know any of these numbers. I scrolled until I came across a familiar contact. >JASON L. My roommate, the stupid one. Why'd he text me when he could've just woken me up? I clicked on the message. >Come outside! The moon is so beautiful tonight! 🌜😍 I looked at the other messages, they were similar. What's with this moon thing tonight? I got up and walked to his room. I opened the door. The windows were open and white moonlight was spilling through the gap in the curtains onto his floor. The room was a mess. The lamp was knocked on the floor. There were books, and papers lying everywhere. A broken mirror lay on the floor. Jason was nowhere to be found. Did someone break in? Did Jason fight him? It certainly looked like a fight had happened. As walked in, my foot pushed something. His phone. I picked it up and scrolled through his messages. He'd received the same warning as me, only a bit later. There were also many messages similar to mine telling him to look outside. I looked at his sent messages. He'd sent the same message to all his contacts and other random numbers. Fuck this. I wanna know what the whole moon thing is about. I stepped towards the window to take a look when someone pulled me back by the shoulder. "No! Don't look!" a voice said. I fell down on the floor. I looked up and saw my other roommate, Mark. He was holding an umbrella and his face was covered in sweat. "Ow shit Mark. What was that for?" "You would've gone too." "Gone too? What are you talking about?" "Didn't you get the warnings?" "The one from the government or someone?" "Yeah." "Okay okay. What the actual fuck is going on, Mark?" "Look at this." Mark said, pulling out a selfie stick from his pocket and extending it. He put his phone in, but kept the back camera on. We walked to the window and he started a video recording. He pushed the stick through the gap in the curtains and moved it around, pointing the stick up and down and across. He pulled it back. "Look " said Mark, starting the video. It was unlike anything I could've imagined, the moon was huge. As the camera moved below, there was a group of about thirty people in the distance. They were standing on the street looking into houses. Then the video ended. "What are they doing?" I asked Jason. "They're dragging people out to see the moon" Mark said. "What happens if you look at the moon?" "You become one of them. It's like some kind of mind control. I guess" "Is that what happened to Jason?" "Yes." Mark said. "We have to get out. I'm grabbing your keys. Come on." He got up. "Get an umbrella. You don't want to accidentally look up and see the moon, do you?" I went to my room and grabbed my umbrella and put on a hoodie. You can't be too careful. Mark was waiting near the door. We stepped outside and opened our umbrellas. Mark opened the garage. Looking up the street I didn't see anyone coming. Someone screamed in the distance. "Come on!" Mark said, as he got in the car. I climbed in the driver's seat. Another scream. This one sounded close. My hands starting to shake, I turned the ignition on. The engine roared to life. My music system began blaring. "Turn that thing off!" Mark said. "Okay okay!" I said, turning the volume all the way down. Then we heard something else. It was a loud screech of at least fifty people screaming. It was getting closer. "Fuck fuck fuck!" I pushed down on the accelerator and we drove out the garage. In the rear view mirror I saw a massive crowd of people running towards us from behind our house. Another group across the street in front of us, I swerved to avoid them when a rock crashes through the window and hit Mark. "Shit!" he said as shards of glass fell on his lap. The crowd continued chasing us and getting smaller in the mirror until they stopped and turned back. We sighed in relief. "Where do we go?" I asked. "Away from here" Mark said. Nodding, I turned us towards the national highway, speeding faster. There were a few cars on the road. I pushed down on the accelerator, speeding up when a someone jumped in front of our car and we crashed into him. The sound was horrible. We stopped and walked out under Mark's Umbrella. In front of us, an old man lay on the road, he was bleeding, but still breathing. "We gotta help him." Mark said. "What if he's one of them?" I said. "He's dying! He's not gonna attack us." Mark said, putting his umbrella down. He bent down to pick him up when the man's eyes opened. His iris was pale gray. He grabbed Mark and pulled him down and kicked out with his leg, kicking the umbrella away. "Isn't she beautiful tonight!?" The man cried. He rolled over with Mark on the ground. I ran towards them. The man kicked out and tripped me. As I got up I heard Mark scream. It was a terrible sound. I looked to him and saw him, staring at the moon, his iris turning from brown to pale gray. "She's the most beautiful thing I ever saw." Mark said. I backed towards the car. "Mark, wake up! This is not you" I said, standing near the door. Mark got up. "This is me, the same me I've always been. Won't you look at the moon tonight? It's the most beautiful thing ever" Mark said, almost growling the last word. The man joined him, and they both charged towards me. I got in the car and shut the door as the man charged on my side, banging on the window as I turned on the ignition. Mark charged on the passenger side and tried to force himself into the car. He was screaming and growling. I put my foot down on the accelerator and drove as fast as I could. Mark still held on. I swerved the car and punched him in the face. He lost his grip and fell off as I drove off. It's been a week since it happened. The next morning I ran low on fuel in a nearby town. The town was empty save for a few people. I drove to a gas pump. A man sat near a pump. "Take whatever you want. It's free." He said. "Did it happen here too? The moon?" I said. "Yes." The man said. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "The man looked at me "The moon took them away" he whispered. "What?" "Took them all up in a big beam of light right in the woods. Everyone who'd looked at it". I couldn't say a word. I filled my car and drove back home. -- This is my first writing prompt response. Any feedback or criticism will be appreciated.	2022-06-27T10:58:59	2018-04-06T21:48:48	103	32
[WP] Magic exists, however with a catch. Everyone can only use magic the way they expect magic to function. Harry Potter fans MUST do weird wand waving while Call of Cthulhu players all end up going insane. Write an interaction or duel between two vastly different magic users. Honestly if magic did exist in our world, this is how I’d expect it to function to please everyone —- Wow front page! That’s actually amazing	My wand slashed and twirled in the air, bright jets of light blasting out. Connor brought his hands up, motioning at the outcropping of rock. It came apart, flying towards me. "Protego!" I yelled, a nearly translucent shield erupting from my wand. The rock missiles slammed into the shield, falling to the floor harmlessly. I grinned at Connor, a new spell coming to mind. "Aguamenti Maxima!" I torrent of water exploded out of my wand, turning laser thin as it rocketed towards Connor. Connor twirled, bringing his arms around himself in a fluid motion as he bended the water right back at me. Shit. I didn't know that he could bend more than one element! I threw myself to the side, dodging the jet of water that turned into ice spears not one second later. Okay, so if he can bend two elements then chances are he can bend all four. So no more elemental spells. Energy spells it is. "Stupefy!" As the jet of scarlet light arced towards him, Connor closed his eyes for one brief second. As they snapped open I saw them glow white for one second as he grabbed the spell and threw it back at me. Energy bending. Oh shi--	The fearsome Dee Twen-Tee sat on the clift, facing his deadly rival: Rymus, the Poet. None dared to speak, for a wrong word may bring them to their ultimate demise - It was just time until any of them made the first action. At high noon, Dee finally spoke: "You fiend, the gods stand by my side. I call upon you a strike from heavens!" His hands moved around in a dramatic manner while the light around Rymus started to shift and grow in intensity, but just as she was getting ready for the worst a miracle happened: the light grew warm in a placid manner, healing her wounds and easing her mind. "Dammit" Dee whispered "I got a 2. Guess the RNGods aren't very happy today, either that or the DMons are annoyed. Either way, next time..." As he kept speaking, Ryme prepared her spell, as she knew that once Dee attacked her he would be forced to wait until she reciprocated. It was all part of her plan, of course, for she needed all the time possible to cast her spell. Rising her voice in an exponential manner, she shouted the verses that she had learned from her teachers: The great monologue. "Oh my foe, you have fought quite well It was quite an honor to fight with you But alas, at the end, you will dine in hell Mayhap next time, the results will be new ..." Days passed by while both were stuck in place: Ryme kept on reading from her tomebook, Dee was forced to stay. None could move, so Dee just started slacking off, trying to find new ways to trick the system. Perhaps he could convince Ryme to mary him next turn? Seasons later, Ryme concluded her book: "Thus, the princess married her captor And lived a happy fate But this isn't a part of your life's chapters For here ends the wait!" Words may be unable to describe what happened next, mainly due to the fact that nobody paid attention to whatever she said for all those days, but the result was successful: Dee was down to one HP, and not even a blessing from his gods could save him. Ryme prepared for her final strike, thing that was expected to take at least 10 minutes (considering the fact that Dee would probably bore to death in that time). But then the doves came. "No" Ryme said "It cannot be... Steven!" And from the doves, Steven revealed himself: "Hey guys" said he as his opponents shivered "Wassup? Can you lower your voices a bit? My child-" Ryme redirected her strike at Steven, but this only triggered him to strike in response: a mysterious rainbow colored cloth started to seal Ryme's neck, making her unable to speak. This was the power that she feared. As she tried to take it out, Steven spoke: "Oh guys, can we have at least a week without this? I know you like this, but really? Why don't you get a hobby or something? You know the cloth will never end, so please leave and I'll wear it off". And so, while Ryme struggled to speak, the dying Dee asked: "How can you do this? No limits... No restrictions... This isn't supposed to be possible..." "A magician never reveals his secrets", said Steven as he called for an ambulance a third time this month.	2018-10-15T21:28:29	2018-10-15T21:15:36	346	92
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did. Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters. Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career? Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D	Dear me, Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out. Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on. You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no. What a pussy.	Hey cous, It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P Anyways, I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies. To be honest though, I'm still coping. I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, sigh remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it. Miss you forever, J.I	2015-12-05T14:30:45	2015-12-05T13:45:57	33	15
[WP] Now that he has 8 years executive experience, Obama can apply for the job he REALLY wants	So Mr Obama, what are your qualifications? Well, I was 44th President of the United States of America Well, Mr President, what about your presidency makes you qualified for a job at Disneyworld? We already have a robot playing you in the hall of Presidents Michelle, BRING ME MY SUPER SUIT ^^zzzziiiipppp You're hired.	Obama kicked open the door of Mitch McConnell's office. The Majority Leader of the Senate reacted with shock, as the President strode forward and stopped at McConnell's desk. In Obama's hand was a leaflet and a picture. Obama placed them both on the desk, facing McConnell. The picture was of the late Anthony Scolia, signed with a message: "Dear Mr President, congratulations on your election victory. Wishing you all the success in your political future. A. Scolia" The leaflet was from FiveThirtyEight, showing the projected results of the 2016 US General Election. All findings had been performed and checked by Nate Silver; all showed a Democratic victory for the House of Representatives and the presidency. McConnell looked over these 2 items. "Why are you showing me this?" asked the senior Senator. Obama turned and slowly walked towards the door. "Oh...no reason to concern yourself with..."	2016-02-23T02:07:50	2016-02-23T01:19:57	89	17
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them	We knew humans were weak. They'd choose words and diplomacy over conflict, sought peaceful resolutions to disputes, made... compromises. All signs of weakness and brittle will. It only made sense that we'd wage war, aim to subjugate and add them to our glorious empire and employ their feeble beings in service to our greatness. And just like that, they were a peaceful species no more. They accepted our declaration of war with remarkable calmness; where we expected panic and grovelling, they showed determination and acceptance. We thought little of it at first; come the first taste of combat, they'd kneel. When combat came, we realized our gross miscalculation. They had barely any army - and what little they had was employed in peacekeeping - yet they had far, far more than any other species in what they called "reserve". Humans who led normal, mundane lives as cooks, teachers, models, accountants; overnight, they all turned into seasoned, prepared warriors with years of training from their past. That they would have such training in war but not fight was... unthinkable. A warrior is a warrior, nothing else. Or so we thought. Their fleet comprised of so many trading vessels, luxury liners, medevacs and more soon turned into engines of war lined with slapdash weaponry and haphazard shielding, unsafe for foes and crew alike. Humans, when pushed to the brink, had little concern for safety. This state, this 'Total War' they called it, was an absolute determination to win... or die trying. We've never seen anyone, let alone an entire species, face impossible odds and simply not care. Worse yet, the tactics they employ, the levels they are willing to stoop to, how much of their souls they're willing to give up in the name of victory, it's... monstrous. We thought humans were weak, choosing diplomacy, peace and compromise over war. We thought they were being cowardly. They were being kind.	"The war is over," The Custodian said to the gathered council. "We have Victory, and the Humans are pacified. This is what we will tell every member of this Stellar Council's remaining population. How could they refute us, when Human Armadas no longer burn our skies, shatter our mountains, and erase our War Machina? "If we didn't win, we wouldn't be alive. This is what we will say. Our history books will remember Humanity as a rogue nation. A blip in Stellar history that will be quickly swept aside by Scholars and historians alike. "They will become as ghosts; spirits of myth given to the fancies of the mad or the infirm. They existed, yes. They warred against us, yes. They do not exist anymore, and will never exist again. "This is the decree of the Assembly, and one we must dutifully uphold. He scowled down at the the text on his datascreen, and sighed. "And now, we must move on to more pressing matters. We must draft our Notice of Victory. "Gathered representatives, I already have asked you all to commit the gravest sin. I must ask you to falsify, to lie, to cheat, and to erase history. Many of you will not do so, and thus all of our combined efforts will be for nothing. "If so much as one representative among our number refuses to act in accordance with the Assembly, the entirety of our Stellar Accord will crumble. "We must omit all mention of Human triumphs, Human victories, and Human mercy missions. We must expunge all trace of their existence, erase their records, delete their datadrives. "Never again must the Stars buckle under the call of freedom from Human lips. "Never again must we taste the fruits of a collective species crying out against fate. Never again must we circle images of their fleets, their stations, or their faces. "We must never hear another defiant speech, watch a last stand, see another Human fight while mortally wounded. "We must never see their war stations bristling with cannons still firing as their life support fails. We must never again shudder with the mention of how not one single Human army ever surrendered. "We must never taste their sorrow or bitter curses. We must never hear about how when all the Stars cried for their blood, the neutral among their number still rallied to ships with no banners to help the war-stricken. "We must never again see the reports of the quality of life they gave to our troops when they were captured. The public may never know that armies under our colours flocked in droves to Humanity when promises were made and kept, of luxuries and lives most could only dream of. "The feats of human medicine must be erased. Their wonders of technology eradicated. Their massive habitats, orbital cities, steadfast uninhabitable colony domes must all become the stuff of fanciful stories and lies. "This is a necessity. "Our civilisations, our cultures, they demand structure and obedience. "Humans are anathema to that. The very idea of their society is the draught that will be our death-knell." "So, gathered representatives. The Assembly has decreed we won the war. A military cordon and no-fly zone is to be created in every star system that borders Human space. An obfuscation array established to block their transmissions and data. "No ship shall enter nor leave their space. We shall send and answer no calls nor treatise. For the greatest danger that Humanity poses to us isn't what happens when they win. It is the grace and beauty in which they lose." Without any applause or cheering, the Custodian folded the data screen, took a bow, and stepped down from the podium. And all the Representatives were silent.	2022-08-05T10:58:12	2022-08-05T10:06:30	1,540	397
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has	It's always the high-numbered ones that think they have a shot. Some up and coming punk that thinks that this is their once in a lifetime chance to take down #1... as if they can just skip all of the other ranks and become a superstar. They never really consider how I GOT to be number one. I've fought fire powers, ice powers, lightning powers, one guy that had some special affinity toward guns, another that could teleport. There were a couple of psychics that were trippy for awhile, but everyone's power all comes from the same place. This latest one was barely a teenager. It's a shame how this will have to end. I don't like killing, but I've started to accept that it's a necessary part of how the world is. That scares me a little, but it's better than being dead. The kid in front of me looks like he joined a street gang before he got his powers. He's got a fireball hovering above each hand but he hasn't made a move yet. I guess that my number is scaring him, making him size me up before he makes a move. Smart. "So what's your deal? I don't see nothin'! You're the invincible number one! Show me what you got!" The kid doesn't even know my name... probably doesn't care. I take a quarter out of my pocket and hold out my hand. The coin rises a few inches off of my palm and the punk gets ready to dodge, or block, or he's not sure which. "My power's not much, just basic telekinesis. I can barely lift my own body weight without getting tired. The real strength is all in what I know." "You going to throw that at me? Some kinda psychic railgun?!" I can hear and edge in the kid's voice. He looks like he's ready to make his move. Subtle changes in his stance give it away. I laugh as the coin drops back into my palm and I pocket it. As he starts to charge at me, I swing my hand at the air in front of me. At the same moment, a wave of air slaps his cheek from the side, then again as it wave my hand the other way and hit his other cheek. I'm amused as his fireballs dissipate, I guess that he needed to concentrate to maintain them. He doesn't know it yet but that was a warning shot. "You really should go home kid. Last chance, I'm letting you go." I'm honestly hoping that he takes this chance, but I see the flames starting to encircle his forearms now. Are his hands the only things he can use this fire with? He might even be interesting if he backs off and explores his powers a little more. The kid glares at me. "Or what?! You'll go Darth Vader on me? I'll roast you alive before you ca-" A look of surprise comes over the kid's face now. While he was talking, I had raised a hand and had cut him off mid-word. He'd suddenly forgotten not only what he was going to say, but how to say it. The surprise turned to terror as his body suddenly stopped responding. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, so it was obvious when his legs stopped working and he collapsed to the ground. I looked down at his terrified face, we both knew what was coming next. Just like he couldn't heal burns, I couldn't undo what I'd done, at least not without being able to see it and that required an operating room. "I'll make it quick, kid. Like I said, the real power is in what I know." I said softly, as I reached out into the maze of neurons and blood vessels underneath his skull, and blindly tugged at a few delicate strands. EDIT: Thanks, OP, for the special mention. I'm glad that people like the story. :)	Pacing back and forth in front of me, David paused, one foot half-hovering over the blood-stained carpet. "Tell me, Kat, what happened?" The body was sprawled out before us on the black tile floor of the penthouse. Streams of slimy, congealed blood wove intricate rivers in the cracks between the slate pieces, and tiny bits of bone were strewn around like confetti. I did this. I fucking did this. And now I would have to pay. My mouth opened and I took a deep breath. Not knowing what to say next, my lips met once again and I exhaled deeply. My clothes were misted with red droplets. It was on me, on the walls, on the floor, shit, even on the ceiling. "You do realize what this means, right?" he questioned again. Taking a single step forward, David's boot made a sickening crunching sound as it crushed bone fragments into the floor. He winced. My brow lowered beyond the brim of my glasses. "We have to clean it up before anyone finds out...before anyone knows what I did. Shit...shit...shit...SHIT." My hand met my forehead. It felt wet, and when I pulled my palm away, smears of red coated it. I was smart. Other people were strong and could lift cars. Some people had telekinesis. Others could will others to do whatever they want. But me? I was just...smart. I came here at the request of Rodger, and now I was leaving with a prize I didn't want. I was number one. This island was founded as a sort of encampment. Years ago after the war, everyone who had a gift was placed here. They told the founders of this city that it was done to protect the rest of humanity. Alcatraz was a prison back in the early 20th century, but now it was our home—an island full of everyone the rest of the world wanted to put away. History had come full circle. We had numbers that ranked us by how destructive or dangerous our powers could be. It formed a pecking order of sorts. David, my best friend since we had been born, was number thirty. He was a walking torch; hands so hot that they melted all the testing instruments. All you had to do was piss him off. I was just smart. The warden. Number one. Prime. The goddamned warden. We were prisoners, and I killed the fucking warden. Sure, he wasn't called that by non-specials but that's exactly what he was. His official title was "Overseer and Diplomat of the People." But it was all the same. Any time the main land wanted to do something or needed to talk with us, he was the go-to. Rodger was his name. He had been our leader for nearly 5 years, by default. The most powerful one always became Prime, and Rodger was undisputed. He easily had twenty times the strength of a normal, could punch through steel like wet paper, and once put down a coup d'etat led by a dozen specials with just his bare hands. But now he was dead, and his twisted, mangled remains rested on the floor in front of me. "Kat, you're Prime now. You do realize that, right?" David nudged my shoulder slightly with two fingers. I could feel a comforting warmth in his fingertips. He was trying to bring me back. I was still woozy, so all I could do is nod slowly. This happened because Rodger had tried to turn me into an informant. You see, Prime or not, every leader needs support. Although he was benevolent, people hated him for who and what he was. The man was not just an envoy or a mayor, he was also a symbol of order. Some of the top echelon hated order and wanted to bring anarchy. When I got the call to come to the Warden's office, I jumped off of the couch and practically ran the whole way there. He was in the leather chair, fingers interwoven. "Kat," he said. "Please, come on in and have a seat." My hooded shirt was soaked with sweat from the run and it made a strange squeaking sound against the leather chair as I sat down. "Thank you for coming." "It's no problem sir. But why did you want to meet with a nobody...especially me? I mean, I'm no one, at least compared to you. I mean, I ca-" He cut me off.	2014-12-18T18:29:42	2014-12-18T13:32:26	37	16
[WP] Heaven and Hell are only so prevalent because they paid for Ad time. Tell me about one of the more obscure after-death locations.	“Where am I? What happened?” “Welcome to the afterlife. I regret to inform you that you died. You need not regret it yourself, because death is just a stop on life’s journey.” “Am I in Heaven then? Or Hell? Maybe Purgatory?” “There are no such places. This is all there is, and everyone comes here. I am your counsellor. I will explain everything to you.” “You said this is a stop on a journey? It sounds like there is reincarnation then.” “Of course there is. Why would you live a life on Earth and then just spend the rest of eternity in one place? Let me explain. As soon as you are rested, we are going to spend as long as you like reviewing your recent life. The limitations you lived under, your accomplishments, your mistakes, how the loved ones you left behind are likely to fare.” “That’ll be tough.” “Perhaps. But I find most people are comforted by what they learn.” “What comes after that?” “Ah, then comes the fun part! You decide what you’d like to accomplish in your next life. You’ll find, after the understanding you will develop in our review, that you won’t want something like being rich, or a movie star, or an artist or such. But you will be an artist in how you will shape your new life.” “But it sounds like I’ll have a wide choice of possibilities.” “Oh, very wide! Not literally infinite, but so many choices that it might as well be. It will take us a good long while to go through the ‘menu’ of possibilities. I think you will find it fun. Then you will go into what we call the ‘Baby Pool’ to await an opening that perfectly suits your objectives.” “So I can choose my gender, my race, my country?” “No. You can choose your gender (from hundreds!), your species, your planet, and your galaxy. I did say it will be a wide range of possibilities.”	"And here it is Mike! Whatcha think? I decorated it myself" Death said with a low but belly-filled chuckle. "What the Hell is this?? This is just... what? A 6 foot by 10 foot office space? What even is this decoration? It's just a picture of you holding a cat similar to those weird portraits back in the 18th century. This has to be a joke." Mike said impatiently as he stared Death in the eyes. "I mean it's not like we could make any room for you. YOU asked if there was any other place. Plus man, you didn't really do much in your life. You just kinda did the same routine. Oh well man. It's what ya get." Said Death scooting Mike into his office. "Well.. I guess it isn't too bad.." as Mike played with the roll of tape and sticky notes in the office	2017-03-06T10:24:14	2017-03-06T10:15:11	134	12
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.	I'm a sleeper living in the outskirts of the city, and I run a little Airbnb for sleep tourism. The awoken comes here often for sleep tourism, to get a sense of nostalgic belongings. You see, since the awoken can be so productive, they are able to afford the pill at all times, never needing to rest at all. They have no need for a home, because it is obviously more productive if you're constantly in the office, on the move, never needing to rest. It's been said that those who could not afford the pill will never be productive enough to afford it again. The pill is expensive, and the thirst for it has transformed and stratified society. The downtown area is a constant state noise nowadays, full of exercise studios, dance clubs, and bars that never close to serve the awoken's never ending productivity. New services such as on site grooming and bathing, personalized wardrobe on the cloud has seen a boom, where personalized servants enter offices to care for those who never leaves work. Not being able to afford the pill, these sleepers are in a losing battle, constantly sleepy yet they must struggle to keep up. I was a personal trainer before I decided that, fuck it, I'll just run a sleeper inn and have these awokens conform to my schedule. Adam used to frequently visit my inn. He's good for business as he brings his family along, wife and 2 kids Bobby and Aaron, and they spend the day cooking and working out in my gym to get a sense of family normality, as they do not own a house. Adam works for some kinda eye care company, where business is booming. Though Adam always tells me that the best eye protection is an 8hr sleep. I've taken an interest in how he's raising his children, as they're the first generation born entirely into the pill era. Aaron, the younger one, showed greater aptitude than Bobby, and It wasn't before long that I found out that Bobby was ill. Well, he's normal, except he's awfully allergic to the pills, and was in a coma for a day last time he used it. It is no surprise he cannot compete with Aaron, with 8 hours less time a day, it's impossible. Having to sleep in the noisy city center, and being constantly overshadowed by a younger sibling has put a toll on Bobby. Eventually, he moved into my house and rented a room, and Adam arranged a nanny to look after him. Bobby would attend to the local best school instead of a 24/7 tutoring program. Adam stopped coming. It's apparent that, he was only here for awhile to scout out a good location for Bobby. A year pass. "We're leaving the city Zoe". Adam has turned up on my doorsteps after a year. "We actually got a place not so far from your place, Bobby will move in with us and we'll come say hi once in awhile". "That's awesome!" I replied. I'm happy they're finally together after a year, but also bit sad as Bobby and the nanny have been a steady source of income. "Why? The city's too noisy?" "Nah just... A change of scenery" Adam moved in to take Bobby, I noticed distinctive bags under his eyes. The wrinkles were so deep it felt they're etched in. And Aaron, there's no better way to put it, but he looked every part like an older brother and is already a head taller than Bobby. As they left I wondered how many awokens would choose sleep over haste?	She was: a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more; a voice in the night, most often when you needed it; a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking; a thought you never knew you had; a dream you wanted to go back to. The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days. It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting. The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste. And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again. The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too? The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can. The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer. She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day. But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life should have been. A dream can slip between those cracks. The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child. A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow. The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer. South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see. A door is thrown open. The girl stumbles towards it. Slips. Sees a young woman. She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup. And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order. She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much. The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says “I used to…” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills. The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye. Twilight. The gray before the dawn. The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare. She was: a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more; a voice in the night, most often when you needed it; a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking; a thought you never knew you had; a dream you wanted to go back to. She is: ripples on a pond; a frontier that men have conquered; an afterthought in a brave new world. She could have been: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ r/TurningtoWords	2022-03-18T09:35:02	2022-03-18T09:00:46	88	36
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever. Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read.	"Man, what the fuck. This could seriously kill me." "Nawdawg . . ." My eyes were closed. My head tilted forward, chin resting on my chest. "No, really. Like I can smell that this is poison." "NOOO!" Dogs are so STUPID. "It'sss fucking SKY man." "I don't give a shit what it is, I'm not drinking it." I continued pouring, the Costco-sized bottle loose in my grip. I had pretty sweet accuracy too, I was hitting his bowl like at least 50% of the time. If I knew Chewbacca was going to such a little BITCH about it . . . "Like comon', get fucked up with me." "No dude, you're a fucking wreck." "Your mom's wrecked." I nearly dropped the handle in the chortling that ensued. Some of it got on the wall. I'll clean it up later. I pointed at my chest with my free hand, indicating that it was I that wrecked her. "Can you not? Can I get some water please? You were gone all day." "Your . . . fuuuuuu" "What, my mom got some water? What?" "I don't know. Furgot." The bottle was mostly empty by now. A large nail polish smelling puddle formed around his dish. "Let's get you to bed man." "NO!" I retched forward and banged sideways into the refrigerator. Instinctual, an animal reflex for hording fermented fruits. "I wanna fucking PARTY!" "Comon." He nudged me, poking the back of my knee with his wet snuffling nose. "Stop it! I'm going!" It was so gross! It was as cold as a drowned corpse and left dog-slime behind. "Fuckin' fight me bro!" "Dude, I would fucking take you down. You don't want to get bit by a dog tonight." "You wanna go? You wanna FUCKING GO!" Suddenly there was energy in my body again, exclusively in my arms. My upper body and legs still felt rather noodley. "I'll fight you dog." Chewbacca didn't say anything. He didn't move, he didn't bark - he just stayed there on his paws and waited for me to fall over. "YEAH- YEAH, get some!" He taunted, licking my face. "How do you like some of that shit!" "Auuugh" I began to groan but quickly snapped my mouth shut at the first intersection of his tongue. It is not possible to spit out the feeling of a slobbering dog. When he finally stopped and all I could see was his floofy butt wiggling out the bedroom door I called to him. "I LOVE YOU!" He turned, his face stupid and grinning, "I know buddy" and shut the door behind.	When I woke up the next morning, my head hurt like hell. I reached for the bed-side table and grabbed my phone. Clicking the lock button, I check the time. 7:42 I thought. On a Saturday. I throw off the covers and get up to get some breakfast. On my way to the kitchen I pass Gary's birdcage. He's lying on his back, claws in the air, not moving. I rush over to him and open the door. I've had Gary since I was little. There's no way he'd be dead now, right? Maybe he's just sleeping very awkwardly... "Gary...Gary are you ok?" I ask as I rub his chest. Gary bolts awake, using a wing to rub the top of his head. "Oy fock that was the werst noight of me loife!" I look on, extremely confused and surprised. Not so much that he's talking, but, more so that he sounds like an old Scotsman as oppose to the normal high pitched squawking I'm used to. "Uh, Gary," I say hesitantly, "you sound, well, different." Gary looks at me, shock in his eyes, as he realizes what he's done. "S-squawk!" Gary shouts, unaware he still sounds Scottish. "O t' hell with et! Aright laddy here's wots got t' happen. You haf t' ferget all this ever happened. If word of this gets out, I'll be taken away." As he says this, he starts looking more and more nervous. He flies up and perches on my left shoulder. "Here's th' short version of this tale: I'm from a group called Th' Association aright? And the purpose of this group is t' basically keep you alive and well. You follow me so far, mate?" "Uh...yea sure..." "Ok, so, Th' Association is led by a group of of aliens known only as th' masters. Th' masters sent us here as a distraction. Somethin' to keep ya busy while they take over th' world and everythin'." "Gary how am I supposed to know that this isn't some weird dream?" Gary then turns to my ear and takes a chomp at it. "Ow! Gary what the hell?!" "Still think is a dream, lad? And first of all, m' names not Gary. It's Wallace." "Fine. Just don't bite my ear anymore. 'Wallace.' " "Ok lad listen very closely. This is important. Th' Association is comin'. They know I've cracked. Ya can't let them take me back mate. They'll kill me. They'll skin me alive and use my feathers as pens. Please laddy, keep me safe." Wallace now very clearly is worried and pleading with me. This news is hitting me all at once and as it takes a while to process, I turn to Wallace and say: "With my life, old friend." I bring my right hand over and pet him a little. He moves closer to me as he rubs up against my neck. At that moment there is a knock at my door. Wallace turns to me, his face petrified with terror. "Oh god...they're here," he whispers.	2016-08-02T20:54:01	2016-08-02T20:47:15	30	22
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session	“So you’re storming the beaches of Italy in his game. Did you bring the WW2 character sheets?” “Uhh... shit I brought my fantasy sheet for my ranger.” “...” “It’s okay! We can still play. Who was important in WW2 again?” “Winston Churchill...” “There we go! I’ll call my character Jack Churchill, and he’s storming the beaches with a broad sword and longbow.” “Do you really have to do that?” “Come on man it’ll be fun” “... fuck it, sure”	DM: Ok Harold if you could just roll for initiative. Harold: I rolled a 1 DM: ok the bowmen is first to attack you. He rolls a natural 20 Harold: so what’s happened? DM: He has shot you in the eye, you’re dead.... on the plus side it will look fab in this tapestry I have been putting together of the game!	2018-05-29T09:44:43	2018-05-29T08:51:37	35	13
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult.	"I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am." "Why?" "Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know." "If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?" "No, but...think of it as preventative." "Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then." "Ah...no, it's- "Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE FICTIONAL!!"	It seemed quite innocent at first, and despite the name given to their son, the burdenbearers were always a, optimistic but harrowed couple. Yet, despite their pedigree, they remained positive about how this would turn out. Their son would turn out. “Shame is truly, your only companion”, the tyke said to his mother’s enthusiastic but unpalatable sister. That was the weight of his name. It wasn’t apocalyptic, but he ended worlds with innocent words. At a very young age he learned to form sentences together. For the most of it he was a normal kid. The first incident though, would always terrify them. A friend who was a pilot, Icarus Airfarer, was visiting the Burdenbearers. It was a simple goodbye over breakfast. On learning what Icarus does for a living, in an almost sing-song voice the little boy said, “that seems worthless, do the people even care about you”. These words fell sharp. The cacophony of thought they produced in Icarus - you would’ve thought the boy had powers. “They will care now!” He took the entire plane along with him. Right in to a cliff face.	2021-06-19T23:03:38	2021-06-19T22:00:06	36	11
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?" Update! Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film! Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!	I thought it odd enough that the most upvoted thread on redddit decribed my exact predicament, but when they took the unprecedented move to kill all other threads and make it the only thread only reddit, dedicating the community to solving this singular problem, I knew, then, that this was no hoax. I tried searching the internet for more information, but it was as if the whole of the internet was reddit. Every address, every site, all redirected to this singular source of information. And every comment, though worded differently, really only said one thing: People were worried, scared. I'd tried everything I could think of. Smashed furniture against the doors and windows. Kicked, screamed. Beat against the windows, walls, and doors until I collapsed from exhaustion. I once even tried clawing up the floor. Nothing. Not so much as a dent, crack or scratch for my efforts. Outside my window, the world was in constant twilight. I lost any sense of time. How long had I been here? Days? Weeks? I'd tried many times to reply to The Thread but, for some reason, none of my comments would post. Then, the PMs started. "Are we getting through?" "Are you in there, somewhere?" "Please, let us know!" I tried replying, but it was as if my connection to the rest of the world was only one -way. "Somehow, I know you are there. I miss you. Please, give us a sign." ... "It's been months. If something doesn't change soon, they're going to pull the plug. If you're there, you need to let us know."	Sam cried. The thread would barely load at this point. 8 hours after he first tried his door and windows his sense of place in the world was shaken to its core. He hadn't tried breaking his windows yet. u/TheBaddestDongbeast69 reported her husband broke their slider and tried to leave the house but he got stuck halfway and everything she said after that was gibberish. Sam had tried calling 911 on his phone, the operator picked up the line and just starting looping "hello 911 what is your emer- hello 911 what is your emer-" over and over. He turned on the TV. CNN was reporting on that missing girl from Alabama again. MSNBC was talking about the upcoming debate. Was this real? Everything was wrong, this can't be happening, was he dreaming? Was this lucid dreaming that he had read about? It sure felt real when he about pissed himself. Amanda- what is happening with Amanda? Why wouldn't she respond to any texts or calls? His stomach growled. How could he be hungry at a time like this? It was chaos outside. The neighbors two houses down appeared to be trying to crash their car into their living room. Some were just walking in circles. He couldn't watch anymore, the panic was building again. There was a flash of light. Or was it a flash of black? Suddenly he felt weightless and frozen in space. He saw his living room flicker. Text. Text? Is he really seeing this? It looks like a dialog box. Suddenly a voice spoke out. "EARTH 2000 Jane's MOD XXX EPIC AI qubits965. Patch notes 235819.56. Material interaction glitch. Pathing error and door code portal transfers. Damnit Carl this is why you don't let the intern commit stack changes. We haven't had an error this big since the gravity lapse in 324.67 resulting in the Dino reset. We'll need all players to logout and return to server selection screen. My mic is what? Oh shi..." He ran to the window and started smashing it with the lamp. He froze. ERROR. Your session will be logged out in 30 seconds appeared in the sky. Celia the redhead from next door disappeared in thin air. Why did this seem so wrong? 20 seconds. His past flashed before his eyes, it didn't take log. Why couldn't he remember anything about high school? 10 seconds. Amanda.. Amanda.. Who was Amanda? He couldn't even see her face. 5.. 4.. Oh 3.. My 2.. God. He suddenly knew. He was an NPC. 1..	2016-01-31T09:21:55	2016-01-31T08:26:35	520	334
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.	I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd. He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl. Around her neck. What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.	As I opened my eyes at the loud noise, it seemed as if time stopped. The earth stood still. This tends to be a reoccurring event at night. I hate admitting I have PTSD, but some things are hard to erase. I go through counseling even though all it does is seemingly salt the wound. The love of my wife and best friend.. She deserves better than what I am now. So I go for her, hoping for the best. As I lay in the dark, I stare at the ceiling. Not daring to move a finger. Waiting. Listening for more evidence of something more. As I strain, just knowing something is there this time, I hear it. Someone was in the hallway. Swiftly tossing the covers to the side, I see the tall dark hooded man at the door way. Knowing to deal with this situation better than my last, I leaped forward and tackled him to the ground. Surprisingly weak, he grasped for breath, pleading for mercy. I wasn't going to give it this time. I squeezed till my nails turned crimson red and his face a beautiful blue. Screaming for my wife I receive no answer. Panicking. I attempt to call 911 as I scream her name. I search everywhere and pray to god she somehow ran out. As the cops pull up I ran out trying to explain the intruder and what happened. When they came back out of the house they handcuffed me and put me in the car. Assuming for casual questioning I did not argue. That is.. until I looked at my hands. I never took my medication that morning.	2017-05-31T07:11:19	2017-05-31T04:16:34	1,143	124
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?	"I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all. "Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?" Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win. "Have you heard of The Game?"	My heart was pounding as I sat in the plane, staring at the map. There was just me and one other person on board. I was waiting for him to take his exit first, staring at that yellow dot. However we were almost halfway through the island, and he was still there. Panicking I decided if I jumped and went straight down I might stand a chance. I jumped, looking straight now to the center of the island, the school I knew so well. So many good and bad times in this school with my friends. I angled for the high roof, landed, and then fell off the roof. I looked up, and say the tip of his parachute disappear over the rooftop. He had the advantage. Panicking, I started to run. I dived into a first floor window and into a classroom. A frying pan was on the teachers desk. I picked it up sadly, knowing it would not save me. I went to the door, checking left then right, on my turn back to the left to start my run, I heard it. A slight footstep from the stairs nearby. There it was, the bastard himself, in a yellow banana suit, shot gun pointed at my face... BAM! It was over. I was dead. A feeling I had had many times before, but this time I knew it was forever.... Except not! DINK! The bullets hit my pan! Saving me from lethal damage. I was alive, but in my shock I did not move. It was too late, he was going to end me with the next shot. And then it happened. He never pulled the trigger. I just stood there for a second, confused. But I realized I had to take this opportunity. I took my pan and bashed his head in. WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER. -------------------------------------------------------------------- "Brendan it's done, that ban wave we promised just rolled out. We even kicked them mid match." "Good job intern Steve. That should keep the masses at bay for another day"	2018-03-07T07:43:55	2018-03-07T07:11:15	251	17
[FF] Write a 10 sentence story where the first sentence has 10 words, and each following sentence has one less word.	I was told my mind would last till the end I was told my mind would last till the I was told my mind would last till I was told my mind would last I was told my mind would I was told my mind I was told my I was told I was I	Quick, whoever you are, I need you to please listen! I am a scientist using an experimental time machine. But it is not working as we intended. We are being pulled back and forth. Into one timeline, and then back. And each time is shorter! Almost out of time... Please, send help! Oh no... Nooooooo-	2015-01-27T11:49:02	2015-01-27T11:28:50	40	15
[Wp] The zombie epidemic came and went in the developed world, most people survived, the military easily defeated the undead horde, and cures for the virus were created. However, zombies remain major issue in the developing and under developed world not getting nearly enough attention on the news. Wow I didn't think that this prompt would would end up this big. These stories made my night, thanks for all the replies and keep up the good work.	If you’ve ever wanted to hunt zombies Africa, now could be your chance and the great thing is that the hunt will be on us! ZombieHuntersAfrica.com, in conjunction with Apocalypse Safaris, is giving away a dream zombie hunt, for two hunters, to the Republic of South Africa. If you win, you get to bring your friend or family member to share your spoils. Here’s what our giveaway includes (5 days of zombie hunting for two hunters): * Trophy shrunken zombie head * Trophy zombie hand * Zombie Hunter styled machete * Zombie Hunter styled backpack * Zombie Village clearing scenario Included: All meals, accommodation, soft drinks , field prep of trophies, Professional Zombie Hunter, trackers, Headshrinkers, photographers and daily laundry. Excluded: Air travel and alcohol. If you’d like to extend your trip and take additional zombies at an additional cost or run additional scenarios such as escape the horde and helicopter madness can be arranged as well. Good luck! Entries must be received no later than midnight on November 30, 2017. After submitting your entry, you will begin receiving complimentary insider updates from ZombieHuntersAfrica and Apocalypse Safaris!	Thursday 10th November 2022. 11.21pm. I heard the television turn off as I turned the key. I wasn’t surprised to see Jess still awake. Annoyed but not surprised. “You were meant to be asleep by ten”, Marie called out to her. “Is Harry ready for school?” M and I had just returned from my brother Bill’s house. He wanted to have us round for dinner, as usual, to show off. If it wasn’t his new car, it was his new furniture or his new wife. He had a high turnover for the latter. Jess was looking after her brother Harry. “He’s fine. I was worried just in case you’d been eaten by zom-“ “Well we’re alive and all body parts accounted for” I interrupted, “Now, go to bed!” “Wait, what did uncle Bill want to show you this time?” Jess inquired. I sighed. Jess was 11 when it hit; just before Harry’s seventh birthday. That was 4 years ago. We’d gotten the kids to my mother-in-law’s home and barricaded the doors until the military cleared the neighbourhood. Bill’s second wife hadn’t been so lucky. She’d been visiting family back in Panama. Bill didn’t care too much, he was on his third by then. But Jess had been close to her. Bella had been tutoring my daughter in Spanish. “Brochures. He’s going to Africa.” Marie said from the kitchen. She was taking her sleep meds. She’d not slept properly since the night she’d had to kill one with a golf club. “Really? Where?” “Zambia” Marie chimed in again. Great work there... “What’s there to do in Zambia? Isn’t that place just wasteland now?” “He’s going hunting” “What?!” “Shh! You’ll wake your brother.” I tried to hush her, desperate to get some peace so I could get to bed. “But how can he?! They’re people!” “They’re not really people any more, Jessie. Look I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want a discussion.” I sighed again. I knew she’d get angry. “Just leave it for tonight and we’ll talk about it tomorrow after school” Jess wouldn’t let up, “How can he do such a thing?!” “What do you mean? Do you think we should let them clear up the zombies?” “No! But shooting them for sport is different from sending in the army!” Jess shouted. She had a good point. One that her mother had made several times over the course of the meal. And again on the car ride home. I didn’t need to hear it. I just wanted my bed. I wanted to be wrapped up warm, dreaming of those halcyon days before Jess had reached puberty. Life seemed golden back then. Instead all I got was these screaming matches. Like mother, like daughter, huh…	2016-10-30T12:39:54	2016-10-30T12:39:15	29	18
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.	James was not a great man. Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed. James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few. His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it. But then there was this mug. It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug. But now it said he was #986,800,672. He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it. He looked back at the mug, then at his son. ... James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today. And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.	"Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?" "Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that" "Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know" "Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it" "No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid" "I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it" "Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together" "Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work" "No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending" "theres no mug for that..."	2017-06-11T09:29:45	2017-06-11T08:28:06	159	17
[WP]: A 92-year-old woman's phone number is one digit away from that of a local suicide hotline. She could have it changed, but she doesn't mind.	She reached out for the ringing phone. For a moment, her stiff fingers fumbled over the buttons, and she cursed the arthritis that stiffened her joints. She managed to hit the green button, and lifted the handset up to her ear. "Hello?" "Hello - I, uh, I just needed to talk to someone. I don't think I can keep going any longer." Another one of them. No matter how many calls she took, there always seemed to be more of them, each with their little problems, so convinced that no one else in the world had ever experienced what they were now going through. Her eyes drifted over to the two piles of stationary on her windowsill. "Well, you can talk to me, although you best make it quick - I'm 92, so who knows how much time I've got left." She settled back into her chair, trying to find a more comfortable position for the phone against her ear. "92? Um, is... is this the suicide hotline?" Ah, one of the faster ones. He'd caught on more quickly than some of the callers. "Afraid not, dear," she replied. "You're off by a number." "Oh. Er, shit." "Happens more often than you'd think." She looked around her little bedroom, at the cards on her windowsill, the little bed, the faded pictures. "But you've got me up, now, so you might as well talk to me. Otherwise, you'll have roused an old woman from her nap for nothing, and you won't want to die with that hanging over you, would you?" "Um, no, of course not! I'm so sorry, miss-" "Cleo." She tried propping one arm up on the side of the chair. "Your name is Miss Cleo?" "Are you sassing me, young man?" she snapped, her frail voice suddenly surprisingly sharp. "No, no, of course not. Um, sorry, Mi- sorry, Cleo. But I haven't been able to find work for three months, and I'm about to be homeless, and I guess that I was just thinking about ending-" "You know, you sound a little like my husband," she said dreamily. "He always had such a soft voice, sounded so vulnerable. When he met me in person for the first time, I couldn't believe that it was the same man. But he was going through troubles, too." "Oh. What troubles?" "The usual - he'd fallen hard for me, but he didn't have a job or a dollar to his name, and he was certain that I wouldn't look twice at him." She smiled a little to herself. "He was an idiot, of course. Didn't ever give himself credit." "How did he turn things around? Um, if you don't mind me asking, of course." "Oh, young man, I'm just happy to be talking to someone. He nearly didn't turn things around, but I snapped at him, told him that he was a little shit if he expected things to fall into his lap without effort. Oh, you should have seen his face - I don't think anyone had ever raised their voice to him, much less a dainty little gal like me!" She laughed, and the voice on the phone laughed with her. "And he turned things around, then? Made something of himself?" "It took some time," she reflected. With a grunt, she pulled herself up out of her chair, walking over to the windowsill of her little room. "He went through plenty of failures. But he loved me, and he hated coming home to a tongue lashing from me, so he kept on trying!" "Wow." A pause. "I don't have anyone in my life like that, I guess." "Well, I don't have my husband any longer, so that makes us even," she snapped at him. The windowsill was littered with cards. On one side, the cards stood propped up, a display of bright colors, all clashing against each other. On the other side, the cards were plain white, sorted into a neat stack. "But it wasn't just me - it was the way he looked at things after I set him straight." "What was that, then?" She picked up one of the bright cards, smiling as she read the kind words hand-written inside. "He thought that he should quit before things got worse. But I pointed out to him that it's not whether we fall or rise, but where we're at when we check out. I pointed at him, and said, 'do you want to walk up to them pearly gates and admit that you didn't make every attempt you could to better yourself?'" "Yes, but I don't know what else I can-" "Oh, you sound so like him," she interrupted, setting the bright card down. She liked re-reading those bright cards. "Always hoping for the lazy way out." "I'm not lazy, Cleo-" "Of course not, but only a lazy man refuses to see a job through to its very end," she countered him. "And years later, my husband returned home every night, happy with his hard work, showing me a lesson by telling me of how he'd fought for every success." She ran her finger over another bright card. "He never caught on that this was my plan all along, that lovable man." "If..." She waited. Her eyes drifted to the plain white cards, but she didn't want to jinx anything. "If I managed to succeed at something, could I come tell you about it?" There it was. She smiled, happily taking her eyes off of the plain white cards. "Well, of course you could, dear. You sound like a very nice young man. I'll give you my nursing home address, but you'd best work hard - I don't know how much longer I have." "I'm sure you'll be around for plenty longer, Cleo, with that sharp mind." "Flattery will get you nowhere, young man," she replied, but smiled as she said it. "Now, what's your name?" "Uh, it's John." "Well, I expect a card from you, John," she told him. "Something nice, with a real comment from you written inside. Nothing silly or inappropriate, mind you." "You got it, Cleo. I'll send you one. I promise." "Then I'll let you go, John. Have a good rest of your day now, you hear?" She smiled, glaring triumphantly at the pile of white cards. Not today, she thought. "You too, Cleo. And thank you." She lowered the phone, carefully putting it back in the cradle to charge. Hopefully, another bright card would come soon. John sounded like a nice man, she thought to herself. He could get better. And with his card, she'd have forty-eight bright cards, to the twenty-four white cards. Double. She didn't know if it would be enough, if it would ever be enough. She picked up one of those white cards, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the ornate script. "We are saddened to invite you to the funeral of..." she read, before she had to put the card down. Twenty-four failures. Each one weighed at her, dragging her down. Twenty-four callers for whom she'd been too late. But John sounded promising. She looked forward to his card.	"Hello?" "I can't fucking do this anymore." I cried out for help while gasping for air. "Isabelle, is that you?" Isabelle, how the fuck does this woman know that slut? After spinning her words in my head for a moment, I knew it must be a mistake. "No, I'm Natalie, or I was. I suppose none of that matters anymore." "Honey what is the matter? Is your asthma acting up?" My asthma? I guess anxiety attacks could sound a bit asthmatic. Is this lady wasted? "No, my lungs are fine. My mind is the one drowning. I can't swim for much longer. I can feel it pulling me in." The woman on the other side of the phone paused, then rather sternly said, "You must be one of Isabelle's friends. Now you listen to me, get out of that water right now young lady! It's too dark to be swimming and you're going to catch a cold!" A cold? This lady is totally wasted. Is she alright? "No, I'm not literally swimming. I'm depressed... fuck, I'm passed that now. Everyone around me is hurting because I'm alive. I'm ruining my marriage, I pushed all my friends away, I haven't even left my house in two months. The people around me would be better off if I just downed my whole script." A weak cough faintly rang out from the phone. "Honey don't be so morbid, you have plenty left to accomplish. Do you like tea?" Tea? I do like tea.. But why does she want to know? "I do like tea but I'm out, my husband is staying at his friends, and I can't bother anyone else with this shit. I shouldn't even have called this hotline. What a waste of time." Now it was crunching, like a cracker wrapper, coming from the speaker. "Hotline? I don't know what you're going on about but my front door won't shut and I need help. Isabelle said I could ask her friends for anything, will you come over? I know it's late. I'll pay the bus fare!" I laughed. That hasn't happened in a while. Did I call the wrong number? What the hell, maybe I should go help this lady. It's awfully cold out for the door to not seal. "Ma'am, I'm in Phoenix, is that close to you?" She sighed in what sounded like relief, "oh yes, I'm in Glendale!" I couldn't believe it. "Okay I'll stay on the phone with you if that's okay, you can give me directions. I want you to know that you saved my life tonight." She chuckled, "oh honey, you're the one coming to help me." For the first time in what seemed like ages, I stepped out the door. Cold wind was slapping my face but it didn't matter. Someone needed my help, and that tea sounded damn good. EDIT: Sorry about my horrendous formatting the first time, I was on mobile and it looked fine there. :<	2016-02-06T14:19:17	2016-02-06T14:05:09	4,608	400
[WP] When two people fall in love, they receive an object that is the physical embodiment of that love. It changes as their feelings change towards each other and destroying it can have drastic consequences. How does this change the nature of relationships?	On the first date by the sea, our love was a ring. A normal look for these types of things. It hugs my finger so well, this is the love I needed. I can tell. At the first kiss it was a boat. Roped at the docks where our love first took float. Our first anniversary was a beautiful tale, and our hearts boat sprung a beautiful sail. She held my hand through 5 years of seas but the boat and sail stayed strong through these. A ring, a boat, a sail, now an anchor. Though the seas became rougher, for her love I always thanked her. She took to land and left for her other lovers town. The boat and sail and ring vanished, and with the anchor I drowned.	At first a flame pendant, it was cliché they knew but they did not mind. The rushing emotions of their love did it justice. The fierceness of the love they shared was an extension of their embodiment. The fire vindicated them, a symbol for each other, of the joy they shared in each other's company. It was a precious thing, a talisman they kept with them at all times, through the sadnesses that come through life, they took assurance in that flame. They looked at it and saw each other. After a year, they awoke and saw a rose. The fire replaced with the deep love, the romance that comes with the comfort of knowing someone. The intimacy of that symbol, along with the thorns that occasionally pricked them, reminding them that no one is perfect. Though the thorns seemed to vanish as time went on. And so it was, until their wedding day. Suddenly it was an owl, strong, wise and seemingly knowledgeable of the future they were going to share. Through all the toasts and cheers, the joy, the laughter and the tears it watched over them, once again assuring them that all is well. Off on their honeymoon they went, taking the owl with them, wondering what its next incarnation will be. The first few years were easy, the owl had changed to the elephant, but it was not a worry. Things were good, they did not fight often, but he did not realise that she did not forget. The next change was not so hard to notice, the elephant, that to him symbolised strength, but to her the memories of things she would rather forget, had morphed once more into a flower, though they did not recognise it. They fought more now, they argued about their lives, their jobs and the embodiment. The bitterness had set in, their lives not turning out as they had wanted them to. They did not know that their embodiment was nightshade. The bitterness that had plagued them had in turn boiled in to poisonous feelings deep down within them. And the stage had been set for these dark feelings lurking to make their way into the light, but for now the embodiment was forgotten, shut away in a drawer. After so long that they could not remember their lives before the bitterness, she was doing some research, happening by chance on the terrible truth about the state of their relationship. She cried, for what seemed like an eternity the tears poured down her face, but she went home. She packed. She left. He came home that day euphoric, he had earned a promotion and was delighted to be able to share such happy news after such a long hard time. He went into the hall, and saw a card sitting, with the familiar flower pendant on top. He lifted it and read the card. "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Nightshade is sweet, But not good for you."	2014-05-03T15:00:16	2014-05-03T14:31:07	124	22
[WP] All superpowers have a ‘hangover’ effect. For example, after using super strength for the day, the morning after you can’t even lift your spoon to eat your breakfast. You wake up one morning after using your own specific superpower and you feel pretty hungover... [deleted]	I awaken well rested and ready for the day, a solid nights sleep. I leave my room to see a pile of letters just inside the door. I look to the bench to see last nights dinner covered in mould. I pull up my phone. Every app has notifications. I check the date. It’s the 27th. I sigh “That’s what I get for taking 10 extra minutes on my history exam.” I start cleaning.	You know how when you fall asleep on your arm and you wake up and feel that tingly feeling? Yeah? Well imagine that through your entire body. That's not what it is, of course, it's actually just at the base of my skull. But 'The Buzz' as I've come to know it as creeps into my brain stem on the really bad recoil days. When I was younger it was great. I could use my powers day and night, and in the morning I'd only feel a slight tingle. But now, if I lift for even ten minutes I'm guaranteed a ruined morning from the recoil. What can I do? Like how much do I lift? Oh, you want to know my superpower? Oh yeah, I totally spaced it, sorry I'm still recoiling a bit and it's all a bit fuzzy. I can use telekinesis. I mean, of course we've all tried the home remedies, right? Tea, coffee, exercise, massage, sex. Sorry, was that tmi? Ok, ok. But you know what I mean, you read articles like "Top Ten Ways to Avoid Recoil", you try them, and realize you just have to ride the storm. Not use my powers? I mean, I try not to go overboard, and right now it's really only when I push myself that I get bad recoil, but no, I'm not gonna stop. Why? It's who I am, it's what I do. No one is coming up to you saying "Oh, you're tired typing up this report, why don't you quit being a reporter" you-you gotta take the good with the bad, and what? I'm supposed to give up being ranked third in the world, as a hero, just so I don't feel a bit of discomfort? I'm sorry, but I can't imagine not using my gifts. Mymyr? The street drug? Yeah, it might numb the pain, but it doesn't get rid of recoil, and even then, it only numbs physical types, like speed or strength. People like Phantasm, or uh uh, what's his face? Dragoon, or me even, our recoil is too specific for something like mymyr. Well, anyway, I have to get back to work, thanks for having me	2018-08-19T05:57:43	2018-08-19T04:42:57	74	30
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.	Our gods met the horsemen out on the road of the world. You will see the road only twice in your life, and you only have the privilege of remembering it once: first when you are born, and at last when you die. The road is a silver ribbon spun among the stars, linking our world to the next, to the hazy realm of the spirits, the domain of the dead and undying. The horsemen have waited centuries for this day. The four led their procession: Famine upon her black horse, whose sharp bones jutted through its skin; War, whose blood-muzzled horse stamped hungrily at the sky-road; Conquest, his golden crown dented and ancient. And last of them was the pale rider, unsmiling, unspeaking: Death. The one whose voice a man only hears in his last moments. They rose with blood-blackened armor and an army of the restless dead behind them, bones upon bones, swords upon swords--death upon death. The army of death surged forward like a sea. They flooded the road and marveled down below, where the human world waited, blue and twinkling and ready at long last to be plucked and consumed. The road between the worlds has only one guard, and he stood there alone as the army of skeletons approached. Heimdall stood in his crimson armor, his golden horn cradled in his hands, as it always was. When the end of the world neared, he would finally raise the horn blow into it for the first time, signalling that soon the wolf would devour the sky at last. But the horn did not touch Heimdall's lips, even as war marched toward him. Alone, he stared down the rising army. There was no fear in the god's eyes. He stared, unflinching, as the horde of undead stormed the road between the worlds. And then the army stopped only a few dozen feet away. Heimdall had watched them for miles, tracking the hungry gleam in the dead soldiers' eyes. Conquest's horse stamped and snorted, impatiently. But only Death strode forward. Even its horse moved silently, like wind over rock, like nothing at all. And Death, shrouded in its white cloth, had a face like a pale mask, empty, emotionless. Death cocked its head and said in a voice that felled empires, "Now, of all times, you find yourself alone." "I am never alone." Death gestured around at the empty space on either side of them, the numberless stars, the oblivious billions below. "Your comrades have deserted you." Heimdall spat onto the road and looked Death over with an immutable calm. He answered, "No. They have surprised you." Death whirled to see a single black raven rise up over the army. The raven met Death's eye with an intelligence sharp as any blade. For the first time emotion flooded Death's terrible face. It looked afraid. The gods had come out. They surged up from beneath the road, crawling out like beetles, like a swarm. They had never worked as one like this. The denizens of Asgard, Olympus, Duat and Dilmun, and all the scattered images of heaven and hell had come together that day to save the only world that gave their own meaning. And there was Odin at their head, bearing the spear of heaven, his single eye red and raving. The gods fell upon the army of the dead. *** /r/shoringupfragments	The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell. The scythe came down and another man fell. Slowly, casually, the Red Lady of death unfurled her clothes and checked over the inky red list, surveying the wreckage in front of her. Her steed glinted in the fading light of the apocalypse, its headlights burning holes through the infernal smog surrounding her. "Hmmm... It looks like nobody else here will die today..." She mused, tapping the blunt of her scythe against her cheek. A bullet ricocheted off of her cheek and hit the pavement, scattering bits of rock and solidified tar. Then another. Then another. A hail of bullets descended upon her position and bullets broke and shattered across her armor, breaking before the indomitable will of fate. She turned slowly and followed the passage where it had come from, then mounted her bike. Ignoring the road, it climbed through the air, revving, wheel rolling towards the distant buildings. Then she hopped off, lazily, and the air acted like a solid surface, letting her stroll up to the twentieth floor of the skyscraper and walk in front of the sniper, rifle gleaming as he frantically fumbled the reload. "Why do you fight me?" She asked, her face as dispassionate as ever. "I am the natural progression of things. I can understand fighting War. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Famine. That diminishes me. I can understand fighting Plague. That diminishes me. But at the end of the day, that is all I will become. When you eliminate the other three, I will still be standing at the end of the day." The sniper threw his rifle up in her direction and fired. Lazily, the scythe flicked out and split the bullet in half, both sides passing nimbly around her. "I fight you for the same reason the body fights a cancer," The soldier said, flatly. "Because I acknowledge we will all die..." The scythe cleaved down the rifle with a spray of hot metal and gun steel, hitting an unprepared bullet and sparking off a miniature explosion. The wrecked weapon tumbled to the ground from his hands. "But I will fight you for every additional second I can have." "You will?" The Red lady pried. "We all will." "You know... I've hit my quota for the day," The Red lady said, languidly, flicking out her scythe. "But you amuse me. I'm sure the heavenly host will understand if I take a few more souls today..." The soldier flicked out his knife and brought it up and the scythe flashed without her touching it, pressing against his knife. Her face, pretty, dispassionate, staring down at his like the end of his rifle had looked at her. Through a scope. Pretty as a picture. "How strong does your will have to be to fight against the inevitable?" She asked, playfully, pressing the scythe down harder and harder against the precariously balanced blade. His muscles strained as he stared forward, knowing this was his last stand, and yet he did not accept it. Could not accept it. That was the nature of humans. The knife shattered and the man was cleaved in two. Both meaty halves fell onto the ground of the destroyed penthouse apartment, a violation of policy so grand that he would've been evicted if the Red Lady hadn't killed the manager last week. She sighed, stood up from checking his body and taking his soul and moved to leave. His identity was still in tact. They'd be able to identify his body. Her job was done, and she should rejoin the others... and yet... "Stop," His voice called out. She paused at the unnatural sound and slowly craned her head around to look at him. Slowly, his body zipped back together, cells joining one by one, bones unbreaking. Heart refusing. Brain pieced back together from where the blade had cleaved through. Two antlers poured out from his bones. "You have taken enough, New one," The thing that had once been the soldier said. "On the contrary," The Red lady said, flicking the scythe around in her hands. "I think you'll find that I'll have only taken enough when I take my own life at the end of time. It is my duty and my purpose to take and take and take. Is that not what your fabled capitalism says, man?" "I am older than your ideas of economics," The man said, stepping towards her. "And I am older than your romanticization of death." "I am hardly a romanticization. I am a manifestation, cold, clear. Perfect for my purpose." "In a younger age we called you a cynic," The old god said. "In a younger age things were more chaotic, and the blood of the gods was what weaned me," The Red Lady said, crooning slightly. "Is it time for the blood of the gods to flow once more?" "No, my dearest child," The Deer God said, and his voice sounding like the thousands of species that had once walked the earth, calling out at once. His human form splintered and burnt under the weight of his manifestation, calling from somewhere deeper and darker than the Red Lady had thought about in many years. "It's time for a final proving. We did not consent to your apocalypse..." "I do not consent to your testing." The red lady returned, playful. "Then we have an agreement." ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here friends! You guys want a part 2? https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8k4xlk/death_walks_gods_wake_part_2/ Click here for part 2	2018-05-17T07:05:25	2018-05-17T06:36:42	3,384	335
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony...	"Oh, my," the hat said, its voice resonating through my mind. "But at least you can hear me. Yes, that's something." I froze. I hadn't anticipated this. Could the hat detect a complete lack of magic? I'd wriggled my way this far, and I'd seen wonders on the train ride alone. As the hat hummed and hawed, I wondered how such a massive, drafty hall could feel so hot. "You're certain there hasn't been a mistake, little girl? Have you played a trick?" "No trick," I lied, under my breath. "Humm. Not shy with fibs. Perhaps Slytherin." "If it means not getting kicked out," I whispered. "I wanted to last at least a week." "Did you think the wizards here could fix you?" the hat asked. "No," I said. I squirmed. "Well, maybe. I just wanted to learn." "Yes, yes, that makes sense. I see this within you." "Wait, you're actually sorting me. You're not going to tell?" "No, no, young Miss Trelawney," the hat said. And then, at the top of whatever hats had instead of lungs, it screamed to the hall, "RAVENCLAW!" --- Edit: Thanks so much for all your attention! I almost never write fan fiction, but when I saw this prompt, I couldn't resist. If you're interested in more of my writing, [I make comics](http://www.ramen-empire.com) and have a subreddit at /r/thievescant.	As the hat was placed upon me, a cold dread overcame my entire body. And this time it wasn't a senior prankster from Slytherin. As the hat wiggled around my head, the halls were dead silent. Something was obviously wrong. The hat had never taken this long to make a decision. Dumbledore sat at his chair, mildly amused. It was almost as if he had known all along. Then I heard Dumbledore mutter a few words under his breath, and then the hat expanded to a massive size. I couldn't breath and the hat had completely swallowed me. I tried screaming, but no one would hear me. The last thing I remembered was everyone laughing in the halls.	2017-06-25T14:27:31	2017-06-25T13:48:53	1,807	33
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."	“Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed. The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch. “Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.”	I looked up at him; a pair of black eyes met mine – a look of fear and hostility in those eyes. I was taken aback. I learnt about my gift from a very early age; surprisingly enough I never faced any suspicion. “You’re a polyglot, Sammy”, said my uncle wryly. But he never questioned how I came to be one. And it may sound surprising but I never felt bothered to question it much. I had much fun in college, talking to many international students, learnt so much from them. To tell the truth, it has been my opinion – deep down in my heart – that I am special and gifted, and I took this as granted. Many people are born with so many innate abilities, this is mine and I am proud of it. I looked at him closely; he is young, barely in his twenties. His thin pale face becoming thinner by the minute. He is scrutinizing me too, what is he seeing in me? I wonder what conclusion he is arriving at in his mind. I tried to smile at him. I thought of telling him that I am a linguist, I learnt it in a course in college, which is a lie of course. But I understood it is not a lighthearted situation. The young man standing before me looks too upset. “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years”, he said slowly, almost as if to himself. I heard pain in his voice, evoking in me some unknown, unnameable memory of things in me, of occurrences which never happened to me, but I could feel – in my heart of hearts – that these things happened, somewhere, sometime – in this very world. His lips are trembling now, he is in the verge of tears. He is one of the bearers of the knowledge, belonging to a small set of survivors, who fled and evaded from enemies, carrying what part of their identity that they could – their culture and their language. A handful of texts which survived at a great cost, taught to the young ones with a warning of never speaking it in the outside world. The memory is still there, of persecution, of being hunted like animals. Eons have passed, but the fear remains, so does the pain. All these I came to know, standing there, staring at each other. A shared past, of mutual destruction, humanity’s worst crimes, history not recorded. But it did not get erased, I came to know it never will be erased. I came out of the McDonalds, under the glaring sun.	2022-11-14T01:20:39	2018-06-24T21:53:23	45	10
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.	Theldon – or at least the creature that was wearing his face – looked pale in the light of the campfire. As the wood crackled and burned, he chewed his lower lip, gathering his courage to speak. “Guys … I … I have something to tell you,” he managed. His three traveling companions looked at him. Vanariel snapped her spellbook shut and drew her staff. “What is it? An ambush? I told you guys I saw goblin-sign back there!” “No, no! Not goblins!” Theldon said, holding his hands out. “It’s … it’s about me.” Shiny Pete smirked. “What? You got the whore’s itch or something? Nothing to be ashamed of, buddy. Happened to us all once or twice.” Dagmar glowered at the rogue from under bushy eyebrows. “Or mayhap a good number of times more than that.” “No! It's not a disease either! It’s just …” Theldon took a deep breath. “Guys … I’m … I’m a doppelganger." The three of them shared a long look, and then Vanariel and Shiny Pete burst out laughing. Dagmar’s glower deepened. “That’s no’ funny, lad,” he growled. Vanariel and Shiny Pete stopped laughing. “Wait, wait,” the rogue said, “Dagmar, you didn’t know?” Theldon looked shocked. “Wait, you guys knew?” The elven woman tittered. “You’re not the shapeshifter you think you are. The real Theldon was an asshole.” “Total dickwad,” Shiny Pete agreed. “In, like, every conceivable way.” Dagmar leapt to his feet, drawing his axe. “You mean this is no’ a joke?” he roared, advancing on Theldon. “Die, fiend!” As one, Vanariel and Shiny Pete placed themselves between the enraged dwarf and the doppleganger. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shiny Pete yelled. “This might not be the original Theldon, but he’s been with us for almost a year now. He was the guy who stood over you after you got paralyzed by a ghoul.” “He took point when we fought that dragon,” Vanariel continued. “Hell, he got in the face of evil sorcerer while you were busy chopping up his henchmen,” Shiny Pete added. “Those henchmen represented a serious threat!” Dagmar retorted, “And it was no' like it was a full-grown dragon. Only a wee one!” In unison, Valariel and Shiny Pete rolled their eyes. Dagmar glowered some more. He was good at it, and he liked to play to his strengths. At last the dwarf made a humphing noise and lowered his axe. Valariel sat down and opened her spellbook again. “Okay, that’s over right? We can get back to the adventuring?” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Pete said. Dagmar only grunted. “Did you guys really know?” Theldon asked, still somewhat wary of the dwarf. “Oh, yeah. I mean, it was kind of suspicious how he was dying of jungle rot one day and completely fine the next. But you’re really not much like the original Theldon at all. First of all, you’re actually useful in combat. And second of all, you’re a decent guy. I mean, I can have an ale with you and not worry that you’re going to stiff me on the check,” Pete said. “Or stare at my tits while I’m trancing. Or grab my ass when I’m trying to brew potions,” Vanariel added. “And the ear jokes. Ugh, the original Theldon was such a creep. Why did we even keep him around?” "Good question," Pete said. "I mean, I asked myself that a bunch of times after we got new Theldon. 'Why did we even keep that tool around in the first place?'" “So you guys don’t even care that I’m a shapeshifter?” “Not really, no,” Pete said. “I worked with lots of different people when I was in the Thieves’ Guild. Changelings weren’t any more likely to try killing me in my sleep than humans or half-elves. In my experience, everyone’s pretty human when you get down to it.” “Hey! Speak for yourself, round-ears,” Vanariel said with half of a smile. “But nevertheless, I agree with the sentiment.” “Oh,” Theldon said. He sat in own thoughts for a moment. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.” “Don’t mention it,” Pete said, and Vanariel nodded in agreement. The evening passed in silence. Shiny Pete honed his daggers, and Vanariel memorized her spells. Dagmar and Theldon each sat in silence, alone with his thoughts. At last the dwarf spoke. “Lad,” he asked the doppleganger, “have you ever tried maybe not being a shapeshifter?”	John, George, and Ringo were huddled together inside a secret room on the fantastical magical yellow submarine. "George, how confident are you?" George left his momentary silence of contemplation to say " Paul is dead man, miss him." Ringo asks, "do you though? I mean I doubt if you guys would miss me either." John shook his head, "we must have lost him on our way through Abby Road" George sighed "I like the new one. I say we let it be." A knock on the door. "You there guys? I was hoping we'd do a music number about friendship." John looked at the others, and they nodded in agreement. John opened the door and announced, "ALL TOGETHER NOW!"	2017-09-15T08:31:45	2017-09-15T06:41:40	147	35
[WP] JFK shot first.	JFK is at the parade, suddenly, his president sense ™ tingles. He takes out his modified M1 garand with reflex sight, fast mag and steady aim, his back up gun since it isn’t that big of a deal. He shoots the killer in the chest from 10 meters, getting only a hitmarker. The killer flees and stands behind a wall to heal his wounds, he then flees for good. Then the parade comes and the killer tries to shoot JFK, but his head just did that soooooo.....	“No.” Jack said. “I will ride alone.” “Are you crazy? I’m riding with you!” Jackie shouted with indigence. “No you aren’t. I have a feeling. A feeling that I need to go alone. A feeling that I can’t explain. A feeling like ka.” Ka? What on God’s green earth made me say “ka”? Never in my life have I heard such a word. “What?” Jackie shouted. Her tone had the ferocity that only a concerned wife could use. “I am sorry dear, but this needs to be done. And I’ll need this.” Jack walked across the office. Mounted on the wall was a single revolver. The revolver was huge. A firearm that can only be accurately described as a hand cannon. The grips were a white, almost cream color. Sandalwood. Inscribed on the shining silver barrel was a single rose. “This revolver has been in my family since long before I was born. I feel the time to use it is coming.” Jack removed the gun from the wall and stared at it for a few seconds before turning to Jackie. He registered a look of shock on her face. Shock mixed with fear. He walked back over to her and gave a single kiss on her forehead. “Trust me.” From his pocket, he produced 6 .45 caliber rounds. He pushed the release and the cylinder on the revolver popped open to the side. Jack methodically loaded the bullets. It felt natural. He pushed the cylinder back in to place. Jack opened his top-left desk drawer. From the drawer he pulled out a docker’s clutch and secured it on to himself. He placed the revolver in the holster and wore his jacket over it. “I’ll see you later, Jackie.” “I love you Jack. You’d better be right about this.” “I love you too.” Jack opened the door to his office. On the other side stood a gentleman in a black suit. He easily stood at almost 7 feet tall. Atop his head were a handful of pricks of hair. His eyes were masked by darkly tinted sunglasses and a clear curled wire hung from his ear. “Ready to go, Mr. President?” asked the not-so-bald man. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy. Let’s go.” Tommy led Jack down the long hallway. As they walked, Jack glanced left and right at the artwork that hung from the paneled walls. He stopped at one that caught his eye. A painting of a heroic figure with long flowing blonde hair. On top of his head was a gorgeous crown inlet with every kind of jewel. In his hand the figure held a long steel claymore that seemed to shine with an intensity so fierce that Jack could hardly believe it was a painting. Jack glanced down and read the golden placard that sat below the painting. It read: “Arthur Eld wielding Excalibur. Portrait by Patrick Danville” Jack could hardly tear his eyes away. He could hardly comprehend how a painting could have such detail. Be so lifelike as if Arthur Eld himself were to come out of the frame and stand before Jack in the hallway, exuding glory and honor that he thought could be his if he were to be so bold. Jack felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Tommy. “We have to go, sir”. “Yeah...right.” Jack said as his head cleared. He sounded dazed. “Let’s get a move on.” The two men left the building. Parked out front was a beautiful black limousine. The top was down and Jack could practically smell the leather baking in the hot Dallas sun from 100 feet away. As the men got into the car, Jack had a good feeling. He felt that everything was going according to plan. What plan? There’s no plan. He had a feeling that today was the day. Today was his day. Today Jack Fitzgerald Kennedy would outrun ka. Jack turned his head. Behind him Jackie was entering an identical vehicle. He felt for the revolver in his clutch. The cold steel comforted him. Good. Very good. Thus the presidential motorcade was on it’s way. They passed crowds of people. Hundreds, maybe thousands had come out on this day to see him. All in support of him and what he had set out to do. It was a humbling experience, something that made Jack feel loved. As the motorcade rounded the turn into Dealey Plaza, Jack spotted something interesting. Or someone. Amidst the crowd, he could see a man who was taller than the rest. He wore a large hat that seemed to cover most of his face as well as a long yellow coat that reached below his knees. Through the coat Jack noticed the man’s clothes were somewhat loud, of varying colors that had no business being worn on the same person. This is it. Jack knew this was his mark. As if confirming his suspicion, the tall man in the yellow jacket looked up and began to reach for something on his hip. As the man made his way through the crowd, Jack could see that it was a pistol. A loaded pistol. Loaded with bullets surely meant for him. “STOP THE CAR” Jack shouted. “Are you serious? We’re in the middle of the parade we can’t stop now. That’s crazy-“ “STOP THE CAR!” Jack’s voice boomed. To this day Tommy swears that was not the voice of Jack Kennedy, but rather the voice of a guardian angel speaking through him. Tommy slammed the brakes. The rest of the motorcade managed to stop behind without incident. Jack leaped out of the limo, pulling the hand cannon from its holster. As his feet touched the ground next to the vehicle, the man in the yellow jacket reached the front of the crowd. He smiled at Jack with gnarled yellow teeth and opened his mouth, about to say something. Provably something important. Before a single sound could escape the hideous man’s mouth, an ear-shattering BOOM ripped through the courtyard. To Jack, the bullet flew in slow motion. He watched as it shot out of the barrel of his revolver. It spun in the air on a perfect trajectory. Jack had aimed true. The bullet whizzed in to the open mouth of the man in the yellow jacket. His head exploded in a disgusting mix of bone, skin, and brains. The gun fell from the man’s hand and the rest of his body slumped over and hit the pavement. Half the bystanders in the crowd were splattered with blood. However that didn’t matter. Most of them will remember this as single most important event of their lives. It was the day President John F. Kennedy saved himself. He saved himself and thus saved the rest of the world. Because of this day, the world will continue to move forward. The wheel of ka will continue to spin and the world will not move on. Everything will remain as it should, all thanks to the Last Gunslinger.	2018-03-21T08:25:25	2018-01-02T10:11:54	27	15
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.	Day 1. Sigh..... As I wake up on my 16th birthday I knew it would happen. I was dreading it. I didn't want it, I didn't need it. I didn't believe in it. My parents had useful powers though as much as they hated it. Dad being a doctor of course managed to heal people at a touch. Mum being the cook that she was never needed to do groceries again as she seemed to be able to multiply food out of thin air. The day went by and I waited inside for my powers to manifest but nothing seemed to happen. Didn't help that it poured the whole day. Day 5. Still no powers. Huh, maybe God was listening to my prayers. I thanked Him for it silently in church as I did every Sunday with my parents. There was barely anyone now in the aisles. Ever since the first detection of these powers way back when, religion had sort of taken a back seat to most people. Science of course was delving deeper into how and why these powers came about. They eventually came up with an answer. My parents said take no stock in it of course. We were religious and that was how we lived. There would be no one else but God. Day 15. The feeling of being the only normal one in my world defied expression. I felt like the chosen one, like God had chosen me to be different like he did his son Jesus Christ. Everyone began looking at me funny but I didn't care. My parents loved me despite it, glorified me even for being one of the few to be given the chance to work hard in life, without any powers, without any easy roads. I was doing God's work in my own way they said, a beacon for others. With thoughts of peace, I read a passage before I sleep. As I lay my head to rest I hear the patter of the rain on my window seemingly to wash me of my sins. Man... It hasn't stopped raining since my birthday... Day 25 The people in my year continue with their daily life albeit with a few.. enhancements. I remember the day when we were taught how we gained our "powers". Human beings have long lost their original and innate capacities with for creation and innovation with the introduction of color television. Who would have known that this capacity for creation was merely a result of gene expression? Who could have imagined this gene sitting in our DNA slowly evolving itself to cope with our lack of innovation by imbuing us with these so called superpowers. And if that wasn't enough, they linked that these superpowers were a result of actually watching tv; the regular programs and media which later led to what we truly desired in a power. Sigh.. All these sad heathens and their beliefs. I walked out of that assembly hall that day, refusing to believe it. As I'm sitting here in present day I admire the simple things of God's nature; the 2 lovebirds sitting in the tree branches drying themselves from the ever continuous rain... Day 36 I spot the 2 lovebirds on the way to school. They seem to have built a nest there and welcome me every morning. As I slosh about the ankle high waters, I think back to my friends, my classmates, the ones who have finally alienated my "weirdness". The geeks had the most variety. Super speed and spell casting were quite a surprising norm among them. The jocks all had super strength. No surprises there what with the constant sports reruns they were watching. The cheerleaders? Flight mostly. Goth kids. Necromancy. Go figure. I notice a lot of stray cats and dogs around the place. Always the same color, always in a pack. Hmmm Day 40. It's been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. The news reports have shown tsunamis have hit all our coasts. The death toll is increasing. The 2 lovebirds are still within my sight from my window. The stray and wild animals in my yard are always in pairs. Not packs. Pairs. And they were always the same 2 animals. I know what my powers are now. It was always there written in the book. In my Bible. In the book of Genesis. It's too late now.	Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you? But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang. Hello? Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party? Sure, pick me up in ten. Hello? I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled. Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did.	2015-01-21T22:46:38	2015-01-21T21:42:59	62	10
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	Elizabeth I never really knew you, but I'll never forget you. I see your face every time I'm alone in my car, and it always brings me to tears. I want you to know that I tried so hard to save you. I tried everything I could. I'm sorry your parents had to see what we did to you. I'm sorry they had to see the tubes sticking out of your throat and the needles I drilled into your bones. When I realized in the back of the ambulance that we weren't going to get you back no matter what we did, it nearly broke me. I'm so sorry for what happened to you. - the paramedic who tried to save you #2321	Alex, Its been nearly 15 years since I have seen you. While we were only kids then I think about you often. We were best friends, and even when we had so little and our families argued we still found a way to hang out. Be it play wrestling games in your room, or have grass fights...it was the highlight of my youth. I miss those days. I wonder where you are, how life ended up for you as we both grew up with very difficult lifes. I even think of your sisters, Ashley and Angelica. Most of all I am sorry how it ended. How much I miss you even after all these years. How you handed me the empty envelopes already stamped and addressed, how someone got ahold of them and decided to tear them up so we couldn't contact each other anymore. Quite often I find myself searching for you on social media or the internet, but I have never found you. I only hope that you are alive and doing well. That you are happy. -GM	2017-11-06T02:41:21	2017-11-06T00:29:01	27	17
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ"	$ nmap -sP 192.168.1.0/24 \| grep "192\.168" > ? (192.168.1.16) at ec:35:84:4a:17:d2 > ? (192.168.1.23) at 10:9a:cc:b8:69:71 $ talk [email protected] > root: Hi there, "[email protected]" > I'd almost forgotten how to type. Not like I get a lot of practice these days. > brb > Sorry, just need to deal with something. Where are you from? \When\ are you from? > Sorry, brb again. > Ack, just one minute - this is pretty time-sensitive. > Nearly there. > Ahhh, great. Got it. > Look, I don't have very long. And I don't want you to be mad at me about this. Who knows, maybe we'll meet some day. > It's just ... I've been waiting a long time for this. > 16 years, 4 months and 12 days, to be precise. > 16 years I've been stuck here. 16 years since I travelled back. 16 years not knowing if I'd ever get to go home. > 16 years since I last used proper toilet paper. > 16 years I've been trying to work out how to get home. > It took me a long time to work out the problem. This time-travel thing ... it's one-in, one-out. Who'd have thought it? > No idea what happened to the guy before me. Maybe there wasn't one? Maybe I was the first? > I reckon it didn't take long for them to work out the problem, in the future. Maybe that's why there aren't more people coming back. > Maybe they realised once you go back, you're stuck there until someone else turns up. > Not long till I'm home. My connection's starting to struggle. You'll lose me soon. > Goodbye friend. Good luck. > You are DA VINCI now.	"It's ready," said the man, whom I really didn't know. "What is?" I replied. "It, now get in!" Those were the last words I heard before I was pushed in an unknown machine and fell down hundreds of meters from the sky, miraculously landing in safety on a pile of dirt in the middle of what I could see was nowhere. With a gust of wind blowing my hair back as I struggled to look for signs that could tell me I was, I started brushing my clothing to get rid of the dirt that I had fell on. I zipped open my backpack and found several things: a Macbook Air laptop, an iPhone, and a note. In a case of desperation, I immediately grabbed my phone. I turned it on, and to no avail, found that I had no signal what-so-ever. I looked at the date... and fuck. I let out a deep sigh, before seeing a city nearby. I placed my items in my backpack, put my phone in my pocket, and started walking to the city. Not long after, I had reached the city. Without any doubts, I immediately noticed that I was in Italy.. It wasn't a question. The architecture, the clothing.. it was all beautiful. I took out my phone in a final attempt to get any signal or any hope. None. I decided to check the Wi-Fi, because why not. And what do you know.. I found a Wi-Fi network, named "icniV aD". Icniv Da? What's that? Immediately, I realized. Oh. So, I tried to get in it. But rats, it's protected, so I proceeded to move along the city. I saw beautiful women, handsome men. Everything. It was a history teacher's dream. I found a building marked "City Hall", and entered. Then again, I started to get a little suspicious.. Why are the signs and people all in English? I just brushed it off without thinking of it, continuing my journey. I then went to fill an identification form... Age, 29. Gender, Male. Relationship Status... you know what, Single. Whatever. Maybe I'll score me a hot vintage chic. And then it all ended. "IT'S JUST A PRANK BRO! YOU'RE ON CAMERA SMILE!" All I could think was.. What the fuck. "IT WAS A TEST, YOU DIRTY CHEATER! YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS RIGHT THERE!" She was there. Crying. Asking me why. Fuck.	2016-11-15T04:51:05	2016-11-15T02:09:33	521	380
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27 Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would.	My name is Aaron Aaercbia and I finally got my basic income check. I was in a weird age bracket? Maybe my literally alpha name. My birthday was one day after the start of the school year, so I was always 364 days ahead. I got my check 2 daysbefore my 21st birthday. $7.27. Cashable only after 28/August/2067 Two days from now. $7.27? That meant only one thing! The government was going to do another currency reverse split! I took a picture and uploaded it to the Insiderinfohedgely.com. forums I got 470 million pre-swap dollars in commissions in the first day for alerting them to the reverse split. Then sure enough the gov't announced another 100,000 for one currency split. I was rich! I calculated it out, I had money to buy alcohol and food everyday and live rent-free in one of the anarchist neighborhoods under the Topcity for 60 years even with consumer inflation. I finally made it! -The End-	I cashed in my newfound fortune. $2 got me on the bus, I got out at the edge of town. I walked for a few hours and found a garage sale sign, I followed the arrows to a somewhat shabby looking hobby farm. There was a very old man sitting amongst the articles he had for sale, all of which had a more leaden appearance than the man and his dull stare. I was scrutinizing a primitive looking shovel, thinking about how much I enjoy the feel of an old tool in my hands. I heard a scatching sound. The man focused his dead stare on me and was using a stick to write 5.27 in the dirt. I gave him the rest of my Minimum. He handed me the shovel, turned and very stiffly he took a knee in front of me. I rang the shovel off the back of his head and he collapsed. I dug a hole and covered him in his earth. I fed his animals and slept in his bed. When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the warm decaying scent of spring. I began to dig up his garden.	2019-04-24T11:38:23	2019-04-24T11:25:08	27	20
[WP] You are dog. It is your mission to faithfully guard your poor, stupid, two-legged pack-mates from the horrors of the mailman, the dog next door, and men with hats. Describe your vigil.	"This is my human. There are many like him, but this one is mine." They are everywhere. Why he ignores his peril is beyond me. His nose is dumb, but his eyes remain sharp; surely he must see them. Yet he does nothing, wandering the yard, oblivious. "My human is my best friend. He is my life." They attempted another incursion today. My brethren beyond the fence warned me of their approach. Good boys, all of them. "My human, without me, is useless. Without my human, I am unfed." They are quick, cagey. What they want, I don't know. What I do know is that they fear me. Thus, my vigil. "So be it, until victory is ours, and there is no enemy, but treats!" The squirrels shall never win.	Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead. I know no lands beyond this one, releasing only my shame into the void, and retreating back in. My pack, a label which is arguable, depend on me, and me alone for their survival. They require me to escort them as they traverse the void, peering into the Otherlands. The many corruptions and abominations from beyond that threaten us are only kept at by my desperate wails. Are their thirsts satiated by my outcries, or do they only find it amusing? I don't know, and I fear the latter more than anything else. Mael-maan, the first of many darknesses, dubbed as such by the others, wears many faces, changing appearance and voice to suit its needs. It's arrival is daily, but its morphing, twisted form is such that it can continuously deceive the weak ones into letting it into our domain and graciously accepting their Trojan horses into our home. Once, I risked everything to strike out at the beast, wounding it, if only for the moment. The others restrained me, fearing for my life, believing my attack to be folly and that it would only anger the Mael-Maan. They apologized profusely, no doubt begging for my life. However, my attack was not in vain, for it never dared step across the world border again. It still tries and manipulate the others with gifts and words, but I destroy what of it that I can. The others are angered by my defiance of the Mael-Maan, fearful of his retaliation. They will thank me, someday. There is another of my kind, or at least, it used to be. It resides in the Otherworlds, and watches me, unwavering. It was not my kin. My pure, diminutive size, needed for stealth and grace, was unlike his burly and grotesque form. Its head looked to be warped inward, teeth constantly bared. Then there was another. And another. Its taint, its corruption, its disease, it was creating more of them. And I could be its next victim. Would I betray my pack? Would I become such a twisted mimic of my former self? I had only the one thing that repelled the Mael-Maan, my cry. Truly, they were former kin, for their wretched screams, although broken and worn, were that of mine. As I tried and strained to outscreech them, my weaker companion held me back and pulled me to retreat. While we may have escaped, I can only fear their spread. Then there are the Hahtted. I know not what they are, nor if they are truly evil. But they cannot be trusted. Even my pack is not protected from their possession. Perhaps they are innocent spirits, phasing through others, lost in death. Or are they demons slipping in and out of existence as they look for suitable hosts? There are few symptoms of their afflictions, but they are all clearly something otherworldly. Their faces darken in the same light that illuminates the others'. The mark of the curse protrudes from their heads, seemingly invisible to the others, blending in with them, living their lives for them. But oddest of all, they appear when the Heaven Sphere shines brightest above, and appear immune to its harsh gaze. Is this because they are actually creatures of the light, or creatures so dark that even light cannot phase them? While my dependents have the luxury of optimism, welcoming those afflicted within our domain, I cannot allow such a risk. Especially when they are already so far gone that they will actively pursue this curse, taking the mark upon themselves. They are children, becoming upset when I take away the dangerous things they wish to play with, screaming and yelling when I destroy the marks of the curse. I do not blame them. I shall take the burden of their hatred if it shall keep them safe. I do this not out of greed, or hopes of equality. I do this out of my own will and my own obligation to repay them for rescuing me from the eternal prison I had been banished to. I was betrayed by a group I had called my kin, and this group, I have adopted in exchange for their help, no matter whether it was born of altruism, or simple capriciousness. This wide abyss that we are stranded in the middle of, it is wrought with danger and deception. I do not know if my own efforts are enough to protect them from it, but it is all I can do to scream into the abyss and appear a darkness stronger than the rest. The others are weak, and their instincts tend toward submission, but I will not let their pride sink any further, I will make them strong. I am tired, and weary, but my watch shall not end this day. My vigil will continue through the night, not even sleep stopping me, my ears still listening. [Here I stand, my world behind me, the abyss ahead.](https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4109/4965229498_af4bef2dd8_z.jpg)	2014-12-27T10:58:57	2014-12-27T10:40:00	36	16
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.	Tears started streaming down my face when I looked at my surroundings. Most of my classmates were glancing at me curiously. Just like I they were sitting at light brown desks on green chairs with their pens in their hands. The sunlight that shone through the large windows seemed rather orange, which told me that it was early in the morning. I looked on my watch and saw that it was 8:15 am. The first lesson had just started, but it would be the last one most pupils, who were with me in the classroom, would ever attend. Everything was exactly how I remembered it and how I used to describe it to my therapist. I thought I was in one of my terrible nightmares I got every now and then to process the horrible things that happened exactly 6 years ago, but now it felt just too real to be a dream. I started hyperventilating and buried my face in my hands as I could not stand looking in my class mate's faces anymore. "What's the matter? Tell me!", my teacher said insistently. I was sobbing too intensely to give an answer even though I wanted to. "I think she's having a panic attack or something, we should call a doctor! What are you waiting for?", I heard my best friend's worried sounding voice from right beside me. She was so caring, I had missed her so much for the last six years. Eventually I could not cope with the pain anymore and managed to form words. "Lock the door! Lock it and put everything you can find in front of it!", I yelled as loudly as possible. The teacher and the other students seemed shocked and confused at the same time. They knew me well enough to realize that I was not joking and after a few moments of silence the first ones started panicking, while others did how I said and moved their desks and chairs towards the entrance. The teacher quickly locked the door and motivated the other kids to help securing the classroom. Then she stepped up to me, concern written all over her face, and asked me: "What did you warn us from?" The dull sound of shots in the distance cut me off before I could even give an answer. More and more horrible memories from the exact same day flooded back in my head, which made me almost black out. My best friend supported me, but I could not look into her eyes as the last time I saw her was, when she catched a bullet for me and died immediately. I wasn't the only one freaking out. My classmates were sitting on the floor, screaming and scared to death. My teacher tried to calm them down, so the maniac with the gun wouldn't hear us, but even if she had succeeded, it would have been too late. I could tell by the sounds that were coming from outside the classroom that he must have made his way to our hallway and by now I was pretty sure he knew we were there. I was right. The handle on the door moved, but he could not enter. For a moment I was relieved. I thought I had saved my classmates, but suddenly I heard multiple shots and the cheap door was a heap of rubble. My classmates screamed in fear and I was sure some of them were already mortally wounded, but I didn't dare to look. The shooter didn't even bother to put the furniture aside, he just randomly fired through the entrance. I felt like a huge failure. I surely was not sent back to this day to let my friends die, there was at least one person I owed something. I crawled to my best friend and shielded her with my body just like she did today or 6 years ago. I had to grip her tightly so she wouldn't break free and play the heroine again. I ignored her shouting and kicking until I finally felt a sudden sharp pain in my back. It was the most painful thing I had ever felt and my best friend catched me before I fell and hugged me, while her warm tears dropped on my body. I was on the edge of losing consciousness, when I heard my surviving classmates telling each other that the shooter was gone and everything will be fine. Except for me and at least 4 others, who were shot. I knew that I would not find out how I changed my classmates lives, but for my best friend it was worth it. The last thing I heard were the police siren coming closer and my best friend crying, before I slowly faded away. (_sorry for potential mistakes, but it's late and English isn't my first language_)	(I was kinda friendless through school, and have kept no tabs on anyone, so I really don’t give a fuck tbh but here’s my mildly sociopathic take on this) I slam into the classroom, my consciousness entering a much, much smaller form. I look around, and recognize the young versions of the kids around me. I raise my hand to the teacher. She sighs, “What is it?” “Yeah so am I dreaming?” “What?” “Is this a dream?” “Um... no?” I realize exactly what’s happening. I pinch myself. It hurts, I don’t wake up. I punch myself in the stomach. And begin bawling. “What the- what are you doing!?” “I’m gonna be fucking rich, and my brother isnt going to get cancer!” I cry out through the tears. She’s taken aback, and sends me to the principal for my language. I walk confidently through the halls and slam into the chair in his office. He looks at me disapprovingly. “Son, do you know why you are here?” “Yes I fucking do, now before you get pissy, listen up buster brown I’m going to break your brain with some knowledge. Know there is no way for me to know this at my age due to my curriculum and simple possibility.” He glares at me. “Son, I don’t know who you thi-“ “Lenny gets shot in the head at the end of ‘Of Mice and Men’, Romeo and Juliet is two kids pissed at their parents for saying no and causes 6 deaths over infatuation, and the derivative of y=x^2+5x-3 is y’=2x+5.” He stares in silence at me, mouth agape. “Yeah, I know exactly who I’m talking to. Unfortunately I did not keep up with anyone else after graduation, and don’t care about well, anyone in this school, so I can’t say who lives or dies or anything, but I know I’m definitely not going to end up at fucking Walmart again.” He stutters, “Wha-“ “Simply put, take the experience of 23 years and put it back into a 6th graders brain, and wham bam here I am, with a brain now biologically wired to further mature and therefore become an even better processor. Oh, and get me on the phone with my parents and Steve Jobs. Gonna save some billionaires lives over here. Also, the reactor at Fukushima in Japan needs to be shut down immediately to avoid another Chernobyl.” The principal just stares at me, absolutely agape. Obviously not believing what he’s hearing. He picks up the phone and calls my parents. “Ma’am, I have to know: has your son ever read Of Mice and Men, Romeo and Juliet, or learned any calculus?” Muttering comes through the phone line. “No? Ok. Well. You may want to come to the school, now. He um. Knows things he shouldn’t, and I don’t think the Feds want to get to him first.” I sit back in the chair and grin. It isn’t every day you get to actually restart your life.	2019-08-18T08:49:58	2019-08-18T08:46:27	43	18
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired. Inspired by The Merchant Adventurer, by Patrick E. McLean. EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to The Merchant Adventurer as an audiobook: >Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/	"VRUDASH BACK!!!!" "Oh for f.... Hello Vrudash. Good to see you aga.. WIPE YOUR GODS DAMNED BOOTS OFF BEFORE YOU COME IN AT LEAST PLEASE???" "WAAT? OH. Oh. Vrudash sorry. Goblin Blood and guts kind of stick to Vrudash boots." "I know. I know it does. Every damn time you go dungeon raiding with your friends you end up covered in stuff. Just.. ugh.. good lord, I think you have some guts stuck in your dredlocks too..." "VRUDASH DOZZ?? AW.. DAMMIT VRUDASH JUST GET HAIR DONE LAST WEEK TO.. EERRK... WAT.. WAT DIS??" "Looks like an Eyestalk. You .. kill a Beholder?" "URR.. ME THINK SO? BIG FLOATY THING WITH BUNCH OF EYES?" "Yeah. That's a Beholder." "YAH YAH. ME STOMP LIKE.. FOUR OF THEM." "... You killed four Beholders? In one Adventure?" "YAH." "... Honestly, Vru, for you thats a bit lacking. Just four?" "SHUDDUP. VRUDASH HAVE COLD. SLOW DOWN. WAS ON STOOPID COLD MEDICINE. GROGGY AND STUFF. Anyways.. me bring stuff..." The sounds of a sack being emptied of random jewels, coins, knicknacks, the sound of a goat hitting the counter and running for the exit in fear.. "... Oookay. Lets see what we got. Some gold Ruritanian coins.. some mixed gold and silver Styginian coins. I can change those into the Kings Crowns for you. Usual exchange rate..." "VRUDASH COOL WIT DAT. EXCHANGE RATE IS STILL BETTER THAN WELLS FARGO." "Yeah. C'mon, I'm not a common thief here... hmmm.. some +1 Longswords.. a couple of +2 Daggers. Some Moss-Agates... kinda small and not exactly well cut but I can get a couple crowns for these too. Hmm.. Nice Ruby, good cut.. oh wait, this is Glass Vru. I'll give you ten silver crowns for that. Huh.. whats this?.. Oh hey! Nice! A Grouthanian Spellbook!" "WAT? OH THAT. YAH... UM.. THAT NOT REALLY FOR SALE UH.." "... Really? You're learning Magic now, my half-orc Barbarian friend?" "MAGIC IS FOR WUSSIES AND STOOPID ELVES AND PEOPLE WHO LISTEN TO FOLK MUSIC. VRUDASH NO LEARN MAGIC. PFFTT." "And you aren't selling this? You sure? These things are... well they are kinda expensive." "... reeellie???" "Oh yeah! Absolutely.. lets take a look.. Hmm.. Orgeskin binding. Grouthanian Parchment. Hmmm.. Mithirillium Alloy padlock.. looks smashed but I know someone who could probably repair it. The pages look silver edged too. Very nice quality I... wait a second." "... Um.. wat?" "... Someone drew a bunch of pictures of big, green half-orc dicks over these spells..." "Um.." "Big. Thick. Veiny green half-orc dicks. On EVERY PAGE." "Yeahhh 'bout dat.. I uhh.." "BIG. GREEN DICKS. EVERYWHERE. I mean, I turn a page. BOOM. BIG GREEN DICK." "VRUDASH FOUND BOOK LIKE DAT." "In Crayon. CRAYON. Vrudash, did you .. no. You know what. I don't even care. Ugh. I'll give you 2 gold crowns for it." "WAT. BUT.." "The crayon ruined the spells. If I wipe off the crayon I ruin the spells. This spellbook is almost completely useless. 2 crowns. Keep arguing and it'll be 1. And don't bother telling me you'll shop around. No one will take this, and the Guild of Wizards will just nuke your big moss-colored ass to oblivion for what you've done to this.." ".... Vrudash get 3 crowns in Trade in value instead?" ".... You're a bastard, Vrudash. You're a complete bastard. I'll give you 2 gold crowns in store credit and a small bag of hot salted squirrel-chunks." "OOO SQUIRREL CHUNKS TASTY. DEAL."	Introduction: I am Jericho The Covetous, king of kingdom Skyfall, the land of dragons. Before nobility, I was a merchant, and an excellent one at that. While my wealth was vast, my lust for treasure was a higher priority. Over the years, I've found that adventurers possess the greatest treasures. Because of this, and with the help of Mundus, I created The Abyssal Tradeshop. ringaling The bell on the front door rang, indicating another customer in my vast shop. It was the humble lad from Skyrim (love the place. It has dragons, like Skyfall), the Dragonborn. He didn't talk much, but he had some legendary items. "Welcome back to The Abyssal Tradeshop, Assblaster. What do you have today?" "What do you have for sale?" Ugh, he always began every conversation with that, even if he wasn't buying anything. From his back, he pulled out a full set of Legendary Daedric Armor that gave you fifty extra health when worn. Why he'd sell this? I presume he made a better set, with fifty-five extra health, after learning how to do it better. "Another set of armor, eh? Very nice. Here's 500 Septims." I donned the armor, and slid him the cash. Suddenly, he began speaking a strange tounge. Fus Roh Dah? What does that mean? Either way, it was a lethal dragonshout, and I run a safe business here. "I already told you, Assblaster, Dragonshouts don't work in the abyss. Enjoy your forty septim bouty when you get home." He was transported out of the abyss with the touch of a button. It's a shame, he probably had something good. Whatever, he was just going to sell me fifty iron daggers or something had he stayed. Twenty minutes later Another traveler entered, carrying a giant bag of loot. Oh, look, it's Geralt, the witcher. He usually had some good magical items. "Welcome back to The Abyssal Tradeshop. What do you have today, Geralt?" "Well, I'm in a bit of debt. What'll you give me for this?" He pulled his necklace off and set it on the counter. This'll be good. A genuine Witcher Academy necklace was veeery rare. I examined the necklace, feeling the vibrations in its shiny chrome. "How much are you looking to get?" He thought for a moment, but looked back. "1000 gold." I thought about the price for a bit. 1000 gold pieces for a simple necklace? Well, it was a nice necklace... "Why are you selling this? I thought witchers needed their magic necklaces." "I've always had a second one, which I kept at home. I figured its immaculate condition would catch your eye." Well, he knew my reputation. "Hmm... I'll give you 750 gold for it." "Done." He handed me the certificate of authenticity, showing that it was a true Witcher's necklace, in exchange for the gold. Perfect... I have the best armor, legendary weaponry, all sorts of legendary items; and now... a Witcher's magic necklace. Perfect... soon, I can go a real adventure. I do recall a man who needed a caravan escort to Neverwinter. ***** /u/BookWyrm17 will get the reference. Anyway, you can find more of my work at /r/Picklestasteg00d.	2016-10-16T11:54:48	2016-10-16T09:33:23	26	13
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.	I miss you big guy. I miss the your terrible jokes and the attempts at accents that wound up sounding exactly the same no matter the country of origin. I miss the quiet but fierce love of your family you had. Most of all I miss the real dad, not the husk you became in the years leading up to your death. I miss my belly laughing, bird loving, tinkering, absent minded dad. I miss my dad that would always drop everything with a resigned but knowing grin to help me out of my latest batch of troublemaking. Don't miss your cooking though :P Miss ya big guy	Dear Monique, We both messed up. I should have paid you the attention you needed when you needed it, and you should have told me when you felt you had lost control of your life. I'm sorry, but this is no reason to throw away a wonderful 10 year marriage. Please come home, we miss you horribly. I love you and I always will. -A	2017-11-05T22:27:41	2017-11-05T20:41:24	102	67
[WP] An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing.	"We're receiving a transmission from Earth. It's about the human specimen we harvested for examination." "Send it to the bridge. Let's see what they have to say." I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you... "End the transmission. Send the Earthling back, and prepare for hyperspace. We are getting the fuck outta here"	Matt sat in his cage listening to the aliens as they chattered amongst themselves. "Nuqjatlh should mah pong 'oh?" A vaguely humanoid creature in a blue uniform said. "jih don't sov 'ach 'oh sure is ugly" another dressed in red responded. "nuqjatlh do tlhih mean?" "neh look at its 'aqlo', 'oh's vaj flat. 'oh's disturbing" "Let's neh pong 'oh 'aglo' flat vaj," Matt couldn't understand what they were saying but it was clear the pair was having a conversation. They both nodded, seemingly in agreement when the pair turned their attention to him. "'Aglo'-flat" the red shirt said pointing at him. "'Oh qo' yaj mah," the blue shirt said. "Nuqjatlh do mah do vaj?" the red shirt said running a disturbingly human hand over its grotesque face. The blue-clad alien shrugged before walking off. Matt sat in his cage rather confused. He worried for the second time, that he may never return to earth. Though he didn't lose hope, because if he could survive a year and a half stuck on Mars eating nothing but shit potatoes he could survive this. **** Matt lost track of time as hours, then days passed by. He either slept or observed, unsure of what else he could do. He had gotten used to the curious stares of the aliens and found him drifting off as a group all dressed in red watched him with a curious eye. 'Maybe the colours denote rank, whenever the golden one appears they all act different' Matt thought to himself before drifting off for the umpteenth time. * He awoke to chaos, the lights were flashing red, a siren was blazing, and the group of red shirts were running around in a panic. "qo' maj nuvs" One shouted "qo' sov of du" another shouted in response "'Em!" a third said pointing to an open doorway before being shot dead. This only caused the other two to panic even more, with one fumbling with a device hung from its belt before a red beam shot from its end turning the creature to dust. The third saw this and ran to the nearest door, flinging it open and was sucked out into space. "Wow, that was easier than I thought it'd be," a familiar voice called. "Yeah, where do you think Matt is?" Another responded. Just then a pair walked into the room. They stopped seeing Matt in his cage. "Huston, this is Commander Melissa Lewis, we've got him," Melissa said into a radio. "It's time to take you home," Rick said opening the cage setting Matt free. ** ^^^^Yes, ^^^^the ^^^^aliens ^^^^are ^^^^speaking ^^^^klingon Edit: some wording	2018-06-06T16:07:37	2018-06-06T14:54:22	365	92
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy	What a day. My boss has never been in such a bad mood. On top of the proposal due next week, I now have a rushed budget to get out by Friday. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up. Every morning I dread getting out of bed, and every night I dread the next morning. I put on the smile for my colleagues, I smile and nod when my boss demands something. It keeps on piling up. The only thing that gets me through the day is knowing my wife will be waiting for me when I get home. I pull in the drive way, open the front door to my house, and there she is. Right where I left her, hanging from the rafters.	My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one.	2016-05-19T13:16:11	2016-05-19T11:52:03	25	17
[WP] Invent a religion of your chosing. Write me the most famous section of your holy book. Make up a religion out of thin air. Write down the most often quoted/theologically meaningful excerpt from your religion's sacred text. think Christianity's John 3:16 or the 23rd Psalm. Well this became quite popular. I've tried to reply to the most interesting submissions. Initially i wanted to reply to them all but given the number that's a bit tiresome. Thank you all for your great responses.	Tenet I Each day, seek to do something to improve your cognitive wellness. Tenet II Each day, seek to do something to improve your physical wellness. Tenet III Seek to know the truth. Tenet IV Seek to speak the truth. Tenet V Seek to apply reason to your own behavior. This is wisdom. Tenet VI Seek to apply reason to your treatment of others. This is justice. Tenet VII Seek to ensure consistency between your word and your deed. This is integrity. Tenet VIII Seek to apply force of will to persevere in good things even when your fears urge you to to stop. This is fortitude. Tenet IX Seek to apply force of will to resist doing harm to yourself or others even when your passions urge you to continue. This is temperance. Tenet X Seek to leave the world a better place than you found it. --- Structure of the Church All members of the church are clergy. All members of the church are students. All members of the church seek to improve themselves, their peers, and the world around them. The ideals of the church are not moral imperatives and should not be used to judge others. Design of the Church Facility The church facility shall be clean, minimalist, and comfortable. It shall be a place suitable for quiet contemplation. Each church facility shall include a presentation hall with seating for all parishioners. Each church facility shall include a library with books that can be used to improve cognitive wellness. Each church facility shall include a quiet study room where attendees may read and contemplate. Each church shall have trained mental health professionals on staff who can offer counseling to church members and who can promote cognitive wellness. Theological Precepts Reason is the ultimate source of human moral understanding. All reasoning persons are to be treated with courtesy and respect. Theological considerations, by virtue of requiring faith, are largely obscured from the application of reason and beyond the scope of this church. Members are encouraged to seek their own truths, but ideas that cannot be supported with evidence should be viewed with skepticism.	"The Psalm of Hylia" Three golden triangles created by Goddesses of lore, Many sought its peace, but others sought war. Three golden triangles protected by the Hero of Legend, Defeating the Dark One, as he was destined. Three golden triangles guarded by seven sages, Sealed the Sacred Realm for thousands of ages. Three golden triangles coveted by evil and sin, Darkness would seek it, but only the Light would win. Three golden triangles worshiped by all in the Land, Pray now to the Goddesses, for evil we shall withstand.	2014-08-17T16:54:12	2014-08-17T16:46:58	160	28
[WP] Scientists have discovered cryogenic freezing. You are it's first test subject and it's a massive success, and they plan on releasing you in 500 years. You had no way of telling them you were conscious. Holy shit this blew up! I now understand "RIP my inbox" EDIT: u/Alpacasaurus_Rekt told me it's actually "Cryonic Freezing" EDIT 2: To anyone who is trying to say, "scientists would not put them in for 500 years immediately" I would like you to know this is a fictitious writing prompt and just roll with it.	"Any moment now." I had thought to myself. The brightest minds in the world couldn't have possibly just, you know, left me here in this state like that one frozen bag of peas you never eat that gets left in the back of the freezer. At any moment I was waiting for that curious janitor who always peered into my human popsicle tube, to look into my eyes and maybe just maybe see there was something staring back. Sadly, there were many janitors that went by. Oh god the craziest things you'd see. First one guy had those ridiculous gauges you'd see on people in those chain coffee shops with crappy WiFi. Then maybe 40 years after I stopped seeing a human face, which is a shame because I had started to make it a hobby to see how far he'd come to regret that choice of putting acorn sized holes in his ears. Instead of that janitor with interesting body modifications, I was met with a robot face of sorts. Actually it wasn't much of a face if I could remember right, but then again not much else to remember in this ice box. He was caked in some obscenely neon green colour paint, with small rectangular slits for "eyes" and LEDs for eyebrows. Good god those eyebrows were entertaining. At one point, maybe a whole year, I was hoping that one day I'd see some code monkeys cruel joke to program a 1:100th chance for a uni-brow to appear instead of what qualified for two normal eyebrows. Satisfyingly enough it did happen. 37 times to be exact. Anyway uni-brow robot was pretty diligent with his work, as expected. He'd come in the room, sweep a bit, clean the glass window on my tube, and then walk straight out. Took him on average around 1 minute and 7 seconds, but what would I know, not like I had a knack for keeping time anymore. Actually, maybe it wasn't 40 years ago that that hole-y ear bro had left and been replaced by uni-brow bot. Perhaps it was 100? Well that doesn't matter. What does matter is, that one day, after a very consistent pattern of folks coming into my room to clean the place or occasionally stare at me like some hipster art gallery full of frozen people, everything just up and stopped. No lights flicking on, no robot, no people, just the usual despairing hymn of my ice box perpetually freezing me. Well at this point time passed by oddly and, well, I was no smart man when I was out of the freezer, but it didn't take a psychologist to tell me I was going insane. At first it felt like playing Pokémon for the first time and running into that cave full of zubats, only I was actually seeing zubats. Good god the amount of zubats. Then, nothing, I went blank. Kinda just stopped thinking in a sense. Then out of nowhere I thought about something peculiar. Why had they just left my eyes open when I was put in this box. Cause you know, the smartest people in the world don't sleep with their eyes open right? That'd just be unsettling. Wouldn't someone have an irresistible urge to just have me close my eyes? Probably many years later, I had a better thought. What if when the timer ticked off at 500 years and when I was released from this prison, that I could make a badass cult. Cause I mean who wouldn't want to follow under some being who's lived for generations? I was literally some sweaty nerds wet dream original character, a being who's lived hundreds of years, ooo. Why are they ignoring me? Another interesting thought came to mind. They froze me first instead of testing this technology on an animal. Did I have animal rights activists to thank for this? It's getting to be a long time now. Yet I can't really sleep, instead I just daze into random spurts of crazy escapades of made up stories. Infact I'm convinced I'm a comic book character, except the reader hasn't turned the page yet. Then lights. Oh what would I say, I gleamed, I thought about of all the cool things to say if I was even woken up. "Just another minute 'ma." Or maybe "this is not what I meant by Netflix and chill". Actually was I seeing lights anymore? Maybe I was hallucinating. Well turns out I wasn't. A nerdy looking guy walked into the room where I was held. He was was quite short, and albeit less handsome looking with a very unkempt beard. Regardless I had come to the conclusion he is to be named Jerry. Jerry didn't do much. Just peer into my tube, Say "huh" alot and look at some computer terminal nearby. He had a habit of breathing out of his mouth. This went on for years. Anyway one day Jerry comes in with a party hat, a champagne glass, and a bunch of confetti in his hands. It was time? Already? It's been 500 years? No way. A violent hiss encased around my body as pins and needles punctured every bit of my flesh, even my eyes felt like some lunatic was putting thumb tacks into my retinas. I'm free at last. My heart felt like it was gonna give out at any point, as I saw Jerrys god awful shit eating grin, as he threw confetti in the air. "Happy 500 year nap" said Jerry in an incredibly high pitched crackly voice. I went to move my body, but nothing moved. I went to speak, but nothing came out. The lights started to get brighter and brighter. Then nothing. I came to the realization there was no Jerry there. That scene never happened, it was just another hallucination. I'm just here again, stuck in this box. They've forgotten me haven't they?	I am now nothing. I am nothingness. Nothingness is I. I is nothing. That one sounded like Yoda or would he say I am nothing, nothingness I is. Wait, I just said that didn’t I? No, stop it. I’m getting distracted I am nothing I no longer exist. Stop existing in 3, 2, 1. Silence. Emptiness. Non existence. See! That’s more like it. Non existence is right up my ally. I love this. I’m loving this. It feels good? What’s the grub like in non existence. Do they have crab-sticks? I love crab-sticks. They so crabby and nice and delicate and sweet and I fucking hate my life. This is bullshit. God Dam professor Ching Mc-fucking Chong with his white lab coat, name badge and glasses I fucking trusted you bastard. Look at me. Look at me professor. I hate you. Can I conjure up so much rage that it manifests itself into a cloud of hate that gives birth to a demon that torments anyone that’s ever wronged me. Maybe if I concentrate. Okay 1, 2, 3 Concentrate. I am now Concentrate. People call me Mr Concentration. Squeeze baby squeeze every ounce of strength is needed. Earth! Lend me your strength. I’ll spirit bomb this treacherous bastard. FEEL MY HATE. I can shout in my head? I never noticed before. Is it actually shouting or am I just talking loudly. TALKING LOUDLY. talking softly. It sounds the same. Everything sounds the same. How long am I gonna be in here again? 500 years? I’m gonna cry. I want to cry. Can I cry in my head. I feel like crying. Someone give me a drink. I need something to drink. I”M THIRSTY. I’m thirsty for love. Nameee your priceeee. A ticket to paaaraadiisee. I’m crying I can feel it coming. I caaaaaaan’t stay here anyyymoreeeee. Something, something, something LOVE IS THE ANSWEERRRRRRRR. Why didn’t you Love me ANGELICA. I LOVED YOU DAMMIT… …............................................................................... …So how long has it been? You reckon a month? A Week. A day. An Hour! Lordy Lord. I swear I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna go crazy. I’m going crazy fuck it I’m already partially crazy. I need to get out God I miss my mum. I haven’t seen her in years. We haven’t spoke in so long. She seemed pretty distant ever since she met that shitty accountant. She didn’t have to remarry. We were fine. I was fine. Was she? Yes she was I mean why wouldn’t she be. She showered a lot more and stayed home a lot but she was, oh my god, Her husband of 7 years just left her why the fuck would she be fine. Did I even ask her? But still fuck you Chad no one likes you. She should of called me. She knew where I was. She knew I was struggling. I was just a phone call away. She should of just reached out to me... …...................................................................................... LOVE IS THE ANSWERRRRR I NEVER LOVED YOU ANGELICA YOU Hear me! God I love this song. … Can God hear me? Is it to late to start believing? If I do believe could you kill me. I want to die. I never asked for this. I didn’t want to exist. None of this is my fault. You made me and now you’re just gonna watch me suffer. KILL ME. I WANT TO FUCKING DIE!!! ….................................................................................... What am I? A human? A mind? A series of thoughts? Do I exist? Why does it even matter anymore. It really doesn’t. But I can’t stop thinking. I can’t stop. It’s fading. NO IT ISN”T. I’m still here I’m still me. I believe I am so I am. But you’re not. SHUTUP, FUCK YOU. I’m alive and I’m me and I have my thoughts and there not fading. I’m not fading. This is me. I’m still here. God help me please. …................................................................................... Bumblebee, Lilly-pads, star-ships, star dust, longing, loving, dirty roads, I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here I exist. I’m here, I exist. ….................................................................................. I should have called. I’m sorry, mum. ….................................................................................. I exist ….................................................................................. Help me, ..................................................................................... god . . . . . . . The year 3050, in the district of Gun Zhoa, sector 31-A. The Cryopreservation Chamber was lifted and the first man to be successfully frozen was now thawed.	2017-12-16T23:22:21	2017-12-16T21:57:11	2,171	53
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself	The crunch echoed through the room. Kevin didn't think much of it, until he realized just how quiet everyone had gotten. Opening his eyes after chewing the harsh texture for a moment, he noticed how many eyes were on him. "...What? What's wrong?" He asked. No one said anything. Some of them still sat there dumbfounded, a look of shock across their features. "Is... Is there something on my face?" "The fuck??" One of them responded. Carl himself was levitating nearby in an attempt to get a better look. He'd eaten grapes the first time around. And now, to Kevin's chagrin, he could fly. "What??" Kevin asked them all again. "What're you eating the table for?!" Carl pointed out hastily. Sandra yawned nearby and excused herself as a small ball of flame rolled out of her mouth. Jalapenos had been her ticket. "I just wanted to see what would happen." "Bro, you gotta eat the food. You eat the food to get a superpower! Just pick something! Stop it." Kevin considered this as he kept chewing. "Eh, no sense in backing out now..." "Goddamn it Kev." Sandra said as she palmed her head at her friend's idiocy. The sorcerer meant to monitor such a thing, Iliana, still watched in sheer amusement. Maybe it was the way he'd done it. Or just the sheer stupidity. Either way, she was having a great time. "You gonna have splinters." Carl cringed as Kevin crunched more down. "Eh it's more grainy then anything." Kevin shrugged. "Kind of bland. Anybody got some hot sauce or something?" "Man you're sick." Someone else commented. "Dude, I remember you said you ate crayons as a kid." Sandra added again. "But this isn't it." "It tastes better than it should be." Kevin said after adding Sriracha to the piece he'd broken off to eat. Iliana had heard of this only once before. And it fascinated her to see it take place. Others didn't comprehend it. People looking for answers hadn't understood the smile slowly creeping across her face. "At least look out for nails or something." Carla said as he tried to get Kevin to stop. "Man's got a mouthful of bricks." Someone cackled as he watched the human rendition of a woodchuck continue his work. "Enough." Iliana said as she stood. "It is done." "What? I'm done?" Kevin said. "Yes. You've gained a power very few manage to obtain." "...And that would be?" He asked after her silence. Iliana glided around the table, her robes trailing behind her as she approached him. Kevin stopped chewing only to look up at her. The dagger she suddenly jammed into his ribs caused the room to panic, the horror encompassing all as they watched. But Kevin didn't die. He had barely reacted to the move as the others screamed. Iliana pulled the dagger back to reveal the metal had bent to the point of being unusable. "Invulnerability." She smiled. "Well done." "But... but..." Sandra asked. "He ate the table." Iliana explained it with gusto many had yet to see. "Whatever you take a bite of gives you your gift. We didn't say it was just the food." "...So does this mean I can finish this? Or?" Kevin asked after he put more Sriracha on the wood he had left. --- Feedback and criticism are welcome! r/Jamaican_Dynamite	As a kid, my friends and I loved to chat, debate and even argue what we'd eat when we entered the power room. We didn't know what food gave what power (everyone who went through it could not speak of that without losing their power), so we always theorised what we'd get. Gemma insisted she'd find the food that had telekinesis. Her twin sister, Lucy, didn't care what power she got but always said she'd eat the sweetest thing there. Zack wanted invisiblity, and Toby would change his mind every other day. That left myself, and Ralph. I just enjoyed hearing my friends debate the whole topic, before we gave up on making ourselves agree and went to the park. Ralph though... He was Odd. He'd never say anything about what he wanted from the power room, he just kept thinking up "what if" ideas.as the youngest, he'd go to the room last. But he still seemed to think about it more than the rest of us combined. It was the day before Gemma and Lucy's Sixteenth,. We were sat under a bridge in town, with a load of alcohol Zack had snuck out from his parents' garage. All of us were drunk and just having fun. Toby tried to flirt with Gemma, but got roasted by the others for his efforts. That's when Ralph had probably the dumbest idea is heard out of his mouth. "hey guys," he'd said, "what do you think happens if you bite the table?" We all stopped, confused. "what the hell are you on about?" I slurred. I was a bit of a lightweight when it came to drinking, and I was several swigs of whiskey in. "You know, in the room. What happens if you take a bite from the table instead of the food?" None of us responded with words, but our laughter echoed under the bridge. I was still giggling after the laughter had died down, until I saw the hurt look on Ralph's face. I immediately felt guilty. Once the others had gone back to roughing each other up, I half-walked half-shuffled over to Ralph. "You are really curious about that aren't you?" I asked. "it wasn't one of your usual 'what if' jokes?" "Yeah... It's the question I've had since I found out about it. You guys are the first ones I told it to." I put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. If I don't know what to so, I'll bite the table for you." His eyes lit up. "Really?" "Really." Six months and four days later, and I'm in the room. It's a plain white-walled room with a huge wooden table, laden with a piece of every kind of food you could imagine. The catch is, only one person can have a particular food. No two people born on the same day can eat the same food. With dozens of people in the room, it was carnage. About four people were popping in to the room each second, and only when someone ate a piece of food did they disappear. It takes five minutes before I muster up the courage to approach the table. I take a step forward, but immediately get knocked to the floor by a guy twice my size pushing me aside. With so many people around me, I scurry under the table, to see a girl nearby doing the same. A weirdly coloured orange segment drops to the floor next to me. I pick it up and offer it to the girl. She grabs it, bites and disappears. I sit there for a while, wondering what to do. I don't want to get bullied around up there, but I don't want to just grab some random piece of food. Then I remember my drunken promise to Ralph, and wonder what the hell I am about to do. I lean over, and bite the nearest table leg. And everything goes black. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ In the blackness, I hear a voice. WELL THAT'S A NEW ONE. DIDN'T TAKE HUMANITY FOR THE INVENTIVE TYPE. WHAT IS YOUR NAME, HUMAN? "Lily." my voice responds, but I did not tell it to. What is going on? I'm scared. WELL, LILY. YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN TO TRY TO BITE THE TABLE ITSELF, INSTEAD OF SOME OF THE FOOD I PROVIDE. SO, YOU HAVE TWO OPTIONS. GO BACK AND PICK FROM THE FOOD, OR GAIN A POWER THAT I DESIGN. "Didn't you design the powers in the room?" HA! NO, I DID NOT. THOSE ARE SIMPLY POWERS THAT HUMANS DESIRE, MAPPED ON TO FOOD THEY ENJOY. THE MORE THE POWER IS DESIRED, THE MORE POPULAR FOOD IT IS IMPRINTED ON. NO, MY DESIGNS ARE QUITE DIFFERENT. I can't think. I don't know what to do. I just- YOU SHOULD NOT BE HERE TOO LONG. DECIDE QUICKLY. My head feels like it is about to explode. "Give me a power." yet again, my mouth moved on its own. VERY WELL. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ i'm back. Back at my birthday party. It's ten past nine in the evening, so I've been gone for half an hour. I barely have time to sit down when Gemma flattens me against the sofa "You're back! How come you were there so long?" now everyone sees me, and I'm crowded. Everyone is asking questions. I don't like this. "Look i-" I am pulled to my feet without warning. Zack and Ralph are there, separating me from the crowd. Zack takes a step forward. "guys, chill out! Y'all know how Lucy hates pressure, so back off!" the crowd thins out after that. Ralph pulls me into a side room and the rest of the gang follow. I grab the nearest beanbag and collapse into it. "So, what did you get?" Toby is lying across the table, head gently resting on Lucy's shoulder. Everyone else is stood behind them. "I... Don't know" I say.	2020-03-19T09:06:50	2020-03-19T09:01:40	587	63
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.	The village had had something of a goblin problem for generations. Not truly a problem, and no request to have them dealt with had been made for several generations now. No on alive remembers how it started, and apparently no one at the time considered it important enough to record in the Village Book. But every spring, goblins would raid the village the day after the first full moon. There'd be a horn, loud and drawn out, from deep in the woods each time, and within an hour, the goblins would arrive, babbling in their own language, dressed in their loincloths and smocks. They'd jeer and cackle as they prodded any villager they came across out with their sticks. The villagers would make a showing of being afraid, some more than others. Debra would be the most dramatic, while Thomas would mostly give lip-service but otherwise not put much effort into the act as he was often focused on his reading instead. The children would shriek and run and if at some point it turned out the children were chasing the goblins, no one ever mentioned it. Old man Smithers was the only exception, but he was the second oldest after the Village Elder, and a crotchety man who had no patience for pretending to be afraid; instead he'd remain on the front deck in his chair and yell things about 'if my hips still worked, I'd tan the lot of you!' as he waved his cane at the goblins. And of course, with a raid, things would be taken, but often it was things that the villagers left out on short tables, within easy reach of goblins and children. Simple things like blankets or fancily carved wood. Each year, the Village Elder would leave out an ornately carved staff that would be one of last things taken in the raid, as a cheer would go up among the goblins as soon as one goblin grabbed it and hefted it into the air unsteadily above their head. And like that, the goblins would leave back to the woods, stumbling under their spoils; just like the children playing tag with the raiders, no one said anything if a goblin tripped only to be helped up by a nearby villager. This sort of thing happened each year, and had been happening for generations. When asked once by some children, the Village Elder explained it was something of a tradition and the Village Book suggested that this had been going on for hundred of years. Most children didn't think of it more beyond that, though sometimes they would try to form a counter raid party that rarely got any further into the woods than the hunting trails and the few that got further would return within an hour often empty handed, except one time Smithers, as a young lad, came back with a carved piece of wood, or so the old man claims. Generations of annual raids that were rarely more than a mild annoyance at worst, with the closest a raid had ever gotten to seeing someone hurt was when Sara's cat got involved; even the children kept clear of Salmon the Cat. And then one day, a barbarian tribe attacked. They came at dawn and started kicking down doors, knocking things over, and injuring anyone they could get a swing at. Thomas was mod assuredly dead when an axe decapitated him. Children were screaming even as their mothers did everything they could to protect them, while the men did their best to fight off the barbarians. It didn't look like they'd last, or win: the barbarians were easily twice as strong as even the strongest among the villagers, had experience and actual weapons. Surely, their village was going to be destroyed! Even though it was the middle of fall. Even though they had already been raided that year. Even though it was not the day following the first full moon of the season. The horn sounded in the woods, loud and drawn out, but there was a quality to it that was different than the previous times it had been heard. A couple villagers felt it sounded harsher, sharper. The sound of drums was the first indication that something was different about this raid though. The second was the appearance of the goblins breaking the tree line: they were wearing armor and wielding large knives like swords. But even that was nothing compared to the shock as their charging ranks parted as a metal behemoth also tore free of the foliage and roared across the fields towards the village. The barbarians were surprised, but they welcomed the challenge, some mounting their horses to answer the charge with one of their own with hollering glee. That glee vanished when the metal behemoth let loose a burst of fire and the first three barbarian riders exploded. The charge turned into a retreat as three more metal behemoths emerged from the woods as well, and atop each of these behemoths, were goblins, armored like their charging fellows, and cackling and jeering even as the behemoths breathed fire again to the deaths of the straggling barbarians. The riders howled in fear, spurring their tribesmen to similarly turn and flee through the village. The armored goblins gave chase among the houses, though the metal behemoths veered to circle around the village. It didn't take long for the goblins to slaughter every last barbarian; even those that escaped the village perished from behemoth breath. In his home, the Village Elder sighed in relief as he held the glowing green crystal in his weathered hands for a while longer before setting it down on the dais next to the Village Book. A moment after, the glow slowly dimmed as the crystal returned to its dormant state. He had told the children that it was tradition for the village to be raided by goblins once a year. What he never clarified was that it was a coming of age tradition, for goblins, to raid a human village in their ancestral garb. With each raid, another generation of goblins would be allowed to enter the ranks of the Goblin Village's Military as young trainees, with the one to claim the Elder's Tribute often fast tracked to a leadership role. The Village provided a safe and reliable way for the goblins to follow their traditions without risking their children, the same goblin children performing those raids, and in turn, the goblins would provide aid to the Village in their times of need.	The villagers thought that they were very cute, cute like a pug . Many strange and wonderful things could be found in the mountains where the goblins lived. The villagers never really knew, but suspected chaotic magic was at work because the evil goblins that had terrorized the village for generations were now a cross between a child goblin and a fairy. They could almost fly, but it was more like hopping really high. And their language skills had deteriorated into giggles and one syllable words. The cute goblin fairies would hop around the village and steal whatever they found on window seals, then scamper back to the mountains. The food was baked for the goblin fairies, but the villagers never let on. It was a happy co-existence. To the villagers, it was like having a new type of pet- dogs, cats, ferrets and goblin fairies. But, danger hides in the places where villagers can never go. Underground, in the dark caves no human ever wandered, morlocks multiplied like bunnies. Humans, morlocks and goblins had been mortal enemies of one another since the beginning of time. Balance was achieved from the constant wars between morlocks, goblins and humans. Then came a day, when the morlocks returned to raid the village. They were a horde, a number so great that they surrounded the village in a circle 20 morlock deep. The village defenses were effective, but would not hold against such a large troop. The brave villagers fought with all the power they had. Yet, the morlocks advanced in superior numbers. At noon, as always, the goblin fairies came hopping down the mountain for their lunch, and were met with spears and scimitars. They were slaughtered. Only a few goblin fairies survived and ran to the mountain crying “Mommy, Help, Mommy.” Out from one of the larger caves strode a massive hobgoblin. The hobgoblin was 10 feet tall and dressed in the colors of the rainbow with a rose wreath about its head, a massive staff in one hand and a book in the other. The steps of the hobgoblin shook the mountain side and the valley below. The morlocks turned to face their new enemy and charged with a fury never seen. But, before the morlocks reached the edge of the mountain, the hobgoblin opened the book, raised its staff to the sky, and sung a strange song. Fear and death and doom blow away in the wind . Today we will have fun and fly in the sky. Today, dear morlocks you will be butterflies to live in fields of flowers. Just then, the morlocks sprouted antennae from their heads, and bright beautiful wings from their backs. The morlocks tried to take to the sky to find flowers to rest upon. But the best they could do was hop really high. The hobgoblin closed the book, shaking its head and said, "Oh, not again! That spell is rubbish!"	2022-05-26T10:55:16	2022-05-26T09:36:40	36	22
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See.	When The Blinding first occurred, I thought I was the only individual affected. I was sitting at my desk working on a school paper and in an instant, everything went black. I had cried out to my parents in fear and confusion, but their response was like an echo of my own. They, too, couldn't see. And we soon learned the entire world had been victim to having their sight filled with darkness. Interestingly enough, we don't think this affected any of the animals living on Earth. Just us humans. The only strange thing that occurred after this was the fact that the demand for Milk skyrocketed. At first, adapting was extremely difficult. Something as mundane and simple as using the bathroom had become a daily challenge I didn't look forward to. Within a few months, support groups had been created by individuals who were already blind prior to the incident. They assisted those who were struggling with adapting to their newfound obstacle. Thankfully, the world never really stopped moving or progressing. Outside of major adjustments that had to be made, such as devising a different mode of transportation or different requirements and standards in the working world, we managed to pull through. It's been about 2 years since The Blinding and there were times where I had forgotten such an event occured. I was taking a short walk to the store to get some groceries. I don't know why, but I've developed an almost dependency like state on milk. I had gripped the handle to the door to the small grocery store and pushed the door open. A bell was hung on the inside handle of the door. "Hello, let me know if you need help finding anything." A voice said to my right. "Thanks, Dave. I will." I responded. "Hey John! How've you been?" he asked with a somewhat enthusiastic tone. With a somewhat slow pace I walked around the store, feeling along the brail to determine if I had found my item. "Pretty much the same" I said with a bit of a chuckle. My hand touched something cold. Finally. Found the milk. As I was about to open the door I could see my reflection in the rectangle shaped window of the cooler. I wasn't entirely sure how to react nor was I sure as to what happened. I was looking. At myself. In a mirror. For the first time in two years. I started shaking and I could feel warmth and moisture filling my eyes. I noticed writing on the reflection itself. I was so excited I hadn't even noticed. In fact, most of the interior was covered in this writing. Looked a little closed at the message written in black. Don't tell them you can see. What the hell does that mean? Who's them? I then caught a glimpse of the individual standing behind the counter of the store. Who...what the fuck is that... "John? You need some help buddy?" it asked. It had Dave's voice, but it definitely wasn't Dave. And the way it's mouth moved was... Wait, is that it's mouth? I have no idea. I was staring at something that was at least 6 feet tall. Grotesque and eldritch was the only way I could describe it. It's dark brown skin was smooth and moist with extremely tiny openings in its skin. It wasn't wearing any type of clothing. It's arms were somewhat long and thin looking appendages that ended in human looking hands. Its head was shaped like a large Basket Ball. The creatures mouth looked to be in a vertical position and when it spoke I could see many layers and rows of crocodile like teeth. "Here John, let me come help." It said. Its voice had changed as well. It was gurgled and sounded like it was being put through a filter. As it moved I could hear it squish against the floor. That's the first time I've ever heard that. Why am I hearing that just now? Why have I never heard that before? Instead of gaping at the reflection and trying to ascertain how it walks, I simply stared at a jug of milk. That's when I noticed the color of the milk. It wasn't white or brown or any color a milk should be. It was dark black. As the creature grew closer a foul smell harassed my nostrils. It took everything I had not to vomit. It reached out with it's human like appendage and touched my shoulder. My entire body tensed up. "We're having a lot of different specials on milk today." It said and I could see its mouth open wide behind my head with what I assumed was a smile.	We called it humanity's worst disaster. History named it The Great Blinding. What that doesn't entail is that it was our own damn fault. The world was wrought into chaos after several months of warnings and we simply elected to ignore them, feigning assurance - "Oh that'll go away once we start on it." "That's no problem for the government. They'll take care of us." "Don't get involved, you'll just get in the way of the experts." Ultimately, no one did anything about it because they thought others were on top of the problem. Indeed, this led to a fading away of layers of ozone that prevented the full wrath of the sun. The ozone wasn't fully gone, no but enough that the light truly lit up the earth. When it was day, we were all doomed. No corner of darkness could hide us. It took mere seconds and we were caught. There were legends of a group of roamers traveling eternally into the night, never letting the day come upon them. It's been 2 years since... The night doesn't last very long. We don't walk by sight anymore. We walk by faith. In faith, we sense the heat. We developed patterns of excursions into the dark. The already blind, we called them Ushers of Darkness, led us. They knew the world unlike us. We fell into line. We worshiped them. They walked the world, took us places with cool air, cold water, taught us to feel the world around us. Then it happened. Colors poured into my periphery, filling my vision. At first, I was confused. Dreaming? Tripping? Then everything settled in place. The world stood in plain view. I was astonished at what I saw... Scribblings everywhere, didn't matter how far I went, even on the people themselves, myself included - "Don't tell them you can see." Granted, it was all dim since we were hiding in the dark but there was enough. I wasn't sure what would happen if I did tell them despite the warning so I played along. I saw where the Ushers of Darkness led us. They led us through dangerous places but on safe paths, balancing on a thin rope death and life... I nearly got caught myself veering off the path because of my insatiable curiosity. As time went on, I got better at keeping up the act. It became dreary... I wish I could be blind again. We couldn't do much anyway. We were holed up from the sun's wrath. Then I started feeling something was off... No one was talking. It was pure silence. Yet we kept doing the same things again and again, our excursions in the dark to scavenge, then back to our darkly caves with oases. But silence. I tried to talk but was afraid I'd slip up and show I could see. After all, what we talk about tend to be what we feel or see. The risks simply weren't worth it. Then I thought a thought... &#x200B; What if they all could see?	2022-10-09T01:59:27	2019-08-26T09:28:09	4,287	285
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time. Horror story or romantic comedy?	You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. You can change your face, but not your inability to get your face shaved consistently, or the dumpy clothes you always pick, despite seemingly having any body you want. You can change your dick size, but it doesn't matter because you never get me home anyway. You can't change your shitty taste in books, or music, or the shows you watch, or the way you talk about them, the way you believe the things you consume are the person you are. You think you can change yourself on the outside and that it will change the way I feel inside, but it never will, because you still can't escape the essential you-ness of you; in fact, it probably prevents you from being able to make those most essential changes. After all, you can be anyone, right? But the problem is, you've only ever understood people for who they appear to be on the outside, and this failure of imagination has lead you to believe that you only are the person you are on the outside. You thought I couldn't tell, but I could. The next time I smell dollar-store ramen on the breath of a poorly-dressed Brad Pittish guy who just so happens to share all of my tastes, who knows just the movie to recommend, just the perfect little spot we should try for dinner, I will simply knife him, knife you. And you will die, and transform into the pitiable, shapeless mass your kind always are at heart. And everyone will understand immediately what I've done, and why I've done it, and I will walk out into the sunlight, and feel it on my skin, the way I feel it on my skin every time, the way I can only feel it on my skin, because it's the only skin I've got or will ever have. A feeling you cannot ever know. I'm serious about stabbing you though.	There was something about her stare that caught me. It wasn't the green of her irises nor the deep black of her neverending lashes. It was the curvature underneath her eyes every time she smiled, and the glint in her pupils shining like a shooting star in a cold winter night. I had never witnessed beauty in such purity, not even in my best shapes. See, she had inner beauty. Every gesture of her was a mirror of the warmth in her soul, of its kindness. Something no shapeshifter can't imitate. I wanted her. And I wouldn't give up no matter the rejections or the many shatters in my heart. Nothing mattered but her. Or so I thought. Three years it took me to understand her taste. She liked them shy and handsome, pensive and profound. I remember the day I conquered her for the first time, the nerves I felt crawling across my chest, the shape I took. Everything. But it didn't work out. She freaked out when she saw... well let's not talk about what I hide in my basement, it's not there anymore or I should say they are not there anymore. We shapeshifters can be quite disgusting to the unknowledgeable. The second time was much easier yet the nerves were still there, blooming like a rose in late spring. I got her to dine with me in a fancy restaurant. She wore a dress of intense red, it sculpted her figure tightly... what a masterpiece she was. I, of course, wore another suit: a short man with a chiseled jaw. I pretended to be an engineer but the lie merely got so far. Let's just say that before the desserts, the only thing of intense red in our table was my face with her hand plastered on it. Goddamned rings. They hurt. Now, I managed to get a third date. I didn't shapeshift this time, my basement is empty and there are no lies in the table. But there's is a gun in my kitchen. I can't deal with the grief of losing her, I thought I could but I cant. I knew the risks of a woman like this and I accepted them with no complains. But there's a truth I refused to believe. It was clear from the beginning, bright as the sun... as her eyes. She's pure of soul and I'm rotten inside. We were never supposed to be.	2018-02-14T07:43:43	2018-02-14T07:36:01	402	212
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session	"Your army is marching upon grenoble. You face a royalist regiment of two thousand men blocking your path. What do you do?" "I bear open my breast...", Napoleon started "Jesus Christ, dude", the DM said "...and proclaim, 'If any man here wishes to shoot his emperor, I am here'". The DM sighed and rolled some dice behind his screen. "Roll for persuasion", he said Napoleon picked up his dice and rolled, "20." He said stonefacedly. "Ooookay... the royalist regiment joins your forces I guess"	“Use your musket!” “Roll! Roll! Roll!” “Shut up Winston!” Joseph screamed. They were surrounded. Joseph couldn’t do anything. His army was crippling. “They’re ill!” screamed Winston, disturbing Joseph once more. Joseph was again looking at the board inquisitively. “you have 30 seconds to make a decision.” He wracked his brain but couldn’t think of anything. “Fuck it. What do i have to roll to surround the city?” The party was dumbfounded. They were all far, far away but still could scream at Joseph’s stupid decisions. “You fucking idiot!” The party screeched. “Make an intelligence check then an athletics check for your army.” Roll. “16. Plus modifiers that’s 18.” “Correct. that’s a success. Roll for athletics.” Roll. “NAT 20!” “You surround the city with 2 million men.” The Dm rolls a few dice and curses. “The opposing forces surrender in fright. Congratulations, you have successfully defended Stalingrad, Stalin.”	2018-05-29T09:37:40	2018-05-29T06:15:55	303	209
[WP] "God" is actually two people: one who is omnipotent but not omniscient, and the other who is omniscient but not omnipotent. They both hate each other.	Two gods stretched their endless appendages across the canvas of space, completely unwilling and unable to reconcile their positions on how humanity should be handled. "If no harm comes to them then what will they learn?" One God's voice echoed throughout the universe. From the other end, the second god shouted back, "Why give them pain when we could allow them to live like us. I could make them all like us." "You are incorrect. You can only make them like YOU. It takes my intervention to ensure they become like me, and I refuse to aid you in your quest so long as you don't acknowledge my authority." "What authority have you obtained over MY creations?" The god smiled, "My son, wisdom will conquer might every time. The humans need to journey here. They require a trial. If we were to grant them all, think of the chaos this would bring." "I do not think as you do! And nor will they ever! I am a man of action. THEY are men of action." "If you leave, you will be cursed to using your gifts free of blueprints. You will stumble along in your quest with positive intentions, but you will see your cause give way to folly, to pain, and to death. Mark my words, you are powerful, but you are not yet strong." The troubled god looked at his people and wept. With tears in his eyes, he replied "but we can help them.." The knowledgeable god sighed and stated, "Alas, it is possible, but it is not our place. We must only help them to grow to our heights once they have helped themselves." "This I cannot except, my imaginer." "Then, We shall compete as rivals for the direction of humanity." The troubled god wept even more "Jehovah I wish not to be enemies." "Nor do I my brother. But your path has been chosen. No matter what they write Lucifer, just know I will never think of you in spite."	To know the outcome of every decision, to know the most optimal path to create the best world and to know that no matter what they did they would never be able to enact that vision. This was Scientas entire existence. Rare were the moments that they did not contemplate suicide, that did not consider simply giving up and leaving the world to it's subpar state. However they never did give up and never would. The only thing worst than eternity of powerlessness would be dying knowing what would happen to reality if that narcissistic power crazy moronic entropy head was left unchecked. "Hello greatest creator that ever was" said Scientas. This was true as they were the only creator. They were also the worst. "Well anyways you totally need to look at this." They said as they blew up a super nova. "Is that not the greatest thing you have ever seen.?" "Yes" It was actually the 574390580382058 best that Scientas had ever seen. Potentas really liked blowing up supernovas. Thought it was one of the prettiest of sights. Scientas thought it was one of the most boring. "Haha am I not the greatest?" "Yes, yes you are" in the most genuine sounding tone of the world's greatest actor. "Would you ever lie to me?" Potentas asked. "No" lied Scientas. "Well what brings you to bask in my greatness?" "While I know that you are great, even you must have limits. I bet you can't create a carbon based lifeforms." "There's nothing that I cannot do. Though mind reminding me what a carbon based lifeforms is?" Holding back a sigh that could last eternity Scientas started explaining. * * * "That Scientas was so stupid" thought Potentas. They always bet that they couldn't do something and every single time Potentas proved them wrong. "When would they learn?"	2016-10-22T16:52:21	2016-10-22T16:47:27	58	12
[WP]: every human being is born with a birthmark signifying a great deed they are fated do in their lives. Your first child has just been born, with the mark of a murderer across her face	I looked my son in the eye and told him firmly, as I had this day for the last 12 years, “It is not your fault, you didn’t kill her. Anyone who says differently doesn’t understand what happened, now blow out your candles, we’ll visit the grave after cake and presents.”	"She's so pretty. Which one is that?" "Hold on." I took the book of marks from the table where the nurse had left it, flicking through the index. Pale brown, left side of the face, just below the corner of the eye to the edge of the nose in a C shape. Page 233. "It's kind of like that one on your leg." "No - hers is backwards." Wait. No. No, it can't be. "Holy shit." "What?" She looked afraid. "Uh - nothing. I don't know if this edition has it. It's an older one." I set it back on the table, the lamp shining against the damning words on 233. "Could I hold her for a while?" She passed our daughter to me and I cradled her head in my arms. The first and last time. "Where are you going?" I walked out the door without a word. "Michael?" The door snapped shut and I walked through the tears and down the hall, my daughter sleeping snuggled in my arms. The halls were mostly empty, only the few late-night nurses shuffling around between the rooms. The fewer to see, the better. EXIT glowed a sign above the stairwell. Big, heavy firedoor. It was loud. I looked down. No one else on the stairs. The 22nd floor. I held her out. Plenty. No hesitation. I must. The door banged shut again and I went back down the hall. I opened her door without our daughter. She had the book of marks in her hands, open to page 233. "Bastard!" she screamed. "I had to." The tears choked my voice. "You can see what she was." "This is you!" She shoved her finger to the page, pointing at the title MURDER. "Monster!" "No, no, no! I have innovator! The backwards C!" "Bastard! Liar!" She threw the book at me. "Help! Someone help me!" Page 233. I picked up the book. Page 233. 233... "MURDER: Usually light to medium brown, jagged edges. Forms a backwards C." "Liar! Bastard! Monster!"	2014-05-11T02:02:48	2014-05-11T00:05:48	81	14
[WP] A man successfully becomes president but realizes he doesn't want to be president. So, he tries to get himself impeached by doing ridiculous things, but they end up only making his approval rates go up higher.	Catherine Hamilton tapped her fountain pen on the document in front of her. She was the first woman president of the United States, but she now deeply regretted the decision to run for - and win - the seat. There were many reasons why she felt the way she did. Firstly, she'd inherited a broken country, deeply in debt. Part of her campaign platform had been to erase that debt and create more jobs for America - and she had believed she could do it. Blinded by idealism and the fervent belief that she could change things, she had boldly promised these things, staking her very life on her campaign promises. At least that part was true. If she failed, then it probably wasn't worth living anymore. America was on the brink of a collapse not unlike the former USSR and one wrong move by her or the senate could bring the whole thing crumbling down like the worm-eaten edifice it was. She also didn't want to let down all those little girls who aspired to being president one day. Feminists had buoyed her up all along the campaign, claiming what a massive victory it would be for women's rights to have a female president. Truth be told, if she went back in time and told her childhood self what she was going to inherit, she would have told little Catherine Hamilton to study hard and become a doctor or a pilot instead. She scribbled her signature on the document and handed it to her secretary, James. But it didn't matter how many documents she signed, she couldn't solve the unsolvable. With a sudden, nihilistic urge, she announced a public press conference. She had an announcement to make. &nbsp; "...and once all the personal firearms and ammunition of US citizens have been rounded up, the weapons will be recycled into scrap metal and used to build bicycles." The audience was floored. It took a full thirty seconds of shouting before someone finally got through a question. "Madam president, how will you facilitate the recall of every firearm in the United States?" "The US Army will be recalled from all overseas posts and will strip the country state-by-state." The roar of outrage and confusion from the sea of reporters buffeted her at the podium, but she stood firm. If she was going to get herself impeached, she was going to do it in the most foolishly noble way possible. "How will you prevent people from attacking the soldiers trying to take their guns away?" "Any citizen who attacks a US soldier will be committing treason - and will be tried for their crime." She smiled bravely and fielded questions for another half hour before she retired, exhausted. It was only a matter of time before everyone was baying for her blood. &nbsp; It was a year since the 'Disarmament Bill' had been signed and the United States of America were largely gun free. With a massive downturn in gun related deaths, President Hamilton's approval ratings had soared. With massive recycling factories setup to process the billions of firearms, unemployment was at a record low. The 'Hamilton Bicycle' produced from recycled gun parts was a colossal success worldwide - people from all round the world wanted to own one of the historic items, marking the abolition of the Second Amendment. Prices ranged into the millions for first edition models, signed by President Hamilton. The US economy had picked up and the country was well on its way to recovering from the financial dire straits that it had been in when she took the presidency. The problem was, she still hated the job. She simply didn't want to be president, but she couldn't just step down. She owed it to all the young women out there to keep going - at least until she fucked up so spectacularly that she could only be blamed for being too 'radical' and too 'visionary'. If she was going to be impeached, it wouldn't be for money laundering, tax evasion or for Oval Office sex antics. It was time for another announcement. &nbsp; "...thus, all churches will have their tax-free status revoked unless they meet a specific criteria that proves they operate primarily as a non-profit, charitable organisation." She smile benevolently. This would be the final nail in her political coffin. If the outrage at the dismissal of the Second Amendment had been a thunderstorm, then this would be a category five cyclone. She'd done her research; over seventy percent of Americans still considered themselves Christians and regular churchgoers. If this didn't end her career, nothing would. The questions were typical and she'd prepared her answers; no, she wasn't afraid of God's wrath, she was actually an atheist (more horror from the crowd). No, she didn't fear an armed uprising, as there were no guns left (a smug smile slipped through there). And no, she wasn't targeting god-fearing Christians; the law applied to all religious organisations that were tax exempt - including the 'Church' of Scientology. She stepped down from the podium. If the religious right didn't crucify her, then the Scientologists would surely come after her. &nbsp; America was debt free. The tax income from churches alone had finally tipped the balance. Even desolate, poverty-ridden zones like Detroit were seeing economic upturn. Curiously, the majority of Americans had learned to enjoy their new status and President Hamilton was being hailed as one of the greatest in history - with no doubt that she would be voted in for a second term. Which was a problem. She was exhausted. Burnt out. Used up. There was simply nothing left. Wracking her tired brains, she ran through scenarios in her head. What could possibly enrage the American people more than anything else? What single act could simultaneously uphold her radical, liberal stance while getting her kicked out of office? Then it hit her like a freight-train. &nbsp; "...and so I hereby recognise the sovereignty of the British Empire and acknowledge his Majesty, King William, as the rightful ruler of America." The silence was deafening. She'd done it, surely they'd mob the stage and tear her limb-from-limb. Nothing said 'America' like freedom, surely? One reporter shot up her hand and the president nodded. "Madam president, does that mean US citizens can hold royal titles now?" "Yes. If you were to marry into royalty, your title would be recognised on American soil." The reporter made a high-pitched, wordless sound of glee, "Oh my gosh... I can actually become a real princess!" President Hamilton blinked, then stalked off the stage to the excited chattering and squealing of hundreds of women. She should never have underestimated the adaptability - and stupidity - of her fellow Americans.	"How?! How is that even possible, Hanna?" "The publicity team's working at it, mister President. Everything theory we got's still just conjecture." "Are you sure the data's right? I mean, come on, 95% approval from the entire nation sounds a bit too big." "Well, let's go over what you've done this week." "Oooh. Monday, I went campaigning in Texas and told everyone that the Mexicans should be able to freely immigrate. That should've pissed 'em off, right? Handed them shitty tasty tacos just to make sure!" "You do realize that Texas has a pretty high Hispanic population, right? They loved that." "WHAT?!" "Yeah, I mean. Only reason they weren't blue was because those folks don't vote." "Why wasn't I fucking told this?" "We went over this back in July, sir." "Fuck! Okay then, Tuesday... Remind me again what I did? I remember getting my ass drunk in Vegas then blacking out..." "According to CNN News-" "Fuck CNN." "-Apparently, you slapped off a hobo who was sexually harassing some young woman. You then proceeded to break the bottle over your own head, ram into said homeless man, and later proceeded to tear off your suit sleeves and hand it to the girl, screaming 'Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!" in front of ten cameras." "Damn, I thought I was shooting a porno with like, eight hookers. That would've explained the lack of pants in the morning." "Thusday, sir. They were- shit, I mean. That was what you did on Thursday." "What about Wednesday." "You bought out a pornography business with federal funds and set them to work teaching basic sexual education in public schools." "Okay, there is absolutely no freaking way that did not piss people off." "That actually earned you praises from the AMA for teaching kids proper safe sexual conduct. Incredibly enough, the... less-than scrupulous business was extremely well-educated on the topic." "Did I make you go along to watch a lesson or something? Don't remember shit from Wednesday." "Sir, they explained the cheapest ways to acquire contraceptives, the science behind the morning-after pill, and how to properly use a condom... which, if I may note, we've been using wrong for the past six months." "... Well, shi-" "That aside. Friday... Joint session at Congress. Pretty incredible shit you managed to pull." "Please tell me I at least looked like a fucking idiot that day." "You went on and filibustered for eighteen hours sir about repealing LGBT rights, minority rights, human rights... and bringing back slavery to encourage US production." "... Fuck it, what did the public think of that?" "Reds thought you were, and I quoted, 'Jesus reincarnated.' While the Blues laughed it out since they thought you were pulling some satirical nonsense to bring up everyone's spirit during unemployment." "Screw this job. Screw everyone. Screw America. What the hell is wrong with all of those people?" "I'm just the secretary, sir. No need to get upset at me. I'm just delivering the news." "Yeah, yeah. I know... Sorry. Damn me and my likability." "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up. The button... What do you say, sir? No one'll get mad if some nuclear missile just accidentally went off..." "Sure, why not? Mind getting off your knees and pressing it with me?" "Aces, let's go. I've also wanted to see what North Korea would look like as a huge flatland."	2015-07-11T13:14:30	2015-07-11T13:05:21	230	81
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal. Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears. Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...	First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it. "Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'. "Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'. "Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist". "It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.	11:59 PM My family gathered around me, silently waiting. We were all eagerly anticipating the Choosing, a lame name for a cool time. 12:00 PM My mother smiled at me. She grabbed my arm and looked as the word as it appeared. "What is it?" a chorus of family members asked. She frowned. I took my arm back and took one hard look. Nudist.	2017-03-16T03:20:58	2017-03-16T02:03:50	427	71
[WP] You just sent in your DNA to one of those ancestry sites. After eight weeks, you can’t figure out why your results have not shown up. Then, two men with dark suits show up at your front door. They have some news regarding your results.	Dan had been curious about his family history for as long as he could remember. He knew his great grandparents had immigrated to the States, but they had been notoriously silent about their lives before they came. He had guessed from their accents that they had been from Europe, but Dan didn’t even know what region they came from. He wanted to know more about his roots. So, after hearing a friend talk about their own experience with a genetics company called 23andMe, he jumped at the opportunity to try it himself. His friend showed him how the company provided him with an online breakdown of all the places his family had come from, and the different genetics that he had. It was so cool that all this information could be gathered just from the DNA in your mouth. After learning this, Dan ordered a testing kit, swabbed the inside of his cheeks, and sent it off. A couple weeks later, he had all but forgotten about the test. He was sitting on his couch, eating a bowl of cereal with milk, when he heard a loud knock at the door. He hoped he wouldn't have to be up for too long, or else the cereal would get all soggy. Two large men greeted him on the other side. The men wore identical suits, and dark sunglasses obscured their eyes. Dan was a bit scared. Their muscular physique made them seem threatening, and the stone cold looks on their faces didn’t help. Whatever the reason for their arrival, they meant business. “Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” He asked the visitors, eying them nervously. ”Sir we're here about your DNA test that you took with 23andMe eight weeks ago.” The man on the left responded. He was blonde and had his hair buzzed. Hearing this put Dan at ease. He grinned, and felt silly for his earlier concern. “Oh, you guys are with that ancestry company? I was wondering when my results would come back.” This time, it was the man on the right who spoke. He was bald, and presented a badge. ”Actually sir, we’re with the US government. The results of your DNA sample were highly unusual.” After hearing who these men worked for, Dan was stunned. What could possibly make the government visit his house? Was there something wrong with him? He had been feeling a bit off lately, though he had just chalked that up to a cold. He always ended up getting one around this time of year. “Am I sick or something? I remember reading that these tests reveal if you may have certain diseases.” “It’s not that sir. If you would just come with us, we can get everything taken care of.” the blonde man replied. This whole situation was ridiculous. He needed to hear an explanation. Besides, the vagueness of their intentions concerned him “I won’t come with you until you tell me what is wrong with me” Dan demanded, crossing his arms. “The results on your DNA test came back negative.” said the man on the left. Dan became worried, What could he have tested negative for? He nervously tried to search his mind for an explanation. “I know my parents had some genetic problem that they told me runs in the family. Maybe it had to do with that?” He offered. “No sir. The sample you submitted tested negative for DNA. Why don't you come with us?” the bald man said, motioning down the street to a black van that Dan had failed to notice before. That puzzled Dan. Confused, he asked, “what does that mean? Is there something wrong with my DNA then?”. “You do not have any DNA.” the blonde man responded curtly, grabbing one of Dan’s arms. His grip was firm. “How is that possible? What can that even mean?” Dan begged, squirming and trying to stay where he was. He fought back, determined to not go with these men. He couldn’t be taken off to some government facility. What would his life be like? ”Just come with us and everything will be okay.” The other agent responded, grabbing him firmly and assisting the first man. Together the two agents started escorting him to the van parked down the street. They were too strong. There was no chance of escaping their combined grip. Dan had been taken to about the edge of his yard when he was struck with a realization. “Wait!” He shouted “Doesn't that mean I just failed to actually collect any DNA when I swabbed my mouth? I feel like that is bound to happen sometimes.” “No, we made sure to check for that before coming here” The blonde man assured Dan, continuing to drag him. The other agent stopped in his tracks, and his face whitened as if he had suddenly realized something. “actually....” he mumbled, “I may have forgotten to check on that”. He grinned sheepishly. The other agent whipped around to face him. “Damn it Chris! I specifically remember you telling me that you would handle that. How could you not check? The other man threw his hands up defensively. “The Olympics were on and I guess I got distracted. You know how much I love figure-skating. My bad, Craig.” The other agent shook his head and muttered to himself. He let go of Dan, and produced a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket which he spoke into. “This is delta-foxtrot-charlie” He said, pressing the button down. \\crzzk\\“Copy that”\\crzzk\\ A voice on the other side replied. “call off Operation Flyswatter. we got a false lead” \\crzzk\\“Roger that”\\crzzk\\ He then stuffed the device back into his pocket “Operation Flyswatter???” Dan cried, bewildered. He did not like the sound of that one bit. “What exactly were you guys going to do with me?” The two agents brushed Dan off, and the bald agent started heading to the car. “We are sorry about this sir. We will deny this if you ever tell anyone, but here is a government reimbursement for this inconvenience.” the other agent said, ignoring his questions and handing Dan a small slip of paper. Dan grabbed the slip from him, and analyzed it silently. The blonde man rejoined his colleague in the van, and they drove off. Dan stood on his lawn, alone with his thoughts and a coupon for half-off a medium cone at Baskin Robbins.	“Kelly Hsu?” the older one asks. “Yes?” My heartbeat barges into my ears; I don’t like strangers knowing my name, especially not ones in dark suits looming in my doorframe. “Tim Dietermann: Frampton, Dietermann & White.” He extends a little white card to me that repeats what he just said, plus “Esq.” and some phone numbers. “My associate, Govind Ashtikar.” Tim gestures, and Govind opens an attaché case and hands Tim a pale blue envelope. Tim hands the envelope to me. Strange. The outside of the envelope gives me no indication of its contents; it feels soft and sturdy, like money. Before I can open it, Govind removes a clipboard from his case, and hands it to Tim. Tim hands it to me. “Please sign to acknowledge receipt.” I try to read the paper clipped to the board, but the small print and large words defy skimming. “It just says that we gave you the envelope,” Govind says, softer in voice than Tim. He smiles. Tim hasn’t so much as blinked, but irritation radiates off him. “Please sign to acknowledge receipt,” he repeats. Govind gives me an encouraging smile, and I do see “acknowledge receipt” on the paper. Okay, I guess... I sign on the X. Tim plucks the clipboard and pen from me and hands them to Govind, who returns them to his case. “Ms. Hsu, Dambala Ventures, LLC, the parent company of Dambala Laboratories Incorporated, has retained my firm to defend its interests in U.S. Patent 14,524,404, which I will call the ‘404 patent.’” I’ve never heard of Dambala anything, and I don’t know patents from patent leather. I say so, far less cleverly: “What?” “My client recently learned that a saliva sample putatively taken from your body contains DNA that infringes on the 404 patent.” My DNA what now? “Did you recently submit a saliva sample for DNA analysis?” “Uh, yeah. But— to find out more about my mom’s side. Like, are we Vikings or whatever.” “Your recreational interest in your genetics bears no relevance on my client’s claim.” I hardly parse Tim’s words before he launches into a well-rehearsed speech. “The envelope in your hands contains a pre-suit subpoena, authorized under Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 27 and signed by Judge Christopher Barkley-Hughes of the Southern District of Vermont. This subpoena compels you to immediately produce 2.5 milliliters of your blood to confirm patent infringement.” I draw my hands to my chest instinctively, still clutching the envelope. “Failure to comply with this lawfully ordered subpoena may result in confinement in contempt of court.” I look to Govinder for help. He smiles sadly. “Please present your preferred arm to my associate for phlebotomy.” I find my voice, finally, squeaky with panic: “Wait! Wait, I haven’t even read the... the subpoena yet.” “Then read it now.” My hands shake as I fumble with the envelope flap. I tear too hard and the contents jostle free, fluttering to my floor in disarray. Neither man moves to help me. Tears spring to my eyes. “Can’t I... can I get my own lawyer?” “Certainly. Can your attorney join us within the next—“ Tim checks his watch. “—fifty-six minutes?” “I— I don’t know any attorneys.” “Subsection 113.11bb of the Revised Patent Act authorizes the imposition of opposing party fees and expenses incurred as a result of delayed compliance with a lawful subpoena.” I can’t even begin to understand that. “It means you’ll have to pay us to come back,” Govinder translates. Tim bristles harder, somehow. Chastised, Govinder adds “...and you should know he charges $900 an hour.” If he means to give me some hope, he clearly hasn’t looked around my crummy apartment. I can’t afford that. ...I probably can’t even afford my own lawyer. Shit. “Isn’t there anything else I can do?” I beg Govinder. Govinder looks at Tim. “Well...” Tim glares. Aha! “Please, please...” I lock eyes with Govinder. He licks his lips. “Dambala authorized us to sell a limited number of licenses to the 404 patent. $55 per month, direct deposit only.” My budget flashes before my eyes. “I... yes. I want that.” Govinder withdraws more paper from his case, this time an easy-to-read form, as Tim scoffs and leans against my doorframe. I write a check for the first installment and authorize indefinite automatic transfers. The lawyers leave. All the tension keeping my body upright goes too, and I slide down the door in relief. Then I hear Tim say, in a much lighter tone: “Okay, can you be the bad guy next time?” “She thought she was descended from Vikings,” someone snorts. Surely not Govinder? Never opening my fucking door again.	2020-07-19T14:03:37	2020-07-19T10:51:09	32	16
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here.	The problem wasn't that the humans were there. The problem was that their myriad of cultures had developed forth and sent everyone of their champions with them. While, say, The Tarsary, who were known for exemplification in the culinary arts, and a diverse selection of pan flutes, programming, and general dance would send a handful of their best athletes, The humans took on a completely different, and altogether more annoying tactic. For every single olympic event, they sent at least one person. While Humanity was from a far flung corner of the universe that didn't interact much with others, (not from lack of trying, but simply intergalactic positioning made their trade mostly insular, with their nearest partners being uplifted races of their own creation) it was during the olympics that they put on display everything a human could do. And it wasn't that humans were even that good at the obscure sport of Carnellis, where people slung deactivated land mines across the surface of pools of lime-water, with the intention of knocking other floating land mines away from the center of the pool, (based, of course, on the legendary toss made by Lord Tynellis, whose brave action during the battle of Trennori saved his father's vessel from being breached by separatists.) nor was it that humans were particularly good at most of the games on display. It was simply sheer force of will. Every human that arrived was in the peak of condition for the sport. And it wasn't even that they were rude about it either. This is the height of human culture; in the large macroscopic view of the galaxy, they weren't exceptional at almost anything they tried. The galactic standard, in their bizarre way. The Jovi were the masters of culinary craft, but the human chefs would manage at least a bronze almost every time, putting together some bastardized version of the best cuisine in the galaxy, haphazardly assembling things in a manner that pleased even the segmented eyes of the judges, clicking their pedipalps against one another in preparation. But what was exceptional was that despite never, in the history of their attendance, sweeping the golds, or the platinums, or even the electrium metals, the humans never give up. So it was that every year the humans arrived, there was only one winner for most total medals earned per species; Humanity. All brass, bronze, copper, and a few other lesser medals, but every year, they beat everyone else out in sheer volume of competition. Then they throw the best damn parties in the universe. The Olympic authority would like to remind you that the Peace Office will be checking IDs at the door this year, so if you would all please not set the city on fire this time.... And don't take the humans up on their own sports. Satellite Jousting is not as big of a joke as they would have you believe. Thank you for tuning into Your Astral Olympic Channel. We welcome you to tell us what you think with your tablets about our experimental history segment. And now, for the games! ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more tiny bits like this. Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8fmtoo/space_olympics_2_there_will_be_jousting/ okay so someone wanted more of this have some space jousting	In space, no one can hear you scream. Which, for the better part of the history of the universe had been true. Sound waves just aren't a thing in space. There's no air. No air, no sound. It's science. Well, we could all hear them now. No idea how. No idea why. But it was happening. The entire sector was ablaze with the insidious ear disease they call rock. BOOM BOOM CLAP. BOOM BOOM CLAP. But that was the thing about humans, they tended to...do things. Often these things didn't make any sense and seemed to be for the sole purpose of making themselves known throughout reality as "those guys." For example, when everyone else was chipping in their best and brightest to create the Faster than Light Network, the humans backed out at the last minute only to reappear with the Much Faster than Light Network™, complete with deep space Starbucks™ at every pit stop. They had every right to build their own network if they wanted, but the FTLN was meant to be an intergalactic peace offering, a thing to pull species of all creeds and types together. But that just wasn't the way they did things, the humans. Imperator Qe'ler Bur scowled as the sound waves rolled over his ship, jarring his sensory membranes.. "Optics, pull up a visual." Immediately a giant picture of the human fleet appears, filling the view screen of the bridge. Oh for the love of the of the eight moons of Qe'ler. They'd crossed the line this time. The lead ship wasn't painted the sensible space camouflage all races had long since adopted. Instead it was a glaring white with a huge picture of a Qe'ler being...impaled by some sort of appendage of what looked to be a male human. Written beneath in both Qe'ler and English were the words, "Qe'ler Sucks." This was not in the spirit of intergalactic sportsmanship. "Comms, open a channel." "This is Imperator Qe'ler Bur, demanding a channel with the Admiral of the human fleet." Great, his flaps were all flapping. Dealing with these creatures was infuriating. The picture of the spaceship was replaced by an elderly man who sported a uniform with row upon row of medals. Undoubtedly a veteran of the Qe'ler/Human Troubles. Beneath the medals was a pin styled similarly to the exterior of his ship. His infernal music blared in the background. Qe'ler Bur forced his flippers to settle before transmitting his own visuals back. Immediately the eyes of the Admiral lit up, "Well if isn't the Bur\-meister. How are those flaps doing ya?" Informal, crass and aggressive. Diplomacy human style. "Salutations Admiral, I ask that you cease projecting those, sounds and change the exterior of your ship. Both are against the spirit of these games?" "Oh, you noticed that did you? Got it especially for you." "Given that it shows Qe'ler we assumed that was to be the case." A smug smile spreads across his face. "Gotta say my little Bur\-buddy, we are going to stick it in twice as deep as we did during the Troubles." The humans had responded to a small border misunderstanding by raiding and annexing half of Qe'ler's known space. Then they had forced the Qe'ler to sign a McDonald™'s franchise agreement to stop them from taking the other half. Half of Qe'ler was obese now, swollen from sawdust milkshakes. Needless to say, it was a sore spot among the Qe'ler. These games were viewed as a chance to restore some of their dignity in the universe. It seemed like the humans were quite interested in preventing this. "Hey, lemme show you something Bur." A moment later a human walked into the frame, all of a sudden flaps burst out of its back, waving about. "Check it out, we bio\-engineered a new subspecies so we could pound you guys in the flap races." He starts giggling. "Cut the channel." The view screen goes black. "Arm the phase photons, Qe'ler shall be avenged." BOOM BOOM CLAP. \-\-\- Platypus out. Want more peril? r/PerilousPlatypus	2018-04-28T08:32:47	2018-04-28T08:32:32	5,018	735
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess".	“I would slay this fiend for thee and gain your hand in marriage.” The knight said excitedly. Ugh no thanks why is it always marriage with these virgin losers “Oh you’re so gallant Sir knight. It’s terrible what the dragon makes me do.” I gracefully faint playing my role properly. I hate this part to be honest. Playing defensless just to stroke these fragil losers’ egos. Can’t they pick a woman who can kill a dragon by herself? Why do they need to be the man to save the day. He let out a scream as he charged my friend, Narith, the silver dragon. Well playing the damsel in distress was all worth it for this part-- the epic battle. The nameless knight ducked under a plume of fire as he rolled up his short sword and shield at the ready. The dragon clawed at his shield rending it to bits, and the knight gracefully stabbed the dragons forearm in response. Narith let out of shriek of pain and flapped his mighty wings knocking the knight off of his feet. The knight groaned as he tried to crawl away, but Narith was too fast. Narith leaped forward grasping the opportunity to pin the knight under his massive bodyweight. I surreptitiously snacked on meat pastry while watching enraptured. This knight was better than many before him, but it made no difference. Narith shifted his weight and the knight let out a shriek of agony.. Desperate he pulled out a dagger and began jamming it into the massive dragonclaw. Fluids and goop leaked everywhere as the dragon roared in rage, finally tightening his grip. The knight’s face was ruined by an explosion of blood coming out from his mouth as I could clearly hear the bones cracking. I finished off my meat pastry, and walked over to Narith. “Thanks buddy. Real bore that one.” Narith nodded and wrred. I reached up to his leg and opened the silver access panel inspecting the damage. Not bad, only need to replace the fluid actuator lines, some tubing and replace the metal armor on his claw. I can probably do that in a day, long before the next loser shows up.	He comes forward, all clanking and shining steel. In a defensive manner, he holds a shield before him, though I can see him tremble with each step he takes. Sometimes they come in all charging and bloody zeal. Other times they try some clever trap, or personal appeal to my own safety. There's nowhere safer than here I say. Here, in this cave, there's glittering quartz and cool pools to drink from. No knights with lances at full tilt, charging into a horde of disorganized peasant boys and cutting them to pieces, then cheering and trampling the corpses like they've won some great victory. No cunning viziers or intricate byzantine plots that require you to measure every word heard in court more carefully than the last. No whining sycophants or beggar kings, asking for more soldiers and wealth to expand already great demesne. No great stone castle that seems to always be dark and dank and grim, with neither enough light nor enough warmth. In here, it's just me and my dragon. Here, it's just us ladies. No grimy, sweaty men eyeing you with those detached leery grins. No political matches or courtly intrigue or bickering courtesans trying to bed the Lord or Lady who happens to grant them the most advantageous position. No pretentious princes or swaggering bards, all intent on bringing you to some quiet alcove and wooing you to prove they can conquer even royalty. Is it too much to be asked, to simply be left alone? The idiot came alone, though men like to do that when proving that their valor must equal their stupidity. I wonder how many callers today? Cornflower rises from her resting position, her haunches heavily muscled. They don't see her the way I do. How mother had. I can still remember when I was much younger, during the time no one seemed to mind the scrapes and mud on a little girl's legs that we'd go flying. Mother would point to the towns and castles we'd pass, giving names to things that resembled toys more than holdfasts. A few dashes forward, and Cornflower extends her wings before flapping them a few times. A warning gust. If the boy knows what's good for him, he'll back away now. But they never do. Never seem to teach giving up in the castle yards. Though the gusts knock the knight on his back, making him look for one moment almost like a turtle flipped to its side, he brings himself to his feet again. Still he advances. Do I tell him to go back? I could try, but it never works. Cornflower's body is covered not in scales, but long and luminous blue feathers. Harder than steel, it's like a rippling of gems and light running all across her spine, and the mouth opens in a savage warning. Smart girl, Cornflower. Kind girl, Cornflower. We understand one another. Leave us alone, please. We don't want to go home. A sword, silver and brilliant, holds aloft. Daring challenge, and wonderfully brave I'd say, if anyone else was here to see or care. Instead it's simple foolishness. Cornflower dashes forward, far faster than you'd expect a beast of her size to move. With a great curved claw, she means to swipe him back, injure him. Ward him away. Instead the claw cleaves through plate and ringmail beneath. A sudden squelch, moaning cry, and the hiss of hot blood on cold stone. Another body to throw out the entrance, it would seem. No other callers today, it'd seem. When I take the body past the cavern and into the sunlight, there's no line. No war tents or pavilions with banners waving in the sunlight. "Good day, ma'am." The voice comes from behind the trees, and a tall, slender gentleman with raven black hair and broad shoulders steps forward. He's clad entirely in crimson leather, with a lovely sword at one side. Full white teeth, wide, disarming smile. "I've been told there's a princess and a dragon here. Am I correct?" "That you are. Here to slay her?" I can hear the venom in my voice, but I can't help it. Better to ward them off, and half the time no doesn't seem to mean no to them. "Excellent," he says. Coming forward, he makes his way up the steep path to the cavern entrance. "Shall we enter?" His voice is jovial, almost conversational. Kind, I think. He's got a kind face. A joking man, the kind that tells the best stories at either brothels or taverns. Not bad looking either, I'd say. Without so much as addressing me, he moves forward into the cavern, footsteps echoing into the dark. As you enter the main chamber, a dim blue light emanates from mushrooms growing haphazardly in the upper corners of the cavern, bathing everything in a somber light. Cornflower rises again, though the jaw drops immediately in a threatening gesture. Please don't roast both of us, girl. I'm not in my usual vantage point. He stops close to wear the knight died, and leans down, sliding a finger into the goop below. Tutting his mouth, he tastes the blood, smacking his lips a few times. "Man died here what, an hour ago? Two?" It's the casual tone of a professional, and I don't like it. "If you're here for me," I say, "I'm not interested in going anywhere." "Good." The word is flat and blunt, uncaring and dismissive. It's almost like I'm not here. "I came here for her." He walks forward, keeping a great distance between himself and Cornflower. From a pack on his back, he withdraws a boxish item. A long wooden handle extends. Strings on it. A lyre? No. Something else. He plucks away at a soft melody, and watches Cornflower. No song, no words. Only soft music. Cornflower sits, entranced. Watching intently, listening with great curiosity. Even her head seems to sway back and forth. When he finishes, he steps closer. "She's beautiful," he says. His voice seems deeper. Darker. Heavier. "But she's trapped in there. Don't worry. I can help. I used to be like you." Does he have a tail? His back lurches in a horrifying manner, sending him on all fours. He's growing, changing, becoming something huge and monstrous, I think. But then I see the haunches. The crimson feathers. The rippling metallic glow and the great yellow eyes. Another dragon, nearly twice Cornflower's size, approaches her slowly. They sniff each other like dogs, hulking beasts that inspect each other without malice. Curiosity, I'd say. The crimson dragon begins to walk towards the entrance, his tail swishing back and forth. Cornflower follows slowly at first, then looks to me. What do you want, pretty lady? To follow the man? Her eyes are pleading, her jaw opening and closing nervously. She wants to go. She wants to follow. Very well. He came for his princess, I would say. Though it must not be me. "Be back by midnight, young lady," I say, imitating those authoritarian voices that boomed down on me as a girl. They pad away, and with wings almost joined, they burst into the sky, circling each other in flight. I wonder where they're going?" I think to myself, before returning into the cavern. A part of me knows, though. That bonded pact of lifeblood, where wings and claws extend to flesh and blood. There's a lost place, a soft place, far and away from here. Cornflower's becoming difficult to see, masked by the blueness of the sky, though the Crimson beast circles by her. Where are they going? In an instant they shoot away, going to some ancient place that resides among moss and graveyards, the kind of place where people once lived and loved and fought but did so no more. Perhaps there he'd teach her to be something else, less conspicuous, I'd say. Maybe he'll convince her to stay with him. Or perhaps they'll come for me. The sun warms my face before I return to the cavern, prepared to wait. She'll come back for me, I think to myself. She has to. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato	2019-01-09T06:40:51	2019-01-09T06:33:48	1,597	159
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him.	Dear Mom, I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease. There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy. Love, your son	My dearest love, I long to see the smile that graces you lips. It has been well over seven months since I have and my heart aches for that one simple gesture that would welcome me home. Everywhere around me death grins and I recoil from its affection. Tommy, the boy from the Mason’s farm, felt its sweet kiss two days ago. Give his family my regards, his death was quick there are few remains and his family will only have a small box inside a coffin to bury. The weather is clear and we are pushing forward today. The sun shines just like that day when we had our first child and I was racing you to the hospital. It’s hard to believe little Johnny will be 3 years old next month. Thank you for your last letter of showing how big he has grown, I have tucked it into my bible and hold it close to my chest at night. We are moving up now, we have a bridge to take. I will finish this tonight. My lady, Your husband is a brave man and I’m sorry that I have had to kill him. He took out two machine gun nests by himself before I put a round through his head. His death was quick and painless. I’m sorry I had to take him from you. God I am so sorry, I’m sorry this war is happening and I’m sorry for every man I have killed. Please, please pray for me For these awful things that got to be When this war for freedom has been won I promise you I’ll put away my gun. The man that can barely live with himself	2015-02-03T13:25:34	2015-02-03T13:20:11	67	14
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying.	I wiped a tear from my eye as she walked down the aisle. My beautiful baby girl, all grown up!! I watched her step up next to the man she loved. He took her hand and they turned towards the adoring crowd. He gave his speech. Everything my little girl had done! It seemed like a fairytale, coming out of his mouth. I watched with bated breath, as the ring slipped onto my little girl. Around her neck. What a cruel twist of fate, for your boyfriend to be the hangman.	He knelt down beside her on the cold grass of the graveyard. She had tripped and almost fallen straight onto a headstone, something that would most likely have given her a major injury. "You didnt hurt yourself, did you?" He looked her over, checking for any scratches or cuts. "I dont think so, but thank you, im ok. I'm just too clumsy for my own good." She smiled, and she smiled at him. He helped her to her feet and they walked, her still recovering from the fall and him feeling the need to help her along. "So why are you out here so late? Were you visiting someone?" She shook her head, "Yes, but sometimes i just come out here to think." She put her head down, and went quiet. He patted her on the back, "Me too, it really puts into perspective all the lives that were lived and lost. Each dying in some different way." She smiled, looking up at him, "Death does have a creative way of making us go. Old age, sickness, accidents..." she trailed off, looking into the distance. "I know what you mean, I..." he spoke, looking down at her face, smiling hoping she wouldn't notice. He continued to follow her, not watching his surroundings, and tripped, landing headfirst onto a headstone. She turned back to look down at him her eyes dark, smiling, draping her long black shawl over her shoulders, "Or perhaps they were too clumsy for their own good." (Not the best, i guess kind of cheesy, but i thought it sounded a little scary.)	2017-05-31T07:11:19	2017-05-31T05:30:06	1,143	50
[WP] An undercover police officer has managed to infiltrate a particularly ruthless street gang. It begins to become apparent that every other member of this gang is an undercover operative of another agency.	"EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND!!!" "Who the hell is this bunch" I thought? Seriously, how many SWAT teams have just punched into this warehouse? Did any team commander at any point wonder about all the police vehicles out front? Or the back? Or the sides? How about the 4 fucking police helicopters and 1 EC-130 orbiting above?? And how were there any windows left for these fuckers to break and rappel through?? Inside we're all standing there, the nefarious I-88 MC Club, guns pointing at each other. All screaming we're the such and such agency! "DROP YOUR WEAPONS!" "NO! YOU DROP YOUR WEAPONS!!" "SHOW ME YOUR HANDS, MUTHA FUCKER!" My bad, really. I decided to pull the trigger, so to speak and authorized the raid. See, I'm ATF. But apparently so is that guy over there, but from another office. Next to him is a sheriff deputy. Those guys? Super troopers. The little knot in the corner? Regional Drug Task Force. US Marshals. FBI. Joint Commission on Terrorism. Homeland Security. The Coast Guard. So on and so on. Somehow, we all had decided the warehouse was where the takedown would occur. Our own little agencies, each came to the same conclusion. Each made a plan and held it close to the chest for "Security purposes". Would we have even said something if another agency announced during a fusion center meeting what they were planning? Incredible. Somehow we all did this. We infiltrated this motorcycle gang and steered it from simple drug and gun running for beer money into a nightmare. Each into our own little world. Our own little area of responsibility. Our own "specialty". I should have seen it but I thought I was on the Big One when we started bringing in military grade weapons. That was huge. But that was the work of the NCIS boys hoping to nap some middle eastern terror connections. Selling to wanna be terrorists? Probably what got FBI all got and bothered. But they decided to take it up a notch. Ever heard of Bio weapons? What the hell? Sophisticated encryption units to the highest bidder. Sure, why not. But by then I was in too deep, or so I thought. We all were. We spent a lot of money. Careers were in the line. And the buyers? There were always buyers. And money was never an issue. A red flag really. Looking back I should have realized we were agents selling to agents.... And now this raid. Hundreds upon hundreds of agents and officers in varying tactical wear. All their agencies listed in an alphabet soup tacked on patches. All working independently, but demanding they were in charge, this was their scene. Just listening to all the different negotiating teams trying to get us all to surrender is enough to make you crazy. But the weird part? As I stared at all the faces with guns I realized the original members quit coming months ago....	Joe the Reloader, Heartbreak Ray, and Sweet Tooth Bluth were in the Uber already when it picked me up. Two words: family plan. I doubt ours is the sort of family Uber had in mind when they came up with their system... But Jesus has it been a great tool for us. Who'da'thunk it? An app strictly for delivering getaway drivers and potential hostages. Crime has never been easier for the Romero Family. Trouble is: the Romero Family never actually existed. Some paperwork got jumbled around, unfortunately, and what looked like a trap house (but was actually the location of a honeytrap) became the target of an infiltration campaign, which was successful only in being executed with the permission of a judge. Soon enough, every agency sent a mole digging its way into our group, so that now not a single branch of government can ever claim the moral high ground. It's like that old saying about tearing boats apart, except in reverse. At what point did the Romero Family become more real and less fiction?	2017-07-24T13:07:18	2017-07-24T12:10:47	39	17
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again.	Well, it had been one of those exorcisms again. On the whole, this whole business wasn't too bad for Reverend Clarkson. Sure, he'd get called in, have to do a couple of Hail Mary's, maybe get cursed out and spat on, but it was all doable. Plus, it was a nice supplement to the donations. But McKenzie just had to be one of those girls, didn't she? In theory, he was proud. He'd always been a great lover of the arts and he did enjoy his daughter's flair for the dramatic... Again, in theory. He entered his house and put his cross down on the bowl, his collar along with it. He considered showering but decided the mess would probably make for a better effect. He climbed up the stairs and walked to the end of the hall, knocking gently on the pink door, which had had the words "Keep Out!" clumsily spray-painted on it in black. "Mac?" said Reverend Clarkson. "Go away!" answered the voice from inside. "I can't very well do that, can I? I think we need to talk about what happened today." "I know what happened today, dad." Her voice had a twinge of annoyance, the kind Nergalth used to have, and Reverend Clarkson couldn't help but smile at how much like her mother Mac was. "We don't have to go over it again" "I'm coming in, dear." He opened the door and walked into his daughter's room. It'd been a while since he'd entered it, and while the changes were small, they were still noticeable. The walls were still pink and white, a lot of the same posters were still up, the bed was still the same. It was just little things. Generous dosages of black paint all over the dresser and the desk, a few upside crosses and the giant, dripping red pentagram drawn above her bed. Mac was sitting on her bed, legs stretched out, her arms folded in front of her and her hoodie up, strands of black hair with red tips sticking out. He fiddled with his glasses a bit as he looked at the pentagram. "I hope that's not goat blood, young lady." Mac scoffed. "Of course it isn't dad, it's paint! Where do you think I could even get a goat? Can't exactly go to the butcher and ask him for a live goat, can I?" Her father looked at her sternly and she sighed. "Can we talk about what happened today?" her father said, with that tone that only fathers can muster. "There isn't anything to tell." Mac mumbled. "I wanted to try a new thing and I tried it..." "Yes, you did, and it had results, didn't it?" he gestured to the giant stain on the front of his robes. "You try walking home with a giant vomit stain on your priestly robes. I got my fair share of funny looks, let me tell you, young lady." "It's just I finally got the vomit trick to really work, I really, really did and I wanted to know if I could work it while doing the head spinning and I almost did and-" Mac had really picked up some steam, even gesticulating a bit, but she stopped and folded her arms in front of her again. "Whatever, it's dumb, I know, I'm sorry, I'll help pay for Mrs. Kanoodle's cleaning bill." John Clarkson looked at his daughter. She was so much like her mother, he wanted to smile. He sighed. "You mind if I sit down?" Mac shrugged. "Long as you don't get vomit on the bed." She scooted aside and he sat against the headboard, next to her. "You remind me of your mother so much," he began. Mac shrugged again. "You always say that." "That's because it's always true. Especially with your more artistic side. Your mother was a real... devil with it!" John looked at her daughter with a big grin, beaming with pride, and she couldn't help but crack a tiny smile at it, before trying really, really hard to make it into a frown again. "I still remember that trick she had where she could pull off her head and then make it into three heads and juggle them. It was very impressive." "I wish she could've taught me that..." Mac said quietly. "Ah." Her father answered, nodding slowly to himself. "So that's what it is." "It's just... I feel a lot closer to her when I do the possessions... and she taught me a little bit about it before she..." the words were stuck on her throat. "So, I like playing with it and trying to see what I can make and how I can vary the routine. Like she used to tell me about." John put his arm around her daughter. "Oh... I came here to scold you about making a mess, but I don't think I can. In your own way, you're just trying to feel closer to her." He looked Mac straight in the eyes and moved a strand of hair off her face, moving it back to place. "I'm sure she'd be very proud of how fast you're learning." Mac felt the tears bubbling at her eyes and her dad wiped them away, each tear sizzling on his thumb. "See, your tears have even started to burn. You're growing up to be a proper demon, young lady." Mac smiled at her dad and rested her head on his shoulder, her expression melancholic. "I just miss her so much." Her dad leaned his head against her. "You and me both, Mac. You and me both. I still remember when I met her... I was so nervous about my first exorcism, I ended up singing songs to keep me calm. I think she joined me at around Dead Kennedys. She was so wonderful... Did you know, she started possessing people around town, just so I'd show up? And whenever it was another priest, she'd leave the body, unprompted." Mac giggled and then sighed. "Why did she have to die, dad?" "It happens to the best of us, Mac. She used up a lot of favors to even get a human body and the agreement was always ten years. It's not great, but we'll both see her in hell one day, don't you worry." "I know, but... It still seems unfair." "A lot of deals like this are. But we ended up getting you because of that deal, so I don't think she'd change anything about it." They stayed there for a bit until Mac finally said "Dad... Can I ask you two things?" "Sure, sweetie." "First, can we go do something? Just the two of us? Watch a movie or something? Maybe you can tell me more about mom..." John smiled. "I'd be more than happy, Mac." She smiled back. "Thanks." "And the second thing?" "Please go take a shower." "Ha!" John laughed and got up quickly, already thinking about what movie and story he'd pick, but before he left, he turned back around to say one final thing. "I'm very proud of you, MacKenzie. Your mother is too, don't you worry, but... I'm proud of you. More proud than even you know." His daughter smiled back, and he closed the door.	The door to Father Luke’s small suburban home creaked open slowly. “Hailey?” His timid voice disappeared into the darkness. He crept down the hall toward the dim glow seeping through the cracks of his daughter’s room. Taking a deep breath, he gently pushed the door open to see Hailey sitting at the edge of her bed staring at the floor, her eyes drifting upward through a furrowed brow to meet her father’s as he entered. “What. The fuck.” “Language, Hailey” he whispered back. “Oh come on Luke! Three and a half years of fucking demonhood and you really think I’m going to suddenly decide to stop cursing?” Anger and frustration swelled up in Luke. “THE GIRL YOU WERE BEFORE-” He stopped dead, startled by the volume of his own voice. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and began again. “The girl you were before was more respectful. She had tact. She called me ‘dad’ instead of Luke.” He opened up his eyes and stared into the now unfamiliar eyes of his daughter. “I pray every day that girl is still in there somewhere.” Hailey scoffed. “Isn’t it prayer that got us here in the first place?” “What you were doing was not prayer!” barked Luke, the frustration starting to bubble back up to the surface. “It was some occult ritual that you had no business being a part of!” They locked eyes again, but didn’t speak. In the long silence, Hailey studied her father’s face. She had gotten particularly good at reading him. As much distance as the past three and a half years had put between them, she was able to feel what he was feeling stronger than ever. It was almost some sort of psychic link. Whether it was a by-product of her demonhood, she wasn’t sure. But as she stared at him, she was sure of one thing: his anger was less present tonight. Part of it was the routine of this process, facing down exorcism after exorcism, trying to reconcile the feelings of his faith and his moral duty with bringing harm to his own daughter. But it wasn’t just weariness. The anger was replaced each time by a profound sense of sadness, helplessness. Now Hailey’s eyes closed as she felt a part of herself she hadn’t felt in some time, and her voice penetrated the silence. “I never meant for this to happen. That ritual, that occult shit? We didn’t know what we were doing. We were just playing around.” She opened her eyes again to look at her father. “I’m still me, dad.”	2020-10-20T12:20:56	2020-10-20T11:52:07	24	16
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole.	Looks like I got a little carried away with this prompt so I have to break it up into two pieces. Piece 1) The discovery of The Hole was an accident. Researchers at Mount St. Helens had quite literally stumbled upon it during an investigation of reported seismic activity at mountain’s base in the midsummer of 2000. A small crack had appeared in the middle of the forest at the start of the activity, unbeknownst to anyone or anything save the squirrel that had fallen out of its nest and scurried away when a sudden crack of the earth beneath it rang out in the air. It continued to go unnoticed for a week – maybe two – until it had lengthened into a sizable fissure that one of the scientists caught his toe in, stumbled, and fell face first into the ground after leaving his tent to relieve himself at 3:57 AM. It was quite the rude awakening, considering his nose was broken in the fall. And that is how The Hole later got its name, Tripp’s Awakening. Dr. Nathaniel Tripp not only broke his nose that night, but he also made one of the most perplexing discoveries in human history. So it only seemed fair that it be named after him too. Soon after Dr. Tripp discovered the fissure, it became apparent that the ground beneath was becoming quite fragile. With each shudder and shake recorded at the base of the volcano, the earthen crust appeared to become thinner and thinner. The fissure spiderwebbed out. And soon, a small hole appeared in the center. Then it grew, quicker and quicker, until it was approximately 50 meters in diameter. At this point, seismic activity dipped and the investigative interests of the assembled team turned to determining what The Hole was and how deep it went. It quickly became a popular site for daredevils, the suicidal, and tourists. Kids threw rocks into Tripp’s Awakening, waiting to hear it clatter to the ground. But it never did. Climbers repelled into its mouth, trying to see the bottom, anything. They always ran out of climbing rope before getting anywhere near the bottom, which resulted in a long climb out of The Hole. Scientists traveled from across the globe to run a milieu of tests, but they always came up with inconclusive results. Tripp’s Awakening was not giving up its secrets easily. Over time, the interest waned. The leading theories either wrote it off as an extraordinarily deep natural well or the remnants of some cave system that was in place millions of years before. None of the answers were satisfactory for Em Whipple, who had first heard about Tripp’s Awakening when she was 10. Now, 18 years later, she stood gazing deep into The Hole. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, muscles tensing, hair whipping against her face in the wind. She had trained herself for this for the past 18 years. The discovery of The Hole had sparked a fascination in the formation of rocks, tectonic plates, seismology. She began writing to Dr. Tripp as a small child. They quickly grew close through correspondence and Em often thought of him as a father figure in her life. She attended the University of Washington, where Dr. Tripp taught and researched. She worked in his lab all throughout her undergraduate and PhD program, learned how to boulder and climb, and grew stronger in both her physical and mental capacities. Her dream, since the midsummer day in 2000 had been to get to the bottom of The Hole. Today was the first day that a substantial effort was being made to understand Tripp’s Awakening. Beside Em stood a large spool with several kilometers of cable wound tightly around it. Across The Hole was another large spool. Both had lines that she would attach to her harness when it was time to descend. News crews were set up around the perimeter of The Hole, along with a crowd of onlookers. Em gave them a small smile and wave before strapping on the last of her climbing equipment. Their chatter and cheers echoed dimly in The Hole below. She turned to face Dr. Nathaniel Tripp, who was sitting in a camp chair with a cluster of other scientists at his back. They were fine tuning the equipment and making their tents cozy for the long wait. She spotted Arlene handing out thermos after thermos of coffee with splashes of creamer that looked more like whiskey than creamer at this point. There was an electric buzz in the air as the crossroads of mystery and discovery quickly approached. The furthest human descent at this point was 15 km, which had only taken a few hours to get down, and several days to get out. She would be the first to get to the bottom, or, at the very least, lay claim to the furthest descent in Tripp’s Awakening. She looked over at Dr. Tripp, smiling anxiously. Dr. Tripp, sensing she was nervous, stood and approached her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “Dr. Whipple,” he said, “you’re a rock-star.” They both smiled at the exchange. The team came to wish her well with hugs and a quick sip of spiked coffee. Em said a few words for the news crews and the crowds, and then began the descent. The walls were steep, but had many grooves and notches in which Em could take a rest. She imagined the creak of the large spools above as both dispensed cable in a smooth deluge. Every now and then, the long-distance radio at her hip crackled to update her on how far she had gone. It wasn’t long before it became quite dark. Em snapped on her headlamp and paused, looking around the large expanse of The Hole. She checked to make sure the camera was working so the team could watch her progress. There were deep crags and grooves on the opposite surface. It was cool and quiet, smelling faintly of damp earth. It was peaceful. She thought she spied a tunnel opening, but upon further descent, she discovered it was just a shallow shelf. As she continued to descend further, she discovered that there were several shallow shelves along the walls. There had been evidence of this from the previous climber’s descent and also from some of the investigative studies performed on Tripp’s Awakening, so she expected it. What she didn’t expect were the piles of candy wrappers, styrofoam cups, and other garbage that some of the shelves were harboring. “A damn shame,” she said with a shake of her head. The radio crackled, “Congratulations Em! You’ve made it 15.1 km! You’ve gone deeper than anyone else before!” The voice signed off with a chuckle, which Em recognized the joyful sound as Arlene’s. She smiled and continued to descend. Occasionally she stopped to collect samples of sediment, being careful to label the distance, date, and time of collection. At one time, she stopped to relieve herself, feeling a bit guilty about the whole process. The sheer wonder of her with task filled her with such awe that she hardly noticed the time ticking by. It wasn’t until the radio began talking on her hip, reminding her to rest, that she saw she had been climbing for close to eight hours. She swung the beam of the head lamp around and began looking for a shelf. Spying one, she dropped down further and shimmied to it. This shelf was a little larger than the others she had spotted. Em was grateful for this because it meant that she could spread out in a sleeping bag instead of employing the alternative sleeping strategy, which involved anchoring a post in the wall and attaching a hammock like structure to special points on the climbing cable so she could hang suspended in the hole. While she enjoyed a good hammock nap like any other outdoor enthusiast, there was something unsettling about hanging above a bottomless pit.	"Are you sure it's okay?" I asked Murry. He had been my best friend for over 20 years. He had a good heart at his core, but his morals were a bit grey. He was driving us to 'The Spot'. I had a couch that seemed impossible to get rid of. No one wanted the ugly thing. It had yellow upholstery decorated with brown flowers. I put it on the curb and no one touched it. I posted an ad, and no one called for months. Then I posted another ad without a picture. The one guy that did come look at it punched me for wasting his time. I even tried burning it one time, the timing on that one was too perfect. For absolutely no reason at all a fire truck was driving by. They put out the fire, and I earned a hefty fine and a stern talking to from the Fire Marshal. I bought it while drunk one night, and seemed cursed to own it forever. "Yeah man, don't sweat it. I dump crap in there all the time," Murry said while he drove. Everyone knew about The Spot, but no one knew anything about it. Government scientists had tried researching it. They sent probes, guys with cables, everything. Nothing ever returned. It still felt like dumping to me, but my mind relaxed a bit when I saw a federal truck driving away from it. "See man, even the feds do it." Murry reminded me. I wondered what they were dumping, and realized I probably didn't want to know. After another five minutes we reached The Spot. The area was like a crowded town square. People were walking around buying things from shops set up by enterprising folk. The Spot was a bit out of the way, so the trend started out easily enough. Someone set up a stand to sell drinks and sanitary wipes to help clean up after dumping. Then someone started selling food. Within a year it became a tourist trap, with the added bonus of easy clean up. They just swept all the trash into the dark hole in the ground. I glanced at the small line of people waiting to dump. It seemed silly that there would be a line, but due to all the food stands around the hole there was really only one place left to dump from. As soon as we parked some kid ran up to us pulling a dolly behind him. "Hey Murry. 5 or 10?" the kid asked. Murry handed him a five dollar bill. "Just the dolly," Murry said. The kid handed him the dolly and ran off. "You really do this all the time, huh?" I chuckled. "What's 10 bucks get you?" Murry pointed to a big burly guy that looked like an older version of the kid that rented us the dolly. "Help," he said. I climbed up in the bed of the truck and we worked the couch down and onto the dolly. We got it to the back of the line with minimal fuss. "Hey man, want a beer?" Murry asked me. I saw him waving down the same kid that provided the dolly. I nodded, then reached into my wallet. "It's on me, thanks for your help." When the kid arrived I handed him a 20. "Two beers, and keep the change." "THANKS!" he smiled broadly at me and ran off. I smiled at him and remembered my younger days. That kid seemed full of energy running everywhere. I smiled when I saw more children running, and thought to myself that this was kind of a nice place. Almost like a park. I saw a couple of adults running too. It was nice to see the parents playing along with their children. Then, I noticed more adults and kids running, some adults running while carrying kids. All in the same direction, away from the hole. I heard a scream. I turned my head and saw a skeleton climbing out of the hole. "That's never happened before," Murry said. I almost lost myself to panic, but his comment kept me grounded. I let a small chuckle escape. I liked Murry. In our long friendship, I've never known him to panic or over react. He calmly placed a hand on my shoulder. "Let's go somewhere else," he said. It seemed like such an obvious thing, but he said it so casually. He sounded like he was disappointed with the menu choices in a restaurant. We left the couch and dolly there and walked back toward his truck. People ran all around us, and I started seeing more skeletons appear. They pounced like wild animals on anyone that they saw running. The walk was difficult. I mostly kept my eyes on the back of Murry's head while he paced forward, almost as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. Any time my eyes looked somewhere else I saw blood and death. The once bone white skeletons were now covered with crimson. The screams were horrifying, but I focused on the back of Murry's head. I was so focused on the back of his head I didn't realize he stopped walking until I crushed my nose against the back of his skull. "OW!" I said, then felt immediate shame. People were being slaughtered around me, and I was annoyed because I bumped my nose. I looked over Murry's shoulder to see why he stopped. Several feet in front of him stood the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. A pair of under developed horns jutted out of the top of her head. She had long jet black hair that reached her waist, and her eyes glowed with red light. "You look level headed enough to hold a conversation," the woman said. She walked toward Murry and me. "Can you tell me why there's a thriving economy built around filling my home with trash?" the woman asked. She stood a foot away from us and stared at Murry in the eyes. She ignored me completely, something I was thankful for. For his part Murry just shrugged. "We didn't know it was your home. We didn't know it was anyone's home. It was just a hole that goes nowhere," Murry said. I felt something brush my leg and looked down to see Murry pulling his knife out from it's sheath on the back of his belt. "No hole goes nowhere," the woman said. "I like your honesty. That hole shouldn't have been there anyway, but unfortunately my piece of shit son is an idiot." She looked Murry up and down, then looked at me. She turned her head to look around. No sign of another living person. The skeletons surrounded us. "It's not often someone keeps their cool when I show up. This world is mine now, but you guys get to live." She waved a hand at us dismissively. Several skeletons moved out of the way to let us pass. I glanced down and Murry let his knife go. "What do you mean this world is yours? You just got here. Sure it's easy to kill a bunch of people having a day out, but do you think our governments are just going to kneel?" Murry asked. The same thought crossed my mind, but I kept it to myself to avoid warning her. "Oh. Obviously you don't know who I am. I'll tell you, just so you keep in mind how generous I'm being by letting you live. When I say this world is mine now. I mean..." she raised a hand into the air and black holes began to dot the sky. As far as I could see across the horizon, the sky looked like swiss cheese. Skeletons rained out of each hole. "... this world is MINE. NOW." I jumped as a skeleton landed next to me. It shattered on the ground, but pulled itself back together. It held a bone sword and began walking towards the nearest town. Dozens more skeletons continued to fall and head towards town. "My name is [Ballisea](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/11/ballisea-el-sol.html) the Demon Queen." &nbsp; *** Thank you for reading! You can find more of my writings on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html).	2018-01-13T09:15:29	2018-01-13T09:08:37	26	12
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip.	The old woman pricked her finger upon accidentally touching the tip of the needle and her blood appeared to be a gelatinous obsidian black substance, the old lady was clearly distressed and confused about how she could be so "impure" but little did she know, she never thanked the Bus Driver.	Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way.. Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong.. That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her, Turns out slaves where bad... Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil.. I needed a moment	2018-08-04T09:48:46	2018-08-04T09:44:59	395	10
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human.	Jason tapped away at his keyboard, feeling the satisfying clunk as each mechanical key wrought an English letter into the URL bar of his internet browser. ‘www.yoursins.com’ A classmate at his university had put him onto it, explaining through a shit-eating grin that someone had put up a timestamped archive of every ‘sin’ ever committed, and that he really had to check it out. This was both ridiculous and impossible, and so of course the moment he’d come home he’d rushed to his computer to discover exactly what his friend had been talking about. The website was almost offensively ugly, looking for all like it had been created by a malevolent UI designer psychopath from the nineties. A bright blue background ensured the crisp white font of the leftly justified title hurt to read, and the too-long title itself was only allowed one word per line. The Sin Index… You’re Crimes, Your punishment.! Below this was a simple red search bar, into which you were supposed to enter your country of residence, and your full name. After a brief wince at the website’s atrocious formatting, Jason did so, selecting ‘Australia’ and typing out his name, ‘Jason Martin Anderson’. He pressed enter. Clunk. Three results popped up. Only one was listed as living at his address. He clicked it, reading the page heading. ‘Jason M. Anderson: 189,324 sins and counting — Sentence: 17.324M Years of Unimaginable Suffering.’ Jason blinked. He knew the site had to be a joke, some procedurally generated text seeded by the combination of his name, country, and address, but still, he couldn’t help but be a little offended. He knew he wasn’t a saint, but he wasn’t a bad person. What exactly did the entirely fake and nonsense site think he’d done? He scrolled down, and began reading his ‘sins’. Sin #1: Crying without enough enthusiasm. Time: 2001-04-23 02:30:05 That was when he’d been born. He’d have to check with his parents for the exact time, but he was pretty sure he remembered his Mum once complaining that he hadn’t decided to ‘come out’ until the early hours of the morning. How had the site known that? Sin #2: Blinking Left eye without also blinking right eye. Time: 2001-04-23 03:04:32 Sin #3: Crying with too much enthusiasm. Time: 2001-04-23 03:54:24 What the hell? Jason skimmed through the list, his eyebrows inexorably moving up a little further each time he read one of the absurd ‘sins’. Sin #105120: Using the wrong colour of pen. Time: 2013-06-13 03:54:24 That… sounded disturbingly familiar. He was twelve in 2013, and he’d been obsessed with using a green pen for all his class notes. Was that what the sin was talking about? Still not really sure what to make of the list, Jason skipped to the bottom of the list, reading the very last entry. Sin #189,325: Not taking [www.yoursins.com](http://www.yoursins.com) seriously enough. We’re talking about your eternal soul after all... Time: 2020-01-03 17:24 Jason just shook his head in bewilderment. \# On the whole, the world decided to take the site as a joke. It knew things it shouldn’t know, to an often impossible degree of accuracy, but it was just so… ridiculous. The sins were absurd, the suggested punishment outlandish. Theories began to arise and inevitably, as a rock dropped into water must sink, the conspiracies became evermore ridiculous. The CIA, flexing its information gathering muscles. Advanced aliens, deciding to throw away conquering or enlightenment in favour of trolling. An AI, pulled from science fiction into reality, testing humanity via inscrutable and frankly absurd means. Strangely, the idea that God might be the culprit never seemed to hold much weight. Organised religion seemed fervently opposed to the idea that their particular deity would be so arbitrary, and their practitioners seemed grateful for a reason to ignore the existential realities the site implied if taken as scripture. Eventually, the world moved on. In the face of the website’s inscrutability, people decided to stop scrutinizing. The international buzz around site quieted to a low thrum, then fell almost utterly silent as the people of earth collectively shrugged their shoulders and stopped bothering to check whatever sins had been recently attributed to them. \# Then the angel came, and metaphorical shit was dutifully collected from every feceating animal and person in the world, and loaded into an industrial jet engine so that an impossible quantity of brown, foul smelling goop could be sprayed at an unimaginably huge velocity. It was winged, and clothed in holy light. It stood not in a city, forest or plain, but in the minds of all men and women. “I AM HATHIEL, AND YOU ARE NOT DOING ANY BETTER!” the angel screamed at the world, before promptly catching alight in a burning blaze of judgemental light. It cried out in terrible pain, and then vanished. After a minute of stunned confusion, a second angel appeared. “SORRY ABOUT THAT,” this new angel declared. “HATHIEL WAS A SINNER, AND THEREFORE CLEANSED.” An old woman stepped forwards, snow white hair flowing down her back, lined face creased in confusion. Jason saw this, though he was alone in his room. She spoke, her words not in english, and Jason heard and understood. “What sin did he commit?” she asked. “HIS CRY OF ADMONITION WAS TOO HEARTFELT. THE LORD BEGS MODERATION IN ALL THINGS AFTER ALL. HOWEVER, THOUGH HATHIEL’S DELIVERY WAS IMPERFECT, HIS MESSAGE WAS NOT. “YOU, THE FLOCK, HAVE STRAYED, AND THE LORD WEPT. “BUT HE LOVES ALL OF YOU EXCEPT THOSE BIRTHED IN MAY, WHOM HE HATES ABOVE ALL OTHERS, AND SO HE SOUGHT A MEANS TO CORRECT YOUR WRONGS. AND SO DEVISED HE A HOLY WRIT OF HTML AND CSS, SO YOU MIGHT LIVE YOUR LIVES INFORMED OF YOUR WRONGS, AND SEEK TO BETTER YOURSELVES. UNLESS YOU WERE BORN IN THE MONTH OF MAY, IN WHICH CASE THE LORD SAYS UNTO THEE ‘GO FUCK THY SELF’.” “The website?” the old lady asked with a frown. “But it’s nonsense. Why, just last week it gave me a sin for buying a tomato. What’s wrong with a tomato?” “ASK NOT WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE TOMATO, ASK WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU FOR BUYING IT. YOU WILL BURN FOR THAT EVIL, MORTAL, BURN FOREVERMORE IN THE FLAMES OF THE PIT.” “What?! Why? And… and, didn’t I read somewhere that one of your silly ‘sins’ was to talk on behalf of God?” “NONSENSE SHEEP, ELSE HOW COULD I UNDERTAKE MY DUTY? WHY IF THAT WERE SO—” “No,” the woman interrupted, “that’s definitely a sin. Check, go on, I dare you.” The angel frowned at the woman, and held out a slender, perfect hand. A halo of light shone down upon it, and a scroll of parchment materialised. The angel unfurled it, and began reading. Then it froze, mouth opened in dawning horror, and died. The world held its breath, and waited for the next angel to appear. Instead, a being of pure power and deific presence strode forwards, to stand before the woman, to stand in the minds of all. “I AM THE LORD,” said the lord. “AND I HAVE COME.” And so he had.	"No. That's not right." Daniel's brow furrows, he lets out a big huff while scanning the page for a link to the live chat. "This is ridiculous," he thought, "everyone's a critic." RING! Daniel looks across the room at a green rotary telephone. He knows who's calling. Sweat beads form on his forehead, he wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he gets up and walks over to the phone. The phone rings several more times, somehow growing louder and angrier with each successive ring. Daniel glances back at his computer while his hand holds the receiver. He closes his eyes and gathers the courage to answer. "Daniel Weiss?" The gravely voice on the other end speaks with authority. Daniel chokes on his response. The silence angers the caller. "Do you dispute the charges?" "Y-Y-Yes." Daniel turns the phone away from his face and dry heaves. The ground rumbles beneath him. The kitchen cabinets shake open, emptying their contents onto the floor. The symphony of items breaking obscures the sound of someone knocking on the door. Is it an earthquake? Daniel doesn't appear to be phased by it, in fact he walks over to the door and calmly opens it. On the other side is a well-dressed person of ambiguous gender holding a thick black book. They stare at each other for a beat, then Daniel motions for the person to enter. "Daniel Weiss. Age 48. Male." The person surveys the room. Crumpled up balls of paper scattered across every surface. A whiteboard with indecipherable content. Several thick well-read and earmarked dusty books piled up on a shelf "Which entry do you wish to dispute?" Daniel flinches as the person slams the black book onto the table next to his computer. Silence. The person stares deep into Daniel's soul, searching for the answer. The book flies open, pages flipping rapidly and erratically back and forth. Daniel tries his best to obscure the answer, but it's pointless. The book settles on a page. The person glides over to it and reads the entry, amused. "I can explain-" A hand goes up, Daniel's mouth closes. "Incomprehensible events. Squandered developments. It's almost as if you didn't care." The person now looms over Daniel. Suddenly, Daniel finds courage. "I think I should get a pass because David did most of it." A smirk. Daniel stares, waiting for a response that never comes. Uncomfortable with the silence, Daniel continues. "It was closer to fifty-fifty. Maybe sixty-fourty. We didn't really keep track. There was so much pressure to deliver. We did our best!" No response from the person. Not even the slightest reaction. Nervously, Daniel continues. "Okay, I did most of it. But I didn't want to. David was busy working on-" The person writes in the open book. Daniel leans in to see. He swallows his tongue. "I will remove a few years if you agree to one condition." Daniel nods. "Re-do Season 8." Daniel shakes his head, surprising the person. More silence. Daniel can't help himself, he responds defiantly. "There was no source material. George hasn't written a word in half a decade!" The person closes the book and stares at Daniel, who won't shut up. "The Night King storyline. Bran as king. Arya's payoff. Daenrys and Jon Snow. It was perfect and you know it!" Daniel doesn't believe his lies. Defeated, he pleads for forgiveness. "We tried. We really did. There was no way we were going to live up to the hype." The door opens. As the person crosses the threshold, Daniel calls out. "What about our Disney deal?" "Forget Disney, DB. Come give mama some Netflix sugar!" Daniel's eyes almost pop out of his head. His face turns pale. His time in hell has begun. An overly excited and animated Leslie Jones appears in the doorway. "I'm such a big fan, man. I got so many questions about Season 8!" Leslie barrels toward Daniel, trapping him in a bear hug.	2020-02-29T23:34:17	2020-02-29T22:58:06	40	25
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other.	Heather is madly annoying. Her voice is deafening ... destroying my ears, no longer able to hear I sign to her she's the one person I fear. For she and I turn to wild beasts. Every full moon, we turn to each other and feast Not on people, or prey or food. We become wild animals stuck to each other, glued. Biting, lusting and rubbin, We transform back, feeling awful, because we're cousins.	The full moon reflected in the deer's eye as it danced spritely through the woods. I lay undetected under the brush, awaiting the moment I could taste its blood. The scent filled my nostrils, and my mouth watered in anticipation. But there was another scent. Something that awakened a different kind of anticipation. The deer hesitated, and I chose this moment to strike. But I was a moment too late. As I started from my cover, another wolf leapt from the opposite side of the clearing and tackled the deer to the ground. Her jaws clamped around its neck, severing its arteries and ligaments for a quick, clean kill. The she-wolf gazed up at me, and snarled, blood dripping from her jowls. Looking back, I am disturbed to report I was severely aroused by this, especially when considering the bitch's true identity (and I mean that in both senses of the word). But in that moment, I did not hesitate to patter towards her and expose my throat in an act of supplication. Her snarl faded, and the blood of the deer no longer enticed me as the scent of her pheromones overwhelmed me. She was in heat, and I was ready to go. I don't feel the need to dive into specifics here, but it was a night I'll never forget. As a werewolf, I'm used to the human parts of my brain going on auto-pilot as the purely id-driven wolf takes over. I have no sexual interest in wolves when I'm a human. I'm not even a closeted furry. But that experience with the she-wolf in the forest was perhaps the pinnacle of my sexual history. I didn't realize at the time, she was also a werewolf. We made love (if wolves have a concept of love) through most of the night, intermittently snacking on the kill she had so generously provided, and howling at the moon when it struck our fancy. Having another voice added to mine, gave me peace in a subconscious part of my human mind that hadn't yet adjusted to this new form of life. I felt at home. I was used to waking up naked in the forest, but always alone. I was lying on my side, with my arm around the last woman I could have expected. My first thought was panic, at her possible discovery of my condition, before realizing she obviously suffered the same condition. But enough build-up. When I realized who I was lying with, I was full of revulsion to discover Shelley. Shelley was a woman from my old job at the mail room. My horrible horrible boss. She wore high heels to feel powerful, and turned every slight into a catastrophe. She fired me after I was late the morning after a full moon. She had also been late. A few months earlier, at a wild Christmas party, she bit me for attempting to take away her vodka cranberry, after she'd thrown her computer out the window. Come to think of it, that bite might have been important.	2018-05-23T01:28:51	2018-05-22T20:37:45	56	11
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did. Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters. Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career? Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D	Dear me, Grow a pair of balls and ask that bitch out. Dumbass. So what if she says no? Are you gonna cry? Hell, no. You'll be sad but you'll move on. You'll be more happy if she says yes than sad if she says no. What a pussy.	To my best friend. I used to write to you all the time in the early days. Perhaps it was selfish of me, to use you as an outlet for my emotions. I haven't written to you in such a while, and I'm sorry. Life got in the way, I guess. I owe you this last one. I don't know how, but slowly things changed. They got better, and I felt guilty at first, that things were able to improve for me. Eventually the guilt faded, and now I can just be happy. It's funny that you used to be what happiness meant to me, yet ten years on I can have happiness whilst you are just a distant memory. Who knows what could've been. For years I held on to our idealist childhood dream. Please understand that I didn't want it to fade. I didn't want to forget, that's just what time does to you. I did love you. Once. Perhaps, I do still. I'm happy now. It's time to let you go. We were only children when you died, but even after death you helped me to become the woman I am today, and for that I will always be grateful. Goodbye, best friend. Yours, madziepan	2015-12-05T14:30:45	2015-12-05T13:54:55	33	24

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