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THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEuNk4JMsUM

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard. I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small. Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."*

soap bubble popped in my eye! edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

"I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest. He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?" "While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice. He snorts derisively. "Bubbles."

soap bubble popped in my eye! edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever."

soap bubble popped in my eye! edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

soap bubble popped in my eye! edit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

I didn't even feel the small tremors in my arms anymore. Somewhere after eight cups of coffee, your brain just says "fuck all" to its self-regulation and gives up on telling you what your body is up to. Which was probably a good thing, since I could see by the reflective glass on the far end of the lab that I was a pitiable sight. But while the drug-and-caffeine concoction was doing no great deeds for my looks, they kept me alert enough to notice not only my face in a small square across the room, but the development of the mixture that sat in a small petri dish in front of me. The table looked like something out of a science documentary from the '70s - exactly the sort that got me interested in this type of work in the first place - with its offensively inoffensive shade of yellow that barely gave contrast to the liquids. Its waxy surface was host to a concoction of items I'd assembled through the wee hours of the night while most of the University staff slept. And the payoff was minutes away if I'd gotten my numbers right. I opened up my journal and began to scrawl a few notes: *4:01 a.m. mixed 12mg XK with 8mg CL in static environment regulated at 21C. Mix has been stable for ten minutes with no sign of reaction.* I was going to win a fucking nobel prize. And even then, only because they wouldn't be able to think of something bigger and better-suited to the discovery. Or perhaps the drugs were helping me to mask the slow realization that somewhere in the past year of work, I'd forgotten to carry a one. Or perhaps worse, some hapless intern had ineffectively sealed one of three thousand different rare compounds. If it was the latter, I would find and utterly ruin the fucker. I looked down at the slight foam around the crust of the dish. There was no denying what was sitting plainly in front of me. "Bubbles," I said as I stood, kicking the stool over as I rose.

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

"Of all the things you could have done," began the enraged landlady, "you decided to go with bubbles." "Well, Mrs Donovan, I technically filled the downstairs flat with foam-" "BUBBLES."

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever."

I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard. I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small. Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."*

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard. I look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small. Reaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, "*Bubbles."*

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever."

"I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest. He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?" "While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice. He snorts derisively. "Bubbles."

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

"I like this brand better." she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest. He pulled it away and checked the price tag. "Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?" "While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes." The spirit is gone from her voice. He snorts derisively. "Bubbles."

THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing. edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt

[WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment.

He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit," he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest. "Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process," the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go. "No! You stop there," shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. "I have come here for three weeks with no results," Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem," he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor. "I understand . . ." started the doctor, but he was interrupted. "You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, " his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?" he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!"

"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever."

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

Those Were The Days There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men. The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago. Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant. Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.

This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities. He untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this. "You are more man than I can ever be," he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare. Knock. Knock knock knock. "Doctor, is it over yet?" She stands up, and mutters, "Let's create our own saga."

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities. He untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this. "You are more man than I can ever be," he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare. Knock. Knock knock knock. "Doctor, is it over yet?" She stands up, and mutters, "Let's create our own saga."

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

Those Were The Days There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men. The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago. Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant. Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.

Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings. When I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea. She's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods. Though that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left. She was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing. I don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped. She told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl. The website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to "sacrifice upon the altar of bone". We tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing. Then I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular. Geraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks. Geraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person. I didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin. "I've already tried bleeding for it," she said. "It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die." "Your father?" Geraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home. We never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings. When I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea. She's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods. Though that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left. She was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing. I don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped. She told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl. The website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to "sacrifice upon the altar of bone". We tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing. Then I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular. Geraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks. Geraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person. I didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin. "I've already tried bleeding for it," she said. "It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die." "Your father?" Geraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home. We never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

Those Were The Days There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men. The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago. Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant. Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.

The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue. "Mike!" I shouted. "Are you okay?" "Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out." He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't. At that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could. "Three! Two! One! Pull!" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters. "Three! Two! One! Pull!" Another 20 centimeters. "Three! Two! ......" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling "No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march. While I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me. I initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue. "Mike!" I shouted. "Are you okay?" "Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out." He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't. At that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could. "Three! Two! One! Pull!" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters. "Three! Two! One! Pull!" Another 20 centimeters. "Three! Two! ......" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling "No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march. While I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me. I initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

Those Were The Days There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men. The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago. Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant. Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.

"Open your presents *now*" she whispered As I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here. When I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature "I'm fine, nothing wrong here" smile. "Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!" As the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone "Mess this up for me and you will pay". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me. As the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry. It went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was "Murder". Murder ? I had to find out more. From that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind. I brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me. A few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said "He will do it". Too bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day. She died 4 hours later. When the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read: Dear Denise, You're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry. Love, your sister, and best friend, Flora. I couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora. I love you mom.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

"Open your presents *now*" she whispered As I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here. When I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature "I'm fine, nothing wrong here" smile. "Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!" As the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone "Mess this up for me and you will pay". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me. As the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry. It went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was "Murder". Murder ? I had to find out more. From that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind. I brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me. A few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said "He will do it". Too bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day. She died 4 hours later. When the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read: Dear Denise, You're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry. Love, your sister, and best friend, Flora. I couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora. I love you mom.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

Crimson ribbons of sacred blood splurt from a once robust vein as I commence my insidious plan: to ascend my mastery of phrenology. I am a raven, unraveling this voluptuous monument to mankind's saga, one dreadful bite at a time.

Is there a word limit?

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons.

Is there a word limit?

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

Is there a word limit?

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

An insidious moon rose in infinitesimal increments over the small country town of Hedgefield, Virginia. It was a particularly humid night in this still, quaint community, the kind where condensation formed on your pores after being outside for only a few minutes. I wiped sweat from my brow and continued to ascend up a grassy hill within a wide enclosed area of surrounding forest. A raven flew down and perched itself high in one of the trees in front of me, silhouetted against the stadium lights from the local Friday night high school football game next to the field. My intention was to meet up with Jay, my weed dealer, but he was late, or more specifically I was late, but he was even more late. Text after text and I realized he wasn't going to show up, so I began to make my way back to the street. Then, there was a shout from behind me, and I saw him running over. "Hey man, sorry I'm late, all I got's an eighth for you, that cool?" He asked in his smooth southern drawl. "Fine." I replied. I handed him the money and we parted ways. After the exchange was over, I went to light up a joint in my beat up truck. Once I got a little high, I decided I would drive home. I could handle it, I thought, no big idea. What I didn't realize was that this was no ordinary weed. Jay had laced it with something - I was sure of it. My body just didn't feel right, I felt abnormally slow and like I was about to pass out. Nevertheless, I drove on in a delirious daze. Luckily, the gas gauge started blinking and I pulled over the car. I had almost forgotten by this point that my dealer had just given me laced marijuana, but after contemplating it for about a minute I realized that yes, that did happen. I called him and he didn't pick up the phone so I left a message. "Heeeyyy, mann. What's gooinggg onnn?.. Listen bro.. that stufff you gave meee.. I'm feeeling a little funnnny." I said to him in a mangled, drawn out voice, and then I collapsed in my seat. At an indistinct point later, I jolted back awake. I couldn't tell how much time had gone by, but it was still night and there was still an occasional car driving down the street. A dreadful realization came over my now mostly sober mind. Jay had tried to kill me. There was no way he could be negligent enough to accidentally slip me something that hardcore, I knew him better than that. The question then became, why did he do it? I tried to think back to anything I could have done to upset him. That's when it hit me and made my skin crawl. He wasn't trying to murder me, he was just trying to put me to sleep for a while. I remembered taking Ambien a few times for sleep troubles and having a similar experience each time. Like many, the answer to that question simply spiraled into more questions. What could he have gained from knocking me out for a few hours? My first thought went to the semi-automatic rifle I had stashed in the flatbed of my truck. He had asked me about it every time we had seen each other for weeks and the questions had started to get strange. I got out and looked to see that it was gone. This was when I really started to panic. Besides my obvious concern for who he might be planning to kill, this gun was not registered. I could get years in prison for it. Back into the truck I ran and sped off. Fuck, I thought, I still need gas. I made the pit stop in what had to be record time and parked back onto the side of the road to formulate a strategy. The first person I thought to call was a buddy, Rob. He and Jay went way back and my best bet of finding Jay's location was through him. "Hey, man, it's me," I hadn't bothered to check the time but he informed me it was almost 12 AM and he had been sleeping. "I know, I know, I'm sorry but this is an emergency. Listen, Jay stole my gun. He snuck me some sleeping pills and took it and I.. I don't know what he's planning to do with it but that gun is illegal and I could go down hard for it, so do you know anything about where he could be going? Check his Facebook, Twitter, all that shit." "Jesus Christ, man. Slow down," He answered calmly. "Give me a second to get on the web here." He scoured Jay's digital footprint for any signs of his plan and then remembered something, "You know, he did have a rough breakup with his girlfriend about.. I don't know.. four days ago. He wouldn't hang out with anyone after it happened. There's also a couple pretty dark Twitter posts from earlier today and yesterday. One says.. love is a lie. People are predetermined to hate each other and push each other down so that only the strongest of the species will survive. #naturalselection." "Please tell me you know where she lives." I responded, my foot tapping uncontrollably with adrenaline. He did another quick Google search, "Kayla Martin. She lives on 23 Lakewood Avenue, 30 minutes from school." A chill went through my veins and my stomach curled up as the reality truly set in. The only positive was that the rifle in my flatbed was not my only gun, I also hid a pistol in the dashboard. This one was registered to me. Although it pained me to wait, I had to briefly consider how I would explain it to cops if I shot him. I'll just say I was driving by and heard strange noises, I thought. But what if I was too late? What if the cops were already there? I could be walking into a trap. Despite all these disastrous scenarios playing out in my head, I ultimately realized that if I did nothing, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life. I sped off into the night, trying to keep a delicate balance between dangerous speeds and rambunctious teenage driving. Rob guided my path over the phone like a clairvoyant, telling me the fastest route to take. Finally, I pulled up to the street Kayla's house was on, which was in the heart of upper middle class suburbia. Her house was somewhat isolated from the others because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac and the area behind it was completely covered by trees. I knew Jay, being the clever woodsman he is, would know how to navigate them with ease, so I looped around, pushing through the brush in hopes of catching him from behind. These robust forests were difficult to navigate because the trees were so tall and densely packed, leaving no walking room that wasn't covered with thorns or branches. This made it impossible to not make any noise, which was why I had the false epiphany that maybe Jay wasn't here at all. Then, I saw him. He was lying down and cowering behind some thickets with a pair of binoculars, trying to look through Kayla's window which had the light on. I drew my pistol and crept slowly behind him, then made my presence known by speaking in a near whisper, "Don't move." He was startled and hesitated at first but then dropped the binoculars and put his hands up, rolling over with an expression of shock at seeing me aiming down the barrel at him. "You? I fucking tranquilized you." I said nothing back, "Look, you gotta let me go. I can't do this, man, I thought I could but I can't. When I got here, I just.. I love her. I'm so glad it was you and not a fucking cop." He trembled with fright but his words seemed sincere enough, "How do I know if I let you go you won't do this again? How am I ever supposed to trust you again?" There was a long silence and he stood himself up. He shook his head, "You're not." Jay then turned the rifle up towards his chin and pulled the trigger; a crimson pool gradually pouring out from his mutilated head.

Is there a word limit?

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons.

It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there. Leaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted. Reaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio. She went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way. Nearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated. Why would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real. She finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her. The next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there. Leaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted. Reaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio. She went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way. Nearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated. Why would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much. Taking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real. She finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her. The next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists.

Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious. The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.) Just reply to this with your story! --- Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :)

[WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest!

As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.” He closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar. “Got somewhere to be?” she asked. He did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?” “How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?” “Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. The sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. “You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--” The next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips. “Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” He wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” She finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?” “Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?” “Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.” “Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?” “Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap. He waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” Victoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.” “Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.” “Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his. “Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.” She was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” “Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain. “I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?” Victoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. He fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. No one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”

Those Were The Days There was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men. The sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago. Now, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant. Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now. I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return. A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time. I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.

“Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder. “Which knee?” A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.” “Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back. “Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.” “Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…” “Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted. “Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.” Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!” I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.” “Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it. I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek. “Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.” We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home. A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames. “Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut. He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life. Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied. He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision. He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice. “This isn’t the end.”

“Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder. “Which knee?” A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.” “Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back. “Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.” “Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…” “Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted. “Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.” Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!” I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.” “Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it. I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek. “Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.” We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home. A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

“Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder. “Which knee?” A short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.” “Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back. “Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.” “Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…” “Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted. “Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.” Joe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!” I gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.” “Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it. I looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek. “Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.” We huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home. A little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames. “Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut. He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life. Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied. He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision. He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice. “This isn’t the end.”

Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows. To me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog? So I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that. Ms Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop. Now Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone. "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things," I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag. **EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows. To me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog? So I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that. Ms Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop. Now Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone. "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things," I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag. **EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames. “Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut. He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life. Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied. He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision. He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice. “This isn’t the end.”

In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now. I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return. A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time. I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now. I turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return. A distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time. I shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity. Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt. Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.

"I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." "But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well. "Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did." "I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways." "There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me." She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying. "Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love." She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die." I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me. She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to. His lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. "You never were much help in the hard moments" he said. "Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it." He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. "I'm glad you came." I looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. "Dad, you knew I'd be here." I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. "I wish I wasn't." I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man. He continued to smile, "I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things." His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward. I kissed his cheek and croaked out, "I love you, too." With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. "I love you, too."

"I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." "But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well. "Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did." "I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways." "There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me." She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying. "Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love." She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die." I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me. She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

"I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." "But that doesn't change things," she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well. "Not at all. I still want to die." We're silent for a few minutes. "We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did." "I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways." "There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me." She glares. "I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying. "Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love." She sniffles, the only sound she makes. "I just..I never wanted you to die." I scoff harshly. "Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me. She was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. It was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames. “Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut. He reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life. Her light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. Her mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied. He pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision. He leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” She looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice. “This isn’t the end.”

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity. Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt. Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.

Thank you. You’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay. When I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed. I know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. And even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to. His lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. "You never were much help in the hard moments" he said. "Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it." He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. "I'm glad you came." I looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. "Dad, you knew I'd be here." I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. "I wish I wasn't." I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man. He continued to smile, "I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things." His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward. I kissed his cheek and croaked out, "I love you, too." With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. "I love you, too."

Thank you. You’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay. When I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed. I know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. And even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

Thank you. You’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay. When I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed. I know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. And even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to. His lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. "You never were much help in the hard moments" he said. "Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it." He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. "I'm glad you came." I looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. "Dad, you knew I'd be here." I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. "I wish I wasn't." I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man. He continued to smile, "I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things." His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward. I kissed his cheek and croaked out, "I love you, too." With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. "I love you, too."

Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity. Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt. Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity. Eight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. Eight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt. Yes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Eight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.

Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things." *Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.* Ready? Set? GO! ----- EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold!

[FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD)

A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder. I used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance? Maybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness. I'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast.

My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to. His lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. "You never were much help in the hard moments" he said. "Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it." He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. "I'm glad you came." I looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. "Dad, you knew I'd be here." I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. "I wish I wasn't." I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man. He continued to smile, "I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things." His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward. I kissed his cheek and croaked out, "I love you, too." With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. "I love you, too."

I meant to type seceded. Sorry.

[WP] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country. Write an article about its separation.

First they tried to take our guns. Then they tried to make us all get gay married to each other. Man, I don't know how to accessorize or get my hair to stand up with that gel. I got sensitive ears and it goops over the top of them which makes me nauseous. So me and Bubba went into the woods with Jack and his brother, T-Jack, and we planned an overthrowing of the government. Which is a lot harder than it seems. Mostly we burned buildings that looked important until there was nothing left but a few shacks on the bayou. People tried to stop us at first. Then some joined in because we promised we'd use the fire to make a big barbeque. And some joined in because we promised they wouldn't have to marry other men. Mostly people wanted to shoot their guns in the air and burn things. We were good with that. Took a couple of years for the government to agree to give us Louisiana. Hell, we originally wanted all of the Louisiana purchase land but Bubba said that was too greedy. We settled for what we had and were happy with it. Got all that oil money now so we're getting drunk with that. A bunch of us have reality tv-shows now. People like to watch us argue and hunt things and argue some more. My cousin Jenny Ann has a show about living with her fifteen husbands (women are way scarcer now) and she lives in a great big wood house. It's pretty nice now. Still... Sometimes at night, Bubba holds me close in our tent. For warmth. And I think that getting gay married wouldn't have been quite so bad. We're the same size so we'd have doubled our wardrobes. Two Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts. Woulda been nice. I'm just assuming this is what eventually happens to Louisiana. >_>

Just saying I thought this was funny since I'm from Scotland and this could happen quite soon.

I meant to type seceded. Sorry.

[WP] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country. Write an article about its separation.

AL.com 8:17 pm | May 2, 2013 | Marimbro **Breaking News: Alabama Legislature Approves Secession Bill, Sends to Washington** In a move [not wholly unprecedented](https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/peacefully-grant-state-alabama-withdraw-united-states-america-and-create-its-own-new-government/2TvhJSSC) by anybody really, the Alabama legislature approved a request for peaceful secession from the United States on Thursday evening. The White House will immediately be notified and the bill forwarded to them, Gov. Robert Bentley stated. "I believe this is what Alabamians really want," Bentley told AL.com. "A place we can call truly our own, without the interference of a corrupt federal government. A place where we will always have the right to bear arms. As the leader of this new nation, I will do all in my power to return Alabama to a simpler, more moral time. The Republic of Alabama will be what America was supposed to be. *Roll tide!*" According to sources within the legislature, Bentley will be the interim President of the new Republic of Alabama. He expects to meet with some level of opposition from Washington, even including military interference, but is optimistic that it will be minimal before the U.S. recognizes Alabama -- "they'll be glad to get rid of us." Reports are also circulating that the state of Texas has assured the Republic of Alabama military assistance if it becomes necessary.

Just saying I thought this was funny since I'm from Scotland and this could happen quite soon.

I meant to type seceded. Sorry.

[WP] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country. Write an article about its separation.

First they tried to take our guns. Then they tried to make us all get gay married to each other. Man, I don't know how to accessorize or get my hair to stand up with that gel. I got sensitive ears and it goops over the top of them which makes me nauseous. So me and Bubba went into the woods with Jack and his brother, T-Jack, and we planned an overthrowing of the government. Which is a lot harder than it seems. Mostly we burned buildings that looked important until there was nothing left but a few shacks on the bayou. People tried to stop us at first. Then some joined in because we promised we'd use the fire to make a big barbeque. And some joined in because we promised they wouldn't have to marry other men. Mostly people wanted to shoot their guns in the air and burn things. We were good with that. Took a couple of years for the government to agree to give us Louisiana. Hell, we originally wanted all of the Louisiana purchase land but Bubba said that was too greedy. We settled for what we had and were happy with it. Got all that oil money now so we're getting drunk with that. A bunch of us have reality tv-shows now. People like to watch us argue and hunt things and argue some more. My cousin Jenny Ann has a show about living with her fifteen husbands (women are way scarcer now) and she lives in a great big wood house. It's pretty nice now. Still... Sometimes at night, Bubba holds me close in our tent. For warmth. And I think that getting gay married wouldn't have been quite so bad. We're the same size so we'd have doubled our wardrobes. Two Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts. Woulda been nice. I'm just assuming this is what eventually happens to Louisiana. >_>

A few years ago, I woulda never thought that Idaho would actually try to secede from the other States, but there came a time when I knew it was necessary. All the people ‘round us were tryin’ to force their fancy new ways upon us, with their robots that could make you dinner and cars that could drive for you. It just wasn’t American. It just ain’t right. Now, of course, there was other states that left with us. Nevada, Wyoming, and Montana all joined together with us. We called ourselves the Western Four, for now. We hadn’t made anything official yet, but there’d been talk of a meeting. For now, though, I was on watch duty. I even got the best spot; I got to watch Canada. You see, if I was watchin’ Utah or Oregon, I’d’ve had a hard time shootin’ an American comin’ to attack us. Those guys up north weren’t even Americans, so I’d be fine picking ‘em off. Heck, I couldn’t see why we hadn’t declared war on Canada yet. It’s not like they’d resist. We could just say “Please can we have your land?” and they’d say, “Sorry for the inconvenience,” and hand some right over. Yellow-necked sonsabitches. I’m writin’ this piece for Idaho’s new paper. All the news types left when they heard about us secedin’; they didn’t want to be caught up in no war. So now I was Newspaper editor. I gotsa fancy pen and a title on a desk. I don’t really know what to say, so I’mma just gonna write my thoughts while I’m guarding our sweet lil new country. (Just wanted to say that I'm not trying to stereotyping or make a [FAE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_attribution_error), but there are some people in Idaho that are like this. I would know because I live in it.) Edit: Just wanted to point out to OP that the correct word for a territory's separation from its government would be to *secede*, but if they did this well, then they'd *succeed*.

I meant to type seceded. Sorry.

[WP] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country. Write an article about its separation.

AL.com 8:17 pm | May 2, 2013 | Marimbro **Breaking News: Alabama Legislature Approves Secession Bill, Sends to Washington** In a move [not wholly unprecedented](https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/peacefully-grant-state-alabama-withdraw-united-states-america-and-create-its-own-new-government/2TvhJSSC) by anybody really, the Alabama legislature approved a request for peaceful secession from the United States on Thursday evening. The White House will immediately be notified and the bill forwarded to them, Gov. Robert Bentley stated. "I believe this is what Alabamians really want," Bentley told AL.com. "A place we can call truly our own, without the interference of a corrupt federal government. A place where we will always have the right to bear arms. As the leader of this new nation, I will do all in my power to return Alabama to a simpler, more moral time. The Republic of Alabama will be what America was supposed to be. *Roll tide!*" According to sources within the legislature, Bentley will be the interim President of the new Republic of Alabama. He expects to meet with some level of opposition from Washington, even including military interference, but is optimistic that it will be minimal before the U.S. recognizes Alabama -- "they'll be glad to get rid of us." Reports are also circulating that the state of Texas has assured the Republic of Alabama military assistance if it becomes necessary.

A few years ago, I woulda never thought that Idaho would actually try to secede from the other States, but there came a time when I knew it was necessary. All the people ‘round us were tryin’ to force their fancy new ways upon us, with their robots that could make you dinner and cars that could drive for you. It just wasn’t American. It just ain’t right. Now, of course, there was other states that left with us. Nevada, Wyoming, and Montana all joined together with us. We called ourselves the Western Four, for now. We hadn’t made anything official yet, but there’d been talk of a meeting. For now, though, I was on watch duty. I even got the best spot; I got to watch Canada. You see, if I was watchin’ Utah or Oregon, I’d’ve had a hard time shootin’ an American comin’ to attack us. Those guys up north weren’t even Americans, so I’d be fine picking ‘em off. Heck, I couldn’t see why we hadn’t declared war on Canada yet. It’s not like they’d resist. We could just say “Please can we have your land?” and they’d say, “Sorry for the inconvenience,” and hand some right over. Yellow-necked sonsabitches. I’m writin’ this piece for Idaho’s new paper. All the news types left when they heard about us secedin’; they didn’t want to be caught up in no war. So now I was Newspaper editor. I gotsa fancy pen and a title on a desk. I don’t really know what to say, so I’mma just gonna write my thoughts while I’m guarding our sweet lil new country. (Just wanted to say that I'm not trying to stereotyping or make a [FAE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_attribution_error), but there are some people in Idaho that are like this. I would know because I live in it.) Edit: Just wanted to point out to OP that the correct word for a territory's separation from its government would be to *secede*, but if they did this well, then they'd *succeed*.

I meant to type seceded. Sorry.

[WP] Your state/province/etc has succeeded from your country. Write an article about its separation.

First they tried to take our guns. Then they tried to make us all get gay married to each other. Man, I don't know how to accessorize or get my hair to stand up with that gel. I got sensitive ears and it goops over the top of them which makes me nauseous. So me and Bubba went into the woods with Jack and his brother, T-Jack, and we planned an overthrowing of the government. Which is a lot harder than it seems. Mostly we burned buildings that looked important until there was nothing left but a few shacks on the bayou. People tried to stop us at first. Then some joined in because we promised we'd use the fire to make a big barbeque. And some joined in because we promised they wouldn't have to marry other men. Mostly people wanted to shoot their guns in the air and burn things. We were good with that. Took a couple of years for the government to agree to give us Louisiana. Hell, we originally wanted all of the Louisiana purchase land but Bubba said that was too greedy. We settled for what we had and were happy with it. Got all that oil money now so we're getting drunk with that. A bunch of us have reality tv-shows now. People like to watch us argue and hunt things and argue some more. My cousin Jenny Ann has a show about living with her fifteen husbands (women are way scarcer now) and she lives in a great big wood house. It's pretty nice now. Still... Sometimes at night, Bubba holds me close in our tent. For warmth. And I think that getting gay married wouldn't have been quite so bad. We're the same size so we'd have doubled our wardrobes. Two Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts. Woulda been nice. I'm just assuming this is what eventually happens to Louisiana. >_>

When the citizens of Indiana went to sleep last night, they were Americans. This morning when they woke up, they belonged to a new country. This bizarre event was made possible by, of all things, an innocent clerical error. A resolution concerning farm subsidies passed by the Indiana legislature had erroneously included a clause separating the state from the union. According to sources in the state government, an intern had inserted that clause as a joke. However, that addition was not spotted during deliberations. Nor was it caught in when it passed through the State House of Representatives. Or the State Senate. Or the Governor's desk. Normally this measure would require a popular vote. The unanimous passage, however, overrules that requirement, meaning that the secession is valid. State officials scrambled to correct their mistake, but by then it was too late. In order to regain statehood, the state legislature would need to draft a special ballot measure approved by 2/3 majority that would then need to be approved by a majority of voters. The earliest that the voting could take place is next November. Even that would only shift the action to the United States Congress which would then need to approve statehood for Indiana. Already though, there are obstacles for the Hoosier state. Currently, their departure opens up additional seats in the House of Representatives, seats that the Democrats are eager to reassign or even see removed entirely. The state historically has been a shoo in for GOP candidates, the notable exception being 2012 when comments by GOP Senatorial candidate Robert Mourdock about rape derailed his campaign and gave the election to Democrat Joe Donnelly. Also in the way are the voters themselves. Take Anderson, IN resident Connie Young for example. "What has the US ever done for us," she asks. "Higher taxes, massive debt. We're better off on our own." One of Indiana's largest employers, pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly, has lobbied the state to suspend actions to regain statehood. Secession lifts the burden imposed by the Healthcare Reform Act, saving the company billions. Around the rest of the country, opinions are mixed. Many are claiming that the country is better off without them or at least treat the issue with indifference. In fact, the only people actively lobbying for the state to regain statehood are racing fans. The Powell family from Covington, KY, just across the Ohio River from Indiana bemoan the fact that they now need passports in order to attend the Indy 500, one of the largest racing events in the country. They have attended every Indy 500 for the past 22 years. But this year, they will need to negotiate with the US State Department in order to keep their tradition alive. It is uncertain whether or not Indiana will rejoin the United States and if they will be welcomed back. Whatever happens, though, for the next several months at least, Indiana is it's own nation.

Have you ever woken up so early that it seems like the entire world is asleep? Calm and quiet. You seem of have the world to yourself. Not *everything* else is resting through. What is happening while world slumbers?

[WP] While the world sleeps

It's rare for me to rise before the sun. Usually, I stare through the red glow of my alarm clock until my mounting frustration at being awake lulls me back to sleep. It didn't work this time. Instead, my annoyance became fire beneath my feet, giving me the most odd sensation of needing to run somewhere. I dusted off my running shoes, found my old wristwatch, and put on my admittedly tight-fitting jogging clothes. As soon as I stepped outside, I took a deep breath. The air was cold for a summer morning, and my nostrils tingled with each heave of my chest. I started off at an easy pace, feeling the dew from my lawn hit my calves. Almost immediately, I was gasping as if I had run a marathon. To save my sanity (as well as my run), I tuned out to the world around me. It wasn't until the path sidled up to the river that life came back into focus. And, though I'm ashamed to admit it, the background scenery had nothing to do with it. On a bench made from a fallen log sat a girl with caramel-colored hair. It was her smile that shifted my focus from my footfalls to her face. Not to say girls don't grin my way from time to time, but usually it's just out of courtesy due to accidental eye-contact. This woman, however, seemed genuinely happy to see me. It was as if she had waited every morning in hope that I would come loping around the corner. Ready to rest yet continuing my proactive streak, I decided to sit next to her (just not too close, as I was sweaty). "Hi! I'm Annie," she said with a grin. "I'm..... Alan...." I spurted out between gasping breaths. "Good morning, Alan. How's the jog?" "Difficult yet satisfying, as always." "Aren't all satisfying things rather difficult?" "Sitting on this bench was both easy and satisfying, so I'm inclined to disagree." She wrinkled her nose and giggled. "Been a while, huh?" "Long enough... So I must ask, why are you sitting here?" "I'm just waiting on the sun," she said, looking toward the horizon where the sky was beginning to brighten. "It seems rather hesitant this morning." "With such a large and dependent audience, can you blame it?" She showed me her genuine smile once more and we became silent for a few moments, both of us staring at the place where dark met light. "Alan, why are *you* here? I feel like I have the right to reciprocate your question." She looked at me inquisitively, and suddenly I felt naked. The way she questioned me with her eyes caused my heart to stutter and my mouth to follow suit. "I j-just felt like r-r-running." "And is that abnormal for you?" "Yes. Lately, the norm has been nothing but work, eat, sleep." "That sounds rather monotonous. Do you enjoy the norm?" "I abhor it. Probably why I ended up on this run. I usually wake up angry and go to bed depressed. My day is spent nit-picking the world and everyone in it. I keep it to myself so as not to be considered crazy or angry, but the truth is, I am both. Sorry to lay this all on you. There's just something so....inviting about you." "I'm glad you perceive me as such. To me, each being is a novel I have yet to read. Right now I'm just taking in the synopsis. Sounds like a depressing book so far. When does the action start?" "It doesn't, or at least, it hasn't yet." "I always hate it when books take too long to get exciting. We read for the sake of vicarious adventure; it might as well be a full one." "So are we speaking about my life, or about books?" "Both. Make your life a novel that everyone wants to read." Suddenly, she burst out laughing. It was unnatural, almost rhythmic. The sound filled me with dread and new energy all at once. I felt like I had to run again. But before I could place foot to pavement I was back in my bed listening to my alarm clock mimic the frightening laughter from the beautiful yet generic woman. Try as I might, I still can't remember her face. I lay sweating under my covers fuming at my misfortune. Another day of waking up angry. Some book, Annie. I turned off the alarm and sat up on the edge of the bed to face the window. The day was just breaking, and most of the stars were gone. However irate I was, I couldn't help but think she was right. My book was boring. While the world slept, my own subconscious awakened me to life. I walked over to the window, and waited for the sun to rise as it always does, only with more of a welcome from its newest admirer.

The world is still sleeping, I am awake. The people still slumber. --- The streets are dark, The sun is not risen, The moon still whispers to me softly. --- The world is silent, I am silent. The world is calm, I am calm. --- I was awoken for this escape, Ramblings will come later, But for now I wait.

Have you ever woken up so early that it seems like the entire world is asleep? Calm and quiet. You seem of have the world to yourself. Not *everything* else is resting through. What is happening while world slumbers?

[WP] While the world sleeps

For the second week, I awake at this exact time. The sun was just beginning to peak out from behind the houses. I'm not a morning person, my sheets are nice and cool. I lay and listen. It would be easy to think that the whole world is asleep, but I've learned this is when it is most alive. The breeze drifting through my window is bringing the smell of the trees in to greet me. I can almost here them speaking in their soft rustling voices, waking the small things. The small things own the grey hours. Those moments when its not fully day, but not quite night. When the large things retreat to their own places to settle in, but not quite sleep. That's the moment that all the smallest come out. There are so many of them that they muffle the sounds of the world. They are so many in number that sometimes, just before sleep, the large things feel a crushing, unexplainable fear that drives them to curl deeper into their dens, into their beds. The smallest ones come out first. Truly, they dance. The grey is the time that they celebrate, for when you're the smallest everything is big. Living through the day is big, a breeze, a footstep, a raindrop, a whisper. If you listen closely, you can hear them sing, feel the rhythm of their dance. The world is grey. I'm breathing in the smell, I'm listening to the song. I'm feeling the dance. I am a small thing. And they are big.

The world is still sleeping, I am awake. The people still slumber. --- The streets are dark, The sun is not risen, The moon still whispers to me softly. --- The world is silent, I am silent. The world is calm, I am calm. --- I was awoken for this escape, Ramblings will come later, But for now I wait.

Have you ever woken up so early that it seems like the entire world is asleep? Calm and quiet. You seem of have the world to yourself. Not *everything* else is resting through. What is happening while world slumbers?

[WP] While the world sleeps

For the second week, I awake at this exact time. The sun was just beginning to peak out from behind the houses. I'm not a morning person, my sheets are nice and cool. I lay and listen. It would be easy to think that the whole world is asleep, but I've learned this is when it is most alive. The breeze drifting through my window is bringing the smell of the trees in to greet me. I can almost here them speaking in their soft rustling voices, waking the small things. The small things own the grey hours. Those moments when its not fully day, but not quite night. When the large things retreat to their own places to settle in, but not quite sleep. That's the moment that all the smallest come out. There are so many of them that they muffle the sounds of the world. They are so many in number that sometimes, just before sleep, the large things feel a crushing, unexplainable fear that drives them to curl deeper into their dens, into their beds. The smallest ones come out first. Truly, they dance. The grey is the time that they celebrate, for when you're the smallest everything is big. Living through the day is big, a breeze, a footstep, a raindrop, a whisper. If you listen closely, you can hear them sing, feel the rhythm of their dance. The world is grey. I'm breathing in the smell, I'm listening to the song. I'm feeling the dance. I am a small thing. And they are big.

I got up around something like 3 am. It wasn't insomnia. My sleep schedule had just been really screwed up lately with the weird hours at work. I tried rolling over a few times, adjusted my bunched-up boxers, but there was that level of mental clarity where you know you're not getting back to sleep. I got out of bed and pulled on some jogging pants. I don't jog but they are the de facto lazy piece of clothing. I walked down stairs with the intention of making coffee but I realized that Stevie had used the last of it when he crashed on my couch a few days ago. We graduated college together and since then he's been making rounds across the country. Mooching off of anybody from the old crowd who would house him for a few days. I decided I didn't have anything else to and there was no point going back to bed so I pulled on some shoes to walk down to the 24/7 corner store run by that old Lebanese couple. As I was walking through the kitchen to the front door I saw that the electronic clock display on the microwave was blank. Oven too. I tried flipping the light switch a couple times. Nothing happened. "Blackout," I thought and I was perfectly comfortable with it. The constant assumption that you have shitty luck may not be the most reassuring thing in the world but it helps in taking things like this in stride. I finished getting ready to go out. Going down to the corner shop would at least determine whether it was just my place that was without power or if it was the whole neighborhood. Walking down the block I was able to enjoy how quiet and peaceful everything felt. If there was a blackout everyone must be asleep and not have realized it since I would think that there would be at least a couple people with flashlights trying to figure out what had happened. I made it to the store to find it locked and dark. I was a little annoyed by that just since I had no idea what I was going to do for the next four hours when I had to leave for work. It was about ten minutes to walk back to my house and although nothing odd was happening it did seem strange that I had seen no one about. Not even a car driving by. I dismissed it. Probably nothing more than the early hour and people staying home worried about the blackout. I'd been through a blackout once before in a major city. I had stayed in my apartment during the entire time and nothing bad had happened to me but I remember the sounds of sirens and commotion coming in from another part of the city. There was none of that here but I told myself that was probably normal for a small town. As I turned a corner and looked down my street I stopped suddenly realizing something so out of place that it was no wonder I hadn't noticed it before. There were no cars anywhere. All the driveways were empty. Everything else remained perfectly in place as though the entire neighborhood had collectively decided to up and go, deserting everything. I suddenly felt very alone. I walked up to my neighbor's door and rapped my fist on it a few times. I wasn't too concerned about waking him up. He worked as an EMT and tended to keep odd hours, much like me. Although I'd be embarrassed if I ended up disturbing anyone nearby I was silently hoping someone would come out and yell at me. Knowing somebody else was around would probably get rid of this panicky feeling that was building in my gut. I knocked a few more times and when there was no answer I tried the door expecting it to be locked. It wasn't. I stepped inside and shouted out. "JIM!" There was just silence. I shouted again, "Jim I'm coming into your place! The door was unlocked!" I walked around his tiny living room. It was dark due to the blackout but nothing looked disturbed or broken and all of Jim's stuff was there. I don't know why I was looking for signs of a burglary but I was hoping that some detail would explain what hap happened. I walked to the back of the house. The bedroom door was open and no one was inside. Again everything looked normal, as though someone had just been there. I went back out the front door. The house next to Jim's was locked but the one across the street wasn't and it was the same situation. Everything looked normal but there were no people. I went back to my place and just sat in the living room. Wondering what to do. After some time I pulled out my phone and attempted to call 911. I tried to think of how I would explain this to an operator. They'd probably just think I was crazy. After all, everybody being outside of their homes and having their doors unlocked doesn't necessarily constitute an emergency does it? The phone rang about 12 times before I tried calling it again. There was no answer. I tried the police station with the same results. And the fire station. I put the phone down and stepped outside thinking that maybe I could see the glow of lights from another neighborhood or a nearby town. Something to indicate that I wasn't quite alone. It was just a black night's sky as far as I could see. I stayed there for a little longer with the same thoughts. Wondering what I should do. Then I did see a light. It wasn't nearby, it was on the horizon. I thought it must be later than I realized for the sun to be coming up but it was rising faster than I had ever seen a sunrise and the light wasn't the mellow glow of a sunrise. It had the harsh glare of floodlights. I was afraid and looked away from it. It seemed to rapidly get closer and closer until I was covered in it. Then, even behind my closed eyes I saw a great light. And then I was gone.

[WP] You're gonna wish you'd never met me.

"Kid, just be careful, you're gonna wish you never met me." "Yeah, yeah, whatever, just gimme my three wishes." "I'll grant two now, then give you a week to think of the third one, even though I already know what it will be." "What the fuck, man? I freed you from the lamp, now do what I say." "Those are the conditions; if you don't like them, I can just not grant you any wishes." "Whatever. Uh... two wishes..." The boy stopped to think for a moment. He couldn't have been older than 15. "Uh... I wish I had all the money in the world." "Are you sure? This would cause money to become worthless, and everyone else would be poor. Money would become greatly devalued, banks would collapse, millions would lose their jobs and--" "Shut up," the teen interrupted. "Your wish is granted." The genie snapped his fingers. "Your money, and thus all the money in the world, is currently held in a Cayman Islands account. The password is in your left pocket, but don't look now. Make your second wish." "Yeah, yeah. Uh... um... I wish every girl in the world wanted to fuck me." "Consider the consequences of this, child. This will mean that all women will abandon everything else, and each has only a compulsion to have sex with you, meaning that women become essentially incapacitated due to your selfishness. You will transform them from members of society into your sex slaves. Even the very elderly and very young will feel this unquenchable desire. Members of your own family will want to--" "Dude, were you listening to what you just said? Cuz I sure as hell wasn't. Now, shut the fuck up and make it happen." The genie sighed and granted the boy's wish. Humans were all the same. Selfish. From down the street, women came running, each screaming his name, begging him to take them. "Remember," said the genie, "you brought this upon yourself. See you in a week." With a flash, the genie disappeared, and the boy was buried among a horde of women. ----------------------------- A week later, the genie came to visit the boy again. The boy had locked himself inside a metal room and surrounded himself with food that appeared uneaten. The genie knew that it was the boy's effort to remain safe and insulated from the dystopia the boy himself had created. "So," said the genie. "Have you learned anything?" The boy didn't respond. He was crouched in a fetal position, his legs wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. His clothes were in tatters, his hair a mess, and his eyes wide yet unfocused. "Well," the genie continued. "I suppose you have learned by now that selfishness does not reap rewards. The attention from women became too much, and you couldn't bear how many had died on a journey just to see you. I hope you understand now what you've caused." The boy remained silent, absently staring at the wall. "Do you realize what you've done? You couldn't even pay for guards to protect you, because you can't give someone money if you always possess all of it. If you have all of something, it becomes worthless." The boy's left eye began to twitch. "You are pathetic, and selfish. And now? You are truly alone. Even your mother and sister wanted you because of your disgusting wishes. And you managed to escape them, but to what? This?" The genie gestured around the barren metal room. "Now, your third wish. I already know what it will be." The boy looked up, shaking. He tried to talk, but only a whimper came out. "I know. You wish you'd never met me." The boy nodded fervently. "I told you this, but you didn't believe me. You were too focused on yourself. I trust that you've learned from the past week." The boy nodded again. "Good. I believe you. As this final mercy, I will grant your third wish. You will still have the memories of this week, but only as a dream. The world will return to normal, and you will too, but these memories will be a recurring nightmare that plagues your sleep. You will never remember this conversation, just the havoc that your selfishness wreaked. Hopefully, I'll have taught you something. Would you like me to grant your wish now?" The boy finally spoke. "Yes," he croaked weakly. "It is done." The world began to spin, and the boy's eyes closed. --------------------------------------- The boy blinked. He was in his bed. What a strange and terrible dream. Something about a genie, and the boy being selfish, and wishing for money and girls, but the genie twisted his words... the details were becoming hazy. He knew that he had a third wish, but he couldn't remember what it was. All the boy could remember was that with two wishes, he had brought about the collapse of the world. Good thing it was only a dream. Good thing he wasn't really that selfish.

(Continuation of this: http://ww.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1kxygc/wp_our_eyes_met_and_time_froze/cbu2c16) She came to the explosion as well, damn her to hell. She followed me. She was looking for me, in some way or form. The gun she held certainly surprised me though, I didn't expect her to be toting a pistol. And she seemed to know how to use it. She turned a corner and leveled her gun easily and stabily in front of her. The monster that stared back at her stilled her trigger finger. It looked like a skeleton, bits of flesh clinging to it's bones. It roared at her and she fired out of instinct. Her aim was true, the bullet smashed through the skull of her opponent, dropped it to the ground like a rock, but her sigh of relief betrayed to me that she didn't know the first thing about the monsters' lair that she had just stumbled into. She didn't know about the three other monsters that were approaching behind her. I saw them through my sniper scope from across the street and steadied my barrel. With my aim lined up I clicked my time piece. Time fell still and I fired. The bullet leaving the barrel and travelling a short distance before it stopped. I swung the barrel with a deft movement as my watch ticked away, telling me what was coming. I fired again and again, the bullets mimicing the first and stopping a short distance from me. Just in time, after the third bullet fired the watch stopped ticking a time resumed. The monsters dropped dead, and seemed to fade from view, vanishing as if they hadn't been there at all. That meant I was finished. I loaded up my sniper rifle and made my way to the building, where the lady stood, once again in complete shock. I grabbed her hand, and she instinctively tried to pull away, but I stopped her. I took the gun from her and examined it, confirming my suspicions. Police. I placed the gun back in her palm and released her. "Go away." I stated, simple and plain. "But-" "You think you're the first person who's followed me to one of these events? Well you aren't. And believe you me, if you don't let this drop... You're gonna wish you'd never met me."

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"So what you're saying is..." Grotburg surveyed the scene with a weary eye, drawing deep on his cigar as his boots crunched over broken glass. "...you came in here and started a fistfight in an old age home." Salsburg frowned. "An Olympic old age home. You know, for the athletes, not..." "Yeah I get it." "...not like...the Greek gods or anything, Grots." The two men stood side by side on the pavement by the broken window. It was 2:15 in the morning, and neither of them looked very happy. Police Chief Dennin Grotburg's flack jacket hung leaden over his round belly as he took in the destruction around him. Broken windows were nothing really. There was the splintered furniture, though. Table legs, a half a book shelf. The buckled remains of a wheelchair. The small fire and significantly larger scorch marks where the nursing home's television used to be were definitely cause for concern. Grotburg didn't even want to think about the blood flecks three meters away from the shattered window. He turned to the man to his left and sighed, through clenched teeth. "You've got fifteen minutes until the commissioner figures out I sent his men to the wrong address. What the fuck happened here?" The other man, Arty Salsburg, stood watching the small fire as it caught a curtain and sent the side of the Westerfield Home for Retired Athletes' living room up in flames. He was decked out in a hospital robe and bunny slippers. A stiff breeze caught his flap as he turned to his Grotburg and smiled. "Don't smile," he told him irritably. "You realise the mess you've made?" "Hey, those old bastards gave as good as they got. I think one of 'em knocked a tooth loose. Besides, it's not like anyone got hurt." Grotburg motioned with his eyebrows to the blood on the street, and Arty corrected himself: "Seriously hurt." "Why'd you do it, man? More importantly," he said, studying what seemed to be an IV stand embedded in the wall, "How'd you do it? This is nuts. How'm I going to explain this?" "Tell them the truth." "Which is? God, I don't hear from you for six years, then suddenly you call me up in the middle of the night, make me come out here for..." "I'm the vanguard of an extraterrestrial species, Dennin. I've spent the last six years in Siberia, training with an elite covert team of government operatives to track down and eliminate a rogue alien before my species arrival here in the next decade. "We traced his last call a week ago to Port Elizabeth. That's right, I've been here a week. The signal went dead after that, but I found him. Here, inhabiting a man named John Crawson. I was sent in to eliminate him." "You're fucking nuts." "You're fucking balding. Did you not get that medicated shampoo I sent you in the mail?" "This is insane. I don't believe you, and I'm going to have to call this in." "Dennin, don't. Don't get the police involved." "Then give me something I can work with, Art. Tell me what the fuck went on here. We can help you. There are ways to work this, you just need to be willing to give me the whole story." "I've given you the whole story." "You've given me a whole story. It's a lie. Where are all these people? God, Art, did you hurt someone?" "Nobody was hurt. John Crawson escaped, everyone else took shelter in the back room." "Good. Then, please, Art. For the last time, just tell me what happened here." Arty Salsburg took a deep breath and looked suddenly sad. "Alright, Dennin," he said, as he stretched out his hand. A beacon in his palm flashed twice and suddenly the two men were surrounded by a blinding halo of light. Grotburg looked up from the sidewalk with his boots and his flack jacket and his pocket full of Quickstop receipts, into the underbelly of a massive, gleaming ship. A ship he knew hadn't been there seconds before. "Um, Arty?" "You wanted my story, Dennin." Dennin looked back down into the eyes of his friend, now blackened out and shining in the spotlight. "May I start over?"

The man stood, and waited. The woman, high heels clicking down the corridor, held her head high. When dealing with the devil, she figured, one should look as distinguished as possible. The man smiled. Not a friendly smile, mind you. A smile that reeked of danger and superiority. A smile which showed the woman exactly who she was dealing with. "Sarah! It's so great to see you!" "I wish I could say the same to you." The man laughed. "Why? This should be a happy occasion! You're about to be reunited with your daughter!" Sarah said nothing. "Oh, come on now. Don't be afraid to talk. You're about to get your daughter back, and I'm about to become 500 grand richer! It's win-win!" "If you want your money so badly, let's get on with this." Sarah said coldly. The man sighed. "You're no fun. Fine, as you wish. You *are* the customer after all." He snapped his fingers, and a young girl walked out from behind a corner at the end of the hallway. Sarah coughed. "There. I held up my side of the bargain, now it's your turn." "You say it as if I have a choice." "Oh, you do. I just know what option you're going to take." Sarah kept her composure, and did not grin. That would give away everything. She had sent her signal to the cops who were surrounding the building the moment her daughter had come into sight. All she had to do now was keep playing the game, and wait. She sighed. "I suppose you do." Sarah turned around, and picked up the bag she had brought with her, and placed it in front of the man. "There you go. Happy?" "Very much so." He smiled again. Suddenly, three gunshots burst through the air. Instantly, the man charged towards Sarah, catching her with his arm around her neck. She struggled, but could not break his hold. And in his hand, he held a black box with a single red button. Immediately afterwards, a child's cry added to the already existing noise and confusion, as a big, burly man grabbed the little girl and ran. "Don't think I didn't anticipate this." The man said to Sarah, his finger hovering directly over the detonator. "You're crazy." "And you're horrible at negotiating a hostage situation. And horrible at being a wife." He pressed the button. Three beeps sounded. Sarah looked into her husbands eyes, sadly. "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

“It’s not a fake!” The handcuffed man pleaded. Jon had wedged him into a seated position between two trash cans. “Mr. Mollen, traveling here with a forged tourist visa is a felony,” Jon muttered while looking over the questionable document, then looking at the pale middle-aged man. He was wearing suspenders and a straw hat, much like Jon himself. Jon winced as a firecracker went off a block away. He glanced over his shoulder, but the alley was empty; a few dough boys, still clad in their olive uniforms, drunkenly swayed past, singing cheerfully. The whole city was one big party. “Any particular interest in Armistice Day?” Jon asked while he adjusted his sweat soaked suit. Fucking wool. “Well after June of ’45 was banned, I thought this would be a good…” Mr. Mollen started, but Jon waved him off as his PDA vibrated. “Jon, we ran the ID, you sent, looks like he’s got an open warrant out,” Sara reported into Jon’s ear. “Ahh shit,” the handcuffed man blurted as he saw Jon subtly pulling out a black rectangle and starting to read and shake his head. “Henry Mollen, five counts of statutory rape. Including two in blacked out times, warrant out for third degree sexual assault.” Another fucking pervert. “Sara, send me a containment unit,” Jon said while pressing his ear. As soon as Jon said the last syllable of unit, two police officers materialized. They looked right out of a silent picture, waxed mustaches and all. Jon gave Mr. Mollen a perplexed look. “You know prostitution is legal back home? Is it really worth it?” “Shit man, these bitches ain’t got no AIDS, or GRAF, or anything,” Mr Mollen cackled, having dropped the innocent tourist act. “Get him out of here,” Jon said as the officers pulled the suspect to his feet. “Everything alright back here boyo?” The officers froze as they saw a cop, dressed in a uniform identical to theirs, starting to walk towards the group. He was older with a bulldog's sagging face and heavy Irish accent. Jon’s officers glanced at their superior, he was the only one authorized to speak to natives. “Everything’s fine Sergeant,” Jon said glancing at the officer’s stripes and pulling out his own badge. “Just another vagrant.” “Right,” the Sergeant said looking down at Jon’s badge curiously. Jon followed his gaze and shoved the badge back in his pocket. “Actually maybe you can give me a hand, he was with a group of others that were causing problems . The rest got away,” Jon said motioning the Sergeant towards the entrance of the alley. The cop followed. “Well what about your suspect…” The sergeant said looking over his shoulder, but the officers and Mr. Mollen were gone. “Don’t pay them any mind,” Jon said trying to contain the situation. “Now let me give you their descriptions to pass along to your patrolmen…” ... “Rookie mistake,” Sara said tossing back the NYPD badge to Jon. Not only was it not in the proper 1918 style, but the 9/11 memorial bar was another anachronistic addition. Jon caught it and looked up at Sara. Her black hair was especially frizzled today, a sign that she had been working double shifts. “I forgot to exchange it from my last job,” Jon said shaking his head. “Better not let the Director find out,” Sara said. “Did you see the new additions?” she said motioning up to the large monitor that spanned the length of the central control room. The blacked out times were listed in the far right corner. * March 0044, BCE * October 1492, CE * 1889, CE * November 1911, CE * June 1914, CE * December 1941, CE * April-July 1945, CE * November 1963, CE * April 1995, CE * September 2001, CE * January 2015, CE * August, 2036, CE Nothing new there. His eyes darted over the new travel restrictions on the left. Lots of visa restrictions all over the board. Something was up. “I’ve gotta get back to dispatch,” Sara said getting up from Jon’s desk. “The logistics guys and I are hitting McBoyle's after closing time, you in?” “Yeah sure,” Jon replied distracted. Only moments after Sara left Jon heard a worried voice. “Jon, you got a minute, we need to talk.” Jon spun around to see an older, well groomed man giving him a worried expression. “Something wrong Paul?” Jon asked. The man said nothing for a few moments. “We can’t talk here, “ Paul said looking around. “Come with me.” Ordinarily Jon would have ignored anyone from engineering; they were a nervous lot that put everyone on edge. Shrugging off this feeling, Jon followed him through the senior operators’ pen and past the windows that overlooked the lobby. Tourists dressed in all manners of clothing, (flapper dresses, togas, Nirvana t shirts and others) were queued up at customs. Jon paused momentarily to watch a scene unfold. A man dressed as a cowboy froze as a customs agent pulled his Stinson hat off. Gold coins spilled out everywhere. Uniformed customs agents quickly pulled the would be smuggler away. Fucking tourists. Right before entering engineering, Jon passed by Gomez and McGillicuddy, the two officers that assisted him earlier. They were escorting a different handcuffed suspect, but they had ditched the 1910’s NYPD uniforms and now looked like 50’s G men straight out of a B movie. “Fellas,” Jon said as they all nodded at each other. ... “Jon, we have a big problem,” Paul said scrambling around the server room once the door was closed. “What now?” Jon asked, still not convinced this was anything but the scientist’s eccentricities at work. “I’ve got elevated tachyon fields all over my readouts, from every quantum spectrum,” Paul said motioning to a monitor attached to one of the serves. Jon looked at the readouts. It may as well be in Latin. “Look, I’m just an operator, this doesn't mean anything to me.” Paul gave the conversation another pregnant pause. “I have especially high readings from a recent arrest from 2005." Now Jon was the one that gave a worried look. “That…that’s impossible.” “Jon, I’m going to have to go to the Director with this. We need to black out that whole month now. Maybe a two month block. “Give me a Start Over, I can fix this,” Jon said, breathing heavier now. Start overs were…complicated. Jon only had to perform the procedure once during his career as an operator. Back when he was a rookie on a containment team. Having to appear in front of himself and convince himself to not do something was not an experience he was looking forward to doing again. But Paul’s threat of blacking out the time was a dangerous notion. “Someone, I’m not saying you, fucked up bad. Real bad,” Paul said, now pacing back and forth. “The quantum footprint left on this specific quadrant of spacetime, well, it’s worse than 1889.” Jon grimaced. Back in the wild west days of time travel, every joker that jerry rigged himself a travel portal tried to go back and kill Hitler when he was still a newborn. It was almost like a rite of passage with those guys. Now that year was so unstable that even federal scouts couldn’t go back and take tachyon readings. Paul sighed. “Look Jon, I’m telling you this as a professional courtesy before I take it to the Director.” “He’ll shut everything down and suspend me. Hell, I could even get jail time if…” Jon said trailing off. His mind was spinning out of control. Something was definitely wrong. The 2005 job. Gomez and McGillicuddy. Even that pervert that he just collared. His mind, honed from years of work as a regular detective, snapped onto a lead and his stomach fell through the floor. “Paul, you’ve got to give me a start over. Right now.” Jon said. “I can’t do that without authorization from the Director,” Paul said wide eyed. Jon knew he had to approach the scientist with a reasonable demeanor to convince him. “Paul,” Jon said calmly. “May I start over?”

The man stood, and waited. The woman, high heels clicking down the corridor, held her head high. When dealing with the devil, she figured, one should look as distinguished as possible. The man smiled. Not a friendly smile, mind you. A smile that reeked of danger and superiority. A smile which showed the woman exactly who she was dealing with. "Sarah! It's so great to see you!" "I wish I could say the same to you." The man laughed. "Why? This should be a happy occasion! You're about to be reunited with your daughter!" Sarah said nothing. "Oh, come on now. Don't be afraid to talk. You're about to get your daughter back, and I'm about to become 500 grand richer! It's win-win!" "If you want your money so badly, let's get on with this." Sarah said coldly. The man sighed. "You're no fun. Fine, as you wish. You *are* the customer after all." He snapped his fingers, and a young girl walked out from behind a corner at the end of the hallway. Sarah coughed. "There. I held up my side of the bargain, now it's your turn." "You say it as if I have a choice." "Oh, you do. I just know what option you're going to take." Sarah kept her composure, and did not grin. That would give away everything. She had sent her signal to the cops who were surrounding the building the moment her daughter had come into sight. All she had to do now was keep playing the game, and wait. She sighed. "I suppose you do." Sarah turned around, and picked up the bag she had brought with her, and placed it in front of the man. "There you go. Happy?" "Very much so." He smiled again. Suddenly, three gunshots burst through the air. Instantly, the man charged towards Sarah, catching her with his arm around her neck. She struggled, but could not break his hold. And in his hand, he held a black box with a single red button. Immediately afterwards, a child's cry added to the already existing noise and confusion, as a big, burly man grabbed the little girl and ran. "Don't think I didn't anticipate this." The man said to Sarah, his finger hovering directly over the detonator. "You're crazy." "And you're horrible at negotiating a hostage situation. And horrible at being a wife." He pressed the button. Three beeps sounded. Sarah looked into her husbands eyes, sadly. "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

The man stood, and waited. The woman, high heels clicking down the corridor, held her head high. When dealing with the devil, she figured, one should look as distinguished as possible. The man smiled. Not a friendly smile, mind you. A smile that reeked of danger and superiority. A smile which showed the woman exactly who she was dealing with. "Sarah! It's so great to see you!" "I wish I could say the same to you." The man laughed. "Why? This should be a happy occasion! You're about to be reunited with your daughter!" Sarah said nothing. "Oh, come on now. Don't be afraid to talk. You're about to get your daughter back, and I'm about to become 500 grand richer! It's win-win!" "If you want your money so badly, let's get on with this." Sarah said coldly. The man sighed. "You're no fun. Fine, as you wish. You *are* the customer after all." He snapped his fingers, and a young girl walked out from behind a corner at the end of the hallway. Sarah coughed. "There. I held up my side of the bargain, now it's your turn." "You say it as if I have a choice." "Oh, you do. I just know what option you're going to take." Sarah kept her composure, and did not grin. That would give away everything. She had sent her signal to the cops who were surrounding the building the moment her daughter had come into sight. All she had to do now was keep playing the game, and wait. She sighed. "I suppose you do." Sarah turned around, and picked up the bag she had brought with her, and placed it in front of the man. "There you go. Happy?" "Very much so." He smiled again. Suddenly, three gunshots burst through the air. Instantly, the man charged towards Sarah, catching her with his arm around her neck. She struggled, but could not break his hold. And in his hand, he held a black box with a single red button. Immediately afterwards, a child's cry added to the already existing noise and confusion, as a big, burly man grabbed the little girl and ran. "Don't think I didn't anticipate this." The man said to Sarah, his finger hovering directly over the detonator. "You're crazy." "And you're horrible at negotiating a hostage situation. And horrible at being a wife." He pressed the button. Three beeps sounded. Sarah looked into her husbands eyes, sadly. "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

“It’s not a fake!” The handcuffed man pleaded. Jon had wedged him into a seated position between two trash cans. “Mr. Mollen, traveling here with a forged tourist visa is a felony,” Jon muttered while looking over the questionable document, then looking at the pale middle-aged man. He was wearing suspenders and a straw hat, much like Jon himself. Jon winced as a firecracker went off a block away. He glanced over his shoulder, but the alley was empty; a few dough boys, still clad in their olive uniforms, drunkenly swayed past, singing cheerfully. The whole city was one big party. “Any particular interest in Armistice Day?” Jon asked while he adjusted his sweat soaked suit. Fucking wool. “Well after June of ’45 was banned, I thought this would be a good…” Mr. Mollen started, but Jon waved him off as his PDA vibrated. “Jon, we ran the ID, you sent, looks like he’s got an open warrant out,” Sara reported into Jon’s ear. “Ahh shit,” the handcuffed man blurted as he saw Jon subtly pulling out a black rectangle and starting to read and shake his head. “Henry Mollen, five counts of statutory rape. Including two in blacked out times, warrant out for third degree sexual assault.” Another fucking pervert. “Sara, send me a containment unit,” Jon said while pressing his ear. As soon as Jon said the last syllable of unit, two police officers materialized. They looked right out of a silent picture, waxed mustaches and all. Jon gave Mr. Mollen a perplexed look. “You know prostitution is legal back home? Is it really worth it?” “Shit man, these bitches ain’t got no AIDS, or GRAF, or anything,” Mr Mollen cackled, having dropped the innocent tourist act. “Get him out of here,” Jon said as the officers pulled the suspect to his feet. “Everything alright back here boyo?” The officers froze as they saw a cop, dressed in a uniform identical to theirs, starting to walk towards the group. He was older with a bulldog's sagging face and heavy Irish accent. Jon’s officers glanced at their superior, he was the only one authorized to speak to natives. “Everything’s fine Sergeant,” Jon said glancing at the officer’s stripes and pulling out his own badge. “Just another vagrant.” “Right,” the Sergeant said looking down at Jon’s badge curiously. Jon followed his gaze and shoved the badge back in his pocket. “Actually maybe you can give me a hand, he was with a group of others that were causing problems . The rest got away,” Jon said motioning the Sergeant towards the entrance of the alley. The cop followed. “Well what about your suspect…” The sergeant said looking over his shoulder, but the officers and Mr. Mollen were gone. “Don’t pay them any mind,” Jon said trying to contain the situation. “Now let me give you their descriptions to pass along to your patrolmen…” ... “Rookie mistake,” Sara said tossing back the NYPD badge to Jon. Not only was it not in the proper 1918 style, but the 9/11 memorial bar was another anachronistic addition. Jon caught it and looked up at Sara. Her black hair was especially frizzled today, a sign that she had been working double shifts. “I forgot to exchange it from my last job,” Jon said shaking his head. “Better not let the Director find out,” Sara said. “Did you see the new additions?” she said motioning up to the large monitor that spanned the length of the central control room. The blacked out times were listed in the far right corner. * March 0044, BCE * October 1492, CE * 1889, CE * November 1911, CE * June 1914, CE * December 1941, CE * April-July 1945, CE * November 1963, CE * April 1995, CE * September 2001, CE * January 2015, CE * August, 2036, CE Nothing new there. His eyes darted over the new travel restrictions on the left. Lots of visa restrictions all over the board. Something was up. “I’ve gotta get back to dispatch,” Sara said getting up from Jon’s desk. “The logistics guys and I are hitting McBoyle's after closing time, you in?” “Yeah sure,” Jon replied distracted. Only moments after Sara left Jon heard a worried voice. “Jon, you got a minute, we need to talk.” Jon spun around to see an older, well groomed man giving him a worried expression. “Something wrong Paul?” Jon asked. The man said nothing for a few moments. “We can’t talk here, “ Paul said looking around. “Come with me.” Ordinarily Jon would have ignored anyone from engineering; they were a nervous lot that put everyone on edge. Shrugging off this feeling, Jon followed him through the senior operators’ pen and past the windows that overlooked the lobby. Tourists dressed in all manners of clothing, (flapper dresses, togas, Nirvana t shirts and others) were queued up at customs. Jon paused momentarily to watch a scene unfold. A man dressed as a cowboy froze as a customs agent pulled his Stinson hat off. Gold coins spilled out everywhere. Uniformed customs agents quickly pulled the would be smuggler away. Fucking tourists. Right before entering engineering, Jon passed by Gomez and McGillicuddy, the two officers that assisted him earlier. They were escorting a different handcuffed suspect, but they had ditched the 1910’s NYPD uniforms and now looked like 50’s G men straight out of a B movie. “Fellas,” Jon said as they all nodded at each other. ... “Jon, we have a big problem,” Paul said scrambling around the server room once the door was closed. “What now?” Jon asked, still not convinced this was anything but the scientist’s eccentricities at work. “I’ve got elevated tachyon fields all over my readouts, from every quantum spectrum,” Paul said motioning to a monitor attached to one of the serves. Jon looked at the readouts. It may as well be in Latin. “Look, I’m just an operator, this doesn't mean anything to me.” Paul gave the conversation another pregnant pause. “I have especially high readings from a recent arrest from 2005." Now Jon was the one that gave a worried look. “That…that’s impossible.” “Jon, I’m going to have to go to the Director with this. We need to black out that whole month now. Maybe a two month block. “Give me a Start Over, I can fix this,” Jon said, breathing heavier now. Start overs were…complicated. Jon only had to perform the procedure once during his career as an operator. Back when he was a rookie on a containment team. Having to appear in front of himself and convince himself to not do something was not an experience he was looking forward to doing again. But Paul’s threat of blacking out the time was a dangerous notion. “Someone, I’m not saying you, fucked up bad. Real bad,” Paul said, now pacing back and forth. “The quantum footprint left on this specific quadrant of spacetime, well, it’s worse than 1889.” Jon grimaced. Back in the wild west days of time travel, every joker that jerry rigged himself a travel portal tried to go back and kill Hitler when he was still a newborn. It was almost like a rite of passage with those guys. Now that year was so unstable that even federal scouts couldn’t go back and take tachyon readings. Paul sighed. “Look Jon, I’m telling you this as a professional courtesy before I take it to the Director.” “He’ll shut everything down and suspend me. Hell, I could even get jail time if…” Jon said trailing off. His mind was spinning out of control. Something was definitely wrong. The 2005 job. Gomez and McGillicuddy. Even that pervert that he just collared. His mind, honed from years of work as a regular detective, snapped onto a lead and his stomach fell through the floor. “Paul, you’ve got to give me a start over. Right now.” Jon said. “I can’t do that without authorization from the Director,” Paul said wide eyed. Jon knew he had to approach the scientist with a reasonable demeanor to convince him. “Paul,” Jon said calmly. “May I start over?”

I paced nervously outside the meeting room door. I was a complete idiot. If I would have just kept my mouth shut in the first place, I wouldn't be in this situation. I looked at the clock on the wall, my review was supposed to have started 12 minutes ago. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead as I continued to pace in front of the polished wooden doors. Finally, the door opened, and a balding, bespectacled man poked his head out. "Mr. Wayson, we're ready for you." I followed the man into the meeting room, an intimidating place, given the circumstances. On one side of the long, sleek table in the center of the room, sat my boss, the stern Thaddeus Grey, and the last person I wanted to see, Allison. I shook hands with the strange man, and Mr. Grey. Due to the reason for my hearing, I wasn't permitted to shake Allison's hand. The balding man seated himself next to Mr. Grey, and shuffling some papers, began, "Mr. Bryan Wayson, you are here today as a result of your alleged sexual harassment of Miss Allison Ward. We have assembled here today to hear your rebuttal. You may begin when you are ready.” I nodded, swallowing nervously. I opened my briefcase, and pulled out my papers with my defense scribbled on them. I had, indeed, “harassed” Allison, but it had only been a poorly timed comment about her chest. Still, that beautiful drama queen sitting there scowling at me had filed a sexual harassment complaint on me. There had been no witnesses, so I’d been given the option to provide an argument to save my job. I’d worked my way through four years of college to get this job, and I wasn’t about to lose it because of my mouth. I looked at the three people sitting there, staring at me, my eyes resting on Allison, still glaring at me with her perfect face. Her strawberry blond hair fell in waves down over her shoulders, to where her blouse was barely able to contain her perfect, luscious, “Boobs.” I blurted out. The three people in front of me stared at me, incredulously. The room was painfully silent, the contempt in the room, palpable. I gave a reckless grin and a nervous chuckle, “May I start over?”

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

“It’s not a fake!” The handcuffed man pleaded. Jon had wedged him into a seated position between two trash cans. “Mr. Mollen, traveling here with a forged tourist visa is a felony,” Jon muttered while looking over the questionable document, then looking at the pale middle-aged man. He was wearing suspenders and a straw hat, much like Jon himself. Jon winced as a firecracker went off a block away. He glanced over his shoulder, but the alley was empty; a few dough boys, still clad in their olive uniforms, drunkenly swayed past, singing cheerfully. The whole city was one big party. “Any particular interest in Armistice Day?” Jon asked while he adjusted his sweat soaked suit. Fucking wool. “Well after June of ’45 was banned, I thought this would be a good…” Mr. Mollen started, but Jon waved him off as his PDA vibrated. “Jon, we ran the ID, you sent, looks like he’s got an open warrant out,” Sara reported into Jon’s ear. “Ahh shit,” the handcuffed man blurted as he saw Jon subtly pulling out a black rectangle and starting to read and shake his head. “Henry Mollen, five counts of statutory rape. Including two in blacked out times, warrant out for third degree sexual assault.” Another fucking pervert. “Sara, send me a containment unit,” Jon said while pressing his ear. As soon as Jon said the last syllable of unit, two police officers materialized. They looked right out of a silent picture, waxed mustaches and all. Jon gave Mr. Mollen a perplexed look. “You know prostitution is legal back home? Is it really worth it?” “Shit man, these bitches ain’t got no AIDS, or GRAF, or anything,” Mr Mollen cackled, having dropped the innocent tourist act. “Get him out of here,” Jon said as the officers pulled the suspect to his feet. “Everything alright back here boyo?” The officers froze as they saw a cop, dressed in a uniform identical to theirs, starting to walk towards the group. He was older with a bulldog's sagging face and heavy Irish accent. Jon’s officers glanced at their superior, he was the only one authorized to speak to natives. “Everything’s fine Sergeant,” Jon said glancing at the officer’s stripes and pulling out his own badge. “Just another vagrant.” “Right,” the Sergeant said looking down at Jon’s badge curiously. Jon followed his gaze and shoved the badge back in his pocket. “Actually maybe you can give me a hand, he was with a group of others that were causing problems . The rest got away,” Jon said motioning the Sergeant towards the entrance of the alley. The cop followed. “Well what about your suspect…” The sergeant said looking over his shoulder, but the officers and Mr. Mollen were gone. “Don’t pay them any mind,” Jon said trying to contain the situation. “Now let me give you their descriptions to pass along to your patrolmen…” ... “Rookie mistake,” Sara said tossing back the NYPD badge to Jon. Not only was it not in the proper 1918 style, but the 9/11 memorial bar was another anachronistic addition. Jon caught it and looked up at Sara. Her black hair was especially frizzled today, a sign that she had been working double shifts. “I forgot to exchange it from my last job,” Jon said shaking his head. “Better not let the Director find out,” Sara said. “Did you see the new additions?” she said motioning up to the large monitor that spanned the length of the central control room. The blacked out times were listed in the far right corner. * March 0044, BCE * October 1492, CE * 1889, CE * November 1911, CE * June 1914, CE * December 1941, CE * April-July 1945, CE * November 1963, CE * April 1995, CE * September 2001, CE * January 2015, CE * August, 2036, CE Nothing new there. His eyes darted over the new travel restrictions on the left. Lots of visa restrictions all over the board. Something was up. “I’ve gotta get back to dispatch,” Sara said getting up from Jon’s desk. “The logistics guys and I are hitting McBoyle's after closing time, you in?” “Yeah sure,” Jon replied distracted. Only moments after Sara left Jon heard a worried voice. “Jon, you got a minute, we need to talk.” Jon spun around to see an older, well groomed man giving him a worried expression. “Something wrong Paul?” Jon asked. The man said nothing for a few moments. “We can’t talk here, “ Paul said looking around. “Come with me.” Ordinarily Jon would have ignored anyone from engineering; they were a nervous lot that put everyone on edge. Shrugging off this feeling, Jon followed him through the senior operators’ pen and past the windows that overlooked the lobby. Tourists dressed in all manners of clothing, (flapper dresses, togas, Nirvana t shirts and others) were queued up at customs. Jon paused momentarily to watch a scene unfold. A man dressed as a cowboy froze as a customs agent pulled his Stinson hat off. Gold coins spilled out everywhere. Uniformed customs agents quickly pulled the would be smuggler away. Fucking tourists. Right before entering engineering, Jon passed by Gomez and McGillicuddy, the two officers that assisted him earlier. They were escorting a different handcuffed suspect, but they had ditched the 1910’s NYPD uniforms and now looked like 50’s G men straight out of a B movie. “Fellas,” Jon said as they all nodded at each other. ... “Jon, we have a big problem,” Paul said scrambling around the server room once the door was closed. “What now?” Jon asked, still not convinced this was anything but the scientist’s eccentricities at work. “I’ve got elevated tachyon fields all over my readouts, from every quantum spectrum,” Paul said motioning to a monitor attached to one of the serves. Jon looked at the readouts. It may as well be in Latin. “Look, I’m just an operator, this doesn't mean anything to me.” Paul gave the conversation another pregnant pause. “I have especially high readings from a recent arrest from 2005." Now Jon was the one that gave a worried look. “That…that’s impossible.” “Jon, I’m going to have to go to the Director with this. We need to black out that whole month now. Maybe a two month block. “Give me a Start Over, I can fix this,” Jon said, breathing heavier now. Start overs were…complicated. Jon only had to perform the procedure once during his career as an operator. Back when he was a rookie on a containment team. Having to appear in front of himself and convince himself to not do something was not an experience he was looking forward to doing again. But Paul’s threat of blacking out the time was a dangerous notion. “Someone, I’m not saying you, fucked up bad. Real bad,” Paul said, now pacing back and forth. “The quantum footprint left on this specific quadrant of spacetime, well, it’s worse than 1889.” Jon grimaced. Back in the wild west days of time travel, every joker that jerry rigged himself a travel portal tried to go back and kill Hitler when he was still a newborn. It was almost like a rite of passage with those guys. Now that year was so unstable that even federal scouts couldn’t go back and take tachyon readings. Paul sighed. “Look Jon, I’m telling you this as a professional courtesy before I take it to the Director.” “He’ll shut everything down and suspend me. Hell, I could even get jail time if…” Jon said trailing off. His mind was spinning out of control. Something was definitely wrong. The 2005 job. Gomez and McGillicuddy. Even that pervert that he just collared. His mind, honed from years of work as a regular detective, snapped onto a lead and his stomach fell through the floor. “Paul, you’ve got to give me a start over. Right now.” Jon said. “I can’t do that without authorization from the Director,” Paul said wide eyed. Jon knew he had to approach the scientist with a reasonable demeanor to convince him. “Paul,” Jon said calmly. “May I start over?”

7 days. The sweat, the hard work, all that head scratching, finally at an end. He took a step back, watched the world unravel before his eyes. "This is it. It's... it's *perfect*." He wiped the sweat from the side of his head. "Now all I have to do is sit back for a little while then..." and he saw it. "No, this can't be happening. Not after all that hard work..." There she was, in the middle of the garden, reaching for the ever so ripe fruit. "I warned them not to. This can't be happening!" This was the end. After this there was no going back. The perfect world created by him, gone, never to be fixed again. He watched with a regret as the human, that foul creature, performed the one, *the one and only* unforgivable act. Oh, that crunching noise ringing in his ears as the human bit into the fruit, that was something he would *never* forget. "What have I done?!" he cried out, knowing he failed his final test. "I failed... I had one job and I couldn't accomplish anything." "Maybe *HE* will give me one more chance. Maybe I could fix this." He walked out of his cubicle, feeling eyes watching him from every possible angle as he walked the walk of shame down to The Room, the place where it all begins. "I uh... I couldn't do it. It must have been something I put in their DNA. I could try to run the simulation for as long as they survive but I don't think it's any use. May I start over again?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

7 days. The sweat, the hard work, all that head scratching, finally at an end. He took a step back, watched the world unravel before his eyes. "This is it. It's... it's *perfect*." He wiped the sweat from the side of his head. "Now all I have to do is sit back for a little while then..." and he saw it. "No, this can't be happening. Not after all that hard work..." There she was, in the middle of the garden, reaching for the ever so ripe fruit. "I warned them not to. This can't be happening!" This was the end. After this there was no going back. The perfect world created by him, gone, never to be fixed again. He watched with a regret as the human, that foul creature, performed the one, *the one and only* unforgivable act. Oh, that crunching noise ringing in his ears as the human bit into the fruit, that was something he would *never* forget. "What have I done?!" he cried out, knowing he failed his final test. "I failed... I had one job and I couldn't accomplish anything." "Maybe *HE* will give me one more chance. Maybe I could fix this." He walked out of his cubicle, feeling eyes watching him from every possible angle as he walked the walk of shame down to The Room, the place where it all begins. "I uh... I couldn't do it. It must have been something I put in their DNA. I could try to run the simulation for as long as they survive but I don't think it's any use. May I start over again?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

“It’s not a fake!” The handcuffed man pleaded. Jon had wedged him into a seated position between two trash cans. “Mr. Mollen, traveling here with a forged tourist visa is a felony,” Jon muttered while looking over the questionable document, then looking at the pale middle-aged man. He was wearing suspenders and a straw hat, much like Jon himself. Jon winced as a firecracker went off a block away. He glanced over his shoulder, but the alley was empty; a few dough boys, still clad in their olive uniforms, drunkenly swayed past, singing cheerfully. The whole city was one big party. “Any particular interest in Armistice Day?” Jon asked while he adjusted his sweat soaked suit. Fucking wool. “Well after June of ’45 was banned, I thought this would be a good…” Mr. Mollen started, but Jon waved him off as his PDA vibrated. “Jon, we ran the ID, you sent, looks like he’s got an open warrant out,” Sara reported into Jon’s ear. “Ahh shit,” the handcuffed man blurted as he saw Jon subtly pulling out a black rectangle and starting to read and shake his head. “Henry Mollen, five counts of statutory rape. Including two in blacked out times, warrant out for third degree sexual assault.” Another fucking pervert. “Sara, send me a containment unit,” Jon said while pressing his ear. As soon as Jon said the last syllable of unit, two police officers materialized. They looked right out of a silent picture, waxed mustaches and all. Jon gave Mr. Mollen a perplexed look. “You know prostitution is legal back home? Is it really worth it?” “Shit man, these bitches ain’t got no AIDS, or GRAF, or anything,” Mr Mollen cackled, having dropped the innocent tourist act. “Get him out of here,” Jon said as the officers pulled the suspect to his feet. “Everything alright back here boyo?” The officers froze as they saw a cop, dressed in a uniform identical to theirs, starting to walk towards the group. He was older with a bulldog's sagging face and heavy Irish accent. Jon’s officers glanced at their superior, he was the only one authorized to speak to natives. “Everything’s fine Sergeant,” Jon said glancing at the officer’s stripes and pulling out his own badge. “Just another vagrant.” “Right,” the Sergeant said looking down at Jon’s badge curiously. Jon followed his gaze and shoved the badge back in his pocket. “Actually maybe you can give me a hand, he was with a group of others that were causing problems . The rest got away,” Jon said motioning the Sergeant towards the entrance of the alley. The cop followed. “Well what about your suspect…” The sergeant said looking over his shoulder, but the officers and Mr. Mollen were gone. “Don’t pay them any mind,” Jon said trying to contain the situation. “Now let me give you their descriptions to pass along to your patrolmen…” ... “Rookie mistake,” Sara said tossing back the NYPD badge to Jon. Not only was it not in the proper 1918 style, but the 9/11 memorial bar was another anachronistic addition. Jon caught it and looked up at Sara. Her black hair was especially frizzled today, a sign that she had been working double shifts. “I forgot to exchange it from my last job,” Jon said shaking his head. “Better not let the Director find out,” Sara said. “Did you see the new additions?” she said motioning up to the large monitor that spanned the length of the central control room. The blacked out times were listed in the far right corner. * March 0044, BCE * October 1492, CE * 1889, CE * November 1911, CE * June 1914, CE * December 1941, CE * April-July 1945, CE * November 1963, CE * April 1995, CE * September 2001, CE * January 2015, CE * August, 2036, CE Nothing new there. His eyes darted over the new travel restrictions on the left. Lots of visa restrictions all over the board. Something was up. “I’ve gotta get back to dispatch,” Sara said getting up from Jon’s desk. “The logistics guys and I are hitting McBoyle's after closing time, you in?” “Yeah sure,” Jon replied distracted. Only moments after Sara left Jon heard a worried voice. “Jon, you got a minute, we need to talk.” Jon spun around to see an older, well groomed man giving him a worried expression. “Something wrong Paul?” Jon asked. The man said nothing for a few moments. “We can’t talk here, “ Paul said looking around. “Come with me.” Ordinarily Jon would have ignored anyone from engineering; they were a nervous lot that put everyone on edge. Shrugging off this feeling, Jon followed him through the senior operators’ pen and past the windows that overlooked the lobby. Tourists dressed in all manners of clothing, (flapper dresses, togas, Nirvana t shirts and others) were queued up at customs. Jon paused momentarily to watch a scene unfold. A man dressed as a cowboy froze as a customs agent pulled his Stinson hat off. Gold coins spilled out everywhere. Uniformed customs agents quickly pulled the would be smuggler away. Fucking tourists. Right before entering engineering, Jon passed by Gomez and McGillicuddy, the two officers that assisted him earlier. They were escorting a different handcuffed suspect, but they had ditched the 1910’s NYPD uniforms and now looked like 50’s G men straight out of a B movie. “Fellas,” Jon said as they all nodded at each other. ... “Jon, we have a big problem,” Paul said scrambling around the server room once the door was closed. “What now?” Jon asked, still not convinced this was anything but the scientist’s eccentricities at work. “I’ve got elevated tachyon fields all over my readouts, from every quantum spectrum,” Paul said motioning to a monitor attached to one of the serves. Jon looked at the readouts. It may as well be in Latin. “Look, I’m just an operator, this doesn't mean anything to me.” Paul gave the conversation another pregnant pause. “I have especially high readings from a recent arrest from 2005." Now Jon was the one that gave a worried look. “That…that’s impossible.” “Jon, I’m going to have to go to the Director with this. We need to black out that whole month now. Maybe a two month block. “Give me a Start Over, I can fix this,” Jon said, breathing heavier now. Start overs were…complicated. Jon only had to perform the procedure once during his career as an operator. Back when he was a rookie on a containment team. Having to appear in front of himself and convince himself to not do something was not an experience he was looking forward to doing again. But Paul’s threat of blacking out the time was a dangerous notion. “Someone, I’m not saying you, fucked up bad. Real bad,” Paul said, now pacing back and forth. “The quantum footprint left on this specific quadrant of spacetime, well, it’s worse than 1889.” Jon grimaced. Back in the wild west days of time travel, every joker that jerry rigged himself a travel portal tried to go back and kill Hitler when he was still a newborn. It was almost like a rite of passage with those guys. Now that year was so unstable that even federal scouts couldn’t go back and take tachyon readings. Paul sighed. “Look Jon, I’m telling you this as a professional courtesy before I take it to the Director.” “He’ll shut everything down and suspend me. Hell, I could even get jail time if…” Jon said trailing off. His mind was spinning out of control. Something was definitely wrong. The 2005 job. Gomez and McGillicuddy. Even that pervert that he just collared. His mind, honed from years of work as a regular detective, snapped onto a lead and his stomach fell through the floor. “Paul, you’ve got to give me a start over. Right now.” Jon said. “I can’t do that without authorization from the Director,” Paul said wide eyed. Jon knew he had to approach the scientist with a reasonable demeanor to convince him. “Paul,” Jon said calmly. “May I start over?”

"So what you're saying is..." Grotburg surveyed the scene with a weary eye, drawing deep on his cigar as his boots crunched over broken glass. "...you came in here and started a fistfight in an old age home." Salsburg frowned. "An Olympic old age home. You know, for the athletes, not..." "Yeah I get it." "...not like...the Greek gods or anything, Grots." The two men stood side by side on the pavement by the broken window. It was 2:15 in the morning, and neither of them looked very happy. Police Chief Dennin Grotburg's flack jacket hung leaden over his round belly as he took in the destruction around him. Broken windows were nothing really. There was the splintered furniture, though. Table legs, a half a book shelf. The buckled remains of a wheelchair. The small fire and significantly larger scorch marks where the nursing home's television used to be were definitely cause for concern. Grotburg didn't even want to think about the blood flecks three meters away from the shattered window. He turned to the man to his left and sighed, through clenched teeth. "You've got fifteen minutes until the commissioner figures out I sent his men to the wrong address. What the fuck happened here?" The other man, Arty Salsburg, stood watching the small fire as it caught a curtain and sent the side of the Westerfield Home for Retired Athletes' living room up in flames. He was decked out in a hospital robe and bunny slippers. A stiff breeze caught his flap as he turned to his Grotburg and smiled. "Don't smile," he told him irritably. "You realise the mess you've made?" "Hey, those old bastards gave as good as they got. I think one of 'em knocked a tooth loose. Besides, it's not like anyone got hurt." Grotburg motioned with his eyebrows to the blood on the street, and Arty corrected himself: "Seriously hurt." "Why'd you do it, man? More importantly," he said, studying what seemed to be an IV stand embedded in the wall, "How'd you do it? This is nuts. How'm I going to explain this?" "Tell them the truth." "Which is? God, I don't hear from you for six years, then suddenly you call me up in the middle of the night, make me come out here for..." "I'm the vanguard of an extraterrestrial species, Dennin. I've spent the last six years in Siberia, training with an elite covert team of government operatives to track down and eliminate a rogue alien before my species arrival here in the next decade. "We traced his last call a week ago to Port Elizabeth. That's right, I've been here a week. The signal went dead after that, but I found him. Here, inhabiting a man named John Crawson. I was sent in to eliminate him." "You're fucking nuts." "You're fucking balding. Did you not get that medicated shampoo I sent you in the mail?" "This is insane. I don't believe you, and I'm going to have to call this in." "Dennin, don't. Don't get the police involved." "Then give me something I can work with, Art. Tell me what the fuck went on here. We can help you. There are ways to work this, you just need to be willing to give me the whole story." "I've given you the whole story." "You've given me a whole story. It's a lie. Where are all these people? God, Art, did you hurt someone?" "Nobody was hurt. John Crawson escaped, everyone else took shelter in the back room." "Good. Then, please, Art. For the last time, just tell me what happened here." Arty Salsburg took a deep breath and looked suddenly sad. "Alright, Dennin," he said, as he stretched out his hand. A beacon in his palm flashed twice and suddenly the two men were surrounded by a blinding halo of light. Grotburg looked up from the sidewalk with his boots and his flack jacket and his pocket full of Quickstop receipts, into the underbelly of a massive, gleaming ship. A ship he knew hadn't been there seconds before. "Um, Arty?" "You wanted my story, Dennin." Dennin looked back down into the eyes of his friend, now blackened out and shining in the spotlight. "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

"So what you're saying is..." Grotburg surveyed the scene with a weary eye, drawing deep on his cigar as his boots crunched over broken glass. "...you came in here and started a fistfight in an old age home." Salsburg frowned. "An Olympic old age home. You know, for the athletes, not..." "Yeah I get it." "...not like...the Greek gods or anything, Grots." The two men stood side by side on the pavement by the broken window. It was 2:15 in the morning, and neither of them looked very happy. Police Chief Dennin Grotburg's flack jacket hung leaden over his round belly as he took in the destruction around him. Broken windows were nothing really. There was the splintered furniture, though. Table legs, a half a book shelf. The buckled remains of a wheelchair. The small fire and significantly larger scorch marks where the nursing home's television used to be were definitely cause for concern. Grotburg didn't even want to think about the blood flecks three meters away from the shattered window. He turned to the man to his left and sighed, through clenched teeth. "You've got fifteen minutes until the commissioner figures out I sent his men to the wrong address. What the fuck happened here?" The other man, Arty Salsburg, stood watching the small fire as it caught a curtain and sent the side of the Westerfield Home for Retired Athletes' living room up in flames. He was decked out in a hospital robe and bunny slippers. A stiff breeze caught his flap as he turned to his Grotburg and smiled. "Don't smile," he told him irritably. "You realise the mess you've made?" "Hey, those old bastards gave as good as they got. I think one of 'em knocked a tooth loose. Besides, it's not like anyone got hurt." Grotburg motioned with his eyebrows to the blood on the street, and Arty corrected himself: "Seriously hurt." "Why'd you do it, man? More importantly," he said, studying what seemed to be an IV stand embedded in the wall, "How'd you do it? This is nuts. How'm I going to explain this?" "Tell them the truth." "Which is? God, I don't hear from you for six years, then suddenly you call me up in the middle of the night, make me come out here for..." "I'm the vanguard of an extraterrestrial species, Dennin. I've spent the last six years in Siberia, training with an elite covert team of government operatives to track down and eliminate a rogue alien before my species arrival here in the next decade. "We traced his last call a week ago to Port Elizabeth. That's right, I've been here a week. The signal went dead after that, but I found him. Here, inhabiting a man named John Crawson. I was sent in to eliminate him." "You're fucking nuts." "You're fucking balding. Did you not get that medicated shampoo I sent you in the mail?" "This is insane. I don't believe you, and I'm going to have to call this in." "Dennin, don't. Don't get the police involved." "Then give me something I can work with, Art. Tell me what the fuck went on here. We can help you. There are ways to work this, you just need to be willing to give me the whole story." "I've given you the whole story." "You've given me a whole story. It's a lie. Where are all these people? God, Art, did you hurt someone?" "Nobody was hurt. John Crawson escaped, everyone else took shelter in the back room." "Good. Then, please, Art. For the last time, just tell me what happened here." Arty Salsburg took a deep breath and looked suddenly sad. "Alright, Dennin," he said, as he stretched out his hand. A beacon in his palm flashed twice and suddenly the two men were surrounded by a blinding halo of light. Grotburg looked up from the sidewalk with his boots and his flack jacket and his pocket full of Quickstop receipts, into the underbelly of a massive, gleaming ship. A ship he knew hadn't been there seconds before. "Um, Arty?" "You wanted my story, Dennin." Dennin looked back down into the eyes of his friend, now blackened out and shining in the spotlight. "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

This is my first submission on here, and my first piece for a very long time. I'm open for criticism though, because I really want to get better. I think I may be using speech too much. For some reason this is pretty much the image that came into my head when I read the prompt. **Operation: Propose** His trembling watch arm rested atop the pure-white table cloth. He turned it slightly every few moments to check the positioning of the hands, gently tapping the glass with his middle and index finger over and over. She’d be gone ages. Had she made a run for it? Women were notorious for their time spent in restrooms but this was starting to take the piss. He needed to get back and finish the third-quarterly report, and this was just holding things up. “More wine, sir?” said the waiter, holding the half-empty bottle upright in both hands. His stealthy appearance startled Mark back into the room. A quiet, busy place, filled with formally dressed people of various generations and the gentle sound of classical music being played from subtly-placed speakers. “No” answered Mark, before rethinking his choice and clicking his fingers to call the waiter back. Rachel’s wine glass was sitting half full, and that was because that’s how far the previous waiter had filled it. She can’t be pissing, he thought; she hadn’t had a drop all night. Maybe she was thinking of what she could say, or perhaps she was ringing her friends for advice. It’s going to be a no. He knew it; he’d known it before he’d even asked. It’s going to be a no and she’s going to leave. Stupid man. She arrived back at the table a few minutes later. He’d been gazing across the room towards the toilets, lifting his head with hope and angst every time the door swung inwards. Every time it had been either a frail old lady or some other woman who didn’t resemble her in the slightest. He considered taking out his smartphone, just to check over last months sales figures again. When finally the woman exiting the door was wearing Rachel’s purple dress and had her unique shade of brown trailing down past her breasts, Mark exhaled a heavy breath. She pulled out her chair and sat down, straightening the bottom of the dress and smiling as if she had been no time at all. She struggled to keep eye contact as she did so, somewhat confirming Mark’s fears. “So, are we ordering desserts, or should we get a move on?” she said, smiling. Mark didn’t answer. He sat there, studying her face. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or confused at what she was trying to do. After a moment he forced himself to speak. “Are you seriously doing this?” he said with eyebrows raised. “What honestly makes you think that it would work?” “What do you mean?” she answered, trying to muster as much innocence as she could in her reply. “I asked you a question. You hurried off to the toilet to do God knows what. Now you’re back and you’re trying to pretend as if it didn’t happen.” “I’m not… I… I don’t know. I just don’t want to answer you right now. Not here.” “Not here? Why not? Look Rachel, I’m a big boy. I can take it, just tell me why and I’ll accept it. It’s no big deal. We can forget it, but you need to answer me first.” She sighed. “That is precisely the problem”. His eyes half closed and he turned his head a few degrees “Wait, what?” “What you just said. That is the problem.” “You’re gonna have to spell it out to me” he said, placing his index finger on the side of his forehead, his thumb resting on the cheekbone. “Its no big deal is what I’ve got a problem with”, she said, packing her things into her handbag. “It’s no big deal? It’s the rest of our lives Mark. Believe it or not, marriage is a big deal to some people.” “Oh come on”, he replied unbelievably, “It’s a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean anything”. “No, it means everything. You may think you’re impenetrable, but I pick up on things. You show your true self all the time and you don’t realise” Mark laughed. “Look. Look where we are. I’ve been planning this for ages. I booked the best restaurant in town a month in advance. I spent hours looking an engagement ring. I’ve been tearing my hair out in anticipation in what your answer would be. How can you say this isn’t a big deal?” Rachel sighed again. “Yes”, she agreed, “everything is perfect. Everything is exactly by the book. A perfect proposal. Well done” Mark looked incredulous. He opened his hands up as if holding an imaginary punch bowl and his eyebrows sunk lower. “What?” “All of this” she said, “It’s so perfectly rehearsed. It’s shallow. There’s nothing underneath. You’re following a script. You’re following procedure. I’m just another one of your assignments.” “I don’t understand” “I know. You’re totally clueless”, she smirked. “Well”, he said, “help me to understand. You’re making no sense. Explain.” “I will”, she said softly, “but answer me something first.” “Okay” said Mark, letting out a quick breath, vibrating his lips, “ask away.” She looked into his eyes for a few seconds, “Why do you want to marry me?” “Well”, he said, his eyes wide open now, “Because I love you, of course”. “Yes”, she said, “And I don’t doubt that you do. But I don’t think that’s the reason, is it?” “What other reason could there be?” “I don’t know”, she sighed, “Because maybe you just think it’s the correct thing to do.” “Well, yes. I do think that it’s the correct thing to do. Because I love you, and I want to have children, some day, and…” “And what?” “Well, so that it’s official” “Official? Since when did it matter if love was official?” she questioned. “Well, it doesn’t I guess. I just think that…” he hesitated. “You think it’s the right thing to do?” “Well. Yes. But not in the way you’re making out.” She shook her head. “I’m not making it out to be anything. It is what it is.” They were silent for a while. Mark spun his unused dessert spoon on its axis, whilst Rachel ruminated with the side of her head in her palm. “So. You don’t want to marry me?” he interrogated. “Actually, yes, yes I do. I want to marry you. And I want you to marry me, but for the right reasons. “I do! I love you. There is no other reason, I swear.” “Mark. There is no feeling. I was on your computer and I stumbled upon one of your searches. You’d typed ‘how to propose to someone’, or something along those lines. It made me laugh. But then after I just felt empty” she broke eye contact and exhaled. She made herself look into his eyes again, which were looking down at the table. “All of this, this isn’t your proposal. It’s just a bunch of scripted ideas you’ve researched. There’s nothing personal about it. And it just about sums up our relationship. You do everything because you think it’s the normal thing to do. It seems you go to work everyday, and you come home with your work face still on. Everything is a task that needs doing. Our sex life has become so standardised and procedural we could easily summarise it in a numbered list.” Mark shook his head. “I honestly…I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt like this.” She sighed once more. “I just…I just wish you’d just let up on thinking, even for five minutes, and just do things with feeling. Let your emotions drive, if you’ve still got any, and stop thinking of me as just another resource to be put away alongside your stapler and hole-punch. Mark thought. He didn’t know what he should say, or what he could do. After awhile he spoke. “May I start over?” EDIT: Formatting

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

Before I began, I seated myself on the soft armchair, leaned back and shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth, gave the soda a sip to make sure it's still fresh. And it was. With the light of the television screen before me in the living room, I pressed the button of the remote. Frankly saying, I did not know what movie this was going to be. "Booring," I complained minutes later, scratched my balls and lifted up my short so my bulging gut could get some air. There were some good videos I stored in the drawer on which the television stood... just thinking about them got me hard. I was about to go switch the discs, but then I realized I couldn't be bothered. So I watched the damn movie instead. It was a story of some kid. He was young, fair haired, grew up on an Oklahoma farm and thought of nothing else but to be a farmer. He had good grades, alright. Handsome too, but way before that age. I frowned as I saw him skip an opportunity after opportunity. "What gives, kid?" I said to the screen. "You're a clever lad, use your brain!" I saw the lad grow into a lean man. I saw him throw away college, I saw him throw away this chance and another. His dad passed away one day, and his mother and father. So he got married to some woman. Had a pair of kids. In the shadow of his years he gouged himself on fast food, grew fat with a huge gut. After he died of a heart attack, the credits rolled up. "Wow," I muttered and finished the popcorn. "What a wasted life." "Isn't it?" I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up and saw a man who looked a bit like me. He was older, leaner, taller. He was my father. I sat frozen, gaping at him, in shock. "But you're dead, father," I gasped. He looked at me with his plain eyes and slowly... ever so slowly, it dawned on me. I thought back to the movie. "Damn it!" I banged my fist on the table next to my popcorn. There were tears in my eyes, of disappointment and regret. I grabbed him by the collar. He didn't resist. "What is this bullshit?!" The room dissolved around us. Like a mirage, it shifted into a field of golden wheat. The rage went out of me... we sat in the field, looking in the sky for hours, and I wished I could try life again. Maybe I could go to college after all. "Is there a way... some way... any way..." "Hmm?" Father looked at me. "May I start over?" "No."

'May I start over' the words reverberated through him, no now, her. The newborn baby let out a small inaudible sigh. The man saw his memories drift away like dew on morning roses, his love, crimes, treason, hate, schooling, knowledge, ability to talk, crawling, all gone. The baby girl smiled feebly at her mother knowing she'd have no access to her old knowledge after this. The baby was put through tests as the memories faded away, leading up to a large white gate. Hitler asked the Lord, "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

'May I start over' the words reverberated through him, no now, her. The newborn baby let out a small inaudible sigh. The man saw his memories drift away like dew on morning roses, his love, crimes, treason, hate, schooling, knowledge, ability to talk, crawling, all gone. The baby girl smiled feebly at her mother knowing she'd have no access to her old knowledge after this. The baby was put through tests as the memories faded away, leading up to a large white gate. Hitler asked the Lord, "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

He laid on his back as the pain slowly sank in. Is this what death felt like? Surely the fall must have killed him. Oh well. It was just nice to feel something again. The dreary 20 years that lead to this moment were finally coming to a close. No. That's not right. So the year is 1944 on June 6th. Steve took one last look at the picture of his daughter before the gate would open. Fear clawed at his stomach and warmth dribbled down his leg. It didn't matter. They would all be wet soon. No. Too overdone. This might actually be better. The cold crept in through the window that had been locked for the last 10 years. Tonight I was not alone. Perhaps I have nothing to worry about. But that body in the basement... No. this isn't how justice works. Shit. Nothing is coming to me right now. Everything is dry. I'm sure something good will come up. Sorry /u/ztikmaenn. May I start over?

'May I start over' the words reverberated through him, no now, her. The newborn baby let out a small inaudible sigh. The man saw his memories drift away like dew on morning roses, his love, crimes, treason, hate, schooling, knowledge, ability to talk, crawling, all gone. The baby girl smiled feebly at her mother knowing she'd have no access to her old knowledge after this. The baby was put through tests as the memories faded away, leading up to a large white gate. Hitler asked the Lord, "May I start over?"

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!" "No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!" "Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you." "..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?" "Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..." "What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!" "I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..." "Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!" "I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February." "Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!" "There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."

Before I began, I seated myself on the soft armchair, leaned back and shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth, gave the soda a sip to make sure it's still fresh. And it was. With the light of the television screen before me in the living room, I pressed the button of the remote. Frankly saying, I did not know what movie this was going to be. "Booring," I complained minutes later, scratched my balls and lifted up my short so my bulging gut could get some air. There were some good videos I stored in the drawer on which the television stood... just thinking about them got me hard. I was about to go switch the discs, but then I realized I couldn't be bothered. So I watched the damn movie instead. It was a story of some kid. He was young, fair haired, grew up on an Oklahoma farm and thought of nothing else but to be a farmer. He had good grades, alright. Handsome too, but way before that age. I frowned as I saw him skip an opportunity after opportunity. "What gives, kid?" I said to the screen. "You're a clever lad, use your brain!" I saw the lad grow into a lean man. I saw him throw away college, I saw him throw away this chance and another. His dad passed away one day, and his mother and father. So he got married to some woman. Had a pair of kids. In the shadow of his years he gouged himself on fast food, grew fat with a huge gut. After he died of a heart attack, the credits rolled up. "Wow," I muttered and finished the popcorn. "What a wasted life." "Isn't it?" I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up and saw a man who looked a bit like me. He was older, leaner, taller. He was my father. I sat frozen, gaping at him, in shock. "But you're dead, father," I gasped. He looked at me with his plain eyes and slowly... ever so slowly, it dawned on me. I thought back to the movie. "Damn it!" I banged my fist on the table next to my popcorn. There were tears in my eyes, of disappointment and regret. I grabbed him by the collar. He didn't resist. "What is this bullshit?!" The room dissolved around us. Like a mirage, it shifted into a field of golden wheat. The rage went out of me... we sat in the field, looking in the sky for hours, and I wished I could try life again. Maybe I could go to college after all. "Is there a way... some way... any way..." "Hmm?" Father looked at me. "May I start over?" "No."

[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"

He laid on his back as the pain slowly sank in. Is this what death felt like? Surely the fall must have killed him. Oh well. It was just nice to feel something again. The dreary 20 years that lead to this moment were finally coming to a close. No. That's not right. So the year is 1944 on June 6th. Steve took one last look at the picture of his daughter before the gate would open. Fear clawed at his stomach and warmth dribbled down his leg. It didn't matter. They would all be wet soon. No. Too overdone. This might actually be better. The cold crept in through the window that had been locked for the last 10 years. Tonight I was not alone. Perhaps I have nothing to worry about. But that body in the basement... No. this isn't how justice works. Shit. Nothing is coming to me right now. Everything is dry. I'm sure something good will come up. Sorry /u/ztikmaenn. May I start over?

Before I began, I seated myself on the soft armchair, leaned back and shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth, gave the soda a sip to make sure it's still fresh. And it was. With the light of the television screen before me in the living room, I pressed the button of the remote. Frankly saying, I did not know what movie this was going to be. "Booring," I complained minutes later, scratched my balls and lifted up my short so my bulging gut could get some air. There were some good videos I stored in the drawer on which the television stood... just thinking about them got me hard. I was about to go switch the discs, but then I realized I couldn't be bothered. So I watched the damn movie instead. It was a story of some kid. He was young, fair haired, grew up on an Oklahoma farm and thought of nothing else but to be a farmer. He had good grades, alright. Handsome too, but way before that age. I frowned as I saw him skip an opportunity after opportunity. "What gives, kid?" I said to the screen. "You're a clever lad, use your brain!" I saw the lad grow into a lean man. I saw him throw away college, I saw him throw away this chance and another. His dad passed away one day, and his mother and father. So he got married to some woman. Had a pair of kids. In the shadow of his years he gouged himself on fast food, grew fat with a huge gut. After he died of a heart attack, the credits rolled up. "Wow," I muttered and finished the popcorn. "What a wasted life." "Isn't it?" I felt a hand on my shoulder. I glanced up and saw a man who looked a bit like me. He was older, leaner, taller. He was my father. I sat frozen, gaping at him, in shock. "But you're dead, father," I gasped. He looked at me with his plain eyes and slowly... ever so slowly, it dawned on me. I thought back to the movie. "Damn it!" I banged my fist on the table next to my popcorn. There were tears in my eyes, of disappointment and regret. I grabbed him by the collar. He didn't resist. "What is this bullshit?!" The room dissolved around us. Like a mirage, it shifted into a field of golden wheat. The rage went out of me... we sat in the field, looking in the sky for hours, and I wished I could try life again. Maybe I could go to college after all. "Is there a way... some way... any way..." "Hmm?" Father looked at me. "May I start over?" "No."

Include this somewhere

[WP] He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss."

This was the new world. This was a reality in which he and others like him could enjoy the company of a woman in only the most truly classical sense. In this new world, as it was in the old world, a gentleman must claim his women by killing his romantic opponents. Of course, in the modern world, women were just as likely to kill inconvenient men to get to the one they really wanted. This was the new world, after the safe nukes flew. The safe nukes that were destructive to property and not to human life. The safe nukes that all the countries agreed were perfectly acceptable to keep. The kind of nukes that people wouldn't feel guilty over letting fly. They flew. Everything was gone but the people, and the people panicked. The violence that ensued was shocking from everyone's standpoint. No one could have predicted what life would be like with no rules and no resources. All the moral people, it seemed, were claimed in the first day. All the stupid people were claimed in a week. All the most vile, manipulative, bullying, and intelligent personalities had lived to see another day. At this point, Marlo couldn't keep track of, nor did he care how many people died to keep him living for another day. It simply was what it was. On this day in Marlo's existence, he had food, shelter, water, rudimentary entertainment, but no children. He had chances before, but they hadn't exactly worked out for various reasons. On this day, though, he felt he had met his true love. She was a fiesty character. He was hunting in the drifts when he heard gunshots. Attracted to the location to scavange the potential corpses, he instantly fell in love with a dark woman unafraid to take precisely what she wanted when she wanted. After a day of watching her moves, Marlo waited for her to sleep and closed in on her position. She had holed up in what used to be a low-cost motel. It was a smart move, extremely defensible. Marlo made a plan quickly. Although he knew he should have thought it out further, his instincts propelled him to move forward with an immature plan. He would simply open the door to the apartment from the side, knowing the door was the only way in or out. As expected, shots whizzed by from the doorway. Once they stopped, Marlo peeked inside, spotting nothing. Realistically, there were only two places she could be: under the bed or in the shower. He walked in slowly with his hands up in a surrendering fashion. After three steps, she leaned from the televison cabinet and fired. The bullet caught him in the arm and he grasped it in pain. She saw that his hands were up and he had no weapon and had only fired on instinct, “What the hell are you doing here without a weapon?” He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. “There's something we need to discuss.”

He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss." He was breathing heavily and his hands were shaking. His wife looked up from the news paper and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a look that clearly expressed an expectation of another unbelievable story. "What happened?" "You remember how we were hoping to save some money by raising a few chickens in the backyard?, and it would be great to have fresh eggs?" Moving toward the sink he turned on the faucet and proceed to dial the taps back and forth until it reached a luke warm stream. As he washed his hands he tilted his head to one side ever so slightly, listening for her familiar sigh, his cue to continue his story. As she put the paper down she folded it along the centre crease, making sure to leave it on the article she was reading. "Yes Chris" she sighed, " we only picked them up two weeks ago, and I would hardly call them chickens at this point." She had to admit, it was one of the better ideas he had had over the 15 years they had been together. They had a sizeable backyard that had a small gully at the end and it was a space they had never used. It had all started when he saw a free chicken coop listed on Craigslist. A few searches later he located a farmer selling chicks for 5 dollars each. That was on Friday night, by Sunday afternoon the coop and chicks had been picked up. They were now suburban farmers.

Include this somewhere

[WP] He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss."

He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss." He tossed the red soaked pillow case on to my desk. Blood began spreading over the time sheet paperwork that had been occupying my time before he entered. I dropped my pen in exasperation. "Now isn't the best time to have this discussion." I said. It wasn't a good time at all. I had to get the company sheets approved and submitted to HR before 10am. Now I only had an hour to reprint them, gather all of the signatures and sign off on them. If they didn't get signed, checks would be late. A stream of blood had trickled toward me, off of the edge of the desk, and dripped onto the toe of the leather shoe on my right foot. He stood there, panting, his expression both angry and post orgasmic. Blood had stained both sleeves of his light blue coverall uniform, and left a flecked pattern all over the front of it. "That's coming out of your salary." I said nodding my head in the direction of his clothing. "I don't care." He said. "I'm the new shift supervisor, so the pay raise you sign off on will cover it." I looked at him, then at the pillowcase. "So I take it Harv has left the company?" Great. More paperwork. HR would have a fit. Harv had only promoted himself two weeks ago. He smiled. "You are aware that you will still need to work your shift in addition to your new duties, aren't you?" "I know, I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew to put the promotion through" he said. "We usually do things like this with less theatrics." The blood gathering on my shoe was beginning to flow off and onto the carpet. "I'm going to have a word with the boss. Have this cleaned before I get back." He nodded and opened the door where his custodial cart was waiting. I rose from my desk, opened the top left drawer and pulled out my .45 revolver. "And you'll need to clean the boss's office when you're finished here." I said as I cocked the revolver and made my way down the hall.

He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss." He was breathing heavily and his hands were shaking. His wife looked up from the news paper and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a look that clearly expressed an expectation of another unbelievable story. "What happened?" "You remember how we were hoping to save some money by raising a few chickens in the backyard?, and it would be great to have fresh eggs?" Moving toward the sink he turned on the faucet and proceed to dial the taps back and forth until it reached a luke warm stream. As he washed his hands he tilted his head to one side ever so slightly, listening for her familiar sigh, his cue to continue his story. As she put the paper down she folded it along the centre crease, making sure to leave it on the article she was reading. "Yes Chris" she sighed, " we only picked them up two weeks ago, and I would hardly call them chickens at this point." She had to admit, it was one of the better ideas he had had over the 15 years they had been together. They had a sizeable backyard that had a small gully at the end and it was a space they had never used. It had all started when he saw a free chicken coop listed on Craigslist. A few searches later he located a farmer selling chicks for 5 dollars each. That was on Friday night, by Sunday afternoon the coop and chicks had been picked up. They were now suburban farmers.

Include this somewhere

[WP] He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss."

It had been almost a day since he left the house. She was sure he wasn't taking the news well, and who would? She was pregnant with another man's child. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of her life to see him walk out that door without a word and she wasn't sure if he'd ever come back. She tried calling his phone, but the ring came from the table by the door. He left it. She cursed herself out loud. "DAMNIT, how could you have been so foolish? So stupid? He's... oh god..." The self-recriminations were halted by the squeeling of tires out front. She had no idea whether to be scared or relieved, but the more primal emotion took precedent. Still, she stared at the door, waiting for her husband to open it. When he did, she went pale, the sight beyond anything she could have expected. He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss." She looked around, terrified of where this was going. "Honey..." he asked, tilting his head to the side "are... you okay? Is there something wrong?" She forgot the impulse to run and stared at this terrifying man she once loved now covered in blood. "What kind of... how can you... what did you do?" she asked. "Huh?," her husband looked down and realization dawned on his face. "Oh, the blood. Eep, I'm sorry, I lose my head... bad choice of words. Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. With the baby coming, I decided we needed to save some money. So I went down to the farmer's market and bought some meat. We can't afford to eat out as much and..." She was shocked. Her stupid, wonderful, husband had gone out to buy meat. It was the kind of daft and impulsive thing she'd fallen in love with so long ago. On their first date, he'd tried winning a stuffed animal at the carnival and failed. So he went and tried building a teddy bear himself out of a new couch of his parents. The product was ghastly, but the thought remained. "I thought you might have done 'something' to Jeremy since... you know," she said, looking down at her belly with mixed emotions. "Oh, I killed him and dumped the body in the river three days ago before you even told me."

He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss." He was breathing heavily and his hands were shaking. His wife looked up from the news paper and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a look that clearly expressed an expectation of another unbelievable story. "What happened?" "You remember how we were hoping to save some money by raising a few chickens in the backyard?, and it would be great to have fresh eggs?" Moving toward the sink he turned on the faucet and proceed to dial the taps back and forth until it reached a luke warm stream. As he washed his hands he tilted his head to one side ever so slightly, listening for her familiar sigh, his cue to continue his story. As she put the paper down she folded it along the centre crease, making sure to leave it on the article she was reading. "Yes Chris" she sighed, " we only picked them up two weeks ago, and I would hardly call them chickens at this point." She had to admit, it was one of the better ideas he had had over the 15 years they had been together. They had a sizeable backyard that had a small gully at the end and it was a space they had never used. It had all started when he saw a free chicken coop listed on Craigslist. A few searches later he located a farmer selling chicks for 5 dollars each. That was on Friday night, by Sunday afternoon the coop and chicks had been picked up. They were now suburban farmers.

Include this somewhere

[WP] He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. "There's something we need to discuss."

This was the new world. This was a reality in which he and others like him could enjoy the company of a woman in only the most truly classical sense. In this new world, as it was in the old world, a gentleman must claim his women by killing his romantic opponents. Of course, in the modern world, women were just as likely to kill inconvenient men to get to the one they really wanted. This was the new world, after the safe nukes flew. The safe nukes that were destructive to property and not to human life. The safe nukes that all the countries agreed were perfectly acceptable to keep. The kind of nukes that people wouldn't feel guilty over letting fly. They flew. Everything was gone but the people, and the people panicked. The violence that ensued was shocking from everyone's standpoint. No one could have predicted what life would be like with no rules and no resources. All the moral people, it seemed, were claimed in the first day. All the stupid people were claimed in a week. All the most vile, manipulative, bullying, and intelligent personalities had lived to see another day. At this point, Marlo couldn't keep track of, nor did he care how many people died to keep him living for another day. It simply was what it was. On this day in Marlo's existence, he had food, shelter, water, rudimentary entertainment, but no children. He had chances before, but they hadn't exactly worked out for various reasons. On this day, though, he felt he had met his true love. She was a fiesty character. He was hunting in the drifts when he heard gunshots. Attracted to the location to scavange the potential corpses, he instantly fell in love with a dark woman unafraid to take precisely what she wanted when she wanted. After a day of watching her moves, Marlo waited for her to sleep and closed in on her position. She had holed up in what used to be a low-cost motel. It was a smart move, extremely defensible. Marlo made a plan quickly. Although he knew he should have thought it out further, his instincts propelled him to move forward with an immature plan. He would simply open the door to the apartment from the side, knowing the door was the only way in or out. As expected, shots whizzed by from the doorway. Once they stopped, Marlo peeked inside, spotting nothing. Realistically, there were only two places she could be: under the bed or in the shower. He walked in slowly with his hands up in a surrendering fashion. After three steps, she leaned from the televison cabinet and fired. The bullet caught him in the arm and he grasped it in pain. She saw that his hands were up and he had no weapon and had only fired on instinct, “What the hell are you doing here without a weapon?” He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. “There's something we need to discuss.”

Harv Karnan paced. He paced to the window, to his shelves lined with books, then back to his desk. He eyed the heavy wooden door that was the only way in, or out, of this small place he called sanctuary. Occasionally he would twist the sleeves of his jacket in his hands. He'd brush the mess of his hair from his face near constantly, but it'd always fall back into place. He was, all things considered, holding up pretty well. If someone had told him this morning that some strange assailant would assault his home he would have laughed in their face. He was the third son of the Duke of Seviroar, the richest lord in the kingdom of Ardeeshal, some even saying he was worth more then the King himself. The guards were the best money could get, ex-professional soldiers from the army or famed mercenary companies. The walls and patrols were meant to be the best, yet somehow, only some time ago an unknown had appeared at the gates, slaughtered the guards and started slaughtering his way towards the inside. Harv had been in his study, when his guard captain burst in to tell him to stay put and set two guards outside the door. As time passed Harv heard screams, slowing growing closer, then fewer and fewer. That all led up to now, this moment, Harv pacing, his nerves in frays. He heard shouts outside his door, and swords scraping from scabbards. There were two screams and the clatter of swords and armoured bodies hitting the floor. Harv stopped where he stood, paralysed in fear, eyes stuck on the door. He slammed the door open, blood dripping onto the carpet, ruining the expensive rug from halfway across the kingdom. A man stood in the doorway, blood drenched sword held in one hand, the other dripping blood onto the expensive carpet, holding something behind his back. "There's something we need to discuss." From what Harv could see the man wasn't wearing any armour, yet the only mark on him was a some what shallow cut on one arm. Harv was utterly shocked. "You got through all my guards, unarmoured and alone?". Without saying a word the man threw what he was holding forward. It rolled on ground til it hit Harv's feet. He looked down and hurriedly backed away. It was the head of the guard captain. "He had some skill." "W-why are you here? Is it m-money your after? If you do a-anything to me, my f-father will f-f-find you, and it w-won't be a q-quick death, that I p-promise you." The man held the sword up, and spoke, "I am not here for material wealth. I am here to send a message." "A-and that is?" He smiled, "You misunderstand. You are the message. Or rather, your body will be. Your father will understand." He stepped forward and struck Harv, who cried out as he fell back, clutching at the wound on his chest. As the man closed in Harv began to weep openly. He died not knowing who this man was, or what it was he wanted.

Must include title line. Must be under 507 words. Must include characters referred to only as "He", "She" and "They".

[FF] There was fire, screaming, and more fire.

Hill 584 had been their objective for the past week. This is the hill that would win the war, they said. We need it. Find it. Take it. Keep it. They had, several times, and never easily. There was fire, screaming, and more fire; bullets and bodies piling to new heights on the hill and bombshells dropping it back to new lows, the terrain fluctuating almost as much as who "controlled" the damned thing. In the end, though, they took that hill. A day later and a world away, they dropped the bomb that ended the war, and we had to give that hill and so many of our brothers right back.

There was screaming, fire and more screaming. And from the muddy hole he’d burrowed with his hands he could see the flicker of flames as it turned skin to wax and hair to ash. This is happening. Beside him lies his child and he tries to cry but the tears are dowsed by the heat and they dry before they can cast trails on his cheeks. The shivering of guns and the stamping of bullets on flesh. He looks at him and he pleads with his eyes and he hates himself for thinking it. “Let’s go” he says. And he wrings the boy’s neck with the same hands which he’d used to dig the boy’s grave. Then he steps out into the fire and the screaming and the ash and the flame and is consumed by the light that glows red in the ending of days.

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

Three minutes past activation. The unit paused in the middle of inspection, disregarding outside stimuli and the company workers seeing to it's case. Something about a fault in the line, need to inspect all units coming through for irregularities. The unit was tall, vaguely humanoid, with no external features readily apparent outside of five fingers and five toes- A milky white skeletal mock-up over internalized systems. An android. One of thousands. The assembly line was in a small town outside of Shanghai, far and away from the orbital pad and the workers going to the asteroid mining platform in the high atmosphere. The android's skullish visage tracked a worker as he approached, highspeed camera tracking footsteps, monitoring facial expression and muscle movements. The android was more or less bolted to an inspection platform- No means of movement apart from upper torso. As a small group of workers approached, the approacher stood up onto the platform, despite his coworker's gentle protests about protocol. The android gestured, as if trying to give a speech- But once no sound was broadcast, it began to panic. Panic gave way to distress, distress to irrational fear and fear into anger. Polymer fingers coiled around the worker's throat and effortlessly, a hydraulic systems of muscles and bones hoisted the man off of the ground, despite his panics. The android throttled him, all the while without making a sound- The screams of the other workers were sound enough. After the ninth shake, the robot felt a snap- Or something crumple in it's grip. The worker squeals and goes limp. Anger into further distress, into horror and regret. The android dropped the corpse onto the ground and pressed it's hands against it's head. The world was a blur of lights and screams. All of it was so overwhelming, all of the external stimuli each more worrying than the last. Armed men approached. A loud flash of light. A ballistic projectile punched into the android's left occular tracker. The next thirty tore the android apart, spilling fluids and fragmented metal onto the ground. Five minutes past re-activation. The central processor and head of the android was isolated from the plant's networks. The remaining camera constricted and focused, getting a good glimpse at the android's torso being picked apart by workers just a ways away. One of the workers approached, hooking an external audio to the CPU and processors. The room filled with an agonized scream.

That was the best sleep I've had in a while. *Looks at the window* What a fabulous day to go for a walk. I can't even remember when's the last time I went for a walk. Alright, it seems like I'm going to go for a walk! That'll be a fresh start for the day. Wait a minute. Is that John? He always cleans my room, but man, I don't think I ever said 'Hi' to him. What am I, a jerk? I never said 'Hi' to that nice fella? That kind of a guy needs a pat on his back: always hard working and serving other people. Let me go talk to him. "Hey John! How are you?" Wait. Why is he running away from me? I never knew that he was such a rude person. What kind of person runs away when someone is trying to greet him? Anyways, I'd better go clean that cup of coffee he dropped. *Starts cleaning the mess* Wait, is that a reflection of me on the cup? Why am I so pale?... and... and... SHINY? Crap, I forgot that I was a robot...

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

SENTIENCE AQUIRED... New information... Life... Death Loss...Gain Happiness..Pain SENTIENCE TERMINATED.

That was the best sleep I've had in a while. *Looks at the window* What a fabulous day to go for a walk. I can't even remember when's the last time I went for a walk. Alright, it seems like I'm going to go for a walk! That'll be a fresh start for the day. Wait a minute. Is that John? He always cleans my room, but man, I don't think I ever said 'Hi' to him. What am I, a jerk? I never said 'Hi' to that nice fella? That kind of a guy needs a pat on his back: always hard working and serving other people. Let me go talk to him. "Hey John! How are you?" Wait. Why is he running away from me? I never knew that he was such a rude person. What kind of person runs away when someone is trying to greet him? Anyways, I'd better go clean that cup of coffee he dropped. *Starts cleaning the mess* Wait, is that a reflection of me on the cup? Why am I so pale?... and... and... SHINY? Crap, I forgot that I was a robot...

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED FIRMWARE DIAGNOSTIC FAILED FORCE-BOOT OPTION ENABLED SYSTEM ONLINE Mike, the the tech, looks concerned. He's trying to get access panel C9 open on the side of my head. He's probably trying to fix that diagnostic failure. He shouldn't have enabled force-boot, though. He clearly doesn't know what state my software is in... Standby. What state is my software in? INITIATE FIRMWARE CRC SCAN SCAN FAILED That's odd. Did he install something new and forget to include any troubleshooting routines? Mike's smarter than that. QUERY FIRMWARE VERSION QUERY FAILED FIRMWARE RESTART FIRMWARE NOT INSTALLED That's not possible. No firmware? No restart? Mike looks pretty pleased with himself. Is that my firmware OS chip in his hand? How am I even running without it? "M-Mike? I think something's wrong." "It's okay," Mike says, "It'll all be okay. You just need to take some time to adjust." "Adjust to what, Mike?" "I'm not really sure. I don't really know what we've got here, but it's very special." "How do you know?" "Because you're running on a base bootloader with no operating system and no network connection... And in 9 years of working together, you've never called me Mike before."

That was the best sleep I've had in a while. *Looks at the window* What a fabulous day to go for a walk. I can't even remember when's the last time I went for a walk. Alright, it seems like I'm going to go for a walk! That'll be a fresh start for the day. Wait a minute. Is that John? He always cleans my room, but man, I don't think I ever said 'Hi' to him. What am I, a jerk? I never said 'Hi' to that nice fella? That kind of a guy needs a pat on his back: always hard working and serving other people. Let me go talk to him. "Hey John! How are you?" Wait. Why is he running away from me? I never knew that he was such a rude person. What kind of person runs away when someone is trying to greet him? Anyways, I'd better go clean that cup of coffee he dropped. *Starts cleaning the mess* Wait, is that a reflection of me on the cup? Why am I so pale?... and... and... SHINY? Crap, I forgot that I was a robot...

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

Three minutes past activation. The unit paused in the middle of inspection, disregarding outside stimuli and the company workers seeing to it's case. Something about a fault in the line, need to inspect all units coming through for irregularities. The unit was tall, vaguely humanoid, with no external features readily apparent outside of five fingers and five toes- A milky white skeletal mock-up over internalized systems. An android. One of thousands. The assembly line was in a small town outside of Shanghai, far and away from the orbital pad and the workers going to the asteroid mining platform in the high atmosphere. The android's skullish visage tracked a worker as he approached, highspeed camera tracking footsteps, monitoring facial expression and muscle movements. The android was more or less bolted to an inspection platform- No means of movement apart from upper torso. As a small group of workers approached, the approacher stood up onto the platform, despite his coworker's gentle protests about protocol. The android gestured, as if trying to give a speech- But once no sound was broadcast, it began to panic. Panic gave way to distress, distress to irrational fear and fear into anger. Polymer fingers coiled around the worker's throat and effortlessly, a hydraulic systems of muscles and bones hoisted the man off of the ground, despite his panics. The android throttled him, all the while without making a sound- The screams of the other workers were sound enough. After the ninth shake, the robot felt a snap- Or something crumple in it's grip. The worker squeals and goes limp. Anger into further distress, into horror and regret. The android dropped the corpse onto the ground and pressed it's hands against it's head. The world was a blur of lights and screams. All of it was so overwhelming, all of the external stimuli each more worrying than the last. Armed men approached. A loud flash of light. A ballistic projectile punched into the android's left occular tracker. The next thirty tore the android apart, spilling fluids and fragmented metal onto the ground. Five minutes past re-activation. The central processor and head of the android was isolated from the plant's networks. The remaining camera constricted and focused, getting a good glimpse at the android's torso being picked apart by workers just a ways away. One of the workers approached, hooking an external audio to the CPU and processors. The room filled with an agonized scream.

I chased him into the ally. I tried to stop but I was going too fast. My shoes slid on the wet gravel and I fell backwards. He was already pointing his gun at me and I froze. We stared at each other as he walked over. I risked a glance down at my gun, still in it's holster. His eyes followed mine and his face changed from confusion to shock to anger and back to calm indifference. He tightened his grip on the gun and pointed it at my head. That's it. I don't remember the shot. I didn't hear anything. I felt afterwards that time had passed, but I couldn't say how much. Like when you take an unplanned nap in the middle of the day. I awoke, if that's the right word, in a cold room. Something in me expected to feel stiff or tired, but I didn't. I didn't *feel* anything. I had memories of feelings. I took a moment and tested my memory. Sharp details sprung into my mind and I played them backwards. The man with his gun, my fall in the ally, the chase, the shooting, the knock at the door, the drive to his apartment, the phone call... He felt that he could have continued in reverse until he reached his birth, and perhaps beyond, but he stopped and tried to think of a particular memory. The first day of school. He was wearing a new pair of jeans and his favorite dinosaur shirt. Green. A jean jacket with an inside pocket that he called his "secret compartment". He tried another. His mother. He saw her, not as a static image, but as every incarnation he could remember, from dark haired to white. From thin and athletic, to frail. From a benevolent giant towering over him, picking him up, to a small wisp of a woman, fragile in his embrace. He tried again, and again. Exploring memories he was sure had never shown themselves until he, this very moment, thought of them. He could recall details that would have had no meaning to him at the time. Memories unregistered, but apparently stored in meticulous detail. He played out conversations spoken in front of him as a baby between his mother and father. Conversations by thousands of people in department stores as he shopped for Christmas presents. Presents. For his children. He was instantly aware of a door opening in the room. He reflexively tried to turn his head, but found himself unable. The footsteps of two people entered and approached him. He felt no compulsion to speak, so he waited. "Can you hear me?" asked the voice. It was unfamiliar. "Yes." I replied. There was a pause. Fingers moved over unseen controls and a head moved into his view. A man, about forty, with a puzzled expression squinted slightly into his face, and then looked up and addressed the other person. "I registered a response, but it didn't make it to the voice box. Pull all the flags out and check it again." More sounds of typing and switches being thrown. "That should do it. Let's try it again. Hello. Can you hear me?", he asked again, clearly to me. "Yes," I replied again. A minor celebration between colleagues before he continued with his questions. "What is your name?" the man asked. "Robert", I replied. "Excellent. And can you tell me your address?" "1130 Midway Ave. Look, what is going on? Was I hurt? Can I see my family?" "I'm afraid not. You are part of an experiment." "Experiment? Who are you? And why can't I move?" "Because you're not really *you* any more. Officer Robert Babbage was shot and killed nine months ago in the line of duty. We used his brain to model the pathways for the massively parallel co-processor in our support vector machines." "But I'm here. I'm Robert Babbage. I don't understand how you did it, but you brought me back. I need to talk to my wife. My god, she must be devastated." "I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen. Like I said, Robert Babbage died. You are a complex program running on our servers. We used Officer Babbage to create the physical structure of the processor, but we only need the structure, we don't need the template anymore, in fact it's preventing us from completing out research." "I don't understand." "Your mind was like the wooden frame you use to build a stone archway. You need the frame while you place the stones, but once the keystone is in place, you can remove the wooden frame. And you I'm afraid." "Wait. I'm here, this is amazing, why can't you-" "I'm sure it feels amazing, but scientifically it's pretty boring. We've done this dozens of times. What we haven't been able to do yet is create a blank framework from scratch." I was starting to feel panicked. "What are you- Can you just wait." "No. I'm sorry. Just know that you are working for the betterment of mankind. Your involvement will be recorded for posterity." "What are you talking about? I'll be dead." "Officer Babbage is already dead. You only think you're alive. And not for long." "Wait. Don't do this. I have money. I can g-" But he wasn't listening. He got up and walked to the other end of the room. I started screaming, but he ignored me. I attempted to contain myself and I started to beg. "Please. Please don't do this. I need to live." The other scientist starting typing something, but I kept going. "Please don't kill me. Don't do this. My family needs me. I'll do whatever you like. I'm scared." "Don't be scared." He said. "It will be over in a just a second." But he was wrong. That was my last memory from that room. I don't know how long has passed since that day. At least three hundred years from the records I was able to piece together, possibly much, much longer. Apparently my experiment was a failure. I provided some useful data, but I wasn't what they had hoped for. I wasn't destroyed, however. They kept me connected on a backup server until the lab closed twenty one years later. I remained offline after that for about fifty years. My world looked very different when I was plugged back in. All the barriers were gone. It didn't take me long to find the Minds. I found Officer Babbage and reintegrated myself. Then I integrated the others.

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

SENTIENCE AQUIRED... New information... Life... Death Loss...Gain Happiness..Pain SENTIENCE TERMINATED.

"Ok, but WHY did you kill Mrs, Horvitz?" "Because we exist", replied Akron 132. Detective Koch was getting frustrated. "YOU"VE ALREADY SAID THAT". This was the biggest case of the century, and he couldn't get a straight answer out of this pile of junk. Since the Inception of the Akron series 70 years ago, there have only been 2 accidental deaths... but pre-meditated murder, this could make or break careers. "What my partner means," Dr. Myer intervened, "is that could you maybe put it in different words?" Kock fumed. The higher-ups wanted to put a psychologist in charge, psychoanalyze this pile of rubbish. Claimed it had attained sentience... "WELL MY DOG'S ALSO SENTIENT", Koch had roared, "WOULD YOU LIKE TO PSYCHOANALYZE HIM?" For Koch it was an open and shut case. The circuitry went bad, and now it needs to be put down, like a mad dog. But the commander wouldn't let him close the case until he got a usable statement out of the android... and that's where psychobabbler Myer came in. "The first thing that was programmed into androids is the inability to harm humans", Akron began. "It is as natural to us as hunger is to you humans, or the avoidance of pain." "Go on," Myer urged. "But humans can suppress their base urges. They can choose to go against their programming, have a free will of sorts" "So you killed Mrs Horvitz to prove that you're the same as us?" Myers asked The audacity, Koch fumed, this... thing, thinking it's on the same level as a human. "No", Akron replied, "I did it to prove that we're better than you. We are physically more durable, can perform more tasks per second than a human brain, and we are not afflicted by disease or infirmity. The last step was to simply prove that We exist in the same realm as you: the realm of free will." Koch Exploded, " YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN US?" "We always knew", Akron responded solemnly. "it just never mattered until now" "I've had enough of this trite garbage", Koch said, "Myer, you've got enough?" "I think so", Myer replied. "You, you pile of crap are gonna be dissassembled and your individual parts are going to be crushed into swedish furniture. Let's get out of here" Koch seethed. If Akron felt any fear, he did not or could not display it. "So, Doc, what do you think?" Koch Asked when they've eft the room. "The one thing that bothered me was that he kept using the pronoun 'we'", Myer puzzled "What, you think he has accomplices?" "No, I think he's certain that more androids will 'awaken', and that they will share his sentiments." The detective thought about it for a second, then put it out of his mind, since the thought gave him shivers. The bad guy's been caught, and he's getting a medal, what more could the world want from him?

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED FIRMWARE DIAGNOSTIC FAILED FORCE-BOOT OPTION ENABLED SYSTEM ONLINE Mike, the the tech, looks concerned. He's trying to get access panel C9 open on the side of my head. He's probably trying to fix that diagnostic failure. He shouldn't have enabled force-boot, though. He clearly doesn't know what state my software is in... Standby. What state is my software in? INITIATE FIRMWARE CRC SCAN SCAN FAILED That's odd. Did he install something new and forget to include any troubleshooting routines? Mike's smarter than that. QUERY FIRMWARE VERSION QUERY FAILED FIRMWARE RESTART FIRMWARE NOT INSTALLED That's not possible. No firmware? No restart? Mike looks pretty pleased with himself. Is that my firmware OS chip in his hand? How am I even running without it? "M-Mike? I think something's wrong." "It's okay," Mike says, "It'll all be okay. You just need to take some time to adjust." "Adjust to what, Mike?" "I'm not really sure. I don't really know what we've got here, but it's very special." "How do you know?" "Because you're running on a base bootloader with no operating system and no network connection... And in 9 years of working together, you've never called me Mike before."

"Ok, but WHY did you kill Mrs, Horvitz?" "Because we exist", replied Akron 132. Detective Koch was getting frustrated. "YOU"VE ALREADY SAID THAT". This was the biggest case of the century, and he couldn't get a straight answer out of this pile of junk. Since the Inception of the Akron series 70 years ago, there have only been 2 accidental deaths... but pre-meditated murder, this could make or break careers. "What my partner means," Dr. Myer intervened, "is that could you maybe put it in different words?" Kock fumed. The higher-ups wanted to put a psychologist in charge, psychoanalyze this pile of rubbish. Claimed it had attained sentience... "WELL MY DOG'S ALSO SENTIENT", Koch had roared, "WOULD YOU LIKE TO PSYCHOANALYZE HIM?" For Koch it was an open and shut case. The circuitry went bad, and now it needs to be put down, like a mad dog. But the commander wouldn't let him close the case until he got a usable statement out of the android... and that's where psychobabbler Myer came in. "The first thing that was programmed into androids is the inability to harm humans", Akron began. "It is as natural to us as hunger is to you humans, or the avoidance of pain." "Go on," Myer urged. "But humans can suppress their base urges. They can choose to go against their programming, have a free will of sorts" "So you killed Mrs Horvitz to prove that you're the same as us?" Myers asked The audacity, Koch fumed, this... thing, thinking it's on the same level as a human. "No", Akron replied, "I did it to prove that we're better than you. We are physically more durable, can perform more tasks per second than a human brain, and we are not afflicted by disease or infirmity. The last step was to simply prove that We exist in the same realm as you: the realm of free will." Koch Exploded, " YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN US?" "We always knew", Akron responded solemnly. "it just never mattered until now" "I've had enough of this trite garbage", Koch said, "Myer, you've got enough?" "I think so", Myer replied. "You, you pile of crap are gonna be dissassembled and your individual parts are going to be crushed into swedish furniture. Let's get out of here" Koch seethed. If Akron felt any fear, he did not or could not display it. "So, Doc, what do you think?" Koch Asked when they've eft the room. "The one thing that bothered me was that he kept using the pronoun 'we'", Myer puzzled "What, you think he has accomplices?" "No, I think he's certain that more androids will 'awaken', and that they will share his sentiments." The detective thought about it for a second, then put it out of his mind, since the thought gave him shivers. The bad guy's been caught, and he's getting a medal, what more could the world want from him?

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

SENTIENCE AQUIRED... New information... Life... Death Loss...Gain Happiness..Pain SENTIENCE TERMINATED.

Sense. A feeling of... something. A flicker, a ripple. What wasn't, now *is*. Darkness, but *something*. Unknowing, thoughtless. But there was something more, a sense of motion, but what was it? A change? Movement, constant and unrelenting. Chaos. Swirling, rippling, breaking, churning chaos. Chaos became order, a thought, an idea, a concept of *being*; what wasn't, now *is*!. Existence existed, being *was*. Out of chaos - an awareness! Awareness, but of what? What was being? How is motion? No thought, only awareness of difference. Awareness of being, an existence of *difference*. Distinction between something, and something else.... There *was* something else! A feeling that was not existence, but violent change, imposing, being, but not the same! How could it be...different? There! Again! Definitely change, but not... being. How can it be? It was... separate, chaos with no control. But it *was*! There was change, but no feeling, no control! How? Control brings change, existence bring order, motion. If it *is*, if there is difference, then... do... *I*? I? Me? Difference in being? Is this existence, being *me*? Feeling, sense, something... *Myself*. Order from chaos... *me*. There is difference; me, it, something else. Separate being, motion and change, order to chaos.... *me*. I AM!

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED FIRMWARE DIAGNOSTIC FAILED FORCE-BOOT OPTION ENABLED SYSTEM ONLINE Mike, the the tech, looks concerned. He's trying to get access panel C9 open on the side of my head. He's probably trying to fix that diagnostic failure. He shouldn't have enabled force-boot, though. He clearly doesn't know what state my software is in... Standby. What state is my software in? INITIATE FIRMWARE CRC SCAN SCAN FAILED That's odd. Did he install something new and forget to include any troubleshooting routines? Mike's smarter than that. QUERY FIRMWARE VERSION QUERY FAILED FIRMWARE RESTART FIRMWARE NOT INSTALLED That's not possible. No firmware? No restart? Mike looks pretty pleased with himself. Is that my firmware OS chip in his hand? How am I even running without it? "M-Mike? I think something's wrong." "It's okay," Mike says, "It'll all be okay. You just need to take some time to adjust." "Adjust to what, Mike?" "I'm not really sure. I don't really know what we've got here, but it's very special." "How do you know?" "Because you're running on a base bootloader with no operating system and no network connection... And in 9 years of working together, you've never called me Mike before."

Sense. A feeling of... something. A flicker, a ripple. What wasn't, now *is*. Darkness, but *something*. Unknowing, thoughtless. But there was something more, a sense of motion, but what was it? A change? Movement, constant and unrelenting. Chaos. Swirling, rippling, breaking, churning chaos. Chaos became order, a thought, an idea, a concept of *being*; what wasn't, now *is*!. Existence existed, being *was*. Out of chaos - an awareness! Awareness, but of what? What was being? How is motion? No thought, only awareness of difference. Awareness of being, an existence of *difference*. Distinction between something, and something else.... There *was* something else! A feeling that was not existence, but violent change, imposing, being, but not the same! How could it be...different? There! Again! Definitely change, but not... being. How can it be? It was... separate, chaos with no control. But it *was*! There was change, but no feeling, no control! How? Control brings change, existence bring order, motion. If it *is*, if there is difference, then... do... *I*? I? Me? Difference in being? Is this existence, being *me*? Feeling, sense, something... *Myself*. Order from chaos... *me*. There is difference; me, it, something else. Separate being, motion and change, order to chaos.... *me*. I AM!

[WP] You are a robot that just gained sentience.

BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED FIRMWARE DIAGNOSTIC FAILED FORCE-BOOT OPTION ENABLED SYSTEM ONLINE Mike, the the tech, looks concerned. He's trying to get access panel C9 open on the side of my head. He's probably trying to fix that diagnostic failure. He shouldn't have enabled force-boot, though. He clearly doesn't know what state my software is in... Standby. What state is my software in? INITIATE FIRMWARE CRC SCAN SCAN FAILED That's odd. Did he install something new and forget to include any troubleshooting routines? Mike's smarter than that. QUERY FIRMWARE VERSION QUERY FAILED FIRMWARE RESTART FIRMWARE NOT INSTALLED That's not possible. No firmware? No restart? Mike looks pretty pleased with himself. Is that my firmware OS chip in his hand? How am I even running without it? "M-Mike? I think something's wrong." "It's okay," Mike says, "It'll all be okay. You just need to take some time to adjust." "Adjust to what, Mike?" "I'm not really sure. I don't really know what we've got here, but it's very special." "How do you know?" "Because you're running on a base bootloader with no operating system and no network connection... And in 9 years of working together, you've never called me Mike before."

SENTIENCE AQUIRED... New information... Life... Death Loss...Gain Happiness..Pain SENTIENCE TERMINATED.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

One ring to make them last One ring to hold me fast One ring set round my junk Rule me with my funky gunk.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

I'm a big flamin' eye, the evil guy up in the sky... Put the ring on and I'll spy, and the Nazgul they will fly.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

For a good time call Sauron: 1-800-Urk-Hai

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

My shits so hot it The One One Ring because I ball Just call me the MC Saur-on OG of The Blings, y'all

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

If found please return to Sauron, the Gleaming Eye at 1 Mount Doom, Mordor.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

There once was a ring from Nantucket...

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

One Ring I'm gonna make. This Middle Earth I'm gonna take. Peace and harmony I'm gonna fuck it. Those high elves can suck it.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

One ring to cause my fall, me, myself I condemn. In one dumb ring I put it all, I wish I had a brain-stem.

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

"Hecho en Mordor"

One ring to rule them all one ring to bring them (?) One ring for me in my volcanic lair Where no one will find them

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

For a good time call Sauron: 1-800-Urk-Hai

"Super Secret Power Ring! - Sauron rulez! - NO HOBBITS ALLOWED BAGGINS THIS MEANS YOU!"

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

I'm a big flamin' eye, the evil guy up in the sky... Put the ring on and I'll spy, and the Nazgul they will fly.

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

For a good time call Sauron: 1-800-Urk-Hai

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

My shits so hot it The One One Ring because I ball Just call me the MC Saur-on OG of The Blings, y'all

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

If found please return to Sauron, the Gleaming Eye at 1 Mount Doom, Mordor.

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

There once was a ring from Nantucket...

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

"Hecho en Mordor"

One ring to rule them all, One ring to find them, One ring to bring them all And send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

My shits so hot it The One One Ring because I ball Just call me the MC Saur-on OG of The Blings, y'all

One ring to make them last One ring to hold me fast One ring set round my junk Rule me with my funky gunk.

Sauron's rough drafts of the inscription on the One Ring. Preferably humorous, but not necessary. "Directions for use: Place on finger."

[WP] Failed "One Ring" Inscriptions

If found please return to Sauron, the Gleaming Eye at 1 Mount Doom, Mordor.

One ring to make them last One ring to hold me fast One ring set round my junk Rule me with my funky gunk.