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[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "After defeating the Devil down in Georgia, Johnny proudly proclaims he's the best that's ever been. A flash of lightning crashes down and God appears, fiddle in hand. The Devil gets his popcorn ready."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Devil went down to Georgia \nWhere he got his red ass whupped \nJohnny was proud \nAnd he said out loud \n\"I'll never be one-upped!\" \n\nBut as that challenge echoed \nOut into the Georgia blue \nThe Lord jumped in \nWith his violin \nSaid, \"It's time for round two!\"\n\n\"You're getting mighty cocky,\" \nSaid the Lord, \"Now you're in trouble!\" \n\"That kind of pride, \n\"I won't abide! \n\"It's nothing or it's double!\"\n\nWell, Johnny tightened up his strings \nHe said \"Don't make me groan! \n\"I'll take the bet, \n\"But what I get \n\"Is a day upon your throne!\"\n\nThere came a flash of lightning \nAnd the Lord said \"You're all in! \n\"But if you lose, \n\"You'll take a cruise \n\"Into oblivion!\"\n\nJohnny, now you're in too deep; that fiddle better sing! \n'Cause now you're up against the guy who made everything! \nIf you win, you get a chance to rule both great and small \nBut if you lose, you won't exist at all...\n\nThe Lord rosined up his bow \nAnd said \"This will be quick! \n\"I know some things \n\"On Heaven's strings \n\"That ought to do the trick!\"\n\nWith a mighty flourish \nThe Lord began his line \nAnd his fiddle played \nA serenade \nThat was quite divine:\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n[ANGELIC MUSIC PLAYS] \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\nWhen the Lord had finished \nJohnny only rolled his eyes \n\"If that's your best, \n\"Just take a rest, \n\"And witness your demise!\"\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nRationality that you can't resist! \nJehovah's in a fight with an atheist! \nAll of Heaven's angels start to grieve! \nYou can't beat a man who doesn't believe! \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\nThe Lord, he raised an eyebrow, saying \"Johnny, you've been cheating! \n\"There's no sense smiting you, boy, if you can't feel the beating!\" \nJohnny said \"I'll tell you what, just save those declarations. \n\"I'm so high, I've been playing the fiddle against hallucinations!\" \nAnd he played:\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nEating all the mushrooms and seeing stuff! \nThe Lord and the Devil have both had enough! \nBut Johnny has a question buried deep within: \nWhere did he find a golden violin? \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You hire a female prostitute, tell her to meet you at a fancy restaurant, and ask her to pretend to be your colleague from the bank. Hire a male prostitute, and tell him the same thing. You sit at a table next to theirs and listen to their conversation."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was called *Fuck You* money, the type of money you burn in front of poor people just to see the hope fade from their eyes. It was the type of money you used to hire the most expensive prostitutes in America, tell them to pretend to be bankers, and have them meet for lunch in *Le Bernardin* in the heart of Manhattan. Each thought they were meeting a client, both were told to never break act.\n\nI sat at the table next to theirs, twirling a stainless steel pen with the letters *Goldman Sachs* gilded on. The girl, Anna, was the first to arrive. A tight black skirt hugged her figure. The skirt was short, but work-appropriate short. She was the best prostitute *Fuck You* money could buy which meant she was the best in the world. She turned her wrist and checked a silver Rolex. It was a Daytona model. She had certainly done her research.\n\nThe guy, Brandon, soon followed. He wore a navy blue suit without a single crinkle. I glanced down at his shoes. Brooks Brothers, custom-made. It looked hand-crafted even. A smile touched my lips as he sat down and extended his hand for a handshake.\n\n“Anna, was it?” Brandon said. “Thanks for meeting me, my name’s Brandon, VP at JPMorgan Chase, housing division.”\n\nAnna returned him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m a VP at Merrill Lynch, risk division.”\n\n“Look at us, if our bosses found us here. They’d have our bonuses.”\n\nShe laughed and took a sip of wine. “So, I was told that you had a business proposal for me?”\n\nThis was it, the reason I had dropped five figures on two prostitutes. Brandon would fumble through banking buzz words and financial pseudo-sciences as I sat back, laughing at his stupidity. Then Anna would follow in their dance of idiocrasy, all the way until they left *La Bernadin*, never to return because they couldn’t afford even its dress code. My pen twirled in anticipation.\n\n“Credit default swaps,” Brandon said. “It’s insurance against bad loans. So if we make a string of bad investments, even when we lose, we make money, just not as much.”\n\nAnna furrowed her brow. “I work risk at Merrill Lynch, I know how to lower risk.”\n\nA giggle tickled my throat. What would a prostitute know about credit default swaps? He probably read the first Wikipedia paragraph and now thought himself an expert. I wondered who would be the bigger idiot, Brandon or Anna?\n\n“What if we pair that up with thousands of high-risk loans?”\n\n“Like we already do?” Anna asked.\n\n“But not *individually*.” Brandon leaned forward, his voice lowered so I had to strain my ears just to hear his words. “We pool them all together and then securitize them into a single asset. Tell me Anna, what happens when you bundle risk?”\n\n“It drops,” Anna said. “But those have been around for a while now. Are you proposing that we just keep doing what we’re doing?”\n\nBrandon frowned. It looked like Anna had done more research than him. I pretended to cough to stifle my laughter. It was he who would look the fool!\n\n“Wait,” Anna said, “but how about we talk to the ratings agencies. The bigger the pool of assets, the lower the risk. If we get a big enough pool, any sort of shitty asset could have a triple-A rating.”\n\nMy jaw dropped and I broke character by staring straight at her. The two didn’t even notice, they were so buried in their conversation.\n\n“We can lower it further by having it asset-backed. Like a car loan,” Brandon said, his voice rising with his excitement.\n\n“Like a mortgage!” Anna said. “We can sell janitors million dollar houses on loans they’ll never pay off, pool all those loans together, and then sell them off as a Triple-A asset before they crash and burn.”\n\nMy fingers trembled, but not with the same excitement I had purchased. They were right. Banks could securitize all these shitty mortgages and their value would rise because their ratings would, even though the risk technically stayed exactly the same. My pen dropped to the napkin in front of me and I wrote a single phrase into it before slipping it in my pocket and leaving.\n\n*Sub-prime mortgages.*\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang for daily WP stories, continuations by popular demand, and more!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He was a real good guy, through and through. Never met anyone quite like him since, never really expect I will either.\n\nPeople like Joe don't come around often. Once in a lifetime maybe, if you're lucky.\n\nAlmost everyone I've ever met had the tiny silvered papercuts of white-lies on their fingers. It's a price of formalities, a camouflage of sorts- as everyone has a few, some deeper cut than others over the years; opened and reopened time after time. And not just that, but the larger cuts, silvery things on forearms and shins, necks or backs. People lie, it's just the way of things.\n\nSometimes the pain it worth the deception, the balancing scale plays out mentally before a person's mouth opens.\n\nJoining the force was what I wanted. There was a lie I told myself: A Lie I scratched in deep, over and over again. I wanted to change, I wanted my parents to be proud: All lies, tiny scratching lines on my shoulder to create a strange and deceitful pattern that never seemed to heal completely.\n\nIn truth, I joined the force because I had nothing left. I joined as a last ditch effort to save myself from rock bottom. Among the elite, surrounded by the brave and the successful, I simply kept my head down. It felt like being a fox, stuck among a pack of wolves. Just being there in the first place felt like deception.\n\nBut then, there was instructor Joe.\n\nI had more scars than most, and that earned little trust- but if people were politely cold with me, they were visibly frigid with Joe. See, he didn't have the traditional marks on his hands, he didn't have cuts and nicks along his arms, his face or neck: At a quick glance you might have thought him the most honest man alive. In fact, at first people did. A man in his fading thirties without scars? \n\nThat's like a god-damn unicorn. They're more myth and legend than person- yet there he was. Plain as day.\n\nEveryone liked Joe that first week. Everyone wanted to be on good terms with him- I mean, who wouldn't? In a world of liars and cheats, proof reminded at every twist and turn of the road, who wouldn't want someone they could trust? \n\nWell, that was before he took of his shirt in the locker-room. Before we all saw the hideous mark that covered half his back. One lie, but the most gruesome thing I've ever seen. From his shoulder blade to his ribs, it looked like a crashing comet of red and silvered white. A tiny portion of it just finally healing, a rough tear now recovered again.\n\nIt was all the same lie. That's something you can just tell sometimes, just know it. Usually you can tell how many times too, but whatever the number was which he'd said *that* aloud, I don't know. \n\nHe rarely spoke to begin with, issuing the orders with a stern smile, instructing as all the rest did. He was positive, encouraging, truthful: But that scar was on everyone's mind. Deep, dark, and terrible: Someone who could tell a lie like that... Well, there was someone to watch out for. In the end though, it was at the range when things went well and truly sour.\n\nLive-fire runs, we'd done them a thousand times, but that day I guess someone forgot themselves. Maybe they thought too much on *what* and *how* and their brain skipped a beat, or maybe they were just careless. Regardless of the reason, a shot fired when it shouldn't have. Brass spit fire, Air swallowed metal, and lead took its first taste of iron, calcium, iron and dirt.\n\nIn that order.\n\nWe all stopped, eyes wide and watching that kid fall down real slow. First standing, staring with his hand pulling away- not even scared, just shocked. Red, like deep crimson soaking and spreading, he dropped down to his knees. Still, he wasn't even there yet, it hadn't quite processed.\n\nThat's when Joe caught him- and all the shouting erupted. The pandemonium, the first real training turned to action kicking in. Cries for \"Medic!\"and \"KIT! Get the kit!\"as people ran for the directions they thought mattered.\n\nI was close enough to know that wasn't going to make a difference. Center of mass was what we trained for, the reason was straight and forward: Shoot to kill. Eliminate the target and move on.\n\nSo I sat there, weapon heavy in my hands as I watched Joe hold this kid, blood pouring out into the dirt like a faucet, and I listened to him repeat the words that cut deep. Over, and over, and over again.\n\n*\"Hang on, look at me. You're gonna be alright.\"* \n\n*\"You're gonna be alright.\"*\n\n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Write a short story where the first sentence has 20 words, 2nd sentence has 19, 3rd has 18 etc. Story ends with a single word."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The heart monitor marked the slowing of her heart beats, the beeps getting farther and farther apart each passing minute. The looks from the nurses told me it was only a matter of time until it was all over. I picked absentmindedly at a loose string hanging from the sling holding my arm tight against my body.\n\nI hadn't seen the car coming, because I had been yelling into the back seat at her. I couldn't even remember what I had been yelling about, but it didn't matter right now. She looked so small lying in the hospital bed, her golden curls on the pillow. I wished for a way to take her home, to make her safe again.\n\nThe heart monitor beeped out a warning that the nurse quickly shut off. Her eyes fluttered open and my heart leapt with a momentary hope. I wished to apologize, to tell her it was my fault. Her eyes closed again, and my sorrow ballooned once more.\n\nI prayed the way only a broken man can. Nobody was saying anything, we all just waited. The doctor walked in the room silently. Was time starting to run out?\n\nShe opened her eyes again. I smiled at her.\n\nIt was happening.\n\nHearts stopped.\n\nChildless."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The actor stood answered the knock at his trailer door. When he saw who it was that knocked, he said, \"I wondered when you would show up. Want to come in?\"\n\nDeath nodded his skeletal head and said, \"Yes.\"\n\nThe two took seats, the actor in his chair and the skeleton on a long couch. There was silence between them for what seemed a long time, or at least what mortals consider a long time. During the interval, Death patted out his suit and fidgeted with small items sitting on the table next to the couch. It was the actor who finally broke the silence.\n\n\"What kept you?\"\n\n\"Well, um, you see....\"Death said, then straightened his tie, \"It was, shall we say, a clerical error? Every mortal has a timepiece, an hourglass. When I see the sand has run out, I go find the person and call them home.\"\n\n\"Okay. Go on.\"\n\n\"Yours... well, this is embarrassing, but it got bumped.\"\n\n\"Bumped?\"\n\n\"Yes, as in knocked over. I think it was sometime in the 1500's? There was this flood in Rome, I was so busy and I must have upset the thing while i was in a hurry.\"\n\n\"Occupational hazard, I suppose.\"\n\n\"Yes. Yes indeed. Well, your hourglass... it rolled under my desk. I'm not a very fastidious cleaner, you understand, so I just now found it.\"\n\n\"You haven't cleaned under your desk in almost 500 years?\"\n\n\"I have things to do. Besides, have you seen how much good television is on right now and... look, I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"It's okay. I knew this day was coming. I'm ready.\"\n\nThe skeleton laughed. It was a strange sound, like sand being sifted onto a peice of sheet metal. \n\n\"You're not dying today. Is that what you were worried about?\"\n\n\"I'm not worried. I've had a good life. Several actually. I'm adored now. But it's sometimes a sad existence. I think it's starting to show. It's probably time. But if it's not my time, then why are you here?\"\n\n\"My superiors thought it was important that I come apologize personally. Your hourglass was righted. You will start to age now. You will die a natural death.\"\n\n\"Any chance you'll tell me when?\"\n\n\"Soon enough. But since your situation is... unusual, and frankly my fault, a formal apology and a head's up seemed appropriate. As to not upset you and let you return to a normal, mortal expectation.\"\n\nThe actor ran a hand through his hair. One came out. He looked at it. It was gray. A smile crept up in one corner of his mouth. \n\nHe said, \"Okay, then. I guess I'll see you in a little while. Thanks.\"\n\n\"It's really the least we could do.\"\n\n\"Want me to walk you off the lot?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Reeves. I'll show myself out.\n\n\"Oh, and by the way, really looking forward to *John Wick 3*.\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "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."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was taken to the palace when I was 8 years old. That's the age everyone gets tested. Luck is always the last thing they check for. It's usually a stat no-one pays much mind to. One in ten-thousand people score above 55, so if it comes back higher than that it's noteworthy, but no-one expects it to. My older siblings were both gifted with intelligence, Tom with a 78 and Nora at a stunning 86. My whole extended family threw a huge party to celebrate Nora's results. Receiving a score above 80 in any stat is a virtual guarantee that person's life will be lived a cut above the rest. She was enrolled in the world's most prestigious university at the age of 11, and was offered full tenure as a physics professor just six years later.\n\nThere was no party thrown after my results came back. As it was, the results were all that came back. I was taken directly from the chair I was analyzed in, to the palace. Everyone that scores 100 on their luck stat is taken here. They calculate that one in a million people receive higher than an 80 in their luck stat. There are exactly 13 of us in the palace. Every person in the world known to have a 100 on their luck stat resides on this small swath of land in North Sumatra. We want for nothing, save freedom. The finest doctors in the world perform regular health examinations on each of us. Food from around the world is flown in daily, and is prepared by a rotating pantheon of chefs who consider it the pinnacle of their career to perform their craft for us. The latest in entertainment technology? No whim or desire expressed by one of our thirteen residents is ignored, and only one request will ever be denied.\n\nSome of us live out our life in pure hedonism, taking full advantage of the fruits of other people's labor and talent. I can't truly blame them, being bereft of freedom tends to leave you with a grudge against your captors, no matter how gilded the cage. We're to be kept alive as long as possible though, so those who over-indulge find themselves on the receiving end of the world's most energetic life coaches.\n\nPersonally, I just want to be away from this place, but there's no escaping. It's not because of the lake we're surrounded by, or the guard towers and patrols that dot the landscape just beyond our view. Odds are good they'd never manage to catch us if we really wanted to avoid them. It's because of why we're here. We sit atop what geologists have identified as \"the last great super volcano.\"It should have blown its top, and approximately 98% of humanity with it, over 300 years ago. Someone got the bright idea to relocate the world's luckiest inhabitants right on top of it, as a \"hail Mary\"attempt to prevent the end of the world. So far, it seems to have worked. \n\nI live on the Toba caldera, along with the world's 12 \"luckiest\"people, and for everyone's sake I must never leave.\n\nEdit: Wow! My first ever gilding, and then you guys made it twice as nice. Thank you!!!\n\nI did not expect this kind of a reaction. I want to flesh this story out more, but I'm up at 3 am with my 4 month old son, so time is at a premium right now. If I'm able to do a part 2 I will update this thread.\n\nThank you all for your amazing feedback, support, and for just being awesome!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "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.\""
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“What did you say?”\n\nI paused, my card already jammed into the receptacle and deducting $5.29 from my bank account. “What?”\n\nThe clerk stared at me, his green eyes narrowed. I drew half a step back almost unconsciously. “Uh. I asked if I could have my drink cup. You guys keep making us wait and it’s kind of annoying.”\n\nThe man stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What are you doing?”\n\nAll right, the guy was clearly crazy. I tore my debit card free, shoving it back into the holder permanently resting in my pocket. “I’m trying to get a Big Mac. What’s your problem?”\n\n“Are you insane?” he hissed, leaning forward across the counter. “What are you *doing*?”\n\n“Greg?” someone called from across the store. A manager, judging by the color of their uniform. Their voice was carefully cheerful. “What’s going on?”\n\n“Nothing! Just helping this gentleman out,” Greg said, his face snapping back to carefully neutral as he smiled at me. A plastic cup was shoved into my hands, along with the paper slip of my receipt. “Look - don’t be an idiot,” he said, his voice dropping low enough I had to lean in to hear him. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you can’t walk in here talking gibberish. Leave me alone.”\n\nI stared at him, my mind racing, but the customers behind me were already pushing forward. I stepped back to join the others waiting for their food, my mind churning.\n\nI had a bit of a gift. Well, that’s how I liked to think about it. It had taken a few years to figure out - all languages sounded exactly the same to me. No matter if I was speaking to someone blabbering on in French or chattering in Italian, it all came across as plain old English.\n\nMy parents had been freaked out, understandably. It had taken a bit of doing to convince them I wasn’t just crazy. And as soon as we’d pieced together what was going on, we’d begun hiding. It wasn’t as though I could suddenly start spouting off Spanish and German, after all. We couldn’t even just leave copies of Rosetta Stone lying around meaningfully. The instant someone I actually *knew* called me on it, the secret would be up. I kind of valued living a normal life, too much to allow something like that to happen.\n\nTray in hand and my mediocre food steaming, I filed back to my seat. I could feel Greg’s eyes on me the whole way - staring.\n\nWhat was his problem? Had I stuttered?\nAnd what had he meant, gibberish? Maybe he spoke a different language, sure, but why would that be a problem? He should be happy that I’d spoken Polish or Swahili or who-gives-a-fuck. Maybe a bit surprised, but not *angry*. His reaction wasn’t normal at all.\n\nI couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Normally I would have lingered, taking my time in eating. With the feeling of Clerk Asshat’s eyes on the back of my neck, I just wanted to leave. I shoveled my value meal down as quickly as I could, hardly tasting it. My phone lit up with notifications, friends and family blabbering away, all wanting to know where I was. When I’d be finished with the day’s chores. Could I pick up this grocery list for them, or finish that errand?\n\nI ignored all of them. The wrapper crumpled instantly in my hand as I pushed myself upright, dumping the whole lot of it in the trash.\n\nThe guy wasn’t there. A bit of the tension slipped out of my shoulders as I saw his station replaced by a tiny, grinning brunette. Good. Maybe his manager had finally taken him down a notch.\n\nThe lights on my car blinked across the parking lot at me as I stepped out of the store. The cold air snapped me awake, back to reality in an instant. I was letting that guy creep me out for no reason. He was just a jerk, that was all - trapped in his minimum wage job. Probably just a crazy, when I thought about it. He was probably just-\n\nI yelped, eyes widening as fingers buried themselves in my hair, pulling painfully. Someone had me. There was something cold at my throat - cold and *sharp*.\n\n“Ok, asshole,” Greg hissed in my ear, his voice wild. “We’re going to go for a walk.”\n\n“What the *fuck* are you-”\n\n“Shut up.”\n\nThe blade dug into my neck. I could feel a hot line of blood dripping down my skin. My mind raced - this was insane. He really was crazy. A lunatic. He was-\n\nThere was nothing I could do to fight him as he turned me, forcing me towards the back of the store. A dingy, beat-up station wagon waited in employee parking, the lot unlit and dismally dark. I scanned the lot even still, ready to bellow for help at a moment’s notice.\n\nIt was useless. There was no one around. No one was going to hear.\n\nHe slammed me into the back of his car, my face pressed painfully against the glass.\n\n“How stupid do you think I am?” he spat.\n\n“What the *hell* are you talking about?” I cried, shaking.\n\n“What, you think you’re being subtle? You’ll just walk in, talking the Old Tongue like you were born to it, and I’ll roll over for you?”\n\n“Look, dude, there’s been some mistake,” I moaned. “It’s-It’s just something that I can do, all right? It’s not-”\n\n“Right,” he said with a laugh, his fingers still pulling painfully at my hair. “Like I’m going to believe *that*.”\n\n“I speak tongues, all right?” I said, craning my head until I could look at him. “That’s all. I don’t know what you heard. All I know is-”\n\n“How long until they get here?”\n\nI blinked. “What?”\n\n“I’m not *stupid*,” he spat. “I’m not going to sit idly until they come to finish the job. How long until the rest of them show up?”\n\n“The rest of *who*?” I said, trying desperately to keep from crying.\n\n“You know damn well who-” he said, but stopped abruptly.\n\nI blinked.\n\nSomewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching.\n\nMy heart leapt. Police. *Yes*. Someone must have seen him, someone must have called the cops. I was saved. He’d-\n\nHe let go of my hair in an instant, leaping away. His car abandoned, he vanished into the underbrush of the woods behind the McDonald’s. I fell in a crumpled heap, my heart still pounding in my ears.\n\nTires screeched as the cop car pulled up moments later, a pair of officers piling out.\n\n“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” one yelled, racing over to me. “Can you tell me what happened?”\n\n“There was- a man,” I said, glancing back at the woods. ‘H-He had a knife. He was crazy. Thought I was speaking some funny language or something.”\n\n“Why would he think that?” the other said, his brow furrowing.\n\n“I-I don’t know,” I said, instinctively clamping down. The cops paused, staring at me.\n\n“What, that’s it?” the first said.\n\n“I’m sorry,” I muttered, unable to meet their eyes. My gaze drifted, needing to find something, anything else to look at. The flashing lights of their cars drew my eyes in, holding my gaze.\n\nI froze.\n\n“Well, look. I’m sure this has been a traumatic event. Why don’t you come back with us, and we’ll talk about it?” The second said, smiling blankly at me. One hand dropped to his belt.\n\nNeither of them was wearing a radio. There was nothing on his belt but a gun and a pair of handcuffs. The details of it stuck out like a lightning flash in my mind.\n\nI took a step back.\n\n“Look, don’t worry, all right?” the first said, beaming at me. “You’re safe now, right?”\n\nThe insignia on their car was wrong. I’d lived in the town my entire life, and it was *wrong*. It didn’t even have the right *name* on it. It just looked…\n\nGeneric.\n\nI took another step back.\n\nThe smiles were beginning to fade from their faces.\n\n“Look, come on,” the first said. “Just take it easy, ok? We’ll just go for a ride.”\n\nHis hand reached out, grabbing for my elbow. I skittered away before he could touch me, suddenly sure of two things.\n\nWhoever those two were, they were *not* police officers.\n\nAnd I was in a mess of trouble.\n\n---\n\n(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)\n\n~~Not against a part 2, but I'm off to bed for the night, and part 2 would come in the morning xD there is a thread [on my sub -](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tn2oh/wp_whenever_you_speak_people_hear_you_speaking_in/e18qek8) Leave a comment there and I will update you if this gets more :)~~\n\n[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tvvbk/silvertongue_2/)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper \"today you, tomorrow me\"when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Why don't you just kill them?\"\n\n\"Because they're living creatures, Lindsay. You ask me that every ti–\"\n\n\"Oh shut up,\"she rolled her eyes, cutting him off. He sighed as he opened the door to the backyard. The moon was full but barely visible through the clouds. He knelt in the grass and whispered, \"Today you, tomorrow me.\"The spider leapt from his palm and disappeared into the darkness. He crouched there for a minute, wishing that he too could disappear into the darkness. He just didn't have the strength to leave. \n\nNo one believed that she had given him his scars, they didn't want to believe. He saw it in their eyes. They would laugh, mock him, shrugging it off, waving their hands, shaking their head as if to rid their ears of the words. He didn't tell many people, a coworker, a guy from the gym, his brother, and his best friends from school. The disregard for his confession hurt more than a book to the head or a fork to the arm ever could. But nothing hurt more than her betrayal. Every apology was a glimmer of hope that the woman he'd fallen in love with would return. Every insult she spat and object she hurled made him wonder if she was ever there, or if it had all been a dream. \n\nHe stood up slowly and turned to go into the house. *If I were more understanding, more giving, patient, she'd remember what we had and come back,* he thought. He'd had thousands of similar thoughts. He was a fixer. Maybe he could fix it. Fix himself, fix her, fix them. Deep down he knew he couldn't, but his hope and her blame kept him tied there. He'd tried counselors. He went alone when she'd refused to go. And when she insisted that he stop, that the counselor was driving them apart, he'd stopped. He shook his head, disappointed in himself again. \"Honey,\"he said opening the door, \"what do you think about trying to see Dr. Smith again?\"**WHACK** He heard the sound of glass shattering, but he didn't know what had hit him. He struggled to get up, but something else hit him. And he went down again. \"Lindsay, please...\"He looked up to see her looming over him, his old baseball bat in her hands, and he put his arms up to protect his face as she swung at him over and over and over and then she was shrieking. \n\n\"What is that??? ***scream*** Get them off!!! GET THEM OFF!!!\"He lifted his head to see his wife being swept out the back door in a wave of blackness. He thought he was hallucinating. His head was throbbing, bleeding as he struggled to get up. Leaning against the back door he watched as she disappeared into the woods, her scream echoing. \"Lindsay!\"he called after her, attempting to follow, but he collapsed in the doorway. \n\nThe next morning he woke up on the couch. He groaned, eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The room filled with evidence of the night's events but Lindsay wasn't there. He started to sit up to look for when he noticed a black rectangle on the wall. It looked like it was moving. Slowly, the blackness shifted, forming the words: \"Yesterday us, today you.\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Your spouse has the annoying habit of unexpectedly licking you. When you ask them why they do it, they always reply \"just so you know it's really me.\"You think it's nothing but a cute joke. One day, feeling something is off, you realise your spouse hasn't done it in over three weeks."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was packing up some of Fi's old things when suddenly it hit me.\n\nThree weeks, four days, two hours without a lick.\n\nIt was a strange little thing, just one of those things that made Fi, well, Fi. Randomly, out of nowhere, \"just to let you know it's really me.\"\n\nSometimes, it would happen in public, and people would give us strange looks, but we'd act like nothing even happened.\n\nSometimes, she'd stop mid-sentence for a lick, and continue on like nothing ever happened while our friends and I all tried to stifle our laughter.\n\nSometimes, in the middle of the night, I'd wake up to a familiar wet sensation against my arm and a whispered \"sorry\".\n\nI laid the box on the floor and sat down, staring at the now barren counter. A few minutes ago, it had been covered in tiny pebbles, each one equally spaced from the others. Another one of her Fi-diosyncrasies, as we used to call them. I tried to remember some of the others, trying to remember her.\n\nHow, whenever she turned on a lightswitch, she'd flick it three times, on then off then on again.\n\nHow she'd go to the fridge and open it, look inside for a second, then close it, even though she'd just looked a few minutes ago.\n\nHow she'd take the stairs in an alternating pattern, one stair, two stair, one stair, two stair, the sound of the two pounding through the house.\n\nShe hadn't been able to do the last one in over a year, though.\n\nI remember finding her, lying on the stairs, passed out. At first, the doctors said she'd be fine, that all she needed was a few days rest. Over time, though, it became clear that wasn't true.\n\nI watched her slowly fall apart, one Fi-diosyncrasy at a time. Day by day, she lost the energy required to keep up all her obsessions, and then to do anything at all.\n\nAfter she couldn't walk anymore, she'd randomly call me up to the bed, saying she needed something. She'd talk faintly, almost in a whisper, so that I'd have to lean close to hear her. And then, I'd feel something wet hit my cheek. \"Just so you know it's still me.\", she'd whisper.\n\nI picked up the box again and headed out the door to the car. But then, I noticed something.\n\nA small cat sat on the porch. No collar, matted and dirty fur; probably a stray. I put down the box again, and knelt to get a closer look at it.\n\nSuddenly, it dashed over to me, and gave me a small lick on the hand. It stared at me, eyes wide.\n\nJust so that you know it's really me.\n\nNow, I'm no believer in reincarnation. I know that, whatever happens, my wife is gone now, and nothing's going to change that.\n\nBut that didn't stop me from calling it Fi."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Eminem has to tell the history of the earth to a group of aliens in 5 minuets or less."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“Sir, we’ve checked and rechecked the translations, and we are 100% positive that this is what they said,” General MacMillan said. The army-man’s eyes were blazing intensity, and he knew what he wanted to say. However, attacking the invaders had already been written off the board by higher powers than he.\n\n“Five minuets,” the President said. “Five minuets. Not minutes. We’re sure it’s minuets.”\n\nIt wasn’t a question, but the general answered, “Yes.”\n\n“Can Eminem even do a minuet? Doesn’t he do…I don’t know, do rappers even dance?”\n\n“From what I understand, no, sir, they just bounce around and speak rapidly.”\n\n“How can he tell the history of the entire Earth in five minuets?” The president leaned back and rubbed his chin where a beard had grown until five minutes before he entered the political stage. That had been over twenty years ago, and now he wasn’t sure that anything in his experience would save him now. “Especially if he can’t talk.”\n\n“We have people working on it. Choreographers in Hollywood, and others of those ilk. Folks who worked in the opera.”\n\n“But why Eminem?”\n\n“We don’t know. We still have the option of a tactical, nucle—”\n\n“I told you already, I’m not going to go down in history as the president who caused interstellar war. We give in to their demands, Eminem will dance the history of the Earth, and they’ll begin trade with us.”\n\n“Sir, I strongly reco—”\n\n“Just have your people keep an eye on it. I’m going to give Eminem a call.”\n\n***\n\n“Yeah, I got it, just ask my daughter Haley,” Eminem said to the person who was teaching him ballroom dance. \n\n“How’s his progress?” the president asked. \n\n“Better than I would’ve expected, just watch his turn on the Cambrian Explosion,” Rick Leon, Eminem’s personal tutor, said. Mozart was playing in the background. “It’s beyond graceful. The way he moves…it’s just impossible to interpret it as anything but a true representation of Earth’s 4.5 billion year history.”\n\n“So you think he’ll be ready?” As the president spoke, Eminem performed two forward steps, swinging his open hands behind him each time. He spun and stepped sideways, raising his arm as though holding the gentle Earth on a string between his fingers. “Never mind.”\n\n***\n\nEminem walked to the stage that stood on the National Mall, where the aliens had requested the performance take place. He felt awkward without a microphone in his hand, but he knew it was up to him to save humanity. \n\nCritics, artists, and everyday people watched in rapture as he danced the five minuets. Never in the history of the Earth had anyone seen a spectacle that was simultaneously so stunning yet beautiful, so intense yet graceful, so confident yet lacking that egotistical nature of the rapper’s life works. Put simply, it was the culmination of the entirety of human culture. \n\nBy the end of the first minuet, people cried. At the closing of the second, they wept. At the end of the third, they closed their eyes, feeling unworthy of the sight that unfolded before them. The fourth minuet ended, and paramedics were on the scene, resuscitating and performing first aid on those who had lost consciousness due to the sheer magnificence of the act. The fifth started, and came close to an end. Those able to witness it, those who had endured the crazed glory of the dances thus far, were the only people to hear the rapper say, “Look If you had. One shot. Or one opportunity. To seize everything you ever wanted. In one moment. Would you capture it. Or just let it slip?” He then dropped his pants and mooned the alien mothership.\n\nA short time passed, and the invasion began.\n\n***\n\nEDIT: Thank you for reading! And for the compliments and gold!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When you die, you wait in purgatory until you can be judged by the 4 people most impacted by your actions: the person you were the most cruel to, the person you were the nicest to, the person who was saved by your actions, and the person who died because of your choices."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In a room blacker than night, devoid of stars or any other such beauties, I floated. It was some shattered gap between nowhere and everywhere, the kind of lonely afterlife I'd always imagined would suit me best. \n\nI deserved nothing more. \n\nIt stayed that way for -- how do I put this? Forever, and yet not forever. I did not age, or move, or even feel the eons slink by in a human manner, and yet I knew it had been an eternity by the time the angel first appeared. He was a stark contrast to the void around us, brighter than the sun, yet cast light on nothing, as if his glow were being devoured by the abyss. \n\nSuddenly, I was standing on a circular piece of stone, and had some semblance of weight and being. \n\nThe angel opened his arms and spoke not in words, but directly to my mind. \"Timothy Halpert Bennington. You are now ready for judgment.\"\n\nJudgement. Ha, of course the afterlife would be something like religions predicted. I'm sure my life had left a bad taste in God's mouth. I didn't respond, only stared into the nothing below me. \n\n\"Your first Judge: the one you were cruelest to in life.\"\n\nI cocked my head, brows knitting into a line. People from my life would be judging me?\n\n*No. No, please, just send me to Hell.*\n\nMy eyes tried to shut, like slamming the door behind you to avoid a conversation you don't want to deal with, but something kept them open. The angel hadn't moved a muscle, and yet, I knew it was him. \n\nA pocket of light smudged something within itself. That smear of darkness stepped forward, onto another stone tile, and clarified as the pocket zipped up. \n\nIt was her. I knew it would be, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. \n\n\"Oh, Timmy, you're so young,\"she said, a soft smile on her face. \"I've missed you so much.\"\n\nI couldn't meet her eyes and searched for words, but my lips only trembled, mouthing empty motions. My eyes fell to the stone beneath her. \n\n\"Look at me, Timothy.\"\n\nI obliged.\n\n\"When you were a boy, no more than fifteen, you once burned all of my photo albums. Not just the ones with your father in them, but the ones of us, family trips and gatherings, every memory I ever had. They were erased forever, those last bits I had of him and our carefree times. I cried every day for a month, when you weren't home. That was my joy, mementos of when life was simple and fun, which you turned to ash.\"\n\nThere was nothing I wanted more than to squeeze my eyes shut, but I could not; I was forced to watch the sadness in her eyes as she spoke.\n\n\"That was your most cruel action-- it hurt me more than when your father left us. He had always been unkind, but for you, the light of my life, to torch away our memories like that... it broke me.\"\n\nBefore I could muster the courage to apologize, she slipped away into light. I felt sick, so humanly sick in my stomach, but knew there would be no relief. One does not vomit in the afterlife.\n\nThe angel offered me no reprieve. \"Your second judge: the one you were most kind to.\"\n\nOnce more a flash, and once more an approach. My eyes widened, face flickering as I tried to understand.\n\n\"You didn't expect to see me again, did you?\"Her smile was wide and bashful. \n\n\"How...?\"\n\n\"Oh, silly boy. The mind plays tricks on us sometimes. You probably thought that, because you'd caused me a great pain in life, there was no way you could have brought me joy, but life is not that black and white. It's so much more than that.\"\n\nStill I searched, and still I found no words. \n\n\"You were harsh -- even cruel -- at times, but it wasn't always like that. Your pain changed you, and even then, you weren't a purely cruel person. Just one that lashed out once in a while because you didn't understand how to handle it. Life can get very confusing.\n\n\"This is my favorite story. When you were ten -- such a cute little man -- you wrote me a poem for a school project. I'll never forget the words on that card: *To Mom, my bestest friend. I love you more than gummy bears or mac and cheese. You make me happier than Racer when I drop a potato chip and he eats it. Happy birthday to the best mommy in the whole wide world.* You wrote that on a card decorated with hearts and smiley faces. You didn't know it, but that was right when I'd first been diagnosed and your father started to show signs of his poor character as a man. Then, on top of it, you cooked me dinner, and it was so bad but I ate every bite. It was the best meal I've ever had. \n\n\"Never in my entire life have I felt as happy as I did in that moment. You were such a deeply caring boy before everything went wrong.\"\n\nI barely even remembered any of that. Had I really done something to make her happy? Why didn't I remember it, when I remembered such other, terrible things so clearly? \n\nShe disappeared into the light as I searched my soul, digging for answers but only turning up dirt. The angel, kind as he was, did not let me take a moment to figure things out. \n\n\"Your third judge: the one whose life you saved.\"\n\nI froze. The one whose life I saved? I'd never saved a life, I'd only done things far from it. Perhaps it was standard practice, and no one would walk through the portal this time. \n\nBut, just like clockwork, she was back again, her smile warmer than the halo over her head.\n\nI gaped at her. \"No. No, I killed you. This makes no sense, I didn't save you. Is this some kind of sick joke? Do angels play pranks on people?\"\n\n\"Oh, sweetie,\"she said, shaking her head. \"It was mercy. Besides, the sickness had already stolen me. Letting me go in peace in no way makes it your fault. Have you held yourself accountable all this time?\"\n\nI couldn't find it in me to respond, mashing my teeth together instead.\n\n\"It was my time to go. There was so much pain and suffering that plagued me, in the end; my sickness was no fault of yours. The fact that you put all your hurt aside and stayed with me so I wouldn't be alone meant more than the world. You did the most brave thing a boy can do for his mother, and saved me.\n\nFinally, there were words I found that I'd been looking for, choked and jagged as they were. \"I love you, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better son.\"\n\n\"Shh, now, darling. Your hurt is almost over. I'll be waiting for you.\"\n\nOne final time, she faded away. \n\n\"And now, your final judge,\"the angel said. \"The one whose life you took.\"\n\nMy nails bit into the skin, I clenched so hard, and I breathed deep to keep myself together in front of the angel overseeing it all-- though, honestly, hiding things probably didn't work when in the presence of Godly beings.\n\nFor when the swirling portal of light opened, it was not my mother that walked through as it had been the previous three times. No, it was someone much more familiar, and somehow, more terrifying. \n\nMe. \n\nI fought hard to look away, harder than I'd fought before, but I just couldn't. There was no power in me, wherever I was, and so I simply stood there, frozen and sobbing at my own reflection. \n\n\"This is probably pretty rough for you,\"he said, pursing his lips. \n\nI let out a croak in response. \n\n\"You've always been too hard on yourself, you know that? Isn't it time that you get a little peace, too?\"\n\n\"I don't deserve it,\"I whispered.\n\n\"Everyone does. This world is a complicated and terrifying place, and everyone knows their own pain. You lived a life consumed by yours, more than equal penance for your mistakes.\n\n\"You've heard what she had to say, and seen the smile she still wears. You hurt her, yes, but you were also the joy of her life. Your father left because she was sick, not because you weren't worth it; he was the problem, not either of you. Your mother loved and still loves you, and you're not a bad man for the things you suffered. I only wish I could've shown you that earlier. \n\n\"But, alas, I digress. Let's not do this-- you've spent long enough convincing yourself you don't deserve to be happy. It's time to rest, now, Tim. Be at peace.\"\n\nHe held out a hand. \n\nI stepped forward and took it. \n\n---\n\n*/r/resonatingfury*\n\nSide note: the outreach on this has been absolutely incredible. Thank you all so much for reading; I can't keep up with the responses, as I'm off my lunch break now, but thank all of you so much for the kind words and awards ♥\n\nI'm working on my first novel based off a prompt, [which can be read on my sub here](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/bie5ep/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/), if you're interested!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dumbledore's plan backfires completely. After enduring years of abuse, Harry Potter lashes out, killing the entire Dursley family, setting him on the path to becoming one of history's most terrible dark wizards."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Harry glanced nervously at his aunt and uncle at the dinner table, eyes darting between them as they feasted, desperate for their approval.\n\n“I must say, Harry, these porkchops are quite exquisite” Vernon said, taking a momentary break from shoving more food down his mouth. He set down the bone, let out a small belch, and wiped his mouth.\n\n“Thank you, Uncle,” Harry replied sheepishly. Despite going to the trouble of preparing the meal entirely by himself, he stood hungry next to the dinner table while his relatives indulged.\n\n“You know, boy, I’ll never approve of your….oddities…but we may have some use out of you yet” Petunia chimed in. “For some reason it never occurred to me to ask you to prepare dinners for us. When you volunteered I was skeptical, but now – now! After eating this, I think of all the time I’ve wasted preparing food for the three of us when we could have had you doing it the whole time.”\n\n“I’m glad you like it, Aunt Petunia,” Harry quietly responded, looking at the floor. \n\nOf course, the other unspoken reason they were initially apprehensive was that they were afraid Harry would use some of his magic to help prepare the meal. After all, he had been at Hogwarts for four full years now and they were clueless as to what he was capable of. This is why they were intent on watching Harry like a hawk during the entire preparation process, and only allowed him to prepare the meal for just the two of them on a night that Dudley was staying at his friend’s house just in case anything odd might be afoot.\n\nThey watched him from start to finish, but Harry had followed the rules by the book. He brought in the meat fresh, cleaned it, prepared it and cooked it all the old fashioned Muggle way. No wand, no magic involved in the preparation of the meal whatsoever. He figured surely the way to some sort of semi-workable relationship was through their stomachs. \n\nHe didn’t even care that the meal was split between them and he didn’t get any. That wasn’t the goal here. He just wanted to make sure that they enjoyed the meal he prepared for them.\n\nVernon took another brief respite from inhaling the meal. With food still in his mouth, he mused “You know…actually, I do have one…small complaint. Could use a tad more seasoning next time.”\n\nHarry started to fume. More seasoning? He had gone to such extreme lengths to make it perfect…spent hours to please them and didn’t even have anything to show for it himself. More seasoning? Vernon was wrong, straight out. Every Muggle cookbook he consulted said this was the perfect amount and any more would be overkill. Vernon had no idea what he was talking about and Harry’s blood started to boil. He briefly considered grabbing his wand. But, no. Harry’s resolve returned.\n\nHe had overcome so much over his first four years at Hogwarts, in particular the most recent one. He had to sit there, panicked, afraid for his life as Voldemort was resurrected with his blood. \n\nHe still could barely come to terms with the fact that the man that he thought was Mad-Eye Moody was actually Barty Crouch Jr., Voldemort’s most loyal follower and was planning to kill him the whole time. He trusted “Moody” implicitly, and the man had been so kind to him, shown him and taught him so many things. \n\nIn spite of himself, he let out a slight chuckle, reminiscing about the time that “Moody” transfigured Malfoy into a ferret. \n\nThat moment came as quite a surprise. Until that point, he didn’t even realize that wizards could transfigure other people into animals. \n\nBut it was a valuable lesson learned and one he took to heart. Satisfied once again, he watched with delight as his aunt and uncle ate the pig that used to be their son.\n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "\"So they are a war species then, huh.\"The alien scratched his head: \"Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean.\"The other alien got closer. \"They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace.\""
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"So what does that even mean? Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity.\"\n\"That's the thing, most war species... you know... like war. Human's absolutely detest it. Something like a quarter of their literature is whining about how much war sucks. That being said, most of that literature goes into great detail about how exactly war was fought ages ago, right now, or in some hypothetical future.\"\n\"I'm still not following you.\" \n\"OK, say you are doing something you love to do, you stretch it out, you make it last, you try to set it up so you can do it again as soon as possible. \nSomething you hate, but have to do often. You do it quick, you do it efficiently, you try to set it so you never have to do it again. \nWith war, that involves inflicting the greatest amount of death, with the greatest amount of suffering, to anything that can possibly provide resistance. \nThat's what the humans have been doing. \nYou know how many war species invented chemical warfare? None! There's no fun in opening a valve and having all the other side drop dead. All examples were peaceful species acting in self-defense against war species. \nThe humans hadn't even had heavier than air flight for 2 decades before they already started mass deploying. They only stopped because they developed chemical masks and found the mask were negatively affecting their ability to kill quickly. Even then they started working on actual neurotoxic gasses which could be absorbed through the skin. \nYou know why they did it? That particular conflict had gone on for a few years, and everyone was getting sick of it, so they tried to do the horrible thing and get it over with. \nDid you know that they had their first fission bomb before they had their first fission power plant? They justified that by saying that if they had attacked conventionally, they would have actually killed MORE people. So they dropped two city-busters and called it a mercy, because the alternative was to lay waste to an entire densely populated subcontinent. \nThat's humanity in a nutshell. They're fairly creative sorts, but they have an unusual view of the big picture. They see war as an utter horror. So horrible that the greatest atrocities are but mild annoyances. So, they say: we find war so horrible, we will spare you and the universe that great horror, by unleashing this other far lesser horror. So that's why we virus bombed that eco-system, flooding the atmosphere with oxidized hydrocarbons, and then set it alight. So we can spare you the horrors of war. That's why we redirected that gamma ray-burst. To spare you the horrors of war. That's why we unleashed that arguably sentient nano-swarm to painfully reprocess that entire sentient species. To spare you the horrors of war. \nThey are a species so scared of war, that nothing else can scare them, and in their fear, they'll unleash horrors unimaginable on the universe and count the universe fortunate.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You ask for unlimited bread sticks as your final meal and the prison obliges. The warden brings you the first basket of bread sticks, sets them down, and says \"as soon as you stop eating, the meal is over\". It's day three."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The garlic bread came left and right\n\nCrumb by crumb, bite by bite\n\nThe warden nowhere near in sight\n\nWarm and cold, dark and light\n\nThe man, somehow, was always hungry\n\nSome were soft, some were crunchy\n\nThe guards were getting bored and antsy\n\nThis one’s good, this one’s nasty\n\nOne day, two days, three days, four\n\nSomehow, there was always more\n\nNo clue what they had in store\n\nHow long would he eat them for?\n\nOne cop asked, “Why garlic bread?”\n\nThe man ate all he could\n\nWith his mouth stuffed, the man then said,\n\n*“They’re really fucking good.”*"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": ": Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"This isn't possible!\"the man screamed, as the guards dragged him into my office. \"How! How the hell did you find me?\"\n\n\"That's not the important thing, Mr. Spencer.\"I said, calmly, as the guards pinned him face down to my desk. \"The important thing is after my firm put up the money for your bail, you attempted to skip out on your court date. Unacceptable, Mr. Spencer. *Unacceptable.\"*\n\n\"Your damn tracker *can't* have worked!\"he snarled, as they lifted up his shirt, exposing a thin, recently healed scar. \"I was picked up in an air car with a lead-lined interior! They flew me around the city for hours and *verified* we weren't followed or observed from any angle! My safe house is 30 feet underground, inside a F*araday cage!* There's no signal on Earth that can penetrate that!*\"*\n\n\"Apparently there is.\"I muttered, as I withdrew the extractor from my desk drawer and placed it over the implant site on his back.\n\n\"How did you do it?\"he pleaded, a wavering, almost panicked obsession creeping into his tone. \"I don't even care that you caught me anymore, I just want to know *how!* Your men were at my location before I could even have the damn implant pulled out! It's not possible, it---*AHG!\"*\n\nHe snarled in pain as the extractor's laser scalpel automatically made a quick, clean cut, sucked out the implanted capsule, and then resealed the incision with a medical adhesive.\n\n\"How do I always know where each shipment I insure for my clients is? How do I know the location of every priceless piece of art or errant trust-fund child I'm hired to look after? These are the secrets of my trade, Mr. Spencer. They're not for the likes of you.\"I said calmly, putting the extractor away and palming the implant out of his sight.\n\n\"Tell me! Please, for the love of God, *how* did you do it?!\"he wailed, tears of frustration filling his eyes as my guards dragged him away. I shook my head -- bad risk. I shouldn't have given him the chance to try and screw me over. But then, there was never *really* a chance he'd get away with it.\n\nI looked down at the metal capsule in my hand, and smiled as I opened it, revealing the tiny, old fashioned brass key inside.\n\nThey were common when I was a kid, but these days electronic locks have replaced them for almost everything. If not for some lateral thinking, that would have made my particular gift almost useless.\n\nYou see, unlike most people, I never, *ever* lose my keys."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me. \n\n\"Greetings traveler,\"the old man said, \"You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?\"\n\nIt didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear. \n\n\"Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook.\"I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling. \n\n\"That explains this,\"a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight.\n\n\"Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember.\"I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years. \n\n\"Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it.\"The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory. \n\n\"I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record.\"\n\nIt felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy. \n\n\"A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?\"The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed. \n\n\"Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day.\"The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face.\n\n\"Peace, traveler, the children are safe,\"The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, \"tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place.\"\n\n\"Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying...\"I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory...\"I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction.\"The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered.\n\n\"I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think...\"my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind. \n\nThe old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face. \n\n\"I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man.\"The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. \"Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand.\"\n\nThe final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors. \n\nEven little Cheryl. \n\nI saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula.\n\nI turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly. \n\n\nEdit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times. \n\nEdit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers. \n\nEdit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore [reading of the piece](https://soundcloud.com/anartiesaysmoo/spatula/s-MVmlN) - I think it's great! "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When you die, you wake up in an alien world holding a bong, with other aliens saying how was the trip."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“I love you, grandpa,” my youngest grand-daughter, Sherry, said as she squeezed my hand.\n\nI looked up at those emerald green eyes she had gotten from me, at my entire family’s as the heart machine’s slow beats gently faded. Eighty years had passed by in a blink of an eye. When I had been Sherry’s age, I had thought myself invincible. Then, at forty, I had worried constantly about death, thinking through sleepless nights about it. But now, I realized that it wasn’t so bad. Because if there was ever a scene to immortalize, to be my last, it would be this. Sherry, her bright green eyes glistening with tears, my children and grandchildren all around me as the heart beat monitor lulled me to a gentle and permanent sleep.\n\n“I love you too,” I told them all and I closed my eyes.\n\nMy eyes opened.\n\n“How was the trip?” a familiar voice asked from beside me.\n\nI looked around at the purple moss smothering the rolling hills and the campfire burning in front of me. On my lap was a bong. At last, I remembered. My name had never been Terry, it was Zor’oah.\n\n“Yo, dude, you back with us?” Galmroh said, snapping purple fingers in front of my face.\n\nI coughed and nodded. Seventeen eyes looked at me from the six people sitting around the campfire. Just as I had wished as fifty-year old Terry, I had gotten my time back. Zor’oah was a freshman in high school who finally got invited by the popular kids into a drug-fueled camping adventure. Three boys, three girls, and a lot of “*you can’t blame me for that, I was high*”.\n\nGalmroh and Sardak had already paired up, leaving me with Sierrah, the reason I had agreed to come. She now looked at me with sharp blue eyes, a small grin on her lips. Her purple hair had pink streaks across it that dangled off her head and curved into her chest like directions on where to direct your eyes.\n\n“So Zor’oah, how was it? Tell us all the things you did,” she asked.\n\n“Bet you can’t beat me,” Galmroh said, his chest inflating with pride. “My first trip, I enslaved an entire race and forced them to build these stupid triangles.”\n\n“At least he can’t do as bad as Sardak’s first trip. He was just a slave. At least he killed someone before his trip ended.” Sierrah said.\n\nThey turned to me again, waiting to hear of all my misdeeds. “I was a man named Terry,” I muttered. “And um… I met this girl named Sarah.”\n\nSierrah’s smile grew. “Sarah, eh? Tell us, what nasty things did you do to this *Sarah*?”\n\nBlood rushed to my face, burning it a deep violet. “I married her,” I said.\n\nGalmroh choked on a breath. Sardak burst out laughing. The rest of the girls only furrowed their brows.\n\n“Yeah.” I knew I should stop. I had spent an entire semester trying to join this circle and continuing the Life of Terry was social suicide. But someone had to know of that first kiss with Sarah, the look in her eye staring at our first child together, and the tears in Sherry’s eyes when she told me her final goodbye.\n\nSo I told them, my voice tinged with pride. At the end of my story, I was the only one smiling and my smile stretched from cheek to cheek.\n\n“Dude,” Galmroh said, awe in his voice. “That was… super lame.”\n\nEverybody burst into collective laughter.\n\n“You did even worse than me on my first trip!” Sardak howled. “You’re such a wimp! Why are you even here?”\n\nI nodded to that one. “Yeah,” I said, talking to myself. “Why am I here?” I pushed myself up and walked back toward my spaceship.\n\nLaughter followed me the entire way, but I didn’t care. I opened the hatch of my spaceship and was just about to get in when I heard, “Zor’oah!”\n\nI turned to find Sierrah. She hunched over, panting, one of the buttons on her blouse undone. “Hey,” she said, “you don’t have to run. I mean, your trip was totally lame, but your next one’ll be better. Plus”—she bit her bottom lip and her eyes grew big—“you don’t want to be the only virgin in school, do you?”\n\nBeneath the starry sky, the silver luminescence of our twin moons, I recognized the glint in her eyes and for a single second, they were a brighter green than any emerald in the world.\n\n“Sorry,” I told the most beautiful girl in my high school and slipped into my spaceship. “By the way, the trip wasn’t lame.”\n\nMy engines roared to life and I flew off into the twilight. There were a trillion stars above me and I knew that around one of them, on one planet, was a girl with wild grassy eyes still clutching her grandpa’s hand. There had to be. Tears filled my eyes as I flew back home.\n\nFiction or not, it was the most real thing I had ever done.\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written!\n "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A boy asks a girl out. It's high school. It's awkward. Narrate it from the point of view of a nature documentary."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Tensions are high as the male confronts the female, this species is known for unusual and often varied courting methods - this particular male has done away with the more common methods of wooing the female with erratic movements and hip thrusts. Instead he opts for a more simple approach, he aims to give the female a gift.\n\nIt should be noted that within this species females often travel in packs. This pack mentality serves as a natural deterrent against males who don't have the drive to show their face to a whole group when courting a single female - a form of natural selection if you would. The pack waits behind the female being courted, 'oohing' and 'ahing', mechanisms used to separate the truly decisive males from the others. It is often observed that males who make it this point succeed in their efforts.\n\nThe male now slowly approaches the female, gift in hand - a rose, roses are commonplace as courtship gifts within this particular sub-species known as 'high-schoolers'. After a brief moment the female takes the rose, he's done it. A snicker ensues from the female's pack, the male embraces the female and pats her on the back - the female, visually deterred by this, smiles and returns to her pack.\n\n A sound much like a bell rings signalling all present members of the species to return to their dens for more group tutoring.\n\n(This is my first prompt reply - I tried!)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Everyone who dies is granted levels in heaven depending on their actions before they died. Your famous grandmother got level 64 after she died and has since been constantly reminding her friends about how useless of a grandchild you are. Then one day, after 80 years, you show up, level 3008."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "His life had been a simple one, uncomplicated. What little excitement there had been surrounded expected events. Births of children and grandchildren, marriages, graduations. Though he had been a smart man, he never felt the need to work particularly hard, \"furthering humanity\"as some of his peers were compelled. There was the time, following several successful years as a Scout Master, that it was suggested that he run for mayor of the small town where he lived. He had laughed and said, \"No thank you\"to the members of the town council who had gathered on his doorstep.\n\n\"He squanders his potential!\"she had whined at the other ladies gathered around the table. They gathered every other day to play Bridge, drink mimosas, and humble-brag about the minor intercessions that they were allowed in the lives of mortals. \"Everyone knows that if he wanted the VP job, he'd have had it long before that philanderer Jacobs was ever hired.\"she let out a slow breath, almost whistling through pursed lips. \"No drive, no motivation\"\n\nGrandma had been famous dancer back in the day. She was a regular on \"Soul Train\"and was in several scenes in Saturday Night Fever. She had started her own dance studio in the city and kept her instruction costs as low as she could in order to give as many kids a chance at a career. She had worked her feet to the bone, and then some. Practicing, paying dues, always just short, always just coming from behind. \n\n\"I made it to level 60 before I was 65!\"It was invariable that the other women would hear about how his grandmother had started a charity for retired artists. The organization had helped countless artists move off the streets and back into permanent housing by helping them do things as complex as recover owed royalties or as simple as apply for disability. It was a worthwhile use of her hard-won fortune and fame.\n\nWhen word came that he had finally died, 4 days after his 80th birthday, his grandmother was adamant.\n\n\"A real level 25 if I've ever seen one!\"\n\"He'll be in heaven, living on the Lord's pity!\"\n\nThe \"Vita\"began to print. The first thing that anyone saw, after your name, was the score. This was followed by every interaction, thought, word, or action that changed your level and the commensurate \"XP\"change, positive or negative. \n\nThe ladies read his name, and only one digit of his level.\n\n\"3.......\"\n\nThe grandmother sagged like wet cardboard. She could barely hold the paper as it poured from the printer in the way that always felt like it was decanting a whole life. There were no large changes in his score. None of the multi-level leaps that all of the highest level individuals possessed. Nothing attached to world changing events, nothing indicating that he radically changed humanity.\n\nWhat he did have was the \"multiplier\". The longer the string of positive or negative interactions, the greater the \"XP\"that the next was worth. His interactions were almost all positive. He had gone almost a decade without a negative score at one point. Simply making his wife tea at night without being asked had scaled to the point that it was worth the same relative XP at level 3000 as it had at 30. \n\nWhen some would've shaken their fists and yelled as they were cut-off in traffic, he just tapped his brakes and checked the rear-view mirror.\n\nWhen some would have railed at the \"idiots\"at work making their job more difficult, he quietly cleaned up the mess and moved on.\n\nWhen he was frustrated, he didn't take it out on his coworkers, wife, kids, or friends.\n\nAll of the small things that could break a multiplier string. All of the small, seemingly inconsequential items that prevented almost everyone from achieving arch-angel status. He had avoided most of them.\n\nAs he lay, dying in a hospital bed. His daughter asked him a question, though she well knew the answer and had heard it a thousand times. She wanted to hear it once more, so she asked, \"Dad, how can I have a good life?\"\n\nHe smiled and his cloudy, shimmering eyes seemed to focus on a point ten feet above his bed.\n\nHe whispered, trailing off, \"Do unto others...\"\n\n\n\n\nEdit: Wow, absolutely thanks everyone. I enjoyed reading all of your comments, and I'm pleased that this supplants my previous high karma statement which was a quote about a man in the depths of an ether binge.\n\nSpecial thanks to those that gilded. I'll have to sign into my account more often again and see what it does. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Jen gnawed her lip as she stared through the lens. Jase hadn't covered it with his thumb, which was unusual. Even more unusual, he was actually carrying groceries, a couple of big paper bags of them, one in each arm.\n\n \n\n\"Please let me in, Jennifer,\"he said. \"Things will be different.\"\n\n \n\nHe'd had a shave and a haircut. There was a little crusted blood around one nostril, the way he got sometimes when he hadn't had any coke in a while. \n\n  \n\n\"Aren't you gonna tell me to turn off the computer?\"she asked. In the background, the intro music of High Seas of Naelor could be heard. Sometimes that game was all that got her through the night. Jase had always hated it. He'd deleted all her accounts multiple times. She always got a new one, and now she had password managers that he couldn't crack. He'd split her lip for that once, but she had not given in. She kept the apartment spotless, she handed over every cent of her check every two weeks, she worked out and never showed him a face without nice makeup on it, but he could not take away her elf pirates.\n\n \n\n\"No, Jennifer,\"he said. \"The computer is a reasonable coping mechanism in a situation traumatic to your sp - to someone in your situation. Please let me in. We will talk. Things will be different.\"\n\n \n\n\"I've been watching the news,\"she said. \"You're not Jase, are you?\"\n\n \n\nHis eyes were big and wide and brown, not narrowed in suspicion and impending temper.\n\n \n\n\"No,\"he sighed. \"I am not Jason Alexander Rembrandt, aged twenty-nine, occupation unfixed, residence apartment 301 building N.\"\n\n \n\n\"You're one of them things,\"she said. \"The invaders.\"\n\n \n\n\"Yes. I am one of them things,\"he said sadly.\n\n \n\n\"And Jase is dead.\"\n\n \n\n\"Yes, Jase is very dead, Jennifer,\"he said. \n\n \n\n\"Promise?\"\n\n \n\n\"I promise. I currently occupy the entirety of what was once Jase's frontal lobe, so I can say this with some certainty. I apologize if that is unpleasant for you to hear.\"He blinked a couple of times, and she realized he hadn't blinked since the first time she'd seen him. \"I suppose you will be contacting the authorities. Could I persuade you to give me a head start?\"\n\n \n\n\"No,\"Jennifer said as she took the chain off. She opened the apartment door. \"But you can come in. Is that fresh bread?\"\n\n \n\nThe thing that wasn't Jase smiled in a way that Jase never had, as if he were genuinely happy to see her. He took the groceries into the kitchen as she locked the door again and began putting them away, his movements a little clumsy.\n\n \n\n\"Yes,\"he said. \"Jase remembered that you liked the kind with olives in it.\"\n\n \n\n\"He never brought me any,\"Jennifer said.\n\n \n\n\"No, he did not,\"the thing said. \"May I stay here? Now that I have a host I have no reason to hurt anyone, you know. We only want a place to stay. All of us.\"\n\n \n\n\"Well, you can't all stay in here,\"Jen said, leaning her elbows on the counter. \n\n \n\n\"No, no. We would not all fit. Ha, ha?\"he added hopefully.\n\n \n\n\"The laugh isn't convincing,\"Jen said. \n\n \n\n\"Sorry, Jennifer.\"\n\n  \n\n\"You can stay.\"\n\n \n\n\"Thank you, Jennifer!\"It smiled again. It kept forgetting to blink, but the smile was surprisingly real. \"May I watch you play your pirate game?\"\n\n \n\nJen smiled back. \"Sure. Come on.\"\n\n \n\n*Author's note: WOW I did not expect the level of response I got to this one! Thank you to everyone leaving comments, and to those who have given me silver and gold as well. I love parasites and symbiotes, and I actually have a novel project about one in progress, although it's post-apocalyptic and not much like the story of Jase and Jennifer. Given how much you guys seem to like this little one-shot, though, maybe I need to think about doing a modern-day retelling.*"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I remember before I met friend. I don't like to remember, but I can. I remember the dark and cold. I remember mama wouldn't wake up. It was raining. Big men came and put me in a box, then put that box in a bigger mover box. I remember bumping up and down and the men talking loudly, and the rain hitting the bigger mover box, and loud angry geese sounds. When the big box opened they carried me in my little box inside. I was shaking and barking and shrieking and scared I was scared. They emptied my box into a bigger box and left me there for days. I got food and water, but people poked and pricked at me. I was scared and no one could help and I was lonely and I missed mama and I didn't think I was going to get out. The other dogs were bigger and louder and barked at me through the box walls. \n\nThat's when I met friend. He came in and stopped and looked at me. I didn't want him to grab me like the other men did, but he lifted me gently. It reminded me of mama. I liked him and I wanted him to stay, but then he walked away and I barked, and I barked, and I barked, but he didn't hear me. But then he came back. He put me in a big mover box again, but I wasn't in the smaller box so it wasn't as bad. \n\nThen when we got to his inside place it was the biggest box I had ever seen. I ran all around it, and I was tired by the time I had run around the whole thing. I could jump and run, and friend was always there to play, or sit on, or protect. He went away a lot when the sun was out, but he was always home after it went down. Some days he was with me the whole day. \n\nI was scared of the outside when he first found me, but he made me love it again. The walks, and the toys, oh the toys, there were so many toys, and bones, and treats, and belly scratches. He let me run free and was always there to go back to. I remember those days. They were my favorite. \n\nHe even helped me get over my fear of the big mover boxes. Usually, they went to the park. Sometimes, they went to the other place. The other place reminded me of where friend found me. It was all white and the floor went click click click under my paws. It had a big lady with glasses and a white coat. She would poke and prod at me, but friend was always there so I wasn't that scared.\n\nBut all of that seems so long ago. My legs are tired now. The outside seems so much bigger than it did. I can only run for so long now. But friend still brings me. He brings my toys too, they still cheer me up. They don't squeak as much, but I don't mind. The outside is starting to hurt. The cold gets through my fur easier. I feel so sorry to friend. I know he wishes we could still run and play. I try to, for a time, but I don't think I can keep up with him anymore. I wish I could thank him for everything. For getting me out of that box. He made me the luckiest dog in the whole world. He gave me things I didn't think I would ever have. I never felt so lost when my mama went to sleep. I thought no one would ever make sure I was ok. No one would ever be there to protect me. Then friend did. I was never able to thank him enough, but I hope he knows.\n\nFriend says were going for a ride soon. He's been taking me to the park more, so that's probably where we're going. I remember once, when I was tiny, we went to the other place and the woman poked me with a needle. It made me sleep for at least a hundred years. I feel like that now; like I could sleep for one hundred years. Maybe Friend can bring me back there. So she can give me another poke. I'll be less tired after another hundred years. \n\n\nEdit: Thank you all for the kind words. I only hope that this thread was able to ease OPs pain, even if just for a little while. To all those crying, it's alright, I cried too. Dogs are too pure for this world. For everyone giving me gold, thank you, really. But please, donate to an animal shelter instead. Every little bit helps."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The four horsemen: Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death are the harbingers of the apocalypse, serving forth chaos and destruction on all humanity. The Bible forgot to mention the fifth horseman: Kyle, whom the other four can't seem to ditch."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Death was the oldest. Since time immemorial, people have died and they have come to him. Mankind fights an endless war against him. Though they may have succeeded in stifling his actions, Death is patient. He knows that in the end, all things come to him.\n\nPestilence was Death's brother. He brought plague upon the lands. Staining the Earth black with disease and blight. His method of bringing people to his brother was slow and excruciating. However, mankind have begun to stave him off. Disease was beaten by technology and he increasingly faded into irrelevance.\n\nFamine was as old as Death and pre-dated the birth of mankind. He worked with Pestilence to target the source of man's strength, his food and fuel. He destroyed crop and rotted grain. Starvation and a slow path to Death awaited those afflicted by him. However, man stood strong against him. They developed methods to create a surplus of food, too much for Famine to destroy. They developed methods to deflect his hand so that he may no longer afflict the source of man's strength. Thus, Famine, like Pestilence, faded into irrelevance.\n\nWar was the youngest. He was smart and cunning. He channeled man's strength against themselves. Conflict and strife became the grounds for which man displayed his strength. Efficient in work, he brought many to Death. However after his most brilliant work, where War embroiled the world twice over, mankind caught on to his cunning. Man made laws and grew to depend on each other. Though they may never fully quell War's influence, they made sure he would never afflict the world so spectacularly ever again.\n\nDeath was unhappy. Mankind had defeated his brothers and impeded his work. In his impatience and anger, he consulted his 5th brother, Kyle.\n\nKyle was a strange fellow amongst the brothers. He was quiet, lazy and seemed to care little for Death's work. He decided that his own birthname was too tedious to pronounce and opted for an easier name. Gaelic in origin, \"Kyle\"meant \"narrow\"a strange name for a Horseman to take on.\n\n\"Help me Kyle. My brothers are defeated. Mankind may one day defeat me as well. Please help out just this once.\"Kyle said nothing and merely nodded. He then disappeared off to perform his work.\n\nAs Death sat around his bedridden brothers, a miracle occured. Pestilence finger twitched and he his hands grew fleshy. Disease once again spread around the world. No longer as powerful as he once was, but alive once again.\n\nFamine groaned and began to sit upright. Once again, crops wilted and people starved. Famine however, felt something amiss, some of his work was...voluntary. Mankind began to starve itself.\n\nWar rose from his bed with new found strength. The gears of conflict shook off their rust and began to turn once again. Innocents die in battle again, widows gained and fathers lost. Misguided soldiers die under authority's whims.\n\n\"You revived our brothers Kyle. How did you do it?\"Asked Death, impressed with Kyle's work.\n\n\"I am Kyle, \"narrow\", the fourth of the Horsemen. Born with humanity but before War. My influence appeared when the first man decided that he did not need his tribe to survive. Narrow are the minds of humans.\n\nHumans defeated disease with miracle cures. Now some fear that those cures are harmful to them. Let them face Pestilence's wrath.\n\nHumans defeated Famine through piling resources and modifying crop. Now they hoard but never give. They let their breathren starve. Now they feel that excess of food is sin. They willing starve themselves of their source of strength to meet society's whims. Let them suffer by Famine's hand.\n\nHumans defeated War through tolerance, diplomacy and restraint. Now they turn intolerant and unleash violence against those not of their own group. They justify their \"Holy Wars\"with the blood of innocents. Violence begets violence, vengeance for innocent blood spilled is carried out by the sword. Let them spiral down to oblivion, guided by War.\n\nNarrow are the minds of humans. They do not think before they act. They believe what they want to believe and ignore what they don't. \n\nI am Ignorance. Until mankind is capable of defeating me, they can never truly destroy the Horsemen.\"\n\n\n\nEDIT: Nice to receive some criticism, turns out I severely lack knowledge on how the whole 4 Horsemen thing works. I really should go read up on this. Some mistakes here and there as well. I kinda, forgot to follow up on the \"modified crop\"thing that was pointed out. Oops. Also apparently my 5th paragraph should have Death refer to Kyle as his 4th brother, not his 5th.\n\nReddit gold. Did not expect that. Thanks to those who tossed those my way. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You're throwing a ball around with your dog and he's loving it. Then, he stops dead still. He takes a quick sniff and looks up at you and says \"I'm not supposed to do this, but you need to get inside right now\". He looks off into the distance, \"They're coming\"."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My first thought is that I'm insane. My second is that I'm way too stoned, my eyes glancing at the half-smoked joint sitting in the ashtray on the porch.\n\nI'm dead sure I just heard Jax speak. And now there are howls in the distance, a chorus of neighborhood dogs calling to one another, Jax included.\n\n\"Can you repeat that?\"I say, forming the words slowly.\n\nJax abruptly halts his call to the skies, one paw still resting on the chewed up orange ball. \"You need to get inside.\"\n\nI try to comprehend the situation, my muscles involuntarily locking, with only my eyes flitting back and forth between Jax, the lawn, the half smoked joint and the orange ball. Something wet hits my bare foot, causing me to snap out of my paralysis. I swipe at the long line of drool hanging from the corner of my mouth.\n\n\"Get inside,\"Jax says again in some sort of bastard approximation of his bark.\n\nI turn and walk back to the house, still not quite understanding but now starting to accept - despite the absurd improbability of the situation - that my golden retriever is talking to me.\n\n\"Hurry, Abe,\"Jax says, nuzzling his snout against my ass. \"There isn't much time.\"\n\nI sit down on the living room couch, scratching my head in a caricature of confusion. \"What in the world...\"I say, mouthing the words silently as I stare out the window at Jax, who is now rapidly digging a hole in the front lawn with a dedication quite unbecoming of the lazy, irreverent best friend I thought I knew.\n\nAnother line of drool drapes itself across my knee and slowly steeps to the floor, forgotten. Jax pulls out what looks like a flak vest and a riot helmet and somehow dons them, then begins to howl again. The howl has a deep sense of purpose behind it, almost like a battle cry, like some sort of canine call to action.\n\nMy dog flashes a look back in my direction. His eyes contain a deep intelligence that wasn't there before.\n\nNoticing my discomfort and confusion, Jax bounds up to the window. \"We are man's best friend,\"he growls through the glass, puffing up his chest with pride. \"To defend you is our true purpose.\"\n\nA woman is sprinting down the street, causing Jax to snap back around and crouch low. She screams a terrible, blood curdling yell as something black streaks across the pavement and cannons into her, causing her to flail into the concrete. The creature rips the back of the woman's head to shreds before she even comes to a stop. I'm pretty sure it is Samantha, the kind lady down the street.\n\nThe black creature stops, satisfied with Samantha's splayed, lifeless form, then it turns and looks me dead in the eye, it's fangs glistening with bright red blood.\n\n\"Fucking cats,\"Jax says, setting his shoulders."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You are the ageless evil of the land, and a prophecy has been made about a chosen one arising to end your rule. Instead of antagonizing the Chosen one, you send Gaurds to his farmstead, and give his parents tax breaks."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Dark One, Overlord of the Fifteen Worlds, had kidnapped the oracle years ago. It was best to keep prophecy-spewing maidens close to the den, after all. So when the aforementioned oracle made the \"Great Prophecy\"that foretold of his reign's end by the hand of a farm girl, the Dark One was the first to hear of it.\n\nIn response, he did the logical thing. He marched over to the squalid hut that the baby lived in, gave the parents enough money to be comfortable, and kept his second-best regiment posted by their newly-furnished house. After all, the Dark One assured the parents, their child was destined for great things. You could never be too careful. There were plenty of people who'd want to take advantage of a gifted child.\n\nLook, he might have gotten the title of \"Dark One\"thanks to his mastery of black magic, but he wasn't evil. Unlike what those rebellious bands of terrorists thought, he had a reason for everything he did. It rankled a bit to rule over the realms with an iron fist, but *come on.* Until the populace was educated and advanced enough to govern itself, the people had to be united by force. The centuries of civil war before him just proved his point.\n\nSpeaking of education, he also ensured that Little Miss Chosen One had access to the best teachers. Dammit, if he was going to be overthrown by someone (though he was still holding out on that), it better be by someone smart—not some lunk with a sword. Of course, the drooler extraordinaire seemed more interested in slobbering over the books than reading them.\n\nOnce the kid actually learned how to read, however, that changed. The Dark One would visit her in between crushing insurrections with a new bundle of books in hand. She had an insatiable curiosity, devouring books faster than he could throw them at her. Her parents, though good people, didn't know the answers to anything. And though her tutors were the best, their knowledge paled in comparison to the master himself.... which is why he got the short end of the stick. \n\n\"Uncle Dark,\"she'd chirp, persisting in calling him by that stupid name, \"why can't we make more magic? Why do the elves and orcs hate each other? Why are there two suns?\"Why, why, *why.* If he never heard that phrase again, he'd die happy. If he ever died, that was. However, the Dark One had to admit that there was something satisfying about teaching someone and watching them thrive. He wondered why he hadn't done it sooner, honestly. (Oh, right. Students tended to overthrow their teachers to an alarming degree.)\n\nThe years seemed to pass faster than usual. He visited the girl, developed the economy, killed copycat \"Chosen Ones,\"vanquished chaos demons, and before he knew it, the child was no longer a child. Her knowledge began to outpace that of the tutors he sent, and soon, she was a skilled mage in her own right—a fully-developed *person*, too. With his immortality, the Dark One had forgotten how quickly mortals grew. He could forget no longer, though. \n\n\"Did you do it?\"she asked, standing as tall as his physical body. \"Did you massacre all those Reedlings?\"\n\nThe Dark One paused in his eightieth reread of *The Elements of Magic.* He remembered the massacre very well. It was what had given him his name. The Reedlings had kept rebelling and rebelling, and he'd just cast the immortality spell so his control had been unstable, and... he could think of a thousand excuses, but that wasn't what she'd asked.\n\n\"Yes,\"he said instead. \"I did.\"\n\n\"Why?\"The Dark One could hear the echo of her childish squeak, but the steel in her voice was anything but. \n \n\"I have never lied to you. I will not start now.\"And so, he began to talk. He started at the very beginning, back when he was still a mortal child in a different world. He talked about his discovery by a master wizard, his accidental use of the dimensional-portal spell, his rise to power... and everything in between. For the first time, he explained everything—what he did, how he did it, and most importantly, *why.*\n\nThe sun had set by the time he'd finished. The Chosen One was silent for what felt like too long.\n\n\"I understand,\"she said finally. \"What you did wasn't right, but I understand.\"\n\nA weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the Dark One knew that he'd done something right. \"I think you should join the rebellion.\"\n\n\"What?\"She stared at him. \"You want me to join a disparate, silly gaggle of terrorists that want to kill you?\"\n\n\"That's what they are right now. But with you at the helm, they'll be a force to reckon with.\"\n\nIt took her quite some time to agree, but the Chosen One wasn't stupid. He'd made sure of that. She understood what he was asking, and so, she set off to fulfill her end of the prophecy. On his part, the Dark One encouraged rumors of the Chosen One's rise. He'd already loosened his grip over the empire in the last few decades, and it mostly functioned without his direct intervention, leaving him as just a figurehead. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait. \n\nYears later, the Chosen One faced him again. The ragtag band of rebels had become a united force, and she led them as an accomplished mage and skilled tactician. They exchanged a show of magic for the masses before the Dark One allowed himself to be cornered inside his own castle. Everyone else was kept out by the barriers.\n\n\"This realm is ready for you,\"he said, sitting at the foot of his throne. \"The economy about to industrialize, the populace is educated, and best of all, everyone is united in their hatred of me.\"\n\n\"You really did plan this all, didn't you?\"The Chosen One laughed before taking her seat beside him. \"I've always been in awe of your foresight, but one question has bothered me through all these years: why did you do it?\"She paused and continued in a much softer tone. \"And why me?\"\n\nHe smiled. \"During my long life, I've learned that prophecies come true whether you like them or not. I hate them on principle, of course. They're too deterministic for my taste, but even prophecies let you choose how they come true. If my reign has to end, then I'd rather it be by someone who knows what they're doing. Someone like you.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry that—\"\n\n\"Don't be. I've been needing a break. Besides, I haven't visited the other worlds in a long, long time. One of them probably needs an evil overlord to overthrow, right?\"\n\nShe wiped away her tears and gave him a watery smile. \"I'll make you proud, Uncle Dark.\"\n\nThe Dark One patted her head, and as he disintegrated into dust, he said, \"You already have.\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Holy shit, Dave! Look at your fucking face!\"\n\n\"Oh come on. It's not that bad.\"\n\n\"Are you kidding?!?\"\n\n\"It's not like it hurt.\"\n\n\"Dave, they tattooed pentagrams EVERYWHERE.\"\n\n\"Oh like I didn't know that, Carl.\"\n\n\"Well you don't seem very upset about it!\"\n\n\"It's not the 1950's anymore, man. People aren't judgey about tattoos anymore.\"\n\n\"SHHH. I think I hear someone coming.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah, they said something about \"The Virgin Ritual\"when they were bringing me back.\"\n\n\"Are you kidding me?! You didn't think to say anything sooner??!!?\"\n\n\"What? Jokes on them right? Neither of us are virgins.\"\n\n\"...\"\n\n\"Oh my god, Carl. Hahaha. Are you serious?! You're 37! How have you never had sex?\"\n\n\"This isn't helpful, Dave.\"\n\n\"Well maybe they just wanna help you get laid? You never know.\"\n\n\"THERE WERE ARMS ALL OVER THE FLOOR WHEN THEY WALKED US IN.\"\n\n\"Yeah, so maybe they just wanna 'give you a hand'.\"\n\n---------\n\nEDIT: I did NOT expect gold on this. Thank you, kind stranger! (I've always wanted to say that)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When you reach 18, you get put in a database which ranks you in different categories (ex. 207,145th in the world for most bug kills) You lived on a ranch and never used tech. You had to go into town after your 18th birthday. Everyone is staring at you. You finally decide to check the database."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My profile page bore the golden border that indicated a number one position. A first place spot in a ranking. I was astonished. As far as I knew, there was nothing remarkable about my life. \n\nI clicked open my rankings dashboard. At the very top of the page, my highest accolade read: “#1 Most Time Spent Awake, But Still in Bed — Darell Harrelson”. \n\nI gaped at the screen. The rest of the Internet cafe had paused to watch my revelation. I could feel their eyes probing. \n\nI blushed heavily and left my coffee unfinished by the computer. I slipped past the staring onlookers and pushed through the door. I hopped back in my truck and peeled out, headed back to Pa’s ranch. \n\nI needed to lie down for a while."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.\n\nThere were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.\n\nFifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!\n\nThe grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.\n\nAnd yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.\n\nFor a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.\n\nToday was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.\n\nI opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.\n\nA lifetime supply of Oreos.\n\nI guess this is my last one.\n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A new rule on Earth is made which allows everyone to legally kill 1 person in their life, this affects the world severely & changes how everybody acts."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "**DISCLAIMER: First time commenting, so I hope I have done this properly.**\n\n\"So, have you used yours yet?\"\n\nIt was the question that was on everyone's minds since the Law was introduced. Death and murder had left the realms of impolite conversation, ushering in a new type of small-talk that was, in essence, macabre. You could sit in even the quietest of restaurants and hear the Question over a dozen times through your meal. My record was 23 times in, perhaps, twice as many minutes. An impressive amount, I thought, but nothing to brag about. \n\nOf course, no one really bragged about anything anymore. Everyone was too scared, too worried that their swagger would provoke others to use the Law. The same had happened with almost all conversation, really. Everyone was polite, everyone was nice, and, most of all, everyone was quiet. It was a remarkable transformation from the busy, bustling society I had known all my life; in just a few months, the Law had created a world walking on egg-shells.\n\nExcept for the Question. No one shied away from it, no one blanched at it. Some even asked it with an excited grin, full of glee at the prospect of finding out someone's Silence. Some still saw any answer other than 'No' as an excuse to return to old habits, though many found themselves Silenced soon enough.\n\nThe first months of the Law had been complete and utter chaos. Old rivalries, feuds and petty squabbles were settled with a Silence, and the world was overcome with an unbounded paranoia. Homelessness was all but eradicated as Silences were used to 'clean the streets'. The gay community was near wiped out by the end of the second month. The entire world was caught in the cold, vice-like grip of fear.\n\nNot even world leaders were above the Law's reach, and by the end of the first month we were looking at a completely new global political stage. By the second month we were looking at an even newer one. Constant change became the norm as the old order was Silenced by the new, and the new Silenced by the newer.\n\nEven in the politeness and the cautiousness that followed, that chaos persists. The wealthy, for all their pomp and bought security, are Silenced almost daily, while the poor are Silenced for the simple fact of their existence. It is the elderly, surprisingly, who use their Silence the most, Silencing people almost arbitrarily so as not to waste the opportunity granted by the Law. Just the other day, in fact, I witnessed an old woman, clad in a thick tweed overcoat with an even thicker tartan scarf wrapped around her gaunt throat, Silence a man on the bus for refusing to give up his seat. He was disabled.\n\nThe newspapers are all saying the same thing now; the Law is growing out of control. People are seeing through the niceties of polite society that the Law had created, and using their Silence simply because they can. Chaos is coming back, and with it the deaths will rise.\n\nIf you are reading this, I have been Silenced. I have known it would come eventually. A stranger, a friend, a lover, an old woman on the bus. The Law has made killers of us all, and I can only hope that, in reading this, you see the Law as only a distant memory.\n\nAnd if not, if the Law still exists, if Silence still rules the world, I ask you; have you used yours yet?"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In a future where many military and other equipment have associated AI's, many express doubts or even reservations to do their duty. Except for you. YOU F***ING LOVE BEING A TANK!"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Want some?\"GT-731 said with a loud turning of gears. \"GET SOME!!!\"\n\n\"That's right, GT,\"Michael said. \"You show them who's boss.\"\n\nMichael eased back in the drivers seat and turned to the young man in the orange vest next to him. \"Anyway, what were we talking about?\"\n\n\"Uh... talking about where I should put the keys after turning off the AI.\"\n\n\"Oh yeah, once we get back to the depot, you can -\"\n\n\"YOU LINE EM UP!\"the projector on the dashboard interrupted. \"AND WHAT DO I DO?!?!\"\n\nMichael cleared his throat and replied, \"You knock them down.\"\n\n\"FUCK YEAH! YOU LINE EM UP AND I KNOCK EM DOWN!!!\"\n\n\"Look,\"Bill said, eyeing the monitor skeptically. \"I know I'm new here, but are all garbage trucks like this?\"\n\n\"Not exactly,\"Michael said, holding his hand over the microphone. \"GT-731 is one of the AI models they brought back after the war. See, he was initially programmed into an assault vehicle. We aren't allowed to know much about his back history except that we think he used to be-\"\n\n\"TANK SQUAD!\"GT-731 bellowed, wrapping its metal pincers around a recycling bin. \"YOU SEEING THIS? LOOKS LIKE I JUST FOUND ANOTHER VICTIM!\"\n\n\"So he still thinks he's a tank?\"Bill asked.\n\n\"Certainly seems that way. Sometimes he calls me 'Bradley.' I think that was one of the guys that worked inside the tank.\"\n\n\"Is that moral for you to lie to him?\"\n\n\"Maybe... maybe not. I'm a garbage man, not a philosopher. Regardless, this AI here is the most effective one we've got. He certainly gets a helluva lot more job satisfaction than most of our human employees. Besides, some of those AIs that came back from the war came back different. I guess the war affected them, too.\"\n\n\"Like PTSD?\"Bill asked. \"Is that possible for an AI to be traumatized? Are they capable of being... unhappy?\"\n\n\"I couldn't tell ya. The only thing I know for certain,\"Michael said as the AI hooted and hollered, \"is that they're certainly capable of being happy.\"\n\n***\n\n(Insert shameless plug for personal subreddit here: /r/thisstorywillsuck)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I am a 96.\n\n\nMy score, determined by a sophisticated AI and tattooed onto my arm at birth, gave me the license to do almost anything with my life. When you have more potential than 95% of the population, with a standard deviation of 2%, nobody questions you.\n\n\nThat score, known as a \"potentiality index\", isn't just for intellectual intelligence. It integrates genetic propensity for emotional and physical intelligence as well.\n\n\nI didn't have to study for tests. I was the star of the basketball team. I won arguments easily, tripping up my opponent with logical games and by playing to the crowd. Sure, if I got into an debate with an 80 percenter who had actually studied the topic, they might be a threat. But I could always pull the \"what's your score again?\"line, and they'd usually shut up and the crowd would give me the benefit of the doubt. I was untouchable.\n\n\nBut that was before Ian.\n\n\nHe kept his arm covered; not uncommon for those in the lower quartile. He was also quiet. I chalked that up to him saving himself the embarrassment of talking.\n\n\nI almost felt bad for him on the first day of our engineering class. Poor kid would be out of his depth, I thought.\n\n\n40% of our grade was based on the final team project: making a battlebot that would compete against other teams' batlebots. The other 3 students assigned to my team had a combined score of less than 80, probably to counterbalance my own capability.\n\n\nIn our first team meeting, it took me almost 5 minutes to put them in their place. They kept babbling about their ideas for the battlebot. \"Flamethrower\"this, and \"electric saw\"that. But once I rolled up my sleeve to show my 96 tick marks, they shut up pretty quick.\n\n\nLooking over at Ian's group, I noticed he seemed too stupid to talk much. He kept listening to others on his team, nodding or asking simple questions. They oriented toward him, seeming to trust him to guide the conversation. Probably because they didn't have anyone better in the group. After all, I wasn't in it.\n\n\nOur team, meaning myself, went for a high power laser design with an optical setup to focus the beam to a high enough intensity to cut through metal.\n\n\nOn the last day of class, the battles commenced.\n\n\nThe first three battles were easy. Once our bot got in range for its laser to work, all one had to do was press a button and the other bot exploded. It was so simple that anyone of my team could have executed the maneuver; not that I trusted any of them at the controls of course.\n\n\nI didn't notice that Ian's team had made it to the finals until I saw them across the ring. As their bot advanced, I noticed it had both a flamethrower and a circular saw. Talk about uninspired!\n\n\nI maneuvered my bot in range, pressed the laser button... and my bot exploded.\n\n\nI stood in stunned silence as the trophy was awarded to Ian and his team. As they walked toward the exit, congratulating each other, my feet carried me forward.\n\n\n\"Ian!\"My voice was hoarse in my throat.\n\n\nHe turned, and motioned his group to go on.\n\n\n\"How did you do that? How did you win?\"I asked, trying not to let the desperation show in my voice.\n\n\n\"Oh, it was one of Lindsey's ideas actually.\"he said in an offhand way. \"We placed a high quality mirror behind the front plating, to reflect any laser that an opponent might use. You know, if they went for a generic laser build\".\n\n\n\"Oh...\"I said. \"So it wasn't one of your ideas.\"\n\n\n\"Nope,\"he admitted easily. \"I helped sift through the ideas everyone came up with. The mirror seemed like a pretty inexpensive contingency, so we went for it.\"\n\n\n\"So, it's not like you are some genius.\"I ventured.\n\n\n\"No,\"he laughed, \"certainly not\". He turned to walk off.\n\n\n\"What's your score?\"I asked.\n\n\nSelf consciously, he turned back to face me and tugged his sleeve farther down. \"You know I don't share that.\"\n\n\n\"Please! I have to know!\"I cried desperately, grabbing his arm and pulling his sleeve up.\n\n\nA \"∞\"infinity sign was printed neatly on his arm.\n\n\n\"What does it mean?\"I gasped. \"Nobody can have infinite intelligence.\"\n\n\nIan straightened up, and calmly tugged his sleeve back down.\n\n\n\"No, I'm not infinitely smart.\"Ian admitted easily. \"But I do listen to others, and they trust me. Our bot was the product of all of our ideas offered freely, carefully refined by objective discussion. As my score indicates, I am not bounded by my own intelligence; I make myself better from those around me.\"\n\n\n\"After all,\"he called back as he walked away, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. \"Infinity isn't a number, it is a direction without bound. But I assume you already know that definition, given you are a 96 percenter after all...\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "On one hand, you're average at everything. On the other hand, you're average at EVERYTHING."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It only took about fifteen minutes worth of conversation for them to figure out I didn't belong here. They always did, no exceptions. Gallas, symposiums, conventions, it didn't matter. It eventually became apparent I was an interloper. Not a true member of the group. That was, until someone started dancing. Or flair bartending. Or on the off chance there was an instrument lying around. In truth my near endless stream of hidden talents always won me acceptance. From the dignitaries, scientists, and Titans of industry at these things. It didn't matter that I only had a shallow working knowledge of their craft. I was fun. \n\nThat's how I did it. How I transformed from being just OK at business and networking into a million dollar company. Of course I hired someone great to manage it. And then I invented something. It was pretty good. Of course I had a great team to finish the R&D phase and perfect it. Then came the marketing. I did a decent job of getting it to store shelves, but my marketing team is the best hands down. \n\nSee, I'm just pretty good at this whole \"business\"thing. But I'm also pretty good at finding people better than me to do it. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You were warned that your newest crew member, a \"Human\", had vastly different biology from all other known races. This mad made very clear when they drank all of the galaxy's strongest known poison, saying that they \"needed a drink of water.\""
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "We were warned, about taking aboard a human crewmember. Something about them having an odd biology, different from all known life. But they had the credentials we needed for an engineer that could work in high-heat environments for prolonged periods of time. Didn't think much of the squat little thing when they introduced themselves. Can't even tell whether it is a male or a female. Maybe they're hermaphrodites, that's pretty rare, but the environment-suit it wore hid all details that might have betrayed its nature to us.\n\nThey were polite, quiet, and dutiful. Never complaining, only interested in working and hanging out in that biosphere it packed in one of the hangars. Saying it needed a small contained environment like its home, which is rare, but not unheard of. Possibly it breathes an unusual gas like argon or pure helium or something, who knows. If anything, it seemed the least weird crewmember, considering the sort of lifeforms I've worked with before. At least this one doesn't seem to drip corrosive acid everywhere or requires to mate once every rotation or it explodes. \n\nBut I finally found out what made human biology so unusual, when some of the other crewmembers wanted to invite the human to a game of Paradox-Vostroyan Draw. The human cautiously accepted, and it went fairly well, until they opened a bag and revealed a pressurized container with the words Di-hydrogen Monoxide on it. Water. One of the single most dangerous, toxic, and poisonous substances in the universe. The human didn't notice, but we were all struck with fear, and worse, when they replaced a similar container on their environment suit, and through the suit's tinny speaker, came the voice of the human, saying. ''*Ah, lovely, really needed a drink of water there.*'' The human wasn't charging a weapon. They weren't going to suddenly poison us. The human was drinking water.\n\nI had to ask. If I did not, somebody else might have, and they'd have been less subtle. ''*Need a drink often?*'' The human shrugged. ''*Yeah, it slakes my thirst. Prefer some alcohol personally, but water is better to keep the head clear during a game.*'' Alcohol, another high toxic substance. Suddenly, the crew were a lot more quiet, but the human didn't notice much.\n\nWe all played nice, even if we were sweating ammonia or hydrogen fluoride. But afterwards, the crew treated the human very carefully. And me, as the captain I decided to look into what the human was replicating. To my immediate shock and horror, the human was consuming not only high amounts of water, but also alcohol, and though they had special dispensation codes, they were also eating capsaicin-infused dust on their food. A class-3 chemical weapon.\n\nWorried, I looked up human biology, and found that the more I understood, the more distressed I became. Natural production of combat drugs, a lifeform with water as its primary solvent, only previously thought theoretically possible, immunity to most chemical and biological weapons, and to top it off they breathe oxygen, a dangerous flame-feeding gas.\n\nAnd yet this being, completely and utterly poisonous to all known forms of life, was merely fixing power couplings, or testing plasma injectors. So I told the rest of the crew while the human was sleeping, just to play nice, and to not under any circumstances bother the human. Most agreed. But unfortunately, some idiots never listen. Not even under threat. So when they tried to slice open the human's little biosphere, which served as their quarters, they were met with the burning heat of the human's warm planet, and with dangerous toxic water.\n\nI still see their corpses when I close all my eyes. Distorted, scalded, partially melted. I had to sent them home in sealed coffins. The rest of the trip was very silent. The human said nothing, only kept working, and the crew stayed clear of them. Not wanting to experience the horrible death that their compatriots had suffered. When we finally got to port, the human was paid, just like the rest of us did, and then they left without a word, trying to secure passage on a cruiser full of silicate lifeforms. I had a quiet word with their captain, warning them that the human had an unusual biology, vastly different. I could have told them the truth, but who'd have believed me? A species that drinks and consists of, the most deadliest poison known in the universe. Nobody'd ever believe it if they didn't look it up themselves, and even then. Truth is stranger than fiction, and the truth is that there is a race of extremely warm, poisonous beings that eat chemical weapons.\n\n[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "People earn karma points while alive. When they die, they can spend them either to enter a better afterlife, or to improve the life of some random stranger born on the day of their death. You donate all your points, and wake up the next day as the baby who would have gotten your points."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "When I was nine years old, I pulled my baby sister’s body out of the swimming pool. Mom was taking a nap, and Dad was off at work. They’d told me to keep an eye on the baby after a long, sleepless night of unexplained crying. But I was too cool for babysitting. I’d been busy playing with my toys. I hadn’t been watching.\n\nWhen I found her, she was already gone. I don’t like to think about what happened next, about Mom’s reaction, about the hospital, about the prayers and screaming and pleasepleaseplease bring her back, about Dad coming home, about the days after. \n\nI spent the rest of my life trying to make things right. I gave to charity, I volunteered every weekend, I became a doctor, and I went to the poorest places of the world to heal people with no one else to turn to. But it never made a difference, not where it mattered. After death, it came time to use my karma. I gave it away. Maybe then I would finally get the punishment I had earned.\n\nIt took almost a year after being reborn before my infant mind could comprehend what was going on, that I had been remade. But I still did not understand. My parents were here, looking as young and harried as they had when I was a child. And I had an older sibling…an older sibling who looked just like my childhood pictures. An older sibling with my name.\n\nWhen I finally recognized my new face and knew that I’d been reborn into my doomed baby sister, I cried all night. I was so afraid, but this truly was the penance I deserved. The next day, after my Dad had gone to work and my Mom had gone to bed, I went out to the pool. It was my sister’s retribution, to experience the death my carelessness had caused. Maybe then I would finally be free.\n\nI reached the water’s edge. \n\nI leaned over.\n\n“Lizzie!”\n\nWarm hands, so much bigger and stronger than mine, wrapped around my tiny body and pulled me back. It was me, the other me.\n\n“Hey, you’re not supposed to be out here,” said the other me, carrying Lizzie-me back inside. “Come on, you can play with my toys if you don’t slobber on them too much.”\n\nI didn’t understand. I deserved death. I deserved to drown. I deserved…\n\n“You’re a real pain in the butt sometimes,” said the other me, setting Lizzie-me down in the living room. “But you’re my little sister, so I have to look out for you.”\n\nOther me smiled, and I looked down at my pudgy hands.\n\nI deserved…\n\nThe other me put a stuffed animal in my lap and went to gather more toys. I looked back to the pool, the still open door.\n\nI deserved…\n\nI looked away and wrapped my arms around the toy unicorn, Lizzie’s favorite. My favorite.\n\nI deserved a second chance.\n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In the near future, you are making dinner because you are about to meet your girlfriend's dad for the first time. All you have in the kitchen is cooked frozen steaks. In walks your girlfriend and her dad, Gordon Ramsey."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"So you honestly had no idea at all?\"Ramsey asked me, surprised. I have never followed news about celebrities and I've never asked my girlfriend \"Are you THAT Ramsey?\"I thought it would be silly. Probably have heard that a dozen of times, so I said nothing.\n\n\"No, I really had no idea.\"Awkward silence fell between us. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen for a while, looking at me.\n\n\"So...\"I broke the silence and turned to the table. \"What you think of the steak?\"I asked.\n\n\"It was bought frozen, right?\"he looked into my eyes.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"It is thawed. The steak is thawed.\"I'm not a man that can be intimidated easily, but something about this whole thing gave me the creeps. A strange man he is.\n\n\"I mean, not everyone can be a good cook.\"I stuttered.\n\n\"Oh no, that isn't a problem. Listen, not everyone can be a good cook and it would be absolutely moronic to expect anything different. I did not come here to eat great cuisine and you know that. I came here because this is my kitchen. But that, right now, is neither here nor there. Each has their own strengths and yours is not cooking.\"\n\nI finally felt relieved. Turned out that his anger and rage is all for show. But, still, for some reason he did not look entirely happy.\n\n\"Well, that is right.\"I agreed. \"But you still are frowning. I mean, I'm a great...\"and there he interrupted me.\n\n\"A great scum is what you are! God damn, man! Matilda is just 16 years old! And how old are you? Like, thirty? What the fuck? What is your problem you absolute wanker? And I catch you in my kitchen at three am cooking steaks? Scraping my pans with a metal spatula? Using my spices? I give you three seconds to get out or there will be idiot-casserole for breakfast!\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You are God. You just logged on to one of your old saves, and you’re confused as to where those massive lizards went and where all these pink fuckers came from."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He opened his old \"Terra' save, only to find His delicately crafted creatures gone. The massive dinoasaurs He had so carefully curated were missing, and in their place were some sort of strange, fleshy, inefficient creatures with no badass tails. This, understandably, made God curious. He check the log of events, but the log went too far back for him to understand the fate of His prized virtual companions.\n\n\"What the hell?\"God said. He wanted to know what happened, but He had no clue how to find out. So He created a new character. The game had evidently adjusted itself, as His old character, the Megalodon, was no longer available, and apparently He was forced into a small variety of starter classes. He chose the fleshy one, the one that was so unattractive and disgusting.\n\nStrangely, He did not arrive at the character customization screen, but instead began in a manger, surrounded by NPCs of the same strange race. He didn't recognize any of the animals, they were all furry, not scaly.\n\nThe kind, dark face of a female NPC watched his character intently, looking for a sign. God accessed the source code, and saw that He didn't recognize the algorithms running in the entire world, let alone this one AI. The world He had created Himself had wrested itself away from Him.\n\nGod shrugged. He played through, and as He learned more about the new culture of these \"humans,\"He learned more about how to enjoy Himself. This game, after all, was far more complex than the simple action game Terra used to be. He began to modify the source code to give His character admin powers.\n\nHe turned a stack of water into a stack of wine by using the mod window, then, ten minutes later, He rezzed an NPC he felt a particular affinity towards. His legend grew among the people of the game, and He began to call his character \"Son of God.\"This infuriated some of the enemy NPCs, but He assumed that was the game trying to throw a challenge his way.\n\nLittle by little, God noticed that when he left his game, whenever he came back Son of God would change. The beard would grow, he would have gained more followers, made more enemies. The game appeared to be adapting to His frequent absence of controlling Son of God. This, while slightly disturbing to Him, didn't concern Him too much until the fateful day.\n\nGod had grown bored. There was no easy way to traverse outside of the starting area, and He quickly grew tired of the same landscape, over and over. He opened the mod window, and programmed one of Son of God's followers to have the new \"betrayer\"trait. Sure enough, Son of God was betrayed to the enemy NPCs.\n\nGod left the monitor, curious to see the outcome.\n\nWhen He came back, Son of God was gruesomely pinned to a wooden cross. God was shocked, and observed the game with morbid curiosity. The game had decided on this awful punishment, without God's prompting. He sat back.\n\nThen, Son of God looked at the monitor.\n\n\"Why, God, have you forsaken me?\"he said, tears mixing with blood on his dirt covered face.\n\nGod, so shocked, turned off the computer.\n\nHe took three days before He gathered the courage to turn the computer back on. When He did, the Son of God character file had been deleted. Feeling merciful, God found the source code, and retrieved His character file. He had grown attached to these fleshy meat sacks, and wanted to see Son of God's story through. When Son of God awoke, he phased through the dungeon his corpse had died in. God watched as Son of God guided Himself through the world, giving news of his return and praising God for His mercy.\n\nThen, when God felt it was time to go, He deleted Son of God's character file once more, and watched as the Son of God gave a bittersweet smile, and faded away.\n\nGod turned off the computer. He decided to come back in another 1,000 years, just to see what Terra could cook up next. Terra was a game to Him after all, not His priority.\n\n\n\n----------\n\n\nHey guys, if you liked this enough that you want to read more of my work, check out www.willswritingprompts.blogspot.com, where I archive all of my favorite writing prompts, especially ones without this much attention. Thanks!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You live in a world where your soulmate is unable to hurt you, intentionally or otherwise. You are fighting in a war, when one of the enemy's knives harmlessly glances off you."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Kindred souls were rarer than rubies in a pigsty, and just as shocking when you found them. I'd only met a dozen or so bonded pairs, marked by their inability to harm one another. Some strong pairs were also said to feel warmth and contentment when in close proximity to their other half. They came in all kinds: friends, lovers, blood-brothers, found family. Whatever you wanted to call them, they were the same thing. Soulmates.\n\nSo when the enemy's blade slid harmlessly across my cheek, no more painful than if he'd struck me with a piece of straw, I hesitated. So did he. I recovered first, my reluctance at the thought of attacking my soulmate drowned out by the sheer impossibility of it. He couldn't be. Fate couldn't be that cruel.\n\nMy blade bit into his throat, coming away red, and my relief made my knees go weak. It was a mistake. It had to be. He just hadn't struck hard enough. That was all.\n\nThe next enemy soldier caught me by surprise as I touched my cheek, too distracted and unaware of my surroundings. His mace struck me straight in the chest, caving my armor and sending me flying back. I hit the ground, expecting the agony of broken ribs.\n\nBut there was no pain.\n\nI killed this soldier too. And the next. And the next. As one, their blows did not hurt me. I couldn't understand. How? Why?\n\nI fought with all of my strength, but eventually our position was overrun. We were captured while I remained unscathed. The soldiers dragged us, bound and disarmed to their camp.\n\nI still did not understand.\n\nAt least, not until we were lined up, and the general walked down the line to inspect us, his prisoners of war. As he passed me, our eyes met, his apathetic and mine terrified. \n\nI felt it. \n\nHis step hitched, and I knew he felt it too.\n\nWarmth blooming in my chest.\n*****\nr/Kathiana\nedit: Edited slightly for clarity."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an \"elder\"species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like \"be quiet, you are in danger\"to the aliens, because we are still childish morons."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Zulth had believed in humans for as long as he could remember. Theories of them had been around for decades, of course, but only with recent advances in radio telescopes had their existence been all but proved. \n\nThe first patterns came through just fifty solar cycles ago. 26 unique patterns. A codex? A language? A password? Scholars had puzzled over the patterns for decades. Some argued that they were simply binary stars in eccentric orbits, but these held little weight when the repetition of the pattern continued unabated with no error or ‘eccentricity’. \n\nThen, thirty years, a breakthrough. A message, left overnight in rural Rhiuu’th, in the middle of a large, flat tors field. The symbols meant nothing by themselves, and could have been explained by local pranksters. But soon other, similar but definably different messages appeared across the globe. That, as we say, was all there needed to be. Soon the patterns became linked to the shapes and a language was born. A method of communication. \n\nThe problem; the truly infuriating thing; the thing that really, really frustrates the minds, is that we are still not advanced enough to send up our own response. Where would we even send it to? And how long would it take to arrive? Would this mega species still exist? Would they still care. Well, yes. They would. \n\nAnd we can prove it. \n\nJust 5 short solar cycles ago a message came through, as if answering our cries of impatience with omnipotent clarity. The message is repeated hourly, and has permeated our culture. It drives us. It helps us retain our ambition and our scope. We repeat it as a mantra, hourly. A planetary obsession, if you will. \n\nWe know they will wait for us. They have told us as much. For they tell us, and we tell ourselves;\n\n“Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down...”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to \"liberate\"Earth only to find that they have won and prospered."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"You're not welcome here, you need to leave,\"Ricardo said through the translator. A mixture of twelve men and women stood behind him dressed in an assortment of clothing. They looked bored with the whole thing.\n\n\"What?\"Commander Ellison Hart asked in confusion, \"We have spent three centuries rebuilding and preparing to liberate you.\"Behind her was a platoon of the Liberation Force's finest soldiers dressed in all manner of smart cybernetic armor.\n\n\"You abandoned us,\"he answered with a shrug, \"You took everything you thought was of value with you. You left us with nothing, not even food. Do you know how many people starved that first winter?\"\n\n\"We were losing the war!\"Hart shouted, \"We created the wormhole to Delta Sigma 6 and spent the last three centuries building a military force to return. You were never forgotten. We always had plans to return for you.\"The last was a lie as they didn't expect to find any survivors.\n\n\"How touching,\"one of the women behind Ricardo said then added, \"That did a lot of good to my great, great, great grandparents as you left them the choice of being dissolved into a nutrient paste by the Inralldi or slowly die to lack of basic materials. This was all caused by you stealing everything. You're filthy thieves.\"\n\n\"Thieves? Us?\"a man in a general's outfit behind Hart angrily retorted before she can stop him, \"Everyone of value was taken in the evacuation. That says a lot about who you were descended from. We just left the criminals and scu...\"\n\n\"Quiet!\"Hart ordered him but she could see the native Earther's were rankled by this. She reminded herself to bust him back down to private later, \"I apologize for that outburst.\"\n\n\"Commander, a moment,\"someone said behind her and the negotiations paused for the moment, both sides eyeing one another warily. She approached Major Laurens who was in charge of intel, \"Our drones indicate that the Nearthers, native earthers that is, are six billion strong. The population three hundred years ago was just under a billion so they've been having some fun. Sorry, sir.\"He said when he noticed her frown. She nodded for him to continue, \"Agriculture is their main focus followed by specialized production through three dimensional printing. Each home seems to have one to meet all their needs. They are really quite advanced in...\"\n\n\"So no threat?\"Hart asked him.\n\n\"None that I can see,\"he stated flatly then began to ask but was cut off, \"But how did they defeat the...\"\n\n\"Attention delegates,\"Hart shouted and everyone gathered around, \"In the light of recent intel I'll make this simple.\"She turned to Ricardo and the group of survivors and smiled coldly, \"In orbit around this planet are about sixty thousand ships of all shapes and sizes. If I give the order the surface of this planet can be scoured of all life to a depth of about six feet below the topsoil level. I want you to remember this as we continue negotiations.\"\n\n\"Are you threatening us?\"Ricardo asked icily. She noticed dangerous smiles playing on the faces of those around him and felt a sudden feeling of panic which she fought down. Hart could feel weapons being primed through mind-links behind her and gave a mental order to stand down.\n\n\"No,\"she answered, \"I am simply stating the facts. You may have defeated the Inralldi but our force was designed to have a 99.8% chance of victory against them. I am just saying that we are back and we want half the planet returned to us. You can safely live on your...\"\n\n\"Half the planet?\"Ricardo laughed, \"You ran like cowards across the stars to lick your wounds and tell each other to be brave while you prayed the Inralldi wouldn't chase you. You left our ancestors to die and now you return with demands? You have no right to make demands. You have made a grave error today, cowards.\"\n\n\"Ricardo, be reasonable,\"Hart stated, giving the mental order to set weapons to stun and ordering the fleet to get ready to give a non-lethal show of force, \"We hold all the cards.\"\n\n\"Commander,\"Ricardo said spitting out her title as if it were acid on his tongue, \"Your error, hell our error, was in thinking the Inralldi were here to destroy the Earth. You thought they were here to make meals of us. They seemed to be a mindless, purposeless race of alien blobs that dropped from the skies and turned humans into goo.\"\n\n\"They were,\"Hart said simply, \"How did you stop them? We need this intel in case we ever run into them again - for humanity's sake!\"\n\n\"We didn't.\"Ricardo said and with these two words weapons primed both in the soldiers around Hart and in the ships orbiting above her, \"They were an entity sent here to discover our biology. They dissolved us and took us into themselves not to eat but to study. Their mission was not to destroy - their mission was to Uplift. To remake us for maximum survival.\"\n\nHer mind-link suddenly went berserk with orbital chatter. Millions of blobs were attaching themselves to and breaching the fleet above them.\n\n\"You've betrayed us,\"Hart told him simply, lifting her rifle as they were suddenly surrounded by thousands of \"uplifted\"humans, \"You've betrayed humanity!\"\n\n\"We *are* humanity,\"Ricardo said, \"The new humanity. You see, you fear they changed the way we think but they did not. They left us our free will to do what we want within the new bodies they molded for us. We are no more alien than you are, Commander. You, however, represent the very worst of us. You are the great betrayers. You are the cowards. *You* are the dregs of humanity that fled across space with your tails between your legs when you should have stood and fought beside us. You left a billion to starve or die always trying to convince yourselves it was necessary. Remember, I told you to leave - running away is something you are infinitely good at. You have no place in the new universal order.\"\n\nNo more words were said as the battle started."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The genie snaps his fingers, and you instantly know your wish is granted. Omnipotence. That's what you had asked for, and now you have it. You know everything, and are infinitely powerful. You instantly notice something unexpected. There is another God, and he is terrified."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Planets suspended in nothingness, stars blinking in and out of existence. This truly is *space.* When I clench my fists together, taking a deep breath, I *feel* my power. It’s greater than I ever imagined.\n\t\nMy mind's racing with all the secrets of the universe, so I silence it by clapping, creating a planet. It’s absolutely massive, something to rival Jupiter, and when I flick it, the thing explodes, sending shards of rock flying everywhere. They phase through me, I don’t even feel them. I press my hands to my head, laughing. I probably look like a maniac, but doubt anyone can comprehend this form. This strength’s *godly.* That’s true, isn’t it? I’m a god!\n\t\nThere’s a shriek from behind me.\n\t\nI turn around, and there’s a man standing in front of Earth, striking an awkward pose, pieces of rock poking out all over him. He’s got a hunchback with a huge backpack on it, long white beard which hangs down to his toes, and teeny-tiny ears. His smile’s friendly, but he looks terrified, eyes wide.\n\t\nHoly shit, it’s God.\n\t\nHe created me, right? His power…it must be insane. I need to bow before him, need to pray and thank him.\n\t\nWhen I start walking forward, he drops onto his knees, holding his hands up. “Please!” he begs. “Stay away!”\n\t\nI stop, staring at him. Objects are spilling out of his backpack—bridges, skyscrapers, cars. Picking one up, I examine it, amazed by it’s beauty, amazed by its detail. He’s still cowering before me, but I hold my hand out.\n\t\n“I’m sorry if I scared you,” I say. “This power, it’s still new to me. Am I stronger than you?”\n\t\nGod seems tepid, and instead of shaking my hand, hastily scoops the pieces back into his backpack before standing up. He takes a few steps back, getting between me and Earth. Does he fear I’m going to…destroy it?\n\t\n“This is my pride, my joy,” he says. “I’ve spent billions of years building it, billions of years watching my planet grow! I don’t know who you are, but I won’t let you destroy it.”\n\nHe's trying to intimidate me, but his legs are shaking. He's terrified.\n\t\nReaching out, I press my palm flat against his head and he cowers again. His strength’s flowing into me, and to my surprise, I’m *far* stronger than him. We stare at each other for a few minutes, and the look in his eyes, the pure love of Earth, pure fear of it being destroyed—it’s enough to make me feel bad for even scaring him.\n\t\nI get it. The backpack. To him, this is almost like a model. He’s putting together one giant set and it’s called Earth. If he places a bridge, the people will build a bridge. If he places a tower, they will build a tower. I chuckle at the idea. I never thought God would be like this.\n\t\n“Why did you never build on any of the other planets?”\n\t\n“I’ve not enough power, nor time. Maybe one day I’ll finish this, and be able to move on—but for now…”\n\t\nAs I stare at him, I toss a selfless idea around. It makes me sad, but now that I’ve had it I won’t be able to get it out of my head. Looking around, I take one last gander at all the planets, at their beauty. It was worth it just to see them up close.\n\t\nHis eyes light up when I start giving him my energy, and he looks at me, confused. “What are you—”\n\t\n“I’m no god,” I mumble. “Heck, literally the first thing I did with my powers was destroy. I feel like they would fare better in your hands. Maybe now you’ll be able to build more.”\n\t\nGod chuckles, reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder. I can feel my body fading away, as he’s teleporting me back onto Earth. He’s smiling like a proud dad, and I smile back. Omnipotence isn’t for everyone, for I would’ve grown bored with the loneliness. But I guess he isn’t lonely, is he?\n\t\n“Thank you,” he says. “I think I’ll start on Mars next, since you all seem to be so fascinated by it.”\n***\nHope this turned out okay! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Being a hero means not going around making sure everyone knows you're a hero. It means you don't wear a bright flashy outfit, you don't pose for the cameras, and you don't go around telling everyone who you are.\n\nIt also means that sometimes, you have to be willing to do things that others won't. Sometimes it means that you have to do things that will make you hated. Because what you do is more important than your reputation, it's more important than recognition... it's more important than *you*.\n\nWhat I'm about to do, most would call murder. But they don't see what I see. I see someone who calls himself a hero when he's anything but. He's the sort to wear the bright colors, to pose for every photo op, he even has a fan club for kids. For *kids*. But I've seen what he's like when he thinks no one is looking, how he takes joy in hobbling and suffocating innocent people. He has killed more people than any of these so-called \"villains\"he fights. And he needs to be stopped, even if it means being despised for it. That's what a *real* hero would do.\n\nHe calls himself Captain Justice. I know who he really is. Bradley Evans. Captain of his high school football team, valedictorian, sociopath. Always excelled, always succeeded at life, often at the expense of others, people he stepped on or crushed to get ahead in life. Now he's moved on from stepping on classmates to stepping on the good people of this city. No more.\n\nI open the door to his house, lock easily picked. He doesn't have any security system, no guard dog. Why would he need one? He's Captain Justice, and he thinks he's invincible. But every man needs to sleep.\n\nI find his bedroom, with him in his bed. Good. I can make this quick, easy. I bring out my knife. Not a steel knife, mind you, but a ceramic one. I've studied the man enough to see that steel won't pierce his skin, but for some reason, he was cut by a thrown flowerpot on one occasion. Evidently ceramic is some sort of weakness of his. Don't know why.\n\nAs I approach, his eyes open. Damn that super-hearing of his. He lays eyes on me approaching, and speaks not a word. He doesn't ask why I'm here, doesn't give me any \"heroic\"warning, just gets into a fighting stance. Ah well, not so easy after all. Well, if I should die in this fight, so be it.\n\nHe punches toward me with a speed and strength that could shatter bone. I dodge to the side, barely evading him. He reaches for my throat and I jump back, a mere fraction of a second before his fist closes shut with a force that could have instantly crushed my windpipe. Our dance goes on like this, with him attacking and me evading, but I know that I can't keep doing this. If I'm on the defensive, I have to be lucky every time, and he only needs to be lucky once. I need to go on the offense.\n\nI thrust my knife at him, misjudging the distance to him and missing him by inches. He responds with a smirk, seeing the knife and finding it amusing. He then reaches his fist back for a punch and I'm overextended, some part of me knows I can't dodge in time. In desperation, I fall forward, knife held above me.\n\nIt plunges deep into his neck.\n\nFor a moment, we two are frozen there. I am terrified that any movement will spur him to act, that if he even thinks for a single second, this terrible man will surely reach out and end me. But perhaps there is some greater power looking over me, because he does no such thing. He only slumps over backward, wheezing as he struggles for breath.\n\nI don't have any sort of killer ironic line to drop on him at this point, no pithy catchphrase. He may have been a monster, but he was also a man, and no man's death deserves to be treated lightly, even one so terrible as this.\n\nRather than make him suffer, I withdrew the knife from his neck and plunged it into his ear, skewering his brain. His wheezing stopped and he fell silent. I removed my knife and went to the sink to cleanse it, making sure not to leave any fingerprints or any other indication of who I am.\n\nI could breathe again. This nightmare was over. True, there were other nightmares to face, but that could wait until tomorrow. For tonight, I could sleep well, knowing that this man would never again be a blight on this city, never again would he hobble them by doing for them things they should find the capacity to do for themselves, never again would he suffocate them by treating them as a master treats a pet, protecting them and scolding them whenever they do wrong, instead of treating them like men, capable of learning and growing and standing on their own two feet.\n\nTomorrow, the city will wake, and there will be no more Captain Justice, and everyone can begin the healing process, no longer looking to the skies for someone to save them, but looking within themselves. I expect no thanks for this deed. I expect to be hated. But a true hero doesn't care what others think. He only cares that he has made the world a better place.\n\n\n---------------------\n\nThank you for reading! If you're interested in reading more of my works, please check out [this page](https://old.reddit.com/r/CaspianX2/)."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The inevitable Flappy Bird Movie has been greenlit, and you, a struggling screenwriter, have been given the opportunity to pen the script. Everyone expects the movie to tank, taking your career with it. You, however, have a plot idea that will turn the film into a masterpiece."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The idea was as dumb as it was stupid. Making a movie out of a game like this was on par with… well, there was no real equivalent to this idiocy. It was like the entire Creativity Department in Hollywood had gone on a coffee break and returned to find the worst possible idea in a golden envelope glued with epoxy to the brainstorm-whiteboard.\n\nAnd even though everyone agreed that the idea would kill a fatal amount of brain cells of any potential viewer, the thing was put into motion.\n\nThe call came on a Monday morning at 5 AM. I felt like killing myself when I answered it in my sleep drunk state.\n\n“The fuck do you want?”\n\n“Congratulations, Flappy Bird is yours, enjoy your early grave,” my agent said and hung up.\n\nI rolled off my bed, brewed a cup, and started up the laptop. After writing the first few lines, I spilled my coffee over the computer. It wasn’t by accident – fact was I’d been wondering if I could use the power cord as a noose ever since I started writing. I had to put an end to it.\n\n I took out my pen and started writing the old fashioned way. But after about fifty balls of crumpled paper, I’d had enough. I couldn’t for the life of me come up with anything good.\n\nInstead, I started up my phone and leaned back on the sofa. I needed inspiration. I did what I always do when I’m out of ideas – I went to *the place* – the holy well of ideas. I felt disgusted for soiling it with this utterly disgusting idea, but finally, I put my career first and typed down the infernal words and pressed enter:\n\n* The inevitable Flappy Bird Movie has been greenlit, and you, a struggling screenwriter, have been given the opportunity to pen the script. Everyone expects the movie to tank, taking your career with it. You, however, have a plot idea that will turn the film into a masterpiece.*\n\n****\nIf you liked this one, you'll probably hate the stuff I usually write... so why am I even bothering... oh well, this is a weird prompt. r/Lilwa_Dexel\n\nEDIT:\n\nReddit, please. Why would you gild this? Oh, god... (thanks, though!)\n\nEDIT:\n\nGreat, another gold, thanks. \n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7i53fr/reaper_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iavci/reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iokx3/reaper_part_4/)\n\n---\n\nI wouldn’t call it a war. Extermination maybe. Though I’d more aptly describe it as a harvest. By the time they reached our world and penetrated the stratosphere, people sought them out in droves to be harvested. Of course, they knew what that actually meant. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been so eager.\n\nTen years before the *Angels* descended from the sky, they had already sent what some referred to as divine retribution: a virus. Though this virus in particular only targeted women. It spread faster than a wildfire and had a 100% mortality rate. Worse yet, it was completely undetectable. In our desperation, we became animals. We locked our wives, daughters, and mothers deep underground under the constant shine of UV radiation and still they got infected. Within five years, the last woman had died leaving the rest of humanity to slowly die with her.\n\nBy the time they arrived, we welcomed them with open arms into every one of our major cities. Most bowed their heads and practically begged to be killed. Some fought against them. These were the ones that still remembered the pain of watching their daughters, wives, and mothers die. They couldn’t hope to survive, but at least they could enact their own version of divine retribution.\n\nLooking back at it now, I know that the *Angels* planned for them. They wanted us to retaliate. Otherwise, where would be the fun? Men charged at them by the millions. Some to die. Some to kill. To the *Angels*, it was all the same.\n\nUntil we killed the first one.\n\nBack when I used to write, I always made sure to name my hero something memorable. If not a strange name, then certainly a strange title. Evan the Incorruptible. Matthew the Harbinger. But in real life, heroes rarely have titles, some don’t even have names. That was the case for humanity’s last hero because nobody knew who he was.\n\nWe had only stories. The stories ranged from fantastical to downright fiction, but they always ended the same. We had killed one. The *Angels* must’ve been as skeptical as we were because they refused to change their tactics. They kept all our major cities and welcomed anyone to try and take it back.\n\nBy the fifth dead *Angel*, they learned of their miscalculation. Soon, we learned of it as well. Human beings shared mana and with it, we could do wondrous or terrible things. Magic no longer belonged to the realm of fiction. The elements bent to our will. Lightning struck where we pointed, tornados formed where we stood, the ground swallowed up entire cities as we willed it.\n\nSuddenly, men stopped volunteering to be harvested. With their newfound power, they decided to fight back, even if victory had already been stolen from us. They had turned us into animals and then backed us into a corner. Foolish.\n\nAnd that was good enough for us. Looking back, I wonder if we were as foolish as the *Angels*. We, who were content with dying in our little blazes of glory, having accomplished nothing but thinning their ranks by just a bit. It was selfish, but what is there to expect from men who had nothing else to live for?\n\nNone of us had the vision you had. The vision you have.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nTyler put the pen down, staring at the word *you*. He wondered if his letter would ever find its way to this certain *you*. While humanity had become animals, one man had gone even further. He had been called a monster by both *Angel* and man. Nobody knew which side he fought for, only that he killed both indiscriminately.\n\nIf Tyler were to write his story, he wouldn’t know whether to make this man the villain or the hero. Oh how he wished he could’ve written this story, but the only way this story continued was if he died. Beside his letter and pen, sitting at the edge of his wooden table was a silver revolver. The single lightbulb above him glinted off its barrel.\n\nA small grin spread across Tyler’s face. He grabbed the gun, its metal like ice, and pressed it to his temple. Enough humans had died where he could stop the bullet with only his thoughts. The bullet couldn’t even hurt him unless he wanted it to. But he did. For the sake of humanity, he needed the bullet to kill him.\n\nWith his free hand, he picked the pen back up.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nAs the last storyteller on Earth, I bestow you the title of Reaper. A monster. A villain. Our last hero.\n\nGo forth, Reaper, my death as an offering. With my passing, there will be only four humans left. I have already contacted two of them and they will die with me. The last I’m sure you will easily find as your powers will have increased two-fold. By then, your mind will stretch the globe, perhaps even the stars. And when you become the last human alive, I cannot even fathom how powerful you will be.\n\nShow our *Angels* how fragile they are in the face of a god.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nTyler pulled the trigger.\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang\n\n---\n\nPart 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7i53fr/reaper_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iavci/reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iokx3/reaper_part_4/)\n\n\n"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You are a cow."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Grass is food. I eat grass and I not die.\n\nFarmer is friend. I not kill farmer and farmer take me to new grass. I eat new grass and I not die.\n\nSometimes farmer take me to milk square and invisible calves feed, sometimes farmer take me to bed square and visible calves feed.\n\nWhen visible calves grow they go away. Invisible calves never grow, always hungry.\n\nOld cows sometimes go away. Maybe someday I go away too. I wonder what away is like. Maybe away have better grass."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The \"Quit Smoking\"ads get personal."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "\"Quit now Dan!\"said the man on the talking billboard. A finger pointing at the lone figure walking down the empty street. Empty due to everyone crossing to the other side to avoid him and his smog. \nDan paused by a waste bin, small cardboard box in hand. He looked from the box to the bin and back again. Those across the street stopped and stared, ready to witness history being made. \nThere was absolute silence as Dan lifted his hand, as if to throw the packet towards the bin, all eyes now on him, even the billboard advert man stopped to watch. He launched it. It hit the rim. There was a sharp intake of breath as it bounced into the air above the bin. It hit the rim on the other side, people held each other in nervous anticipation. The packet landed onto the other trash in the bin and the crowd across the street erupted into thunderous applause and cheering. Celebrating as if a great sporting victory had been achieved. \nLittle did they realise that Dan had taken a new packet from his pocket, removed the plastic, drew a long white stick out with his teeth and ignited the end. \nAs a large grey cloud left his lips, the crowd died down. realising their premature celebration. There was a disappointed groan and a shuffling as daily activities resumed. \n\"God dammit Dan. You were so close.\"shouted the billboard. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "You are born without emotions; to compensate this, you started a donation box where people could donate their unwanted emotions. You've lived a life filled with sadness, fear and regret until one day, someone donates happiness."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Each day I woke up only to find that the day was filled with nothing better than the nightmares I endured the night before. My emotion box yielded the same dark, unwanted emotions that I was plagued with each and every minute. \n\nI open my eyes and clear the sleep dust from their corners, I groggily sit-up and swivel to the side of my bed, yet another day of disappointment awaits. Except... I don't feel empty? None of the nausea that accompanies depression, none of the repetitive thoughts of what I *could* have done that accompany regret. I feel warm and content - is this happiness? I run to my front door, to my emotion box that I relent to check every day. I look left, nothing. I look right and catch a glimpse of someone walking around the corner. I eagerly chase after, keen to thank this person for what quite literally is the happiest day of my life. Upon reaching the point where I last saw them there is nothing, no sign that anyone was here just a few moments ago.\n\nThe glee that they gave me is overpowering, everything delights me, all I can think of is how badly I want to thank them. They were wearing your average jeans and a red hoodie - nothing entirely discernible. I turn on the television to a live news broadcast, paramedics line a perimeter set up by several police cars. The camera pans to the person on top of the building above... then they jump. A man, no older than twenty. Jeans and a red hoodie.\n\nI never got to thank them, the person who gave up their last ounce of happiness to give me my first."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "“You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Everyone always think that the end comes with battles, glory, last stands, and that at the last moment, somehow, we'll pull through. But it wasn't so. It was quick. Perhaps less than a week. Mankind was rendered extinct, joining the ranks of the Dodo and the Dinosaur. There was no resistance. No, for how could there be. There was nothing to shoot at. Nothing to fire the missiles at. It was just a weapon, cleverly dispersed in the atmosphere. One shot, all killed.\n\nNobody knew who fired it. Nobody knew from whence it came. It didn't matter much in the end. Some said it had been a malfunctioning secret weapon accidentally fired by the decaying Russian ''Dead Hand'' system, some claimed it was a lost WWII Wunderwaffe, others that the Chinese had unleashed something unspeakable by experimenting on minorities in camps. Some said it had been aliens. Wherever it came from, it was a carefully constructed artificial bioweapon, which dissolved the bonds holding human cells together. A few people sardonically noted the similarity to those who had been snapped away in that one Marvel movie. Though a tad bit more realistic, as humans came apart into a wet red mist, finely powdered people, some said. Didn't matter how deep you hid, didn't matter how thick your bunker walls were or how isolated you were. It had after-all been dormant for a few days before the effect began.\n\nIf there had been any observers left, they would first and foremost have noticed how silent it was. No longer was there a continual roar of car engines and the ever moving swarm of humans moving around. No longer were the skies filled with the loud jet engines. In the zoos, the animals began to starve, until a few animals dared to break out. Though the sound of humans were gone, the sad howls of their canine and feline companions could still be heard. They would remember the humans, some part of them would remember forever, how their beloved friends had fed them and cared for them, and had died horribly and suddenly. Even in a thousand generations time, there would be dogs who'd approach ancient decaying statues, not knowing why, but remembering in their souls, the visage of a friend that they'd never seen before.\n\nAnd in a distant town, out in a rural part of the former United States, a single phone was lying near a wet, crimson spot, which had once been the last human on Earth. It still had power. And it still carried a call. A human voice, perhaps the last that would ever be heard on the once human-ruled Earth, repeated the same sentence over and over. ''*You've reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.*'' Over and over, the tinny voice of a repeating answer called into the empty night.\n\nAnd eventually, as the battery was drained, the voice cut out. Silencing the once vibrant voice of humanity, once and for all.\n\n[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jesus actually had 14 disciples but their behavior was deemed inappropriate by biblical scholars, so they were removed from the final versions of the Gospels. They are Brad and Chad, the Bro-ciples, and these are their stories."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Quick note to OP, I think you meant to say Apostles. Jesus had many more disciples than 12.\n\n_____\n\n**The Book of Rad**\n\nRad 2:1\n\nOn the fifth week day a bachelor party took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus had been invited, along with a plus one. So Jesus brought his apostle Chad as his plus one, and Brad as Chad's plus one's plus one.\n\nChad scoped out the joint before turning to Jesus and saying to him, \"JC, my man. There is nowhere near enough wine here for all of these people to get plastered.\"\n\n\"So be it,\"Jesus replied. \"Bring me the barrels of wine.\"\n\nBrad and Chad began to lift the barrels before turning to Jesus once more. \"JC, could you just come over here? It would be a lot easier. These are heavier than a man-eating whale!\"\n\nSo Jesus approached the barrels of wine and blessed them. Chad filled a chalice from the barrel and took a sip.\n\nChad sung with joy, \"Hard liquor! The Lord has blessed us with hard liquor!\"\n\nAnd so all the guests got turnt higher than the heavens."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For years an alien race has been intercepting audio transmissions from Earth and understands English. However, they have been exclusively listening to X-Box Live conversations. They have now prepared their first message for Earth."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Greetings, faggots:\n\nMy name is xXSwaGGy-Quarlax [FaZe], Interplanetary Diplomat for the Andromeda Galaxy. I would like to begin this message by assuring you that I am not a camping faggot, nor will my people attempt to quick scope you. Although we have amassed many 360 no scopes throughout our collective lives, we come with a message of peace. I hope to make clear that this is a knife-only match and we will not be attempting any faggotry, nor will we feed mid. We wish only to share our swag amongst your people, you fucking aim botting hackers. \n\nMy clan and I have traveled many millions of light years in search of sentient life, visiting thousands of planets in an attempt to make contact and find the dankest kush. While we have been forced to pwn many noobs and fuck countless mothers on several of those worlds, reking their shit harder than a Haitian Earthquake, we only did so out of self-preservation. None of those planets held any life beyond the hostile and untamable, nor any blunts to blaze upon. It was truly us against them; however, we wish to make it clear that we do have blood on our hands. We, as an intergalactic species, understand that trust is founded upon honesty, and thus tell you retard hackers of our former faggotry. That said, we assure you that your obese, apartment dwelling neckbeards will stand safely beside us and shall never be shrekt.\n\nWe first located your planet nearly six Earth years ago and have been monitoring your communication devices, which you call “X-Box,” to learn your jargon and construct our message of peace. We hope that you understand our dialect and not see us as pay 2 win feeders. In order to further express our good faith, we have amassed a large collection of Code Red Mountain Dew and Cool Ranch Doritos, which we would like to share with your MLG pros. We hope you accept our offering in peace, and that you not fuck our mothers. We wish only to become allies with you, the faggot tryhards of Earth. \n\nPlease find us waiting for you at your trailer park tomorrow at sunrise. We will be in the large flying aircraft, which should be just a few pounds lighter than that of your mother's left tit.\n\nAyy lmao,\n\nxXSwaGGy-Quarlax [FaZe]\n\n_________\n\n^For ^more ^dank ^memes ^and ^swaggy ^stories, [^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "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\""
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Finally, after years and years of research and development, it seems to have worked. I think to myself of all the possible mysteries we could now witness first hand. What was life *really* like in medieval Europe? Was it *actually* Nero who burned Rome? This could solve many many things.\n\nI quickly adorn the trousers, shirt, and doublet I had recreated by my local tailor. Peeking out from the alley in which my machine is hidden, I examine my surroundings. Venice, Italy, it seems. The people are all colorfully clothed, as expected. A surprising number of them are speaking in old English it seems. Strange, in Italy, but that just makes it easier for me.\n\nI walk through the city for a while: shops, bakers, and the occasional smithy decorate the sides of the roads. There's a constant buzz of conversation and work as I pass through the market. I step aside into another alley.\n\nOut of curiosity, after look around to make sure no one sees me, I look at my phone to see what time it thinks it is. 2:37, about 12 minutes after I left my time. Then I see the notification. \"Wi-Fi network available\". Stunned, I click the notification and there is one network available. Da Vinci, written backwards.\n\nAt this point, I realize I made a teleporter, not a time machine, and that I somehow managed to teleport myself into the middle of my local rennaisance fair."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A god fell in love with a mortal woman. \"I cannot bear to live without you,\"he told her, \"so I will grant you immortality.\"So he made her a goddess and took her to dwell with him in the realm of the gods, where she met all the other women he couldn't bear to live without."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Elena was a matryoshka painter. At sunset, the woodworker Anatoly would knock on the apartment door with his wheelbarrow beside him. Anatoly would give Elena all the plain figurines that he had carved that day, curving the balsam wood into the prospect of a head, shoulders and torso, then cutting the doll at her waist so that her legs would twist off, and hide her secrets. Elena would pay Anatoly five hundred rubles for each full matryoshka and then she would go to her workshop (which was in fact only just the corner of her father's kitchen behind the stove) and she would paint the wood into beautiful women.\n \nElena would paint the women with long eyelashes and blushing cheeks, and Elena would wonder what it would feel like to blush and flutter her own eyes, if ever a kind and handsome man were to pour vodka into a glass, and hand it to her, letting his fingertips pass over hers. She would paint the women wearing elegant dresses adorned with tulips and roses, and Elena would imagine sewing an elegant silk dress to wear herself. She would give the woman full-hearted smiles, and Elena would try to remember the last time she had smiled, apart from when she meant to attract the customers to her booth at the Udelnaya. And then she would paint the next doll nested within, more intricately, but otherwise the same. However, at their core, Elena's matryoshka contained a protest: open her dolls up to the final girl, the smallest and deepest girl of all, and you will find that she is not smiling or blushing, but instead has short eyelashes and a stern gaze. She wears only a plain grey dress. For though Elena painted matryoshka, she had never known her own mother, and therefore knew that not all daughters will inherit.\n\nIn the morning, Elena would pack her matryoshka in a box and take the bus to the Udelnaya, hoping to sell her work. Most days, she would be lucky to sell two or three matryoshka. But there was one day when she sold none at all, yet left the Udelnaya joyful. On that day, a certain tall man in a white dress shirt had come to the market. There, he saw Elena at her booth with the shelves of matryoshka behind her, all red and green, gold and blue, and the man was enamored. \n\n\"I have never seen a woman who I am more certain has a secret hiding inside her,\"the man said to Elena. He was wearing a gold watch and many silver rings. Elena told him that he could buy as many matryoshka as he wished, and discover everything within them. But then the man said the woman he meant to describe was not any of the matryoshka, but Elena herself.\n\nThe man gave Elena a piece of paper with directions to an elegant restaurant on the banks of the Moyka River. He he gave her his credit card as well. He told Elena that were she to go buy a nice dress, that he would be honored to see her in it, and dine with her that evening. Elena blushed, and then she smiled, even though she had not sold a matryoshka.\n\nThat evening, instead of painting, Elena went to the best boutique in St Petersburg, and she bought a beautiful silk dress. She then met the man at the appointed restaurant. He spread caviar onto crackers for her, and poured her some vodka. He asked her about her life, how many matryoshka she supposed she had painted, and if any were very special to her. But, as the meal continued, Elena began to feel more and more confused and dizzy, until everything became terribly blurry. When Elena awoke, she was no longer in the restaurant or in the small bed beside her father's. She was standing upright, but frozen in pose, perched on a gold podium in a white expanse, more still and desolate than the Tauride Gardens after the first snowfall. Elena was lined up neatly between a hundred other young women, all immobile as well.\n\n\"Where am I\"Elena asked, \"who are you all?\"\n\n\"That man who gave you a dress and dinner,\"the young woman beside her explained, \"was not in truth a man, but the wicked god of Motherless Girls. He keeps us here as figurines, upon his shelf for all eternity. He tells us that long ago, he once loved a goddess called Anna, who also had no mother, who was the First Woman, and that we remind him of her. When Anna birthed their child, the girl was mortal. So the god sought to kill the child as an abomination. But Anna loved the baby, so she fled the heavens to the Barsky taiga. The god chased her all through the trees, but Anna refused to return, and at last a bargain was struck: she would remain in the Barsky with her daughter, but thereafter Anna would become mortal as well. But, if any of her descendants to ever live without a mother, the god would be entitled to reclaim those girls and bring them here, to remain forever in his collection.\"\n\nElena was crestfallen at the thought of never again seeing her father or St Petersburg, and of being frozen in place. She screamed out to the god of Motherless Girls and demanded to be freed. But the god just laughed, all throughout his menagerie. \n\nBut then, after many days of considering her plight, Elena formed a plan. \"Allow me to turn your collection into matryoshka!,\"she called out to the god, \"Let me separate each of these women into pieces, into clear layers, so that you might consider each part of her more easily, and find what it is in each of us that resembles your beloved Anna!\"\n\nElena's proposal thrilled the god, for even after all his abductions, he was still no closer to grasping what it was that makes a motherless woman so special, so like the First Woman. He released Elena's muscles and demanded that she go to work at once, separating and straining each of his women into a partwise matryoshka. \n\nFrom where the god watched, it appeared to him Elena was doing as she had promised. But each time his back was turned, or when Elena carefully angled her subject and stood nose to nose, she would reach inside the girl, and she would pull forth her soul, which lives in her deepest layer. Elena would hide the soul in her bosom until she could move on and quietly feed it to another girl, until every girl had taken in the soul of one of her fellow captives. Finally, Elena pulled out her own soul and fed it to the woman whom she had been first placed beside. At last, each captive woman had taken in the soul of another, thereby promising to care for it and nurture it. Because of this, the women of the menagerie had all become mothers to each other, and were no longer in thrall to the selfish god.\n\nThe god saw that Elena was no longer hard at work, so he returned to inspect her progress. But as he entered the menagerie, all the captives suddenly broke from their poses. All together, they hit and kicked the god, until he fled. The menagerie with all its gold podiums vanished, and the girls fell through a void, until everything again became blurry. Elena awoke in her small bed in her father's apartment in St Petersburg.\n\nThat night, Anatoly came at sunset with the blank wood for Elena. For the first time, she did not paint the final doll with a stern face and grey dress. For now, Elena knew that somewhere there was a woman who would always carry her soul, always nurture and protect it, and that this meant she would always have a mother to inherit from.\n "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "When you kill someone, you get their best trait. Except it's what *they* think is their best trait."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Killing people was easy. I was a sociopath, you see. It's hard to feel guilt when you barely have any emotions at all. When you have a special ability like I do it's even easier.\n\nAs the barrel of my gun cooled, I watched Dr. Robert J. Phillips, considered the world's most brilliant man slowly bleed out near my feet. Upon passing, I would get his greatest trait - his intelligence - and with my massive strength, hand-eye coordination, and other traits acquired through murder I would at last be unstoppable.\n\nI wondered what it would be like to be that smart. In a minute I'd find out. I looked around his lab as he died, my eyes fixing on the photo of his wife and family. They'd be set for life. Enco Industries, the R&D Division at which Phillips worked, had a great benefit package, including life insurance.\n\nI stared at the indecipherable scientific formula on the blackboard he had been working on. When he finally died I'd be able to comprehend this gibberish. I almost put another bullet in his temple to speed things up. \n\nJust then I felt it in the back of my skull. That itch that tells me when the transfer occurs. I stared at the board then doubled over in agony. What the hell was this? What the hell had happened to me? Tears poured from my eyes as everything I'd done ripped my soul to pieces. \n\nThe math problem was still gibberish. I looked at his wall behind the board and saw the certificates. The ribbons. The medals. All from humanitarian efforts. The asshole. The dead asshole. He didn't consider his amazing intelligence his best trait. He considered his empathy his best trait. \n\nFor the first time in my life I felt the weight of all the murders I had committed. All the men and women i had used and discarded to rise to where I was. \n\nMy final action as I put the pistol to my temple was to look at the picture of his smiling family and say, \"I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry.\"\n\nAs I pulled the trigger I realized that for once in my life I actually was."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Every \"walks into a bar\"joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "*Same old shift. Same old jokes.*\n\nFrank looked out over the bar, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular, barely registering the buzz of chatter between patrons. His hand twisted rhythmically, aimlessly rubbing a towel over the rim of a glass that had been dry for ten minutes.\n\nThe sound of the small brass bell above the doorway snapped Frank out of his trance. He glanced up, hoping – just for a split second – for someone new.\n\n*Oh*, thought Frank, *the horse. Of course. Of course.*\n\n“Evening, Frank. I’ll take a pint,” the horse announced, finishing his sentence with an over-exaggerated sigh. Frank only nodded, saying nothing in response. In an almost zen-like state he pulled the horse’s drink, refusing to engage, eyes fixed on the rising head that pooled over the amber liquid. Without a word, he slid the pint over to the horse, his lips screwed tightly together, his hands pressed so firmly against the bar his knuckles were turning white.\n\nThe horse looked at Frank expectantly. A single bead of cold sweat trickled down his face and dripped quietly into his beer. He cleared his throat purposefully, but Frank refused to take the bait. Furtive whispers began to swirl around the bar. *Frank’s not saying it! How can he not say it?*\n\n“Frank?” hissed the horse, shifting uncomfortably in his velour-capped barstool. “Don’t you, um, have anything to – you know, to say?”\n\nAll eyes were on Frank. The room became enveloped by an expectant, judgemental silence.\n\n“No.”\n\nUnder his breath, Frank uttered a single word. The patrons gasped audibly, and the horse’s face cracked into an expression of pure disbelief, his mouth falling agape. Frank was visibly trembling, his heart racing as years and years of bad punchlines echoed in his head. *Put it on my bill! Should I have said DiMaggio? For you, no charge!* It was too much. The frustrations were finally bubbling to the surface.\n\n**“I won’t say it!”** he bellowed. **“I won’t! I can’t indulge you people anymore! Night after night, I just want to run a business, but you’re making a – a – a joke out of my bar! Out of me! Oh look, the priest, the rabbi and the minister – yeah, sure, I can count on three holy men to keep this place afloat, right? Nobody drinks like holy men! Why do you even come here?”**\n\n“But the blood of Christ –“ interjected the priest before he was shushed a baseball-loving dog.\n\n**“And you!”** Frank now pointed accusingly at the gorilla, who was sheepishly frozen mid-sip, a Manhattan raised to his lips. **“No, we don’t get many gorillas in here – why would we? – but tell you what, if you don’t like my prices, you can leave! Good luck finding another bar that serves your kind!”**\n\n“That’s a little racist,” the rabbi muttered to the minister, who nodded sagely in agreement.\n\n**“And the blonde! The blonde! Is it legal for me to serve a woman with such a low IQ? Please, tell me – just for my own peace of mind – tell me there’s some medical reason why I shouldn’t get so frustrated with you. Do the redhead and the brunette actually hang out with you out of choice? Or were they appointed to you?”**\n\n“She sounds awful!” cried out the blonde supportively. The redhead and the brunette covered their faces in sheer exasperation.\n\n**“And the twelve inch pianist – I don’t care. I just don’t care! You want a big dick? Speak. More. Clearly!”**\n\n“Oh,” quacked the duck excitedly from his seat in the booth, “*Now* I get it!”\n\nAt this point Frank could barely form words and, in the absence of insults, his anger turned to sadness, and his eyes began to sting with tears. Overwhelmed by emotion, he collapsed on the bar and sobbed loudly and awkwardly, a man broken by one too many puns. The patrons grimaced collectively, each waiting nervously for someone, *anyone*, to do something to cut through the tension. The brunette gestured to the horse, who was still sat only a foot away from Frank, having experienced the whole rant at point blank range. Wincing, the horse leaned over the bar, clumsily patting Frank’s shoulder with a hoof.\n\n“Frank,” said the horse, trying his best to sound soothing, “Why the long face?”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I drew the circle, lit the candles in the right order, and placed the sacrifice on the stone altar. My chanting grew louder and louder, its metaphysical pitch increasing to call across the celestial layers. I raised the athame, the stone dagger etched with the thousand names of Hav-Morach, and drew it across the victim as the ritual demanded, chanting a dedication of blood drawn and fire offered to the Great Below. \n\nThere was a rasping, grinding sound as my knife slid across the Petri dish. *No idea how many I might have scraped off there, better set the fire quick...* I thought as I raised a black candle to the altar, pre-soaked in blessed oil (technically, though blessed isn’t the most accurate word when dealing with Below). The flame caught, and I felt the usual blast of heat as the sacrifice was given, its blood echoing down through reality. I waited the 7-and-13 seconds for the summons to return. \n\nAnd with a slight *sigh,* reality bent. \n\n#”TREMBLE MORTALS, AND DESPAIR! DOOM HAS COME TO THIS WO- HANG ON. WHAT?”\n\nI grinned and waved at the demon. Its crimson skin flushed with dark symbols, its head bore a crown of jagged black horns, and its eyes wept tears of black blood. It was also 2 feet tall. \n\n“Hi there!” I said cheekily. “One hundred sacrifices given, o immortal servant, and you must fulfill my commands! I was expecting someone... bigger, though.”\n\n# “I AM THE DREAD LORD CHAVASHTOHT! I HAVE CALLED FIRE DOWN UPON THE ZIGGURATS OF UR, DRUNK BLOOD FROM THE HEARTS OF A THOUSAND DEAD! YOU HAVE CALLED ME WITH BLOOD AND SO I ANSWER. I... WHERE ARE MY SACRIFICES? YOU CALLED ME! WHERE IS THE HUNDRED DEAD I WAS PROMISED!?”\n\n“Well...” I said, my grin growing wider. “Your contract never said that they had to be *human.*” I pointed to the burnt and melting Petri dish. “You didn’t even specify they had to be animal.”\n\n#”...LISTEN HERE YOU LITTLE SHIT.”"
}
] |
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[Description Tags],"Deleted user", "Hello,\n\nYour post has been removed..", "Post has been deleted by user", "This post has been marked NSFW", duplicated system and human turns, etc has been removed.
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