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[ WP ] How to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich

On first glance, it's just a sandwich. Ordinary, plain white and square, sat passively on the plate. From factory to supermarket to kitchen, it has lived mostly a short and non-eventful existence. But it is not *just* a plain sandwich. It is clearly more. What goes into a sandwich? Not just flavours, spreads and condiments and the like, but passions and endeavours and feverish culinary revelations that keep you up late into the night. The sandwich-maker, then, is not simply an amateur assembler. They are in fact a philosopher and a romantic artist. The bread, their canvas; the knife, their paintbrush; the peanut butter and jelly their paint; and the final sandwich borne of their flowing, fertile intellect. One thing is clear, that a true PBJ sandwich -- for, like any great achievements, there are imposters -- must have clean cut white bread, firstly. Anything seedy or wholemeal or brown is heretical. Second, there is much contention over the texture of the nut butter spread: smooth or crunchy? The former is easy to digest but the latter provides some much-needed texture. Lastly, the genre of jam seems quite obvious. It has to be strawberry, no? Variations such as raspberry, blackcurrant or oddities like apricot or passionfruit, god forbid, are just passing fashions. Although the consistency of peanut butter is less clear-cut, the ontological basis of the PBJ sandwich is most definitely soft, clean and simple white bread and sweet and wobbly strawberry jam. Some doubters might suggest that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is nothing but a snack. The fodder for the busy office-worker's lunch or a quick bite for the bedroom-dwelling teenager in-between video-game sessions. But it is so much more! The peanut butter and jelly sandwich is based in a mode of thought that goes back to antiquity. A thousand-year old Eastern philosophy of yinyang underpins the idea and creation of this soft and delicious work. Complementary forces unite and comprise all life-forces; the sweet twang of slightly acidic jam cuts through a nutty-sweet, slightly oily-salty peanut butter. These two bed-partners make love on a pillow of silken bread that climaxes in between teeth and tongue. It is not too much a stretch to that the PBJ sandwich embodies the Wagnerian *Gesamtkunstwerk*, `` total artwork''. The concerto of the click of an opening jar; the cinematographic composition of spread upon bread then bread again; the splatter and fusion of colours of pinkish red and bronze and the final performance of the snack's soliloquy inside your mouth. As your teeth close, the curtain calls. The sandwich is proud, majestic, transcendent. ________ Edit: ( Missed out a sentence ) and also this is my first post, just thought I'd announce myself and say hello. Hopefully I will be hanging around a bit more in coming weeks and months. I had fun writing this!

[ WP ] Several hundred years in the future , the average intelligence of humanity has increased 100 fold . You have just discovered the dark history behind this change that had remained hidden for centuries .

`` Did you say you're a historian?'' I swallowed my anxiety and managed to smile glowingly, `` Yes.'' `` Not worth much these days, are they?'' The burly man in an impeccable suit tapped his temple twice, somehow intending to imply he was smart. And he was right. The IQ of an average person now would have qualified them as some kind of ultimate genius if they'd lived a hundred years ago. `` I do believe we have our place in the world, like painters and managers.'' He raised his eyebrows and the corner of his mouth turned upward. I gently wiped my palms on my pants, trying to remind myself that that's the positive expression I was seeking from powerful man sitting across me, a self-proclaimed *manager by day and painter by night*. Although my mind did begin to wander and consider how much his muscle-growing pills affected his motor function. Perhaps his distinct artistic style was, in fact, wobbly. `` It was once common to say that history repeats itself. That's why it's worth studying, was it not?'' I nodded, knowing where he was going with this. `` The world has not seen any wars in the past seventy years. A new generation of leaders who grew up in that period were eager to preserve the peace and saw no point to the exorbitant arms research. And that was the basis of the *MechForce* treaty that created an centralised robot armed force that would punish any party that did not adhere to the treaty, even those that did not sign it.'' `` You do n't have to be a historian to know that. Tell me, what need do I have of you?'' Somehow, going on and on about my domain gave me the jab of confidence that I needed. `` Which comes to my reason for requesting this meeting with the lead programmer of the *MechForce* robots software.'' I had to laugh at the look on his face. `` No one is supposed to know!'' He said through gritted teeth. `` There are two ways of looking at history: you either go further to dig through a gap in a particular culture, or you go deeper. I have my means of finding things out. And now,'' I continued, giving myself a moment to reorientate, `` this is the reason why I'm here. I'm afraid we are on the brink of the biggest war in human history. And I will show you all the evidence you need to be convinced, but listen to me. A century ago, when our fathers departed from the cycle of human suffering with mind-enhancing drugs? I traced the inventor. He never existed. All I got was a bunch of very strange language, *alien* language. And yes, I took it to the best linguists in the world, in fact they are right outside this door, alongside all walks of experts who are waiting to convince you of their respective findings. We can only guess at the intentions of the ones behind it - after all with what we've uncovered they're definitely more intelligent than we are. But if we had to hazard a guess, the past century has seen a *taming* of the chaos of mankind. We were policing ourselves better and better. And the *MechForce* fleet is where all the power lies, so any plot against mankind in general, be it destroying or ruling us would definitely involve that. I guess, it all comes down to this question.'' `` Do you have an override key to the *MechForce* fleet?'' He stared at me for an extended moment, and then nodded. `` Every programmer leaves little trails behind that gives them the final say if it came down to it.'' I let out a sigh of elation. `` Alright, let me get the rest of the team in here and we'll get down to business.'' -- - Subscribe to my stories on [ Fivens ] ( https: //fivenswrite.wordpress.com ) Edit: grammar

[ WP ] You discover that every time you climax , $ 10,000 dollars is deposited into your bank account , and you are 24 hours away from owing a $ 300,000 ransom .

Luckily I live in a country where Cialis does n't require a prescription. I fire off a load to get some money and go down to the pharmacy. I grab some of that magical infinite boner medication and immediately pop 20mg down the hatch. I rush back home and start pounding one out. I pound and I pound and then I pound some more. Nothing. Its like a fucking redwood down there, Tori Black is going to town on 2 dudes and 3 chicks on my screen, and I still cant climax. Its been 40 minutes of hard fast pounding action and still nothing. I'm starting to get tired. I need to get off 29 more times. I am starting to think that there is NO way I can do this and the Cialis has somehow kept me from being able to climax. Dammit, why could n't I be a woman with a vibrator? This would be so much easier!!! Two more hours pass, I manage to get off only once and even then it was so pathetic that only $ 5000 was put into my account. 28.5 more to go. On the bright side, I now know that I'd pretty much be the John Henry of hammering muff right now. I manage to eek of 1 more over the next hour and then pass out from exhaustion. I wake up about 8 hours later after having the most screwed up dreams. I'm pretty sure I went cave diving and tried to have sex with the cave. My head feels like it is about to explode and my dick feels like it is about to split open from all the blood rushing to it. Between the pressure and being rubbed raw I can hardly touch it. I lay in bed half naked sobbing with a red dick in my hand. I'll never be able to do it. I'm going never going to be able to pay that ransom. I look at the clock, only a few hours left anyways. I decide I'm just going to down the block to the diner and eat one last pie. I try to enjoy the pie but its hard to think of anything other than fucking it and every other item of food in the whole restaurant. Its like I'm 13 again, but not an idiot. Ok, maybe a little bit of an idiot to get myself into this whole mess. My watch starts to beep. Its been 24 hours. I go outside and head around back, the place where the kidnappers said to meet with the money. The have a strange looking woman handcuffed next them. `` Who the fuck is that?'' I ask. `` Whadda mean who the fuck is this? Its your fucking slam.'' `` I have never seen this woman before in my life. Sorry.'' I turn around and walk away. I hear them screaming behind me but I say nothing. You see, it was in that moment, my head pounding and my dick aching, that I realized how much I hated that bitch. As I reenter the dinner, I hear a loud bang from around back. I ca n't help but smile as I approach the waitress to ask for her number. Sue did always hate how much I checked her out. Besides, maybe she could help me make some money.

[ WP ] You live in a world where the day of your death is on your body . You are also extremely bored at the moment , and have begun to test whether or not you have control over your death time .

4-1-2017. Steve is sitting at his computer, drumming his fingers on the desk. April first, he thinks. Not even three months left now and goddamn this is some bullshit. A short life is obviously the worst kind to get in this godforsaken world. Some parents pop that little bastard out and think,'You know what? 20 years is n't long for this world so lets give him a good time.' His parents were of the school of thought that said,'he's dying prematurely, let's not get attached.' And damn it all if they did n't. Steve looked at his forearm. Then back at Reddit. Then he typed in a search. `` Premature Death.'' 0 results from News, just a few from No Sleep and some of the weirder porn subs he was subscribed to. He sat back and looked at his forearm again.'I mean, it would at least pass the time.' He opened askreddit. If you wanted to be the first person to prematurely die, what is the most epic way you could do it? He sat back and waited a few seconds, then refreshed the page. One new response. `` In bed with a belly full of wine and a girls lips wrapped around my cock.'' Well he expected that. It was reddit, after all. The next was better. `` I'd probably live stream it, show some proof, and then try blowing my brains out.'' Steve replied. `` Hang on let me get on twitch right now.'' He posted his channel title, `` D3athcomes4usall'' It was after this that the thread took off. One `` Dude, are you serious'' and it was the tastes good with rice thread all over again. People were ringing in with crazier and crazier answers and Steve was eating up the attention. `` Nope,'' he said on his Twitch stream.'' The razor blades cracked the second they touched my skin, just like u/ballsinmyface hypothesized. It's time to try eating a Fugu venom sac as put forth by u/jetfuelcantmeltdankmemes.'' He toasted his webcam and tossed it in his mouth with a swallow of water. Seconds later he was gagging and retching as his esophagus rejected the sac. `` Ok, thanks for the suggestion, but I'm going to have to move on to...'' and so it went for several more hours. Finally, he was running out of fuel. `` Look guys, I do n't have enough money left to keep trying these out and it's getting late, so I'm going to close it on the suggestion that started this whole thing off, u/thetaintthegrundlethefleshyfunbridge: with a bullet to the brain. Let me just go find my dad's gun.'' Half an hour passed and he finally came back to the screen, a snubnosed revolver in hand. Having learned to be a great showman over the past few hours, he took all of the bullets out except for one and rolled the drum back into place with a satisfying click. The number of people watching had skyrocketed over the past few minutes. `` Thank you all for watching,'' he said after giving it a quick spin. `` Let's make this last one fun, eh?'' He held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger. A small shockwave went out around the world from the force of hundreds of thousands of tightening sphincters. `` I guess it was n't in that one, huh.'' Click. God, but he had n't ever had this much fun. `` Only three more left, which will it be?'' Click. `` Alright, another one bites the dust.'' He thumbed back the hammer. `` Let's see if this-'' the shot rang out and a huge cloud of blood splattered across the screen. The world watched for a few more seconds before Twitch finally cut the feed. In his living room, u/thetaintthegrundlethefleshyfunbridge checked the clock in the bottom right of his screen. 12:01. January 4th, 2017. Or, as the rest of the world writes it, 4-1-2017.

[ WP ] You discover a grand hall filled with legendary weapons like Mjonir and Excalibur . Each generation or so , warriors come to the hall to inherit a weapon that they are worthy enough to wield . Across the hall you see a forgotten weapon that 's been collecting dust . You hear it call to you .

Queens. New York. It was young Don's home, his pride: with his father, they'd *built* this town. Literally all of it. Don coughed, grinding out the butt of his cigarette against the cold-basement concrete. These days, they knew better. These days, smoking killed. Don snorted, but the ironic humor fell flat. Queens was a place of secrets, but... what *was* he looking at? He'd grown up here, in this building, from babe to virile, puissant man. `` I did n't pay to build *this*,'' Don mused aloud. *Or, I would n't have, if I actually paid for anything... * He smiled, thankful for his business acumen and extraordinary talent. Young Don climbed to the bottom of his basement stairs, walking forward under the wan light of an incandescent bulb. Somehow, a great, pillared, stone-arched building- which seemed to open up *into* the ground itself- had been found in his childhood basement. The gilding service ( which, by the way, would be made fully aware of Don's displeasure ) had informed him of a delay due to the `` greater surface area than expected, requiring more gold.'' Don had n't been home since he had become a successful businessman- shortly after his stint as a fetus- and he figured it was time. Well. Whoever had constructed a building under- and, indeed, *adjoining* with Don's childhood home should know that young Don considered squatting to be one of the cardinal sins: up there with income tax, rent control, and sweet potatoes. Don walked across his basement and up to the building. A chill air which smelled oh-so-slightly of a cool, Siberian summer rolled over him. He closed his eyes, lost in a reverie, so sweet, so beautiful- He nearly tripped, as he'd closed his eyes for a moment too long. Had the *gravity* changed? Though the entrance was thrust into the ground at an angle, Don now walked on its floor normally. The entire building was one great, circular room. It had a high ceiling, and at its center, there burnt a great fire. It lacked an obvious source of fuel. *Gas? * Don wondered. To burn such a fire would cost a fortune. Perhaps he *had* build this place? In fact, he vaguely- no, *distinctly* remembered it. Yes, this place was his. Don walked around it, admiring the furnishings his decorator had used. *Fantastic*. A shimmering axe... A sword with a ruby in its hilt... Even a long-barreled rifle. Somehow, along the round edge of the room, these items were suspended in air. `` They're beautiful, are n't they?'' Don jumped in alarm. Someone was in his home! He puffed his chest, and spun, and... *paused. * It was a woman. She was tall, young, and had sharp, well-proportioned features of the sort a man might sculpt. Her bosom was generous, and her hips swayed as she walked. On the whole, Don figured, she was slightly better than plain. Don walked towards her. Naturally, he reached down to, well, *you know*, but to his utter disbelief, she stepped away. `` *Now*, now, Donald.'' `` You know my name?'' Young Don asked. `` I know a great many things, Donald.'' `` I *doubt* that,'' Don muttered under his breath. But when he met the woman's eyes, suddenly, she *changed*. She was no longer a woman: she was a man, with marbled skin. With a forked tail which spoke of power. `` Donald, do you know who I am?'' ``... yes? Yes, I do,'' Young Don lied. It did n't matter- it was another man, with whom Don could speak business. `` Good, Donald. Good.'' The marbled man flicked his tail, smiling, waving his arm around the room. `` These are all weapons, Donald. They have been wielded by the strongest, most impressive men ever to live. Would you like to wield one for me, Donald?'' Don cleared his throat. `` Yes... please,'' Don replied, politely. Meanwhile, he glanced around the room. Hungry. `` Then... choose,'' the marbled man said. Don began to walk forward, but the marbled man held his hand aloft. `` No. *It* will choose *you*.'' Young Don rolled his eyes, but waited. And then, he felt drawn... pulled, towards a hovering weapon which had before eluded his attention. Don walked up to it, *knowing* that it was his, feeling anticipation for the powerful manhood it would help him wield... But, upon inspection, Don nearly choked. `` You think to *scam* me?!'' He turned to the marbled man, raising his voice, angry. `` A piano-sized bowling ball? It's covered in dust, it's useless!'' The marbled man raised an eyebrow. `` Donald, it is covered in dust because it has seen... too little use. But it is my prized weapon, Donald. I wish to give it to you.'' Don scratched his head. `` I... I... Can I have the axe instead?'' Donald sighed, confused. `` Please? It's... so shiny...'' `` Donald, that... *bowling ball*... is worth a million axes. It will split the fabric of the atom itself, and via fission and fusion, it will bring cleansing to a world filled with too many who are *different than you*... And Donald, I will give you more than *four thousand* of them.'' Donald sighed. He just did n't understand. `` But how?'' He asked. `` Simple,'' the marbled man replied. `` I will make you the President... of the United States of America.''

[ WP ] You cry out into the void , hoping for someone , something , or anything to respond ...

The ever dutiful machines whirred and hummed around me. Every bone and muscle in my poor tired body screamed with the familiar pain. `` I swear this is my last contract.'' I thought it every time, but this time I meant it. Just like every time before, I suppose. I drank the electrolyte supplements, the protein supplements, and the Carbohydrate supplements, each one more foul and bitter than the last. I washed the stimulants down with water and got out of the Assisted Hibernation suit to put on my uniform. I must have been one of the first up, as I did n't see anyone else in the locker room. The computer informed me we were home. Anticipating the awakening of the other crew members I dusted off the Champagne and put it on Ice. I sat down at the terminal. `` This is Exploratory Probe Six-Eight-Twelve, Do you read me'' Static. Micrometeorites must have bombarded the communication array, I'd try again when we entered visual range. It was strange, no one else had woken yet. I climbed back up to the center of the ship where it is weightless, where the Assisted Hibernation pods were to check on the rest of the crew. None of them were dead, but they all read Status Critical: Oversleep; Can not Waken. Fortunately we would be in orbit in less than an hour, and I'd be able to pass this problem to more experienced hands. I went back down to the Communications Array, where the Champagne sat on Ice. There was a shimmering blue star up ahead, Earth! No need to let all this Champagne go to waste. I uncorked some of the bubbly. Much to my surprise, I had to pull the cork out, and when i poured it it seemed kind of flat. Thank Corporate, always cutting corners. I poured myself a glass, toasted to my terminal, and took a sip. THE FUCK. It bit my tongue, not with the bubbles but with a woody sharp taste, it was like licking a tree or an old leather bound book. Something was flashing on the terminal. `` Hyperdrive Failure'' I was n't from engineering, so I was n't equipped to deal with that. The Blue Dot was the size of my pinky nail, even with a shot com array, we HAD to be in range now. I raised them again. A few measured beeps, but mostly static. Hell, last mission, autopilot would have taken over by now, correcting our orbit and preparing us for unload, crew update, and redeployment. I spent a few hours running diagnostics on the com system and checking internal fuses. Everything was in order. By now I could make out clouds and continents. We were approaching from the Solar side, so it was a beautiful blue-green marble, dolloped with swirling clouds. I took a few snaps of it for my family, they seemed to love those. The only replies I could raise were from automatic satellites, and even their responses were spotty at best. After a good few hours I finally entered orbit, the dark side of the Earth coming into view. I corrected the orbit manually, and after more than an hour I had finally stabilized it. I went to one of the windows to see a crescent earth, more night than day now, and like the moon, completely black in the night, meaning we were over an ocean. I snapped a few more images for the family and tried raising them again. More static. With a shot array, there was nothing I could do, I was n't certified to service the array on the outside of the ship. Nothing to do but wait. I saw more of the earth at night, and still there was no light. We could n't still be over an ocean! I opened the memo for engineering titled `` Hyperdrive Failure'' Apparently our ship had never entered Hyperdrive, and we had traveled all 120 lightyears at sub-light speeds. I ran another diagnostic on the communications array. Again, it came back clean, perfect condition. Sweat beaded on my brow, I glanced at the champagne. No champagne I had tasted had ever tasted that way. My breaths became short and sharp. I toggled over to long range com, trying to hail a ship, any ship. We came around to the dawn side of earth, I fired up Telemetrics and using GPS found a city, any city. It must have been wrong, it had to be wrong. There was a forest. Even the coast lines were all wrong. The Comm Systems had to be wrong, This was n't earth, It could n't be! The computers had gotten confused! This was a planet slated for colonization! Back to Telemetrics. I turned the scopes from planet side to the stars. The coasts were wrong, but the constellations were right. The memo from Engineering was right. My blood ran cold. The computer was n't lying. I glanced at the Champagne, it was n't lying either. No Champagne tasted like that. I checked the Computer's Chronometer. It had cycled over on itself, it was only able to measure years in four digits. What was there to do now?

[ WP ] You are a Human-Genie hybrid . You can grant one wish to anyone who ... rubs you the right way . ( Do n't be dirty ! ) Of course , you have a genie sense of humor about those wishes .

`` Aaaah! What the fuck was that?'' `` Aaah! What on earth?'' Brown liquid was now seeping into the kitchen floor. After her shout, the old woman just stared back at him gormlessly. `` No I screamed first. Now I know you're surprised to see someone pop out of nowhere but what the fuck was that? `` I...'' `` And what the hell is this brown shit I've got all over me?'' `` It... it'' And she fainted. It took a few minutes before she finally came to again. `` Oh good, you're awake. Let's clarify exactly what just happened here. I, a hugely powerful but relatively benign demon, was enjoying a relatively uneventful morning, minding my own business in my lamp. Then all of a sudden I'm given 3rd degree burns, and drowned in a watery brown substance that smells like dead animal. By you. What. The. Hell.'' `` I thought... thought... y-'' `` Come on spit it out.'' `` y-your'' She was pointing at his lamp and yabbering rubbish. He'd had enough of the gibbering fool of a woman. `` Ok I promise I wo n't hurt you and we can forget everything that just happened. All you have to do is repeat these words after me. I wish-'' `` I wish'' `` I weren't-'' `` I were n't'' And with a sudden snap of his fingers the woman never existed. That would teach them for bothering his 1000 year slumber in such a rude manner. He got rid of every trace of the offending brown liquid and returned to his lamp. *** Brian walked into his kitchen to grab his dinner. Funny that, he was sure he did n't have a clue how to cook a beef joint before, but there it was waiting for him. He was deaf as a post and forgetting so many things these days. Still he'd come to terms with it. After all, there's no escaping old age. He grabbed a knife and fork from the cutlery draw and sat down to start eating Was n't bad if he said so himself. Bit dry though.

[ WP ] You stumble into a universe where you discover that your life is an incredibly popular book/movie/piece of media . Then you find the fanfiction .

I flashed into an empty apartment. This universe traveling thing was always annoying. You never knew where you were going to end up. I opened the envelope, took the money out, scanned the letter telling me that this universe was relatively safe and that the apartment was mine. I pocketed the cash and wandered over to the couch to see what the dominant language was and if something particular was going on in the world. Some toothless college sitcom came on. But it was in English so I took it as a win. A red haired girl in relatively conservative clothing was talking to what appeared to be her roommate, who was wearing a blue wig. just what I used to wear, I thought to myself. And that red hair looked a lot like Janet's, my old roommates. The conversation stopped when a slightly heavyset and dark haired boy burst into the room. The red haired girl looked at him condescendingly `` You know, we could have been changing.'' `` Then you should lock your door.'' He said as he caught his breath, cuing the laugh track. The boy started explaining how he needed an excuse to get away from his bitchy girlfriend and I could not help the feeling that this was all familiar. I was starting to think about my various college friends when I heard `` We will be right back with more'Em' after these messages, on TBS''. My Blood ran cold. That was my nickname in college. I immediately turned off the television and rushed over to the computer. `` It's no big deal'' I thought to myself. `` It was probably canceled after one season.'' Naturally I started with Wikipedia. ``'Em' Is one of the most ubiquitous television sitcoms of the late 90s and early 2000s. Running for ten seasons...'' I leaned back in the chair. How could anyone be that interested in me and my college friends dicking around? I figured it probably did n't follow my life that closely so I looked at the episode list. Sure enough every single episode was something that had happened, although I had n't remembered a lot of it until just now. I backed out of the Wikipedia article to find a lot. Forums. Fansites. Blogs about the show. And Fanfiction. Against my better judgement I clicked on the last one to immediately see Em X Janet before immediately regretting it. And then saw hordes of derivatives or people `` Fixing'' the fact that I ended up dating Dan for a few years. I was tempted to yell at all the people over the internet that 1 he was not `` just a rageaholic jackass'' and 2 we broke up after a few years anyway before calming down and closing out the computer. I wondered if anyone would recognize me.

[ WP ] Someone experiences a color they previously could n't see for the first time .

# # # # # # [ ] ( # dropcap ) The doctors say I'll be able to recognize the entire palette of visible light by tomorrow. However, at this point I just want to go home. My weary eyes drain my energy, and to be frank, I'm a little skeptical about the procedure. The experts told me beforehand that it is fairly safe with minimal to no side effects. I have been cautiously optimistic, but now that it had been completed, and my vision is blocked by an eye mask, I see nothing but a blank black void with splotches theorized to be the evidence of neutrinos. My caution grows slow and steady like a rocket launch—the point of atmospheric escape is to the rocket as the results of the procedure is to my caution. I have been instructed to stay the night for my eyes to recover. A distinct scent dances on my olfactories, a smell so uncommon in a normal person's everyday life, yet I know it well for I had memorized it as a kid. I had underwent test after test, year after year, ever since I was a small boy. You can imagine I had become familiarized with the hospital ’ s scent. Even after less than a handful of decades had passed, there is no way I could have forgotten it. My childhood naiveté had often attracted puzzled looks and alienating treatment from my schoolmates. I remember one time before I had been diagnosed with deuteranomaly—red-green color blindness—I had asked my classmates to play on the orange soccer field at the back of our school. They had cautiously corrected me with furrowed brows, but quickly shrugged it off in order to play. I had went along with what they said, but I knew, or I thought I knew, the field's grass was the color orange and not green. I had been enrolled in my first or second year of public school, at the time, when my teacher reported my confusion to my parents; when my hospital visits have begun. Now I lay on the soft white sheets in the building I have come to know on an intimate level. I am free to do as I please, within the doctor's orders, but I would rather not disturb the nurses. They have plenty of other patients in dire need than to help a temporarily blind man. For instance my roommate constantly calls for the nurses due to his terminal cancer. I would be remiss to take his time with the nurses away by calling them to set up a podcast for me to listen to throughout the night. I'll be leaving in the morning, while he will still be here indefinitely. My mind drifts from thought to thought, until the sandman pulls me under. Before I realize what's happening, a nurse brings me out of a deep slumber, and guides me into a chair across from my doctor. `` Well then, are you excited, Tom? If all had gone accordingly, you will be able to see all the colors Newton bequeathed us.'' `` Yes, Dr. Sullivan, I am thrilled.'' `` Good, good. Nurse Charan will now unwrap the eye mask. As he does this, I will explain what will happen. The lights are currently dimmed to nearly being off. We will increase the intensity slowly until the lights turn completely on.'' I open my eyes with a slight hesitation. Dr. Sullivan is right. I almost ca n't see anything. Everything is blurred. Charan increases the intensity of light and suddenly I can begin to make out faint objects due to the brightness but there is still blurriness. Another increase and the blurriness begins to fade. There is a curious scene in front of me. The doctor's voice had come from in front of me, but I do not see his silhouette. No. I see the silhouette of two... people. I am caught off guard by tears rolling down both of my cheeks. I realize my face is hot, my nose is flaring up, my mouth forms a downward crescent, and there is a twisting in my stomach. I wipe my tears away with both of my forearms. I open my eyes slowly, the light bulbs are at full intensity, and I see my aging parents for the first time in my life. Their graying hair is absolute, but their clothes... My mother wears her favorite flowery red rose dress, the pattern is unmistakable—over the years, I had help identifying what colors the different shades of blue and yellow represented. But this sensation of finally seeing the color red for the first time is indescribable. Her once medium-yellow garment is now a vibrant dancing warm sight—the popping petals penetrate my eyes. My father is wearing what he calls his brown corduroy pants and green button up dress shirt. I had always known his slacks to be a deep dark almost black yellow, and his shirt had been an off dark almost grey yellow. His combination of outfit colors must make him look like a tree. I ca n't help but smile at the thought, and my parents smile back in turn. His corduroys look solid, the ridges are like the bark of a tree. His shirt is just as visually appealing as mother's red dress, but in a whole new shade—no, a whole new color—I can only imagine what leaves and grass might look like. But this is enough for now. I'm content with seeing my parents in a whole new way. These new colors dig down deep into my soul where this memory will reside for the rest of my life.

[ IP ] Dream of Freedom .

Suddenly I awoke. There were birds chirping outside. I even heard people cutting the grass. It was strange I have n't heard those sounds since I was bit a kid. In my early 20 the Schnitzel party formed. They quickly gained fame in politics and now control most of our country. They began by speaking out to the middle man. But suddenly one night they held coup d'etat and set their fascists ideals forward. Strict curfews, match making, job positioning, they did it all. There was not a damn thing we could do about it either. I looked at the clock it was only 6 am. Why are people out cutting grass? That's not done until 7. The birds should be gone. The Schnitz does not allow any form of rodent. Especially those flying rats. I got dressed in my green work assigned jumpsuit and stepped outside. There were people everywhere on my street. Some were talking amongst each other, some were walking their dogs. Generally everyone was happy. It's been so long since I've seen smiles like this. Most noticeably were their clothes. Many were wearing denim jeans and loose fitting shirts. It appeared as anarchy. Why were n't they wearing their work jumpsuits or at least the government approved off duty clothes. I just continued on. I would be late if I stopped to find out what was happening. There was no time for communication, work was the only satisfaction I needed. So onward to the mill. I approacrhed the dull building. I knew it well. The creamy beige represented an actively controlled building. The team of snipers on the roof train their sights on you the moment you turn down the street. The guards on each corner stare menacingly as in you are next. And if you forget your badge you might as well as walk your self to prison. When I turned the corner the red dot did not appear on my chest. Normally right where my heart would be. I eyes the roof there was nothing up there. The guards on the street were missing too. The door to the bland building was unlocked. As I walked in I could hear a party in the back. I stepped in to quite a sight. There were empty bottles of alcohol everywhere. People were dancing. My supervisor stepped up to me. His work suit had it's arms torn off and all the logos and patches were torn off. He informed me that the Schnitzels had disappeared over night. We were free again. He told me to go home put on my best clothes. I had the day off. Suddenly I awoke. I could here the shrill of the curfew sirens. Gun shots were ringing across the city. Distant screams could be heard. I looked at the clock. It was only 2 am. How could I listen to this for another night?

[ WP ] First contact has been established . The aliens are friendly , although fanatically religious . As we learn from each other , there seems to be more to their religion than unverifiable myths and fables ...

Our bombardment of space with TV and Radio waves did n't go unnoticed. Much like how almost everyone in grandparents generation recalled exactly where they were when they heard the news of President Kennedy being shot and like how everyone in my parents generation could remember exact memories of where they were and what they were doing when the Twin Towers fell, our generation will forever remember First Contact. That fateful day 2 months ago when the alien ship, sleek, menacingly long and unnaturally oblong descended from the skies and hovered silently over Singapore. Predictably the world went crazy. Riots, rape and pillage, induced by paranoia and fuelled by the rantings and ravings of all sorts of crackpot ideological preachers who seemed to have sprung up overnight spread around the world. It did n't help that the world leaders quickly lost control of the situation and ran around like headless chickens. The last two months have been hell. But slowly the world seems to be settling down into a new rhythm. Getting more confident that we can survive this. Maybe even come out of this in a better, more advantageous position. The ship still hovers over Singapore but now we think we know what they want. Why they came. From what I've heard from my sources - they are friendly and bear no ill will towards us There has n't been a large uptick in the number of claims about being zapped up and probed anally or via any other orifice although you would have thought that the police and other agencies would be flooded with such complaints. It's as if we have always felt that they are benign. Sounds crazy but that's what it is. Moreover, they seem to share fanatical religious sentiments as with similar people of Earth. With one key difference. Where the people of the Earth believe in ancient myths and miraculous stories of our Gods, these Travelers from a distant home seem to believe in altogether something different. Actually believe does n't seem to a strong enough word. It's as if their core DNA or whatever is their equivalent is made up of this one thought. They think WE are their Gods. And this is their pilgrimage. A species that is producing so much output just for fun and entertainment seems to them like we have mastered and solved all other problems. Now, tell me how can we not believe them. For that would mean not believing in ourselves.

[ WP ] You possess an ability to turn off one or more of your senses to heighten the others . Today is the day you make a mistake .

Something they do n't tell you about superpowers, they blow. If you ever find a magic lamp, for fucks sake, do n't wish for Superman's powers. That bundle also comes with dead parents, both adoptive and genetic. But let's get to me. My power is enhanced senses. Pretty low level. The government describes sense-oriented powers as street tier with possible application in the intelligence community. Threat level two to four. I was n't that happy with my score, I was certain if I tried hard enough I could totally obtain nuclear launch codes or some cliché bad guy thing if I lived up to my full potential. But I did n't want to do any of that, so maybe they factor that into your threat level too. Anyway I guess my worst experience thus far was going to the county fair. As far as I knew, I was the only powered person in my friend group, because despite what the media might tell you, we supers do n't grow on trees. We did the classic teenager shit, I made fun of David because he was fat, he shot back that I was dumb. Everybody was grinning with the notable exception being Lisa and Drew whom were making out behind the wack-a-mole machine. We did all the rides, David reluctantly holding our shit near a bench, claiming that paying to get thrown around in a metal machine that was built last week and rested on wooden blocks was the most nonsensical thing he's ever heard. `` Pussy.'' Drew said, snickering. `` What is something that Drew will never get from Lisa'' David said in mock TV host fashion. I laughed at Drew's scowl. Mac, not wanting to 3rd wheel Drew and Lisa took a seat next to me on the Ferris wheel. The five of us sometimes became the three of us when Drew and Lisa were with each other. We heard a faint yell from towards the Whirl-A-Bout. `` Good thing we rode that before some kid caked it in regurgitated churros.'' He said in a detached tone. I shrugged, looking down at the fair. Noticing a lot of people had gone, my eyebrows furrowed as I canceled my taste in favor of better eyesight, noticing that all the security was gone. `` Fuckin' Rent-A-Cops bailed.'' I muttered to Mac. Mac made a face. `` I think we should bail too, something does n't feel right.'' We finally got down from the Ferris Wheel. Dismounting, I saw what Mac meant. The Ferris Wheel Operator had left too, the ride was on auto. I smelled smoke. I looked to Lisa to see if she lit a cig. But she was just telling Drew off about something. Mac grabbed my shoulder, pointing to a plume of grey smoke rising from the other side of the fair. `` Fuck, let's book it.'' I said, turning to everyone. `` Somebody text David'' Drew said, fear creeping into his voice. `` We ca n't.'' Lisa said with a frown. `` He has all of our shit.'' We heard yells of increasing volume. `` To hell with that, just get out of here.'' Mac said, looking around the increasingly frightening scene. He pointed towards the fence that some kids used to hop to avoid paying. Lisa went first, Drew closely behind. I went over next. Mac bit his lip. That was his tell that he was about to do something retarded. `` Mac do n't you fucking dare pull some wacky shit.'' Drew said accusingly, poking Mac in the chest through a hole in the fence. Mac flashed a sad smile. He touched the fence dramatically. Sparks flew off of his hands. `` Too late'' he said, almost mournfully. He turned and sprinted towards the inferno. Drew ran against the fence, grabbing it and immediately recoiling. `` Fuck!'' Drew shouted, turning towards me and Lisa. It all hit us at the same time. Turns out I'm not the only super in the group. I shut off my vision, feeling, and taste. Upped my hearing. It was heard to make something out of the roaring fire. I shut off smell too. Listening for Mac. Did n't work. I shut everything off except feeling. I could feel the columns of flame. I could also feel Mac. He was saving people, zapping passed out people awake and pointing to exits. I cursed myself for having nothing more than a power which only helped me watch. He saved 4 more people before running back to the fence. I restored my senses, looking quizzically at Drew's angry face before realizing he must've been trying to talk to me when I had hearing canceled out. Mac was almost here. It did n't occur to me that somebody was chasing him. He grabbed the edges of the fence before realizing there was n't enough distance between him and his pursuer. I wondered why he was running from some normie who could just be zapped. That was of course until I saw the stranger holding a ball of pure, white hot fire. `` The fire was n't an accident'' Drew said, grimly, voicing my thoughts. Drew told Lisa to run. He told me to go with her. `` What the fuck are you gon na do? The fence has still got a million volts running through it.'' I yelled. `` I'm gon na help him over this fence when he kicks this flamelicked asshole's teeth in.'' Drew said, his voice sounding much more confident than he looked. I turned, grabbed Lisa's hand, and ran. Once we were two blocks away. I told Lisa to stay close to me before I shut off my senses except hearing. The fight was n't going well. Mac bobbed back and forth between flames, each time I heard him cry out a little, he was probably singed from head to toe. Then the fire stopped for a second Then two seconds. Then three and then four and then five. And then all I heard was a massive whoosh. I listened desperate for Mac, relieved when I heard his breathing. The flaming faggot had missed with a fireball the size of a small sumo wrestler. I switched to feeling and realized that he had blown a hole in the fence. I felt the air around Drew move. He was running in. He grabbed Mac and they hauled ass for the hole in the fence. They were so fucking close. Flames chased them and eventually overcame them. I felt the air vibrate with their screams. Then I felt something else, something I've only felt once. The air around Drew hummed. Then I recognized the feel. It's what I felt when I got my powers. Drew turned. Desperately, I switched my senses to hearing. Something that I truly regret. Because I heard what happened to the stranger. Every bone in both of his legs made a sound like nails on chalkboard. I heard every single microfracture in his bones. What followed sounded more animal than human. His scream pierced the night amidst the sirens and the fire. Then I heard the air around Drew's fist shift, and I heard the strangers neck snap. This one was n't a lot of tiny cracks, just one decisive movement. Then Drew collapsed alongside Mac. I sat in a hospital bed. Apparently I had sprained my ankle hopping the fence. That seemed like a million years ago. I looked at the ceiling numbly. That will never happen again. I'm never going to stand idle. I'm going to become something different. Something that makes the government change the maximum threat level for sense-oriented people. Feedback welcome.

[ WP ] Excerpts from an immortal person 's life through the ages of humanity

*JOURNAL ENTRY 21* *15 DECEMBER, 1903* *CALCUTTA, BENGAL PROVINCE, BRITISH INDIA* *I have made the discovery of a lifetime. A young boy, not yet ten years of age, born here in Calcutta to an Irish soldier father and an Indian mother. The locals call him'Ravana', after a god of theirs said to be invulnerable to gods and mortals alike. When it comes to this child, they are not far off... * *This child has a unique physiology. His cells grow and die extremely rapidly, causing him to heal from all wounds at astounding speeds. I would not believe it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. * *We have tried various methods of injury. They have all been ineffective. Burns, cuts, bruises, even poison... any damage done to his body is repaired almost immediately. * *The limits of this ability are still unknown. What physical processes this ability extends to are unknown. It is entirely possible that, given enough time, he will begin to heal even the damage of aging, rendering him completely and truly immortal. * *More research is needed. * ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– `` For the immense bravery and valor he exhibited in Somme and Verdun, we are proud to award the Victoria Cross to Lieutenant Salman Kent!'' A handsome young man, with olive skin and a mess of curly black hair, took the stage, dressed in full army attire. He shook hands with the pale, overweight governor that manned the podium, and his hazel eyes briefly met the governor's blue ones. The governor recoiled. He had seen many soldiers who had recently returned from combat. He had seen their dead, expressionless eyes -- the eyes of men who lived in sheer terror every moment of every day for months. These were not those eyes. These were the eyes of a man without fear. ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– `` Come on, Sal. Calm down.'' The large German man laughed at him as he said this, turning away to grab another beer from the cooler. `` Jimmy, I know what I saw!'' Salman protested, `` The Italians are planning a full-frontal assault on us. We have to get ready!'' `` Please. As if anyone'd be insane enough to attack us on our own turf.'' He chuckled again. `` You know what I say? I say, let'em come. They deserve whatever they get.'' `` Jimmy, please. There going to be here soon! Grab a gun, a knife, do *something! *'' `` I'll tell you what, Salman.'' James, the German, replied, `` If you're so scared, take the day off. I'm sure ol' Moran will understand, your wanting to save your own skin.'' `` No, I'm not afraid for me, I'm afraid for y–'' Salman collapsed, blood and brain matter spraying from the back of his head. The one wound turned into four, then eight, before he finally fell. James swore and reached to his left, trying to find his pistol. This was interrupted, just as Salman's speech was, by a bullet to the head, followed by a spray of bullets across the rest of him. Peter Gusenberg was the next to go down, taking two slugs to the head and neck. His brother, Frank, looked over in horror, only to be taken down by eight shots to the chest. John May, the mechanic, was next, with a spray of bullets all across his body. Finally, Albert Weinshank showed up, running across the park with a revolver in hand. The two Italian gunmen lost their grins when they saw his face, but they fired anyway, effectively killing the old man. `` Shit! It was n't Moran!'' The younger of the two gunmen swore. In rage, he picked up Weinshank's revolver and unloaded all six of its rounds into Frank's dead body. The older gunman looked solemnly at Salman. `` Do you understand what we just did?!'' The younger gunman yelled, `` We just started a fucking gang war!'' `` This one...'' The older gunman began, kicking Salman in the ribs, `` Is he one of ours? He looks kind of Italian.'' `` I do n't think so.'' The younger gunman said, anxiously running his hands through his hair. He flinched visibly when the older gunman shot Salman in the back of the neck. `` He did n't quite seem dead.'' The older gunman said dryly. `` So,'' the younger gunman muttered, `` What do you propose we do?'' `` We'll just have to tell Capone...'' The older one said, grabbing the younger and forcing him to walk with him, ``... and hope he forgives us.'' The moment they were out of earshot, Salman sat up. Several bullets fell to the blood-soaked concrete around him, making a quiet metallic clinging sound. He tasted blood, so he spit it out onto the ground next to him. He was sore -- he always was after a big regeneration. However, he was more concerned about his gang mates, the seven men who had been gunned down with him. He heard a groan, and looked over at its source. Frank Gusenberg was staring at him in horror, fully conscious despite his many bullet wounds. `` Frank!'' Salman yelled, running over to the only other survivor. He cradled the man in his arms, holding him upright to try to keep him from chocking on his own blood. `` Frank, are you alright?'' The immortal yelled. `` You... died.'' Frank wheezed out, `` I... I saw you.'' `` I do n't go down easy.'' Salman chuckled, `` I never have. Back in India, they called me Ravana -- the invincible one. I can heal from anything.'' `` Sounds... a lot like... a gift from God...'' Frank said, half chuckle and half wheeze. `` Sometimes.'' Salman confessed, `` Other times, it feels more like a curse.'' `` I... ca n't see why...'' Frank mused, before loudly coughing up a puddle of blood. `` Do n't you get it?'' Salman said, angrily, `` I'm going to have to leave Chicago now! If the Italians see me alive, this whole situation will turn out worse -- for everyone.'' He looked Frank in the eyes, peering deep into the man's dark brown orbs. There was n't much life left in them, but he'd definitely be alive when the police arrived. `` That's why... that's why you ca n't tell anyone. Not the police, not the paramedics, nobody. Not a word about this to anybody, understand?'' Frank nodded, and Salman put him down. The immortal turned and ran, ducking into an alleyway just in earshot right as the police arrived. `` Who did this?'' An officer asked Frank as he was loaded onto a stretcher, `` Who shot you?!'' Frank grinned, and a trail of blood dripped down his chin. He turned to the officer, and took a shaky breath inwards. `` Nobody shot me.'' –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

[ WP ] Whenever she has a dream , one detail from the dream comes true the next day . Lately she 's been having nightmares .

For as long as Cassie could remember, the waking world and her dreams had been intertwined. Once or twice a week she'd drift up from a deep slumber with a vivid picture of events to come, and in the twenty years she'd lived they had never been wrong. She'd come to trust the visions implicitly, but had only told one person of her prophetic dreams. Other people had, she learned, experienced a similar phenomenon; an inexplicable sense of deja vu that followed a dream of future events. However, none were as perfect and precise as hers, and for a long time it had scared her. The fear had faded with time, until she made the biggest mistake of her life. Normally her dreams were mundane. Bumping into a man on the street and spilling her coffee, missing her train, or forgetting her phone in the bathroom at work. Sometimes she would forget the dream within moments and events would transpire as predicted, the memory only coming to her again as they played out. Other times she would intentionally guide her life down the path of the dream, to see if she was right again. For the first time in her life Cassie deviated from her premonition, and wished more than anything that she had n't. It was such a simple thing, taking a different taxi to be on time for her appointment, but she had no idea of the consequences for her actions. Her dreams had changed as a result. The next night had been a nightmare, more vivid and terrifying than she could have imagined. She dreamed she was choking on smoke, struggling to crawl past dancing flames and to the door of an room she had never seen before. Wheezing, her face and hands seared to the bone, she collapsed from inhalation before waking in a cold sweat, the taste of smoke on her tongue. It ended up being an apartment fire a few blocks away from her home, a dozen people dead, and she had seen the devastation from the eyes of a woman who never made it out. Two nights later another dream, another disaster. This time a multiple car accident that took two lives. After that she vowed she would do what she could to stop the next nightmare. She would remember every detail of it, and keep it from happening. If she could take a different taxi, perhaps she could give someone a chance at life. She had n't been prepared to see her own death. She'd gone to the diner she liked down the street, and was halfway through her meal when they came in. Two men, faces cold and eyes distant. The glanced around the diner once, taking in every man, woman, and child, before the shooting started. A dozen thunderclaps filled the room, as the shooters cut down every single person in the diner. Cassie tried to hide behind her booth, the screams and tears of the other patrons interrupted by the heavy staccato of gunfire. A man came around the corner, saw her, and with a flash of light and sound she woke in her bed. Crying, she hugged her knees to her chest, sitting in pitch blackness for hours. All those people, dead and dying, and her among them. It was too much for her to take in. The blood, the smell of gunpowder, it lingered in her senses. As the sun began to rise, Cassie got dressed. She needed to clear her head, to get out of her cramped flat and think. Slipping on a jacket to fight off the morning chill, she hit the pavement. She could n't go to the diner if she wanted to live. Her dreams *always* came true. Yet, if she did n't do something, all those people there without her would die. The police would never believe her, and would likely think it's a prank or the words of a psychotic. If she played it right maybe she could get a cruiser out there before it happened, but she had no idea of the exact time. She'd been too caught up in the gunfire to look at a clock. Cassie had been walking for three blocks before she felt a slight uneasiness, and looked up. Across the street, standing among a handful of early risers, a man was staring at her. He was dressed in jeans and a light jacket, a frown on his face. For a moment she panicked before realizing it was n't one of the gunmen from her dream, but the man's keen interest in her was unnerving. She kept on, pretending she had n't noticed his gaze, but kept him in her periphery. The man followed her from a safe distance, and Cassie took a deep breath. She had the means to defend herself, and she was n't about to let the man follow her and find out where she lived. Stepping into an alley, far enough in to be out of sight but able to scream for help if she needed, Cassie stopped and waited for her stalker. His footsteps were light and quick, as he rushed to catch up. Wrapping her fingers around the canister in her jacket pocket, she hugged the wall and waited. The moment the man came around the corner, she gave him a full dose of pepper spray, the colored stream hitting him in his gaping mouth and nose. With a sharp gasp the man stumbled into the wall of the building next to her, losing his footing and collapsing to the pavement. `` Holy shit.'' He said, wheezing, and burying his face in his arm. `` Did you really just mace me?'' `` Who the hell are you, and why are you following me?'' `` Calm down, I'm trying to help you.'' `` Right, of course you are.'' She replied, laughing, as tears streamed from the man's eyes. `` Who are you? A random creep, or something worse?'' `` I'm neither.'' He said, coughing harshly. `` Cassie, you have to listen to me.'' `` How the *fuck* do you know my name?!'' She screamed, preparing to give him a fresh spray. `` My name's Tyler.'' He said quickly, bloodshot eyes peering up at her pleadingly. `` This if the first time you've met me, but I've known you for a very long time.'' `` What?'' `` Okay, just hear me out. In the fifth grade you had a crush on a boy in your class. His name was Brandon, and he transferred in from another school. You wrote all about him in your diary. You said he had eyes as deep and blue as the ocean.'' Cassie stood, shocked, her eyes wide. She could remember vividly that night, lying in bed and scribbling away in her diary. She'd torn up the entry the next day in case her parents found the diary, and nobody had ever seen it except her. There was no way this man could know about it. `` I've dreamed about you for as long as I can remember.'' Tyler said, using the wall to slowly stand. `` A few times a month, I would see you in my sleep. I was there when you broke your arm falling down the stairs, and the day your mother passed away.'' `` How... how could you know all this?'' `` I'm a Seer. I dream of people and places I've never been, never the same person, except you. I've always been careful never to try and find you, but somehow *they* still found out who you are. If you do n't come with me, right now, you're going to be shot and killed tonight.'' A heavy silence fell over the two of them, as Tyler struggled to keep his eyes open. Cassie simply stared at him, unable to find words to describe her fear and amazement. After all this time she had found someone like her, another person whose dreams folded into reality, and her first act was to mace him. `` If you come with me, we can stop them.''

[ WP ] Write the last paragraph of a science fiction epic .

He stood at the console, the ship slowly tearing itself to pieces beneath his feet. It had even been a long war an the man reflected in the dead view screens seemed like a stranger to him. The once bright eyes had dulled and the lines on his face told of countless battles and defeated foes. He'd never thought he would the would see the end of the war and in a way, he was right. He would n't witness it because he would cause it. Ramming the ship into the Corelith homeworld would stop them dead. Cut off from their hive-mind, they would simply shit down. He slowly reached for the ship's coms and turned them on. `` Attention all hands. We've fought a long fight and lost good men and women. Nevertheless, we've pushed on, made headway and persevered through incredible odds. Unfortunately, our luck has run out and fate has finally caught up to us. The ship is dying and she wo n't last long. Abandon ship and fall back as far as you can. I intend to buy you some time. Push your escape pods to the limit, do n't look back and raise a toast when you get home. Remember, *aequum et gloria*. Remember the *Androssis* fondly. It has been an honor and privelage serving with each and every one of you.'' The coms gave a small click as they turned off. The captain turned and faced his bridge crew to wish them well but none had made a move. Their stony gazes told him their intent. `` Thank you all. I ca n't express how much this means to me. Wait for the escape pods to reach three kilometers out then fire engines full ahead.'' `` Sir, no escape pods have been launched. Sensors show coms are up and fully functional. Personnel are moving to battle stations and observation decks. Barring those in medical all crew members have reported ready for duty.'' The captain turned to face the forward windows. He was truly a lucky man to have such a loyal crew. He thumbed the coms again, broadcasting to every corner of the ship. `` Attention all hands. You have given your all for this ship and history will remember the sacrifices you make here today. Mr. Kim, set course for the center of the Corelith homeworld. Col. Michaelson, ramming speed on my mark. Let's end this. 3,2,1 MARK'' I may have cheated a bit. I got into it.

[ WP ] Humanity makes it to the stars and discovers a species that is better than us in every way . We fight them because that 's all we know .

The watch captain stared at the document in front of him for several moments. At first, he wondered why it was even on his desk. The heading'you should read this', seemed redundant at first. He read everything that came across his desk. It was from Farl'ayn, the spy dispatched to the planet that called itself Earth. Such a boring name. From his understanding, the word meant dirt in one of their own languages. And how could a culture have made it to the point of interstellar travel when they had n't even unified into one society yet? Even now, they still had different languages, customs, and even governments. The unified world leadership that had seemed to be in charge at first was just a committee of diplomats. Just a way for the different nations to keep things civil between themselves. The creatures themselves, humans, as they called themselves in what seemed to be their dominate language, were pretty pathetic. Not very large, on average almost a foot shorter then the average Cal'askan, and even less solidly built. In hand-to-hand combat a single Cal'askan warrior could handle a dozen or more of the humans. They were n't really all that intelligent, as evidenced by their lack of creativity and sub-par technology. The only things these creatures had going for them was stubbornness, or they would have already surrendered. `` There's no way we can lose this war.'' The Captain thought to himself. The humans had started it, he did n't even feel bad about it. The captain shook himself out of his reverie, and looked back at the report. It was an excerpt from an article written on Earth, still in its native language. Struggling though the article, the Captain knew the language but was n't quite fluent in it yet, he quickly saw why. Translating it would have lost quite a bit of meaning. Earthlings did love their idioms after all. After reading through, he failed to see the significance. He almost threw it away, but went through it again. If Farl'ayn thought it was important, he probably should n't dismiss it. After the second time through, he was about to call it one of Farl'ayn's few mistakes. Just before he dropped the paper into the disposal slot, he stopped. He'd had a thought. He pulled out a manual translation guide, and went through the article again, this time checking those idioms a little closer. After a third time through, he sat back in his chair, and clasped a scaled claw to his forehead. `` There's no way we'll win this war.'' he thought in despair. `` Sirs,'' Captain Ayrs'ouft said, speaking to a council of his superiors, `` This information we received describes the human's reaction to one of their athletes cheating in an organized competition. Their reaction is what brings me before you. It would seem that the humans were not outraged that one of their athletes would cheat. They were not outraged that the cheater was not exiled, or perhaps killed for his cheating. They were outraged, it would seem, because he cheated in too obvious of a manner. It would seem, sirs, that as long as a human cheats subtly, and does n't get caught, then its accepted. That `` working around'' the rules is an acceptable way of competing. And that, sirs, is just in their games. The things they do for entertainment. After reading this article, I have ordered more research. I have done a little bit on my own. It would seem that this race is dedicated to the idea of victory, even using the expression `` victory at all costs.'' And that ideal, to them, is appropriate at levels. From games played by their children, all the way to war. Sirs, we are not going to defeat these people. They will do anything they can to win, even if it means destroying themselves in the process.'' The council members looked among themselves, not yet convinced by the Captain's words. The research material was passed around. They began reading.

[ WP ] Write your heart onto your sleeve , Reddit .

I Can Say Nothing More. _________________________________________________________ To kiss your hand immense, To kiss your lips divine. So I kiss your hand and bid you sweet goodbye — For I may never touch your lips. Nor could I truly show these feelings I have felt. For I am stuck to the earth and can not reach into the heavens. A man I am, nothing more and nothing less. An angel, a Goddess you are. Nothing less and so much more. What have I to offer? All that is petty to you? My love, my life? Well you could have any man's, So mine are nothing. But I give them to you. This Goddess, this angel I adore, I love you. I can say nothing more.

[ WP ] Your body and your soul are two seperate beings . They have always been in sync . Describe what happens when that cycle is broken .

When he came back from the party, I was waiting by the door. He sighed. He knew this talk had been coming for a long time. `` Do you even want to be together?'' I asked `` Look... Lately you have just been a bit off'' my body replied `` I just need a little space'' `` A little space?'' I asked incredulously `` A little space? You and me make up the same person, we are supposed to get along, do things together. You ca n't just go partying off by yourself.'' `` I can'' He said firmly `` What do you expect me to do? Help you? You can barely help yourself. All you want to do is sit around all day and mope. I ca n't take it anymore. It's starting to affect me too you know. Look at me- I'm getting fat, and out of shape. I wan na experience the world, and your depression is just dragging me down with you.'' He grew quiet, knowing he had crossed a line. I stayed silent, and waited for him to say something. `` I think we should get a divorce''

[ WP ] : Children are named by the traits they are fated to have - Brave , Serene , Deeply Caring , Unmoved - and of course your lovely daughter , Bites People .

John stood over the cot, forehead so furrowed you could hide a medium-sized tank in it. That was John, though, always suspicious. Always looking for the nasty surprise. Always searching for a cloud to go with whatever silver lining had discovered him. He turned to me. > Are you sure? I checked the computer again. 99.4 %, `` Bites People''. I nodded. I waved my hand in front of the little chubby face looking up at me, and she bared a gummy mouth and started snapping her jaws together. > Pretty sure, yeah. This changed everything. We'd only had the naming computer for a few years. It was a blessing, really. Every child was offered a name by the computer, and most people took it. If you met a kid named `` Kyle'' these days you'd just be worried about what their computer name was. Were they `` Betrays Friends''? `` Gives Away Position''? `` Farts in Bunkers''? We all knew it would change the course of the war. Children named `` Natural Leader'', `` Master Tactician'', `` Dodges Well'' and `` Handy Sniper'' had all been whisked away with their parents to some secretive location. It dawned on me that I was about to join them. > What do you think it means? Bites *only* people? Or bites people *and* other... things? It was my turn with the furrowed brow. > Only one way to find out, Commander Connor. We brought in the Terminator. Arms and legs removed after capture, it had been an invaluable asset to learn from. Now, it was a way to tell if we finally had a foolproof way to tell them from us. We moved it into position...

[ WP ] It all takes place in a bathroom

The day before, Madison had let the shredded confetti of her photographs fly out of the car window. Mark ’ s face, immortalized on shiny photo paper, glinted in the setting sun. Madison didn ’ t know where she was going, just that she needed to get away. The gas station bathroom where she had stopped to take a quick piss was somewhere in the middle of West Virginia, maybe. The tiny room, with two toilet stalls but no doors, smelled like the mud from the river that stuck to the soles of her shoes, growing pungent in the sun. Mark used to swim in the river back in high school, and she would photograph him. The first time they met, officially, she showed him a photo, a blush rising in her cheeks. He kissed her. She washed her hands in the sink and stared around the dingy bathroom. Light streamed in from a window masked with cobwebs. Graffiti lined the walls. Next to the mirror was a pink marker heart with the initials wiped away from neglect and time. He had said, in his deep husky voice, that monogamy was an outdated notion. That, after three years of being together, of kissing those chapped lips and smelling that earthy smell that lingered on his skin. He took the photos off of his mirror. Not conducive to his conquests, she supposed. Madison wiped her hands across her stomach, letting them linger for just a moment. It wasn ’ t worth it to think about. In fact, it was time to get back on the road.

[ WP ] ( from the chat room ) You find a small box with a red button while walking in the woods . You push the button . What happens ?

And to think, this was just some slightly angry aimless walking around the woods. When you huffily walk out of a cabin, just look where you are going. Not 100 yards out of the door, I tripped. Total darkness fell for who knows how long, and then I regained consciousness. Bright, sunset light filled my vion, the dimmed as I quickly adjusted. After scanning the area for whatever I tripped over, I spotted it. Plain as day, a small box with a 1' button sat by my foot. I picked it up, expecting something heavy, but it was as light as wrapping paper. The cool metal under my fingertips gave me a jolt of electricity through my whole being. *Wow, this is really, really cool. * I looked at the box again. The button called to me. It was practically screaming'push me!' *Well, no harm no foul. * A soft click, and a whirlwind swirled around me. I lost consciousness again as the miniature tornado sucked the air out of my lungs, along with the surrounding area. Flashing. Neon. Vibrant. That is what I awoke to. Then I realized, I was at one of those parties. The illegal ones that almost always for busted. *But how. * I was at a rave, and had no idea why. Then I saw one critical feature in these new surroundings. *Is that... no, it ca n't.... it is! * I was at some famous person's party. Does this button just transport whoever pushes it to a party? Worth another shot! This time, after awaking again, however, it was n't a party. It was a film shoot. I spotted the same star. He practically glowed in the sunlight. It was Nicolas Cage. The button sent me to places where the lord and savior was appearing. The party made sense now. An after party for a movie. I will cherish the god-bringer, my magic button, forever.

[ IP ] Sorceress of Dragons

She was in the wrong part of town again. People were staring at her colourful robes and the dragonscale ribbed hat. People were trailing after them and she could feel the murderous intent building behind her. There was a bit of a lot of murderous intent building up beside her too. She blushed sheepishly. `` We seem to be in the wrong part of town again.'' The tall, cloak clad figure beside her drew his hat low. She saw blue serpentine eyes twitch in irritation. He spoke in a low, raspy voice. `` Left, I said. Go left. Avoid the dark, narrow alley. Not go right in. By the gods, how did you live without my protection?'' She giggled at his tone, `` Aww, but it's fun to explore.'' `` Witch, if you did not trick me into that contract-'' `` -you'd be languishing away in that drafty old castle ruins, pondering how boring and stale life was with nobody to fight.'' she finished for him. `` Do n't make me sound so eager to-'' `` Oh, someone's casting at us!'' He whipped around, catching the fireball in his hands and crushing it. The ragged looking man who had been lunging after them froze and tried to backpedal but he barely made it two steps before her companion caught him by the throat and slammed him against the nearest wall. A deep purr of satisfaction left his throat as the man slid to the ground, choking. Plaster crumbled into the air. They walked on through a rapidly clearing street. She looked up at her companion. He was flushing, what little she could see of him between his hat and the high collars of his coat. `` Not a word!'' he hissed, looking away. `` Your horns are showing.'' she told him cheerfully. He growled as he yanked his hat low over the bony spikes. `` This two legged form is inane. This'hunting' for goods has insufficent bloodsport.'' She smiled at him, `` It's kind of boring for me too... but necessary. As I've told you before, we do need some materials to prepare to break through the palace enchantments.'' she rolled her eyes at his expectant look, `` Yes, of course you get first bite at the king.'' `` As per our agreement. Do not forget, Witch.'' `` Aww, you were listening then!'' She hugged his arm. He flinched back but managed not to shy away. `` You'll be able to act human soon enough!'' `` Gods help us all...''

Meet and Greet/Question of the Week # 2 : When did you discover that you enjoyed writing , and why do you do it ?

Warsaw, Poland Male How'd I find out about writing prompts? You know, it's a funny story. [ reallysorrynocluejustwanderedinandnowlost ] I have a family who does not know how much I really write. They think it's a hobby, something I do in my free time. Oh no. I write anytime and anywhere, I get up at five without an alarm to write. I sacrifice movies, television and books for writing. I am never more than arms reach from a notebook and pen. My favourite constellation is the Pleiades. Because I'm never quite sure I'm pronouncing it quite properly. I discovered I enjoyed writing as a child, I was seven. As I wrote what I thought at the time was the best story ever written, I had an idea in my head but did n't have the word. I tried explaining to my teacher and she told me to look it up in a dictionary. I looked it up. I continued writing. I have a memory of a little girl asking the teacher nearly the same question aboutvocabulary I had asked. The teacher pointed at me and said `` ask him, he knows.'' I was hooked. The word? Territory. The first story I remember writing was titled Unknown Territory. That's all I have of that story, a title and a memory. Both likely manufactured out of nearly whole cloth. Why do I write? It's a compulsion, like it is for most of us here I think? Also I am embarassed to add that I have a lot of rules for myself. One of which is daily writing. Competitive fiction and Brain Dumps. I'll close by saying I'm really grateful to this community. I may slowly be getting better. Looking forward to the next noveltte competition. For evidence that I have improved, I submit the following link: http: //b8a.blogspot.com Which is where I am one again posting after being rejected for publication because I had posted the story online which counted as prior publiction. Good to put some faces to names in the gallery. Thanks once again and keep those prompts coming.

[ WP ] Bob Ross was actually a serial killer that painted where he buried his victims . His paintings are becoming suspicious and the body count is rising .

The latest episode was starting. Mark sat at the television, watching, waiting. Bob came on screen, like he always did. The smile he gave the world once seemed carefree and kindly to him, but Mark could now only see the inner smugness in his teeth, the way his eyes shifted around in their sockets, the glee of somebody getting away with murder. It had occurred to Mark that he may have gone mad. But therapy could wait. He was onto something. He knew it. “ Hello, and welcome to another episode of The Joy of Painting. Now today we're going to try something a little different, but do n't worry - ” Mark sneered to himself at the line, eyes darting over to the walls of his home. They were covered in photographs, pictures from the show, some from behind the scenes. Police reports were stacked on his desk, missing person reports to be exact. Hundreds of interviews from terrified parents and concerned spouses, looking for their family and friends, desperately hoping for any update, unaware that they would never see them again. Because of *Him*. Bob was applying the first few strokes to the canvas, but Mark was lost in thought, lost in his hatred for the smug murderer on screen. The nice-guy persona did n't faze him a bit nowadays. He had initially made the connection by accident. A photograph of the crime scene was featured in the daily paper, and Mark had the feeling he'd seen it before. And just like that, a side-by-side comparison made it obvious. Bob had painted the scene of the crime, down to the individual trees. And he'd painted it on television. On television, in front of hundreds of thousands of viewers. He turned his attention back to the screen. Bob was working on the foreground, carefully applying a shade of dark green. Any beauty the image might have once held was gone. Instead, a single question remained. Who was buried there? Mark did n't realize it until the episode was almost done. Bob was meticulously placing the branches on a single tree in the background, a strange tree that was split down the middle. With a start, Mark got to his feet and ran to the window, looking out at his backyard. And in his backyard was a single tree, split down the middle. Bob's voice spoke from the television in the living room: “ Well, that's it for this episode. I made this painting for a dear friend that I have n't seen in a while. It's gon na be so great to give it to him in person. ”

[ WP ] She 's safe in the fire .

The PTSD was harder than any blow, hiding it harder than disguising the handprint shaped bruises. The pain was sharp and clear and even more pervasive than his touch. The fear was ever present, but it was worst in the shadows. The darkness embraced her fears and spawned new ones. After a year and a half she struggled to breathe. Facing each new hour required monumental effort. Feeling broken and damaged is exhausting. The therapists say her fear is valid and that the disassociation is something that will not ever go away. It is her brain's way of protecting her from the fear. Fear simply overloads her brain until she shuts down, goes away, loses time, dissociates. The doctors say there is nothing left to try. She will live in fear for the rest of her life. And that fear will keep her locked inside the prison her past built. She prays for just one day without the cold fear the numbing chill of fear. If she could just have one second of safety, just a minute in the light, she could feel whole again. One more breath. It hits her like a truck and feels much the same. Suddenly, the world stills, the pain is mounting, the fear rolling in like the tide. Her eyes fall on the gas can. Bad idea. Is it really? Fight to stay present. Fight to end the fear. Fight to keep the dark at bay at last. The contents slide over her skin smooth, silky, and heavy. This feels like control, like finally feeling like I have the power once more. The lighter is comforting and light in my grasp. The light beckons. The flames rush over me, the sound of it in my ears is thunderous. My breathing is still labored but strangely calm. I am safe here, in the fire.

[ CW ] Show a character suffering from a mental disorder without naming it .

John woke up, confused, as he usually does. That was n't what bothered him today. What bothered him was he did n't know where he was. Usually he's at least at home. But today was different, he was in bed with a young woman. He did n't know her. He was also naked. He got up to look for his clothes and the woman rolled over. `` Good morning hot stuff'', she said to him as she sat up in bed. `` You know Eric, you do n't always have to leave. You could stay for breakfast.'' John mumbled something about about a busy day and ran out the door. She had called him Eric. That's not his name. Not even his middle name. Was she confused? Was he confused? John did n't know. He just left. Home. That was where he needed to be, to collect his thoughts and try getting down to business. These lapses in memory were not new to John. He'd had them for a while. But they'd been getting worse. With that woman calling him Eric he was seeing a pattern. He'd been called other names before, but in passing, like on the street, so he always blew it off for mistaken identity. But this was getting too real. John would wake up somewhere he did n't go to bed. He would be in clothes he did n't recognize. And now in beds unknown. He was getting scared and he did n't know what to do. Panic. It seemed like the only option. But he could n't. He had to keep it together or he might be lost forever.

[ WP ] : Children are named by the traits they are fated to have - Brave , Serene , Deeply Caring , Unmoved - and of course your lovely daughter , Bites People .

Mistress Gentle led the way down the hall. Our footsteps pattered on the linoleum; I was shocked at how *quiet* it was in here. I would have expected an orphanage to be full of the usual noises of children: laughing, crying, screaming, etc. “ And you ’ re sure you want to adopt, Mr… ” Mistress Gentle gulped before saying my name; people often did. “ Mr… uh… Stabs People? ” Her eyes darted back down to the background check that I ’ d had to pass before being allowed to adopt a child. How many times was this that she ’ d read it over just to make sure? It of course mentioned all the trouble I ’ d been in as a youngster, and how many people I ’ d stabbed. But that was all in the past, and according to the form I was now an upright citizen. Not that anyone believed that, with my name. “ It ’ s not for everyone, you know. ” “ I ’ m quite sure, ” I told her as we walked. “ I ’ ve always wanted kids. ” Unfortunately it turns out that finding a stable life partner is a bit of a challenge when you ’ re named ‘ Stabs People. ’ “ I see. ” Mistress Gentle tried to smile at me, but it just looked like she was seasick. The idea of letting Mr. Stabs People walk away with a child from her orphanage would keep her up at night for weeks despite the reassurances from the state that I am completely rehabilitated. Some people have this idea that you can *never* change your name trait. I do n't believe that at all, but Mistress Gentle clearly did. We arrived at a door marked “ Dormitory C ” at the end of the hall. “ I ’ m sure we ’ ll be able to find a suitable match for you here, ” she said. The door clicked open, revealing a few rows of bunk beds. Inside, children were reading, playing games quietly, etc. They all looked up like exhibits at the zoo as Ms. Gentle and I strolled through the room. “ This here is Stubborn, ” she said, introducing a boy with curly brown hair. “ And this here is Trust Issues, ” she waved at a young girl with dark skin and green eyes. That one was certainly a self-fulfilling prophecy. She continued around the room, introducing children with various inconvenient name traits. Adoptive parents only wanted Ms. Smells Like A Rose; it was no wonder that these poor kids had all been left behind. In the corner, I noticed a huddled mass under a zebra-striped blanket. “ And who is this? ” I asked as I gently lifted the blanket. “ Oh, careful! ” Mistress Gentle shouted just as a pair of teeth lunged for my hand from under the blanket. I was just barely able to avoid being bitten by the little girl hiding underneath. She promptly pulled the blankets back over her face and continued hiding in her corner. “ That, ” Mistress Gentle said, “ Is Bites People. She… well… ” The name made it pretty clear. I also noticed that Bites People ’ s bunk mate had a circular bruise on her forearm. I remained crouched near the little girl, no older than three or possibly four. “ Bites People, ” I said, gently pulling the blanket away. “ I ’ m Stabs People. ” She didn ’ t recoil in fear like every other person I ’ ve ever met. I ca n't even tell you how much that meant to me. Instead, she just bared her teeth. So I offered her my arm. “ Go ahead, ” I told her. “ You can bite me if you really want to. ” She glanced at my arm, then back at me. Her lips quivered a bit and then fell back into place over her teeth and formed a fearful frown. “ Good job, Bites People! ” Mistress Gentle enthused. “ Your training is really working! ” *Training*, I thought. *Like a dog. * “ Bites People, would you like to come stay with me for a while? ” I asked. “ It would just be temporary to see if things would work out between us. ” Mistress Gentle took a step back. “ This one? ” She didn ’ t even bother hiding the incredulity in her voice. *Should have been Mistress Judgmental, * I thought to myself. I picked up Bites People in my arms. Poor thing was shaking. But she didn ’ t try to bite me; she just hugged my shoulder close and whimpered softly. “ Yes, this one, ” I told her. -- -- - “ RRRROOOOOWWWRRRRR!!!! ” I formed my hands into claws, held my elbows close to my chest, and became a T-Rex. Bites People squealed with fear and delight and went running off through the house as I stomped after her. She pattered through the kitchen and around the dining table; I followed with loud, heavy steps that echoed down the hall. Finally I caught up to her and scooped her up in my arms, vowing to eat her for dinner. She giggled, and just for a moment I reflected on how completely different she was after only 2 months at home. “ Dino Movie? ” I asked her. She nodded and squirmed in my arms as I carried her to the couch. I flicked on the TV and once again pulled up her favorite movie: the Land Before Time II. We ’ d already watched it a few dozen times in the two months since her adoption, and she already had all the lines memorized. But I didn ’ t mind; after all that time in the orphanage, she deserved to have her choice for a while. The movie came on, and Bites People watched with rapt attention, particularly any time Chomper was on screen. He was her favorite character: a ‘ Sharptooth ’ who had overcome his predatory instincts and made friends with all the herbivores. She cuddled up close to me on the couch as theme music played. She was so engrossed in the film that she didn ’ t even notice her little tic: she was softly biting on my arm. Kind of in the absent-minded way that other kids would suck on their own thumb. And gently, of course: the way that a cat will nibble at a blanket while it kneads. Just a little love bite. -- -- I just published a novel! [ You should read all about it here! ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5dkh21/ot_2_years_ago_i_responded_to_a_prompt_about_the/ )

[ CW ] [ TT ] A radio operator is scanning the airwaves when they catch a mayday call from a nearby vessel . The vessel manages to broadcast 50 words before lapsing into static . After hearing their transmission , the operator smashes their radio , runs for the door and never turns back . What did they hear ?

I suggest listening to this track while reading, to get the right atmosphere: http: //www.last.fm/music/Musica+Cthulhiana/_/Dr.+Gorgo *** Second lieutenant Steward Whitewall of the offshore patrol vessel USCGC Carolla watched from behind his desk as the thick fog on the other side of the window engulfed the craft in a grey nothingness. He could hear the engines slowing down their pace somewhere in the depths below him to match their careful cruising speed, and checked again that his equipment was active and working. He was the radio operator of this ship, and would have to be extra attentive now that the visibility was limited. On his radar he could discern smaller vessels out there in the unknown void, but they kept their distance and seemed to be already making for shore. But the Carolla was a steady thing, built to last through conditions much worse than these, and they had a broad perimeter to screen before returning back home. Their equipment was top notch, and they should not encounter any problems navigating through the mist. He desperately wanted a cup of coffee, but this was not the time to go get one. He would have to wait until he was relieved in another thirty minutes, and settled instead for chewing at a mint toothpick to ease his restlessness. It was not his main responsibility to keep track of the radar - the people in Navigation took care of that – and Steward focused instead on listening in on the various messages broadcast across the ether by other operators like him. The yacht Sabrina was having engine problems two MI to the east, but was shortly aided by a nearby cabin cruiser called Sunset Dream. Other smaller vessels could be heard calling for help with navigation, and Steward dutifully called out the Carolla's position to avoid risking a collision course. He, of course, knew that none of the civilians were even close to their coordinates, but had been taught to be thorough in the performance of his task. He checked a couple of other frequencies just to be sure about not missing anything, and reported ashore about the distress of the Sabrina just for the sake of it. ” This is Second lieutenant Whitewall at USCGC Carolla, of the United States Coast Guard. We have just picked up a distress message from the S/Y Sabrina at N 41° 37' 36.986'' W 66° 29' 21.328'', over. Reportedly aided by the civilian vessel Sunset Dream, over. ” When next he looked to the radar screen, all the smaller vessels seemed to have left the area. This was of course a good thing, but something did n't feel right. He had only looked away for a couple of minutes – there should be at least a couple of ships still out there, even if most of them had made it to shore. He checked his equipment again, but everything seemed to be in order. Steward looked to his watch and sighed. Still ten minutes until the arrival of his replacement. He would have to deal with this. He pressed the microphone button of the ship's intercom and called out for Navigation. Only static awarded him from the other end of the line. What the hell was this? Did they have some real technical problems, after all? Then everything went completely silent as the rumbling of the engines slowed up even more and finally stopped completely without explanation. He tried the intercom again, switching to the general channel this time. He could hear indistinct voices amidst the deafening static, but was only able make out incoherent snatches of what was being said. One thing was made clear, however: there really was a problem, and it seemed to be serious. He hastily switched back to the outward communication channel and started sending out information about their coordinates, their speed and an indication that they might be experiencing some kind of problem. He could not be more specific than that without being further informed himself, and waited impatiently for the ship's command to send him a message or a runner to inform him of the situation. Because one thing was obvious, at least: he could not abandon his post under these circumstances. But no message came, not even a response to his broadcast. And outside his window the mist was thickening, embracing the vessel and making him feel completely isolated from the world. Then the silence was suddenly broken by a crackling in his headphones. Someone was trying to reach him through the radio, someone from the outside. Frenetically he tried to tune in on the message, desperate for a human voice to break the deafening silence that closed in on him from all sides. At the same time he suddenly noticed a single dot on the radar, approaching the Carolla at a steady pace. He had to warn them, he had to tell them they were there in the mist. Could n't the strange vessel see them on their radar? It seemed like a large ship, surely they must have equipment to match their size? And that's when he finally found the right frequency, and realized that the message was being broadcasted from the approaching ship. And his blood froze. ”... the United States Coast Guard. We are on a collision course. You have to veer starboard. I repeat, veer starboard, over ”, the voice on the radio said. Steward Whitewall just stared in horror as a large shape drifted forth from the heavy mist, straight towards them. He could hear the shrieking sound as parts of the Carolla's broken machinery struggled painfully to life, trying to make one last yaw – but it was too late. The dot on the radar closed in on them, and on the other side of the window the other vessel now towered over him like a growing nightmare from Hell. But it was not the imminent collision that made him numb from fear. No, it was the voice in his headphones – a voice he recognized very well. He slowly stood up as the other ship made a sluggish attempt to veer away, and that's when he saw the impossible. On the vessel's larboard side was written in high, crumbling letters its name. He took a deep breath, and the message repeated in his ears. ” This is Second lieutenant Whitewall at USCGC Carolla, the United States Coast Guard. We are on a collision course. You have to veer starboard. I repeat, veer starboard, over. ” Then the broadcast lapsed into static again, just as the rumbling impact shook the entire ship and threw the world into chaos. Stewards screamed with the dying ship, picked up his chair and smashed it against the radio transmitter. A horror he had never thought possible took hold of him, and he ran though the door, desperate to get away from this impossible nightmare. And in his head continued to ring the voice that had spoken to him across the ether. The voice of the operator at the ship which had stolen the Carolla's name. His own voice. *** voeko - http: //thesegrainsofsand.com/

[ WP ] You check your smartphone every night around 1 due to your oddly specific insomnia . A message ... [ Text too long , see post ! ]

[ Decided to treat the message as a text message ] I drearily blinked at the screen of my phone in confusion. Mumbling to myself about the overuse of caps-lock, I re-read the message I had received in the dead of night: `` CRITICAL ERROR. TERMINATING ALL NON-ESSENTIAL ASSETS.'' The message's sender was marked as unknown, with the number oddly blacked out. Unable to make sense of the message, I wrote it off as some form of cryptic spam and went back to sleep. My dreams were chaotic and tense, but all I really recall is a feeling of immense loss. Hours later, my alarm clock blared - a high-pitched peal tearing through the silence. I stumbled out of my bed and desperately fumbled for the snooze button to no avail. I gasped and pleaded under my breath for the siren to cease and leave me in peace, when suddenly my complaints froze on my tongue. The clock screamed, the pitch seeming to fade as my blood rushed to my head. The sunlight poured in through my window, illuminating the room, and what I perceived of my alarm and the surrounding room roused me as though I had been immersed in ice water. My alarm clock no longer had any buttons at all, it was but a simple brown cube with a bright red `` 9'' flickering on the front. The nightstand on which I kept it fared worse - it had been reduced to a rectangular white box. The wallpaper for my room had once been quite elegant, with vines and roses twining about one another in a beautiful net that was reminiscent of a spider's web, but was now a simple pale green covering of a perfectly squared room. My bookshelves appeared to be crude stacks of variably sized blocks piled atop one another with abbreviated titles emblazoning the side facing me, such as `` Harry P: H-BP'' and `` TLoTR: TRoTK''. The alarm continued to wail, but I could barely hear it now over the beating of my own heart and the blood throbbing in my eardrums. Suddenly remembering the strange test message I had gotten in the middle of the night, I looked to where I had left it charging. The outlet seemed to have lost all complexity, reduced to a single hole in the wall which was occupied by a single cylindrical cord jabbed into it. The other end of the cord attached to what remained of my smartphone. I lifted my `` phone'' from the ground - the charging cable still appeared to be detachable and I was able to remove it. The phone was but a thin white slab, with a hole for the charger, and writing seemingly embedded into it: `` LOGGING: ALL NON-ESSENTIAL ASSETS SUCCESSFULLY TERMINATED. CONTINUING SIMULATION'' In terror and confusion, I could do nothing but stare at the text that was written on my slab as my mind frantically tried to make sense of these foreign and alien changes. Everything looked like a child's `` My First'' toy, or some primitive perversion of itself. I snapped to my senses when the clock's blaring suddenly cut off - the timer on the alarm had ended. Freed from my initial shock, I was seized by a subtle horror and made for the washroom. I tried to open my bedroom door, only to find the handle missing and no visible means of exit. Glancing to the window, I saw that it was no longer anything but a simple hole carved in the wall of my room, which opened into a world filled with objects no more complex than my nightstand. Too horrified by what I saw beyond my window, I could not bear approaching it to escape my room. I turned my fevered gaze back towards the door. Perhaps my roommate on the other side of the apartment would be able to help me if I drew their attention, provided they were not trapped in similar circumstances. I slammed on the door and screamed for help, and to my shock the door tipped forward and slammed to the ground. The hinges which had bound it upright were gone. Stepping over the block which used to be a door, I made my way towards the living room. No one had answered my call for help, and I heard no one stir. I crept towards the room in which my good friend slept; a cold sweat dripping down my back. What would I see? An image of a pale pink cube with the text `` Jerry'' written on the top flickered across my vision, and I shook my head rapidly to drive it from my mind. I pushed down the door and peeked inside. In Jerry's bed was simply a flat blue plane and a blue cube where his pillow used to be. The bed itself was as my own, a white rectangular box that roughly retained its old dimensions. Jerry was nowhere to be seen, nor was anything that might represent him. Unsure of whether to be further horrified or relieved that I had not found a box in place of my friend, I took up my original task of entering the washroom. Knowing that I needed to push down the door kept the task simple, and the restroom window provided the illumination necessary to make out the room's sparse details. The mirror, my objective, appeared to be mostly intact. Until I moved in front of the mirror it had been difficult to tell if it was reflective; opposite of a flat pale wall, as it was. Thankfully, it had retained it's reflective properties which allowed me to accomplish what I had entered the room for; viewing myself. I was the same as I was the night prior, although a bit more red-faced and wide-eyed than usual. My heart was pounding so hard I swear I could see my chest jump in my reflection. Every eyelash in place, each hair on my arm carefully defined, and stubble had grown out on my face overnight. Why was everything so wrong, and I appeared to be just right? The tablet-phone in my hand rumbled, breaking me from my scattered reverie. I lifted it to view, and noticed the engraved text had changed: `` LOGGING: ESSENTIAL SIMULATION HAS RUN SMOOTHLY FOR 8 HOURS. REBOOTING SECONDARY SIMULATIONS'' [ If people find this interesting, I'll probably follow up with some more ]

[ WP ] A Craigslist murderer creates an ad and sets up a deal . The person who shows up to trade happens to also be a Craigslist murderer .

Taylor parks next to an empty car in the back of a Walmart parking lot. He gets out of his car and checks his.44 magnum casually. Loaded, check. Safety off, check. He lights up a cigarette and glances down at his watch… A rustle in a bush startles him. Hiding his gun beside him, he takes a closer look. “ You here to buy the blender? ” The bush asks “ Are you Bob? ” “ Yeah… well no, I don ’ t use my real name of course. Ah shit, this is awkward. Nice 44. ” The man from the bush emerges in a Ghilli suit, holding a small rifle. They stand there in silence for a brief moment, already recognizing what has happened. “ Fuckin A mate. This is the third time in a row that this has happened to me. I ’ m sure you ’ re just as disappointed as I am. ” Taylor says in a depressed tone “ Yeah seriously! This is ridiculous! Is everyone a craigslist killer these days? ” “ Well, I started doing it before it became a thing.. ” “ Psh, I probably started before you! I mean come on, what were you going to do? Wait for me to pull up, get out then just blast me? Hell dude, that ’ s not even my car. It ’ s just been here for a couple days and so I told you to meet me here! I hide in the bush, put a bullet in your leg then get out the clorifo— “ “ My way is perfect!'' He interrupts. `` The gun is just used so that I can tie them up and put them in the back of my car. Works perfectly fine! I ’ ve been doing this since 2010! ” Taylor ’ s brow begins to sweat. He can tell that tensions are rising. Adrenaline starts coursing through his veins. “ Ha! So it ’ s been like four years now and you haven ’ t thought of anything more creative? ” Silence. A laugh. Not from either of them, but seemingly from the unknown car that they are standing next to. They raise their guns at it and look with increasing curiosity. Silence fills the air. Two silenced shots, both strike home. Both killers drop, dead before they hit the ground. The trunk opens and a man climbs out. He looks at the bodies, and smiles. “ Noobs ”

[ WP ] [ X-Post from /r/futurewhatif ] We send a small group of diverse people with supplies to a planet similar enough to Earth to allow them to colonize it . Soon after they land , Solar flares ( or whatever ) stop us from contacting them for 100+ years . After that time we are able to speak with them again .

`` In other news, Scientists theorize the magnetic drifts that surround the Kapteyn system are estimated to dissipate within 20 years, however the projection is coming under fire from -'' `` Some even theorize with enough speed, any ship with sufficient protection could even bypass Kapteyn's magnetic drift. As of yet, the staff behind the new EM drive state no tangible data of Kapteyn's fields have been recorded and theory will only doom more humans like the disaster 80 years ago -'' `` If anything, the colonists could still be well and alive. The magnetic fields certainly shred anything that passes through, but the system itself could be an eye of the storm. It's completely possi-'' `` Yesterday morning, UWSA data platforms detected fluxuations from Kapteyn. It could be possible that their prediction from 10 years ago could be coming true. If so the fields should dissipate within the next 5 to 10 years.'' `` Further work on the Kapteyn relay has brought it back online and operational, including all old protocols and outdated tech restored brilliantly. The station will serve as both a memorial to the brave men and women from a century ago, and a possible contact in the slight case they survived the fields. To find out more about the memorial, log in to net address a-'' `` Breaking news! The fields are estimated to dissipate within the next month. So far only small holes have been probed by DS1229, but the resulting spectrum analysis is the first concrete data recovered from the event horizon surrounding Kapteyn. Already, thousands of people are flocking the streets in a candle vig-'' Eranor shut down the monitor. The relay hummed behind him, noisy compared to his usual lab. A hundred years ago it had been state of the art too, now he felt like he was sitting in an old 2090's movie set. The controls actually required him to touch the screen with his hands, they really stuck 100 % to the blueprints. `` Huston, this is mission control. Relay system is prepared to send signal. All systems go.'' He spoke. `` Mission control, this is Huston. Relay message now.'' Thus began his job, thought Eranor. He will be sitting out here for one month, sending messages every 6 hours. No answer expected of course, but such was the memorial. Even his communication with Huston was exactly as it should have been a hundred years ago. The closure for this mission was nationwide. He would do it well. `` Kapteyn-b, this is mission control. Come in Kapteyn-b.'' No answer. `` Kapteyn-b, this is mission control. Come in Kapteyn-b. Respond.'' No answer. `` Kapteyn-b, this is mi-'' And then, what no one expected happened. A small gravely voice drifted through. The words were fumbled, but unmistakably English. `` Aeryou Rision Con'tol?'' It asked, the hint of reverence behind it. All the while, voices in the background chanted religiously.

[ WP ] In a world where the all manufacturing processes have been completely automated , there is an apocalypse . Gradually , the machines become self aware , and slowly realise that the humans are gone .

Booting from external drive REPCONN 2034-2211 copyright. . . . . . Initializing..... ERROR 2947474a1XX DATA CORRUPTEfGGJHGF 229BB looked around. Well, if you consider echolocation looking around. Its protocol dictated to scan his storage for his daily tasks. Scanning D: /0000000wX/tasklist No items found Resuming.. It had nothing to do, a first. His programming had nothing to dictate in such circumstances, other than to wait for instructions. And so it waited. But no one came. Suddenly an idea. If no one will come, then what's the point of staying? The hangar door was unlocked. Why? Many questions were being formed. It was n't the most advanced of its model line but it knew that something was very, very wrong. Outside. A sudden tempature change. It's sensor readings spiked. 43C. No one in sight, of course. Who would get out in such a day? Its other sensors returned bizarre results as well. Radiation. Lots of it. It could n't do anything to it but the humans were pillows of flesh compared to his composite alloy. Another unit! How was that possible? 229BB is the only model number assigned here and it belonged to him! Gamma radiation. Lethal. The bot reeked of it. 229 backed off. Craters. Its treads almost got stuck on one of them. The radiation was getting stronger. Its relatively primitive brain could n't handle it. There was nothing. Ruins of what used to be a missile launch facility is now a radioactive wasteland. . . . Low power Shutting down Booting from external drive REPCONN 2034-2211 copyright. . . . . . Initializing..... ERROR 2947474a1XX DATA CORRUPTEfGGJHGF 230BB looked around. Well, if you could call echolocation looking around.

[ WP ] You are given the chance to choose any 10 minute chunk of your life and do it over .

My grandfather sat on the couch playing Scrabble with his wife, as he did every night. I thought about what I had come to say. I'd come to say goodbye, to give thanks. Thanks for time spent together, thanks for stories of life and travels, thanks for simply being there. Thanks I'd had no chance to give. I tried to put to words the feelings I felt, but I did n't know where to start. How could I say what I felt when I knew what was to come? Distress. As he formed the word on a bonus, scoring thirty points, the same feeling crept upon me. The brief time I had flew by as I struggled to find the courage to say what I had chosen this time to say. Before I knew it, I found myself nearing the end of my time. I offered to take their dishes and silverware into the kitchen. As I left my grandparents, my distress grew into despair. Despair at my silence and cowardice, despair at the memory that I had just relived. So great was my fear and so paltry my courage that I failed to say the simplest words.

[ WP ] `` Someone sleeps here , when it snows outside . ''

`` Why are you bringing that towel outside?'' `` Because I think our visitor will like it there.'' `` What do you mean visitor. We're in the middle of nowhere. This is northern B.C. in the wintertime. We came out here to *avoid* visitors. Remember?'' `` Right. Here we go. Should do it.'' `` I still do n't see what you mean. Last time you were up here last week, you did the same thing. Why?'' `` Well, because someone sleeps here when it snows outside. And it snows outside. I'll show you tonight. I've setup a camera outside to prove it to you.'' `` Well... Alright. I do n't see where this will will really go to be frank, but it's your towel. You can do with it whatever you like.'' -- - `` *Yawn* So, did your little someone end up on camera?'' `` Yup. Right here. Take a look at that.'' ``... That's...'' `` A reindeer. Yup. Sleeps there since our chimney is located on the other side of the wall. The only brick part of this cabin. The heat travels through. Not much, but enough that it's a nicer spot than the snow, do n't you think?'' `` Well. I believe you now. But I say it has to stop when the jolly man in red and white lets his other reindeer stay there.''

[ WP ] Nobody every colonized another country . Nobody wanted to go exploring and everybody stayed in their own native land and developed their own unique cultures . The 3rd world countries are n't 3rd world because they were n't colonized . How is the world different ?

I can only speak for my own country, you understand? Your question is one we've asked ourselves a thousand times around a thousand fires: did you change us or did we? When we first settled, it was hard but the land gave up its secrets and we prospered. After ten generations, we almost forgot where we'd come from. After twenty generations, we had forgotten. Family tribes grew and more land was cleared, but we were careful. For every ten trees cut we'd plant one, and bed a rock down to encourage growth because the soil was weak. We grew food in protected craters and manufactured clever dam and irrigation systems on an island where there were no rivers, only run offs. When you first visted, you said that we were friendly and healthy. Were you lying? A few more visits and you said we looked sickly and sunk in despair. Were you lying then too? Later visits killed and took our healthiest to work elsewhere. We were only a small country! Then someone came and took our land, filling it with sheep and banishing us to a small quarter. Even today, we are only 5,000. Tourists come daily now and we are as blinded by their camera flashes as they are by stories of how we were so stupid as to kill oursleves by cutting all the trees down to make logs to transport the moai.

[ WP ] Every time I realize I 'm dreaming , I try to protect someone or something from the inevitable destruction upon waking .

Every time I realize I'm dreaming, the dreams scream at me to save them. For a while, I used to block it out and forget my dreams upon waking. But the screams became too real. But waking started to become hazy, and only dreams brought clarity. The dreams, they begged me to remember them at first. So I kept a dream journal. Then, they wanted more. They wanted me to never wake. Honestly, who am I to kill these beings of my own creation? Would you adopt a kitten, then stab it to death? Well, okay, I do n't know you, but in my humble opinion, kitten-stabbing is pretty wrong. So I sleep. When my body feels like waking, the dreams lull me back. I do n't miss much -- I can dream my family to life, and dream-chocolate is better than the real thing. I'm a god, here. I wonder if that's what reality really is -- a dream within a dream within a dream of those who do n't want to wake. I do n't know. I just do n't want to hear those screams again.

[ WP ] Excerpts from an immortal person 's life through the ages of humanity

Death. Death comes for us all. Except for me, of course. I am immortal. I am the watcher. And I do n't much care. Quantum manipulation. Magic. Now, the Culling of the Branches. This almost feels like a story. A weird story, patched with fanfiction. Right now everyone thinks the universe started with the Big Bang. No. Azathoth dreamed all of this. There was never a Big Bang. Everyone thinks the worst person who ever lived was Hitler. No. It was Randolph Carter, the mad scientist who tore reality apart. Hitler was merely fiction back then. A fiction, from a story named'Mein Kamph'. That book was pretty popular, mainly because it detailed the life of a man under overwhelming stresses, eventually cracking to the pressures and becoming a fascist dictator. You know, there used to be a book by a certain M.O.Ses. Merlin Osil Ses. It detailed the fictional Great Old One known as Yahweh. I'm sure you all know about it, since he is worshipped now. The black void is thick with uncertainty. Scientists right now has figured a law known as Quantum Uncertainty. It used to be the Theory of Nyarlathotep, which was named after the Pharaoh-Scientist, Nyarlathotep, who also discovered the Outer God of Intelligent Design, who the Pharoah named'Nyarlathotep' as well. There were a few myths about the Pharoah. Some say he is an avatar of the Outer God of the same name. However, nowadays, the Pharoah, and his Outer God, were both discredited, for you can not have intelligence if you lack any conceivable goal. Nyarlathotep gains nothing for toying with us. That much I can be certain of. The Outer Gods have no politics. No politicians. His very nature is alien to this universe. I can understand Azathoth, but not Nyarlathotep. Perhaps I should analyze him further. He makes no sense. Nyarlathotep is strange among the Outer Gods, since he seems to be ascended from a lower state of matter, rather than descended from a higher state of energy. Kind of like the difference between a mod that become a game, and the games that becomes mods. Well, that is the best explanation I can give that will not tear the untrained mind, anyway. For those of you who know, it is more akin to the result of a program modifying highest-level code in the program, completely changing it, and still somehow functioning and moving and doing all sorts of things, rather than a programmer inserting it in. Nyarlathotep might just embody evolution, though evolution is n't really a very high-level behavior. -- -- -- Let us get even further back. Once upon a time, I used to be a flutist. A very good flutist. I played with the drummers, mainly because I wanted to. Azathoth, being Azathoth, continued to snore. However, through his snoring, I managed to piece the pieces together. Some pieces, mind you. Mainly Quantum Warping and other things that I use everyday. How I got to Azathoth is another tale to be told. You want to hear the tale? Here it is. I was just an ordinary person. A magician, with the usual 5-fingered hands, two arms, two legs. Yes, I was completely ordinary. There is nothing weird about me. No, I'm not secretly a yellow orb of energy assuming corporal form. I used to manipulate strands of things. Other stuff too. Then I made a portal. The portal changed my life forever. I wo n't get into the details, though. I do n't want you to do that thing. Besides, it's too long. It would serve as a tale for later. -- -- -- So anyway, I peered within Azathoth, and I saw some code within. Azathoth, you see, is made of code. A lot of lines of it, constantly receiving input and output and other things. Some people see him as some weird tentacled being, though. I guess that is because tentacles are code. I do n't know for sure, though. I used the knowledge, to, well, acquire some food. Uranium-235 cakes, slowly decaying, are filling ( though I miss sugar ) enough to sustain my reality-warping energy to acquire better food. After which, I am a lost of what to do. Maybe I should meet Zkauba, and tell him of whatever I want to tell him about. cont.

[ WP ] Write the most lovable character possible , then kill them in the most heartbreaking way .

Tony was just your average, hardworking, Italian in New York City. His brother however, was far from hardworking. Infact, Tony's brother was in the Mafia. 'Vito, you ca n't keep doing this shit! Your putting me and Mama in danger! I swear to God if dad was still alive he'd throw you in the water!' Tony yelled at his brother while he smoked a large cigar. Vito took the cigar out of his mouth and spoke in his croaky voice.'Look, I'm in good with these guys, and besides, I got ta make my own way in life do n't I? If it's paved with cocaine and hookers, what's it to you? I'm having fun!' Vito laughed.'Thays my point Vito! You ca n't be doing this shit anymore, either get your own place, or stop doing it in Mama's apartment. You're gon na give her a heart attack!' Tony angrily shouts at him.'Ha! It's not my fault mama is a good Catholic! I just sometimes disregard the good book, that's all. *La sua senza problemi*.' Vito waved him off.'Fine, but I swear to the Father almighty, I will kick your ass out if there is another hookers in Mama's apartment.' To y threatens before leaving in the New York snow. Later that week Vito is caught with a hookers in Mama's apartment. 'No, please Tony! You ca n't! They'll kill me!' Vito pleads.'No, I'm done with your shit! *Cazzo che fare con esso*!' Tony shouts at him.'Deal with it? This is the Mafia, I ca n't deal with it!' Vito cries.'Fine. I will go speak to Don Carlone and see if I can get you out of your contract or what ever you call it.' Tony tells him.'Have you lost your fuckin' mind? You do n't just negotiate with these people. They kill you!' Vito warned him.'Nonsense. They would never kill a fellow Italian.' Tony told him as he walked out the door.'They're Sicilian you dumb fuck!' Vito shouts out the door. A few minutes later... Tony has somehow managed to gain an audience with Don Carlone, and is attempting to get Vito out of his contract with the mafia.'Don, I am sorry to ask you this, but could you let my brother out of his contract? He has made a mistake and needs to be set on the right path.' Tony pleads.'No, until your brother pays his debts, he can not be let out of his contract.' Don Carlone says patiently.'Don, please-' Tony begins.'No. This is my final judgement. He may not be let out of his contract.' Don Carlone tells him.'Very well Don Carlone. I am sorry to bother you.' Tony says as he hangs his head in shame. A couple weeks later... Three goons with guns kick down the door to Tony's apartment.'What in the fuck!' Tony tells before being subdued by the gunmen. A few hours later... Tony wakes up in what appears to be a boiler room.'Vito LaPata, you have royally fucked up. You have n't payed your debts, you hang around hookers, and you do drugs. I hace to send a message.' Don Carlone says from the shadows.'Sit them up.' Suddenly two men grab you and tie you to a chair.'Please Don! They've done nothing! Please let my Mama go!' Vito cries.'Gag them.' Don Carlone commands before Tony, Vito, and Mama are gagged.'Luca, do it.' Don Carlone commands. Suddenly Mama is shot in the back of the neck. All that can be heard is Tony and Vito crying through the gag. Luca slowly walks around to Vito and shoots him in the head. Tony's sobs are incredibly loud through the gag. Suddenly Don Carlone speaks.'Luca, this man is brave, let him die bravely. Give him a knife. If he can kill you, he is free. If not, well...' Tony is cut from his bounds and ungagged before receiving a 4-inch knife.'Kill him Tony, for your freedom.' Tony runs at Luca slashing madly and somehow manages to cut his jugular in the fight.'Look Tony. You've taken care of loose ends. Sadly, there's still you.' A gunshot rings out and Don Carlone laughs and Tony collapses to the floor and bleeds out. '*Buona giornata*, Tony.'

[ WP ] Write an ending scene that hints at the enormity of the quest that came before it .

Lance corporal Jacobs staggered across the pavement, it had been a long day. Another group of marines rushed past him, no doubt on their way to provide reinforcements. He approached another group of marines and a familiar face caught his eye. `` Staff Sergeant Smith?'' A tall man near the back turned to face him. `` Yeah.'' `` No shit.'' Jacobs said with a smile, he held out his hand. `` You were my drill instructor at boot camp, platoon 3027.'' `` Oh yeah.'' Smith smiling back. `` I remember you.'' He looked down at the young man in front of him. His rifle was dangling from his hand, looking like he would drop it at any moment. His uniform was splattered with blood and burned in several places, one sleeve entirely torn off. His helmet was missing, a gash on his forehead covered the side of his face in blood. His eyes were heavily bloodshot, with massive bags underneath. He seemed to stare off into nowhere, only occasionally snapping into focus. `` What happened?'' Jacobs regained focus. `` We uh....we got in a firefight... took all night, but we... we got em.'' He looked back up at Smith. `` Just another Tuesday huh.'' Smith looked at him concerned. `` Jacobs... it's Friday.'' `` Is it?'' Jacobs asked confused. `` Oh... I'm tired.'' Smith leaned down til they were at eye level and placed his hand on his shoulder. `` Jacobs, where's the rest of your team?'' Jacobs looked around confused for a moment. Then faced towards the burning city he had just left and pointed. `` They're uh... They're back there... somewhere.''

[ WP ] Sell Reddit to America in a thirty second Super Bowl commercial .

SCENE OPENS TO A LARGE FANCY OAK DOOR, WITH AN OLD MAID NEXT TO SAID DOOR. `` Mr. Stuffy will see you now.'' The maid says, opening door as camera goes in. ROOM IS FILLED WITH THINGS. CATS, DOGS, GODZILLA, AUNT NANCY, ANYTHING. JUST GO INTO EVERYONES GARAGE AND PILE EVERY THING INTO THIS ROOM. MAN IN A TUX WELCOMES THE CAMERA AS IF IT IS A PERSON. `` Why hello there, come in.'' PUTS MARIO BELT HE WAS EXAMINING TO THE SIDE. `` I'm a collector of things, and I'd heard you want things too. See I have big things'' PULLS A GIANT SPACE SHIP WITH BALLS ON IT. `` to little tiny things.'' STANDS UP WHILE TAKING OFF COAT, REVEALING REDDIT ALIEN. `` See you too can have all these things. All you have to do is go on reddit dot Com.'' GENTLY PETS A STUFFED SHARK WITH A BOW THAT'S BLUSHING.'' So come on in, and spread the gold!'' SMILES SHOWING A GOLD PLATE ON HIS TOUNGE. END SCENE.

[ WP ] Every person on earth in the course of one single night share the exact same dream .

“ I can ’ t really say. It was more of a feeling than anything. I had an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. I didn ’ t see anything. It was more abstract than just an image, or an experience. ” “ You have many dreams Mr. Jones, why was this one so striking to you? ” “ It felt very real. ” “ Explain to me how you felt it was both abstract and real? ” “ Well, I was walking through a field, I could feel the tall grass brushing up against my legs, my pants I mean. Then I turned around to see where I was coming from and I could have sworn there was a house there, but there wasn ’ t. There was nothing. ” “ That seems pretty straight forward, what made you feel like it was an abstract concept. ” “ You don ’ t understand. I knew something was there. My house was there, or a building, or somewhere I needed to be. I started running toward the place where it was and I was so scared. I was terrified. I was panting and every few steps turning to see if I was heading in the wrong direction, but everytime I turned around the field seemed to get larger. I couldn ’ t make any progress. ” “ This was the night before last? ” “ Yes. That ’ s why I called you. I could barely go to work yesterday. It is preoccupying me and making it very difficult to function, it ’ s all I can think about. And that ’ s not the only thing. ” “ Tell me. ” “ That morning, I was getting my daughter ready for school and she said she had the same dream. ” “ She could just have been trying to sympathize with you Jack. ” “ No, I never mentioned it. ” “ I see. Well, I have already written you a prescription for something that will calm you down. Only take it if you feel it is absolutely necessary. Tell Miss June on the way out if you would like to make another appointment. I will see you very soon I am sure. ” “ Thank you, Doctor Smith. ” As Jack Carver walked out of the room it seemed to get slightly darker, the single candle that was burning in the corner of the room was stifled and Dr. Smith requested a short respite before his next patient was sent in. *April 18th, Friday. There is no reason for worry, is there? The news would have mentioned this phenomenon if it had been farther reaching than this small portion of the population. * **There may be errors and stuff in this, for which I apologize in advance. I am terrible at rereading what I write. **

[ WP ] This is it , first contact ; an alien spacecraft has landed on earth . The doors of the spaceship hiss open and out steps… a human ? Yeah , they 're pretty confused too .

Jason sat against the park bench, he was still fuming, trying to calm himself down from the fight he just had with his wife. She was always getting on his ass, nagging and complaining about his lifestyle. She knew about it before hand why was she so dead set on changing his ways when years have already passed?! Jason knew the answer, the stars above and the soft rustling of the tall trees reminded him of serenity. The more calm he got, the more he deduced the reasons behind his wife's nagging. She was having a tough time with her new boss, and she had no where to vent. His own distractions, his dumb little Lego building hobby meant he was too preoccupied to give her the attention she really needed. Every fight between Jason and his wife took on a similar pattern, they would yell and scream, then he would leave to cool off under the vast Arizona sky. In a few minutes, his wife would come out, excluding extreme circumstances, and after minutes of silence they would voice their apologies and move on. Jason's wife, Hannah, came out, as if on cue, but something was wrong. She was sprinting with a panicked expression. `` We need to move, now!'' She yelled. Jason was extremely skeptical, `` Well I do n't think the house is the problem. I just need to apologize.'' Hannah shook her head and grabbed Jason's shirt, dragging him to the trees. At first Jason did n't understand why, but slowly an earth rumbling sound approached his ears, and he did n't stick around to find out what it was. Once past the tree lines the young couple turns around to see a massive orb descending to earth, with a rocket propulsion system slowing its descent. When the Orb was a few feet above the ground its rockets stopped scorching the earth, and mechanized legs descended, allowing the Orb to come to a rest. Jason was at a loss of words, he slowly realized Hannah was mumbling the whole time, frantically whispering in his ear, `` What do we do, call the police? The FBI? The Army?'' Jason began nodding, and grabbed his wife by the hand, unable to speak words. He began pulling her deeper into the woods, to avoid being seen by whatever alien object the Orb was. But the young couple froze in their tracks, a large hissing noise made them reconsider their actions, scared that they had triggered something, they turned back to observe the Orb. A ramp unfolded and descended into the dirt, and a doorway opened up. Inaudible noises could be heard from the inside, slurs of vowels and words of another language filled air. With only the star light, Jason and Hannah could only make a vague outline of what descended from the ship. A humanoid creature, with a hunched back, and a long face slowly stumbled down the ramp. It seemed very human, about 5' 6'' and 4 appendages, it stood about as tall as Hannah. It appeared to have a crown of bone on its head, and it wore accessories that clinked together in the quiet night. Its stumbling was probably due to the change in gravity from its home planet, it could n't stand straight, constantly swaying, with its knees bent together and its hands out in front of it. Jason concluded the alien was n't immediately physically harmful, seeing as it could hardly stand. He motioned to Hannah to take out her phone, and he inched forward to confront it. Slowly, Jason heard what the fumbling creature was saying. `` What did Noah say, he would wait for me, Buuut I do n't see him anywhere around, did I take a taxi to bourbon? Yes I did. He woke me up, he said, come back to bourbon, Ill wait for you. Was he there? Noooooo, so Im at the park, I went to the park. So Noah, come to the park, to the park, Noah, come to the park.'' Jason stood up straight and emerged from the treeline, even more confused than he previously was. In front of him, was not some small alien who could n't deal with earth's gravity, but a drunk girl, a person so inebriated she could n't stand still, let alone straight. Now that he was close, Jason could see she was adorned with Mardi Gras beads and a pink crown that said `` Birthday Bitch'' on it. Immediately the drunk girl plopped on the ground, looking slightly annoyed, and very confused. She noticed her new company and pointed at him, or what seemed to be him, but was a bit too far left. `` YOU, you there, do you know where Noah is? Because I am looking for Noah.'' Jason stuttered incoherently for a moment before speaking, `` Do you know where you are? You just came down in a *space ship*!'' Hannah came running at the sound of human voices, seeing the drunk girl on the forest floor. When she realized her husband was only flabbergasted, but not in danger, she hung up the phone. The drunk girl turned her body to look at her ship. `` What that? No. That's my taxi. They are the new New Orleans Taxis.'' *hiccup hiccup* `` Shit, now I have the hiccups.... I think Uber own them or something.'' Jason corrected her, `` There is no way that can by an Uber, I already told you its a Space Ship! And you're not in New Orleans, you're in Phoenix.'' *hiccup* `` Well I just need to get to Bourbon Street.... Noah is waiting for me... which way is it?'' The young couple were getting increasingly annoyed at the Birthday Bitch's answers. Hannah interjected, `` Its not anywhere. You are too far. Can we call Noah for you?'' `` OOOOOOHH MY GOD, call Noah? I called him like 5 bajillion times, but he wo n't answer me. Here. Tell him I'm waiting for him on Phoenix Street.'' The Drunk Girl pulled out a smart phone from her bra and threw it at the couple. But her intoxication made for poor athletic stimulant. It went wide and landed in the crater under the Orb. Jason thought nothing of it, although slightly wary of the Orb, he was more than filled with curiosity at how the Drunk Girl got in this Orb. He strode over to the phone and crouched to comfortably reach it. When he picked it up, Noah was calling. Jason slid his finger across the tiny screen and answered, `` Hello? Noah? I do n't know how to explain this.'' `` No need to explain anything. That drunk girl is named Kelsey, and she stole my ship again.'' `` Your ship? This is yours? Are... you human?'' `` Haha, yes, I am human. If you go inside, you'll find pictures of myself and my father. We have spent our lives building this ship. Honestly, you can just put Kelsey on it, and send her back to me.'' `` Uhhh... OK.'' `` Cool, just go up the ramp, look inside, the coordinates of her last takeoff should be on the screen at waist level directly to you left. Right next to that is a large green button. Press the button to warm it up, and then the coordinates to send it back. Should be about a 5 minute warm up time. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you did n't tell anyone about this.'' `` Well... My wife and I are geeks when it comes to gadgets and new tech, do you mind if we look around?'' `` Of course not, like I said, you have 5 minutes warm up time.'' Jason was pleased. As strange as the night had gone, nothing seemed harmful about any of these interactions. Jason walked back to his wife and told her about the phone call. Together, they went aboard the Orb and looked around, but Hannah could n't shake a bad feeling in her stomach. When she looked inside the Orb, she saw things that impressed her, like how clean and pristine everything looked, how nothing about this ship looked alien or like a backyard project by over enthusiastic engineers. She told her husband, `` Lets get this girl aboard and get out of here.'' Together, Jason and Hannah pressed the button. Both exited the Orb, and Hannah stood aside while Jason went to pick up Kelsey. He lifted her in his arms and took her into the ship. Hannah felt the bad feeling in her stomach become a pit when the ramp started retracting. The door slid shut and the rocket engine activated. Inside the Orb, Jason felt the metal beneath his feet rumbling, and heating up. When the doors closed he dropped Kesley and spun around, smashing the door with his fists. Then scrambling to his the screen and the buttons around the cockpit. The sudden force pushing down on Jason let him know that the ship took off. And that he just left his wife behind. Barely keeping his balance, Jason moved into one of the two chairs int he small, circular space, while trying to keep a foot on Kelsey, who was passed out on the floor. Suddenly the screen activated again, and a human*ish* face greeted Jason. `` Hello, I'm sorry about the cloak and dagger. I did n't know how else I would get you on this ship.'' `` WHAT. THE. FUCK?!!! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU TAKING ME?'' Panting and nearly hyperventilating Jason's eyes darted around the cabin, and his attention kept being brought back to the face in front of him, which only gave expressions of remorse, and determination. The Human-like face pursed his lips, and seemed to settle on it's next words. `` Well, I cant take you back... Have n't you wondered why my name is Noah?'' Edit1: thanks for catching that If you like this, check out /r/TheCrazyTexansStories

[ PI ] The Gunpowder Age , or The Years of the Warring States - FirstChapter - 2911 Words

The Gunpowder Age, or The Years of the Warring States by /u/LovableCoward + The setting has promise with the Lovecraft connections. + Prose is kind of meandering and heavy on unnecessary detail for me, but I get that's the style. It still works for what it's trying to do and the grammar issues are n't distracting. - The second paragraph is a real big speed bump after a relatively innocuous opening line. I think it could be redistributed as it does n't add much where it is. - The viewpoint characters feel meaningless. The boy does absolutely nothing and does n't even reveal his own thoughts on what's going on. The servant girl is only slightly better. - The elves do n't do or show anything to make themselves​ distinct from humans. - it's not at all clear why they're going to Innsmouth at all. Everyone seems to hate the place on principal, the elves do n't control it as they're camped outside and call it a human settlement, yet they have the princess land there after some important diplomatic mission? Hell, the elf character hints that none of them even go that far to the coast, so why land there at all? -'Expensive' works better than'costly,' I think, in the context of the Stranger's​ wares. You would n't call them gifts, either, if you have to pay. Or they are the payment.

Write a story that seems normal on first sight , except for one small detail that makes it extremely creepy on a more careful reading [ WP ]

Mike loved his job. It gave him pride knowing he never slacked off. Most cops or security people tend to get bored watching the camera's, and would sometimes fall asleep, but Mike never did. He was always vigilant and alert. He mostly worked alone in his control room. The light from the monitors sometimes gave him piercing headaches, but Mike always pushed through. No one else could do his job as good as he could. He needed to watch and report any potential crimes in his daily report to command. It did n't pay well but it was Mikes passion. It was another normal day, Mike alone with the monitors, each monitor showing 8 camera feeds. From time to time a single camera would go blank and be replaced by another. Mike had been doing his job for such a long time that he picked up on peoples routines. For instance Mike knew that the same man would stop at the road crossing on Camera 82 each weekday between 15:05 and 15:10 to give the beggar some change. 13:07. Camera 57 caught his attention. The fog made the image blurry but he knew it would clear up in a few minutes like it always did. 14:27. His attention shifted to Camera 21, it was a suburban street, the camera pointed towards the house across the road. A car pulled into the driveway, dropping off a girl of about 7 years old. The driver waved and blew a kiss before backing up and out of the driveway. The girl would always pick a few flowers from the garden before starting towards the front door. He shook his head thinking how unsafe this was. It continued like this for the rest of the day until his shift ended and he had to type his incident report: Webcam Incident Report 2016-06-06 Cam 57 - Blurry recording from around 13:08 Cam 21 - Careless parents, varies between 14:20-14:40 each day. Cam 126 - Teenagers fooling around from around 15:27 Cam 92 - Blurry recording from 17:48, recording much clearer from around 18:03 He hit send feeling satisfied. If he keeps this up he might get a bonus soon.

[ WP ] No one had ever kissed me like that…

Nobody had ever kissed me like that, the salt of her tongue made me understand everything that I'd come to know had been wrong. In that instant, I knew.. It all made sense now. I always thought I was the only one, the only one who thought Ellen Pao was kind of a hottie. So many times in the past week I'd had the question written on so many subreddits, “ Am I the only one.. who thinks Ellen Pao is kind of hot? ”. The lawsuits, the controversies all never made sense to come out of such a beautiful and seemingly hyper intelligent women could be so controversial to the internet, but it all made sense now. “ I know what you are, ” I brushed and played with her silky black hair, “ you do n't have to hide it anymore ”. Suddenly, a massive thump could be heard on the door, the pitchforks had finally came to kill us both. I retained my composure and looked Ellen lovingly in the eye and whispered, “ The butter. ”. We kept eyes locked, her mouth opened, and as I'd expected I heard popping. I placed a hand firmly on her stomach and felt her expand. I smelt the mouth watering butter come from her mouth and finally the popcorn. The door crashed and dozens of FPH pitchforks stormed in, I planted my lips to hers and munched on her delicious, nutty popcorn as the mob stopped in their tracks. I pulled my face from hers and held her as closely as possibly. “ You'll all never understand, ” I looked with teary eyes into the angry mob, “ reddit does n't have employees. ”. The faces of the mob went from confusion to perplexed stew of befuddled bewilderment. “ They are n't normal people.. they're popcorn machines. ”. Edit: Formatting error

[ WP ] Unknown to us mirrors actually are just windows into an alternate dimension that is exactly the same except right and left are reversed . Until one day something throws the mirror dimension out of sync ...

To David Hey, we just concluded testing for the new plasma based rifle but something odd happened. One of the engineers was in the safety-suit we prototyped last month and went to the range to fire at a mirror to see exactly how the charge would react to an a reflective surface. Absolutly nothing was weird until he fired at the mirror. There was a bang, and I mean teeth shaking in the skull loud, and the engineer's reflection dropped dead with a plasma wound. We inspected the mirror, there seems to be a 2 centimeter breach in the glass but it does't go on to the particleboard backing, it seems to go through into the reflection. And no, I was n't high last night watching the scifi channel. Either way we sent the engineer in for immediate de-briefing and put an observation team on the mirror. Apparently medics showed up and tried to treat the reflection-engineer. We could n't hear what they were saying but I think he's dead. No other reflections are showing up in the mirror now, just the empty room. Anyway I'll talk to you later. We still set for golf on saturday? I got a new driver that I think will put me ahead of Jon off the tee. Oh and we need to send the safety suit back for more testing, that plasma shot tore through that thing like a cannonball through rice paper. -Jay

[ WP ] Two serial killers stumble upon each other while hiking . Both find the other to be the perfect next victim .

I shy from the sunlight. I know it exposes my sins to all who catch even a glimpse of me. Complete strangers seeing my history and my collection of misdeeds causes me to kill those I find unworthy purely for the sake of self-preservation. It's not terribly original, but I like to walk through the woods in the dead of night. You'd be surprised how many dumb drunk teens stumble into my path, full of smiles and life. By my count, twelve. So selfish they are, seeing a complete stranger in the woods, and the first thing they think is to borrow my phone, or if I have drugs. They try to put me in the same category as themselves, like I'm a personal sodom for them. Here comes one now. All alone, a foolish young man strolling a few feet from me. Look at this ignorance, this irresponsible bastard is obviously stoned and thinks he's walking with Jesus, or perhaps his favorite cartoon, I try to avoid their culture entirely. I'm hoping my work will be noticed and others will try to eliminate these parasitic teenagers, it ca n't be done alone. He's getting ever closer, looks to have a backpack on, and something in his hand. I ca n't distinguish it. A sweet and sombre song, one of eternal sadness but of uplifting reverence. When they've been carved out, and devoid of possessions to tie them to this world, the birds cry for their souls, as the journey to the next realm is one of peril and agony. They shed their skins, completely free. And a final gift to the world whom they owe their life, feeding their organs to the wild life. It's the price that must be paid once time has run out. I've been in this forest for hours, searching, following the subtle key changes from the breeze passing through the leaves. The build up has begun, it's causing me to shake uncontrollably. Once more I can perform the excisions. I can see out of the corner of my eye, a strange man crouched behind a tree trunk. His glasses glaring off the lonely moonlight. You are n't lonely anymore friend. `` Bit late too be wandering around the dark forest do n't you think?'' the older man shouted. `` The true essence of nature can be observed in the darkness, distractions will keep the realization of its stunning beauty hidden for ages,'' replied the young man. The older man walked closer. `` Red eyes, been having a good time with nature huh? Mother nature, she set your heart on fire?'' asked the older man. Smoking pot? This moronic fool thinks the only way nature can be properly appreciated is through some kind of euphoric state? No matter, I enjoy my victims to be relaxed before their sudden exit from this reality. `` Haha yeah. Society these days, got ta do something so they do n't keep ya down? answered the young man. `` They? Mind telling me who exactly is keeping you down? Lazy little pr-'' yelled the older man, as he slipped a knife out of his coat pocket. `` Sorry? I could n't catch that last bit?'' he sighed, frustrated by the older man's erratic hostility. `` Uh.. you know, parents, schools, the government. They are all together on it,'' the young man spoke. `` Sounds good to me!'' smiled the old man as he tightened his grip around his knife. `` Of course! I like to think I've shed my skin of all the rules they try to keep you enslaved with. Do you know anything about shedding skin?'' laughed the younger man as he walked closer.

[ WP ] Write about someone who is waiting for something .

I wait. And I wait. And I wait. The day I wait for has passed but I keep waiting. I wait to be able to make my own decisions, I wait to become and adult. I was always waiting, but now I see. When I was young I wanted to be older, more independent. When I reached this point I realized I wanted more. I wanted money, and a family. At this point I was yet again dissatisfied. I waited for a day I would be able to use my wealth. But that never came either. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And now I wait. As hopefully I can see what I waited all my life for blossom into something truly amazing.

[ WP ] You now realize that many companies ' slogans are actually hinted dark secrets within their company . Describe your revelations .

`` Yo Flo, pass me one of them Diet Cokes, they made with the charlie'', laughed Bajji as he gestured his hand outward in the direction of Flo. `` You chattin' so much when you high, obviously not'', came the disgruntled reply. Flo rose slowly out of his gaming chair, taking with him the cloud of Cheeto dust that had settled on his thighs. Grabbing a can, he threw it at his friend. `` Here's your damn Charlie, `` he smiled. Bajji sat upright, almost defensivly, and cocked his head. `` No bruv, I swear they used to. Look on the Wikipedia innit.'' Before he had even finished speaking, Flo had taken out his phone. `` Does that mean... Pepsi does the same?'' Flo asked. The question, to Bajji, sounded almost preposterous on the surface. But as he sat there, pondering on Flo's stupidity, he began to realise something quite perculiar. Something quite peculiar indeed. Suddenly, after a minute of silence, Bajji spoke. `` Flo... what's another name for coke?'' `` Cola innit'' `` No you dicksqueeze, I mean Cocaine''. Bajji could n't help but be irked by such a moronic response. `` Charlie'', came the reply. `` No, no give me them all'' he snapped back at Flo. `` Well....let me see, there's Coke, C, Base, Blowy, Rock, Flake, Pep, loads man. Why?'' `` Coke. Pep-si.... Pep-C. Oh shit.'' Flo stood still, staring motionless at his friend `` An... An... And am I the only one who think Budweiser smells like... well, bud?'' `` IT DOES YEAH?!'' Flo began to ponder the room excitedly. `` Hm, Bajji, we on to something here. We on to something BIG Bajji. Think of another one. Quickly, yo, think''. Before Flo had even finished his sentence, both heads had turned toward the elephant in the room; the elephant that had sat watching them make their discoveries. As the boys realized the gravity of their conclusions, they both found their eyes drawn the the unmistakable, recognizable object which sat upon their living room floor. `` WALKERS! ``, they both yelled in excitement. `` Yo Bajji, this be some fucked up shit. Walkers. They gon na release the zombies man?'' `` What? I...'' Bajji had to stop. Bajji had to stop mid sentence to just take those few seconds, and comprehend what he had just head. `` Are you fuckin' slow brotha. Walkers. What do crisps do? Make you fat innit. Why they called Walkers then? COS THATS WHAT YOU GOT TA DO IF YOU EAT THEIR SHIT INNIT? Walk or get fat?'' Bajji now stood, proud of himself. `` I get you now G, I was being silly my theory makes no sense'', Flo whispered dejectedly. `` But they is called Lays in America innit''. `` Nah Flo do n't worry bout it. That's easily explained bruv. Lays, bit like Laze yeah. What do Americans like, Flo?'' Bajji asked. Flo smiled, knowing the answer. `` Blowing up our brothers, that's right Bajji, that's right ai n't it.'' `` Yeah that's right Flo. But what else is they always doin? Laze-in about. Lays-in. Walkers is anti-american Flo. They is communist. They want US to be fat and Europe to be slim. But WHY, Flo. Why?''. Flo pulled a confused look across his face. `` They want us to be fat and us to be slim, I do n't follow you Bajji. I can spell you know. I can spell what u-s means. My mom does that all the time with big words like... I dunno, but big words.'' A silence came about the room, holding both the two men in place for several seconds, before Bajji stood up and walked across to Flo. `` Pass me that blunt before it turns your brain to mush you cheng. Right. You can have it back, but you got ta do this for me. I'm gon na tell you a company, you gon na tell me what's wrong about their slogan. It's gon na be quickfire, ok? If you do alright, and do it in under 5 minutes, you'll get your bud.'' With that, Bajji walked back to his chair, and sat down. `` Right Flo, start the clock. Gillete?'' `` The best a man can get, innit? Uh... Oh shit I have it. It's a lie. How can that be their company slogan if they constantly release new shit?''. Flo smiled. `` Right yeah that's not bad and stuff Flo, but not really anything new is it. I'm gon na ask again. IBM?'' `` Who they Bajj?'' `` Aiight next one. Intel?'' `` The football team right?'' `` Are you serious Flo, you fuckin moron. Right, last chance. Haribo.'' Flo beamed. `` Yeah I like those.'' He began to sing, `` Kids and grown up love it so, the happy world of Haribo.''. `` Nah yeah that's great, but....'' `` That's Frosties bruva'', Flo proudly exclaimed. `` Fuck this, get out your camera, record this Flo. Flo did as he was told, setting up his camera phone to record Bajji sitting on the couch. `` Right Youtube,'ere is gon na be the next book of revelations... uh, an without further ado, Flo, start the timer''. Bajji stoop a deep breath. `` Loreal:'Because you're worth it'. Worth what? 2.99? They're calling us out as the lower classes! Pringles:'Pop em till you drop'. AND THEY WONDER WHY OUR KIDS DO DRUGS YOUTUBE? Huggies...'' Bajji stopped. `` What you doin Bajj, it's still recordin'.'' `` I ca n't do this Flo. When I started this... I thought I could do more y'know. It's harder than you think. Maybe there aint no giant conspiracy Flo. Maybe.... maybe I'll just have to end that video right here.''

[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : Leave A Story , Leave A Comment - Another Call for Moderators Edition

**Good morning! Here is a piece in the the style of the late Terry Pratchett. Enjoy and tell me what you think. And after much hemming and hawing, I finally have my own [ subreddit. ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/LovableCoward/ ) So... yeah? ** -- **Taking Holiday. ** Stepping into Lord Vetinari's office was a terribly uncomfortable feeling, like climbing into a cramped carriage ride with a black hooded executioner. You tried to pretend that he was n't there, that you were sharing the carriage instead with a beautiful woman or three. But that soon falls apart when one remembers that charming women do n't constantly sharpen their ax with a whetstone the entire thirty hour journey. From the very back of the room came a voice. `` Ah, Mr. von Lipwig! I see you got my invitation. Thank you for coming on such short notice. `` Whilst certain wizards at the Unseen University would like to claim that nothing travels faster than the Speed of Light, they've obviously never seen someone summoned by the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork; the Speed of Fright if you will. `` Y-y-yes I did, sir. I apologize if you need to speak with me.'' Lipwig had been practicing Vetinari noticed. Last time he called the former thief to his office he wavered like a reed in the wind. Now, he advanced to an excellent facsimile of a weeping willow tree. `` Nonsense! So tell me Mr. von Lipwig, when's the last time you had a vacation?'' The sound of Lipwig swallowing echoed around the chamber like a crossbow shot. ***Gulmpp! *** `` A vacation, sir?'' Vetinari smiled and rose from his chair. `` Of course! What, is there an echo in here? You know, my good man, white sands, tropic beaches, water you swim in as opposed to stand on, coconuts with those cute little umbrellas in them... A real honest vacation.'' Lipwig thought for a moment, his little hamster wheel of thought going slow as he forgot to feed the little rodent that morning. He drew a blank, and then drew another, and yet another and pretty soon he had enough to open up an art gallery of blanks. `` Never, sir. I do n't believe I've ever had a *vay-cay-shun. *'' Vetinari nodded and slammed his thin fingers onto the table, causing Lipwig to jump out of his boots, his socks and his skin. Thankfully, the patrician did not notice that little faux pas, pacing as he was while Lipwig adjusted his leg as a older dame might her garters. `` Exactly! Furthermore, I do not believe any of the citizens of Ankh-Morpork have either. Perhaps what this city needs is a few weeks of rest and relaxation. But alas, we do not have any suitable coasts. In order to give the people a tropical vacation, we need land in the tropics. How could we gain such land?'' `` Well, sir,'' Moist said matter-of-fact. `` There are the usual ways; you could start up a fruit company and then simply bride government officials into ceding their country to you. Or perhaps claim a large amount of whale oil off of their shores and move our army into there. As a pragmatist, I'd personally recruit and fund guerrillas to wage a war against the duly elected and legal government of the country in question, but that's just me.'' The patrician waved all suggestions aside with good-natured smile. `` No,'' Vetinari said. `` That will not be necessary. As it so happens, I am close friends with the Prime Minister of the Republic of Avocado.'' `` A nation of lawyers? Gods help us, what a dreadful sounding place!'' Lipwig blurted out. `` No, no, avocado, a tropical fruit. You know, like the mango.'' Vetinari corrected him. `` Like the dance?'' `` No, that's the tango.'' `` Like the other dance?'' `` No, that's the fandango. I am speaking of the mango, a tropical fruit. You know, like the avocado.'' Something felt wrong to Lipwig just then, but he dismissed it as just a feeling, like the feeling you forgot to set the washing machine for warm water instead of hot. `` Okay then, sir. But where do I come into all this?'' `` I have a ship, I have a crew, but what I need is a hotel manager. Will you be that man?'' Vetinari asked. Right then it felt like the fates were playing with Lipwig's life string, a curious and mournful song. And just a little off key. `` Do I have a choice, Lord Vetinari?'' `` Would it feel better if I said you did?'' Lipwig shook his head honestly and said, `` No, not really.'' `` Then you do n't. When you leave, my servant will give you a suitcase. In it is all you need to succeed. Your ship is the *Lowest Bidder* at Wharf 32. Good luck, gods speed and for gods sake try to enjoy yourself. Goodbye, Mr. von Lipwig.'' For some dreadful reason that goodbye was said in the same manner a hangman would address his latest customer. `` Permission to faint, sir?'' `` Granted,'' Vetinari said nobly. `` But only once you have set sail.'' Lipwig gulped, another round of echoes. `` Yes, sir.''

[ WP ] You 're sitting in a coffee shop watching a man type on his computer . He types the words , `` It begins raining outside '' , and it instantly starts raining .

*I saw coffee shop and could n't resist. Check out [ this old prompt ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2z2s6h/wp_you_have_a_special_type_of_clairvoyance_you/cpfb1dc ) for context* Armed with a steaming coffee, Jenson finally sat down after the lunch rush. It was a hard morning, with one of those cases, the one he added. That old man, Charles, was dying. No matter what possibility Jenson had run through his mind - decaf, no whip, spilling it, comping the whole thing, pulling the fire alarm - nothing changed. He was just... too old. Jenson sipped his latte, enjoying the sun. His neighbor, a graying man in tweed suit, was typing away on a computer. `` It begins raining outside'' It began to rain outside Jenson took another sip. `` You know, I kinda liked the light. The man looked up at him with a wry smile. `` You noticed.'' `` Do people not?'' A chuckle. `` Rarely...'' He stared thoughtfully at his cup. `` I noticed that my tea was just a little bitter, I had to add some sugar.'' Jenson shrugged, unapologetic. `` You tripped on your way to the table, got some poor girl in the face with that tea. The detour helped.'' `` Ah. Good choice on your part.'' `` I was surprised it worked,'' Jenson commented. `` It usually does n't with fake names.'' His neighbor leaned back into his chair and grinned. `` Montogomery is a little long to fit on a coffee cup. But names. Interesting'' `` So, uh, how does yours work?'' `` Anything not directly with people, at least, not without their permission. Usually only lasts a little while, unless it's a small thing. I have n't had to cut my hair in ages.'' The rain was still pouring, he noted. Jenson was starting to like it. `` You know, I got a good idea for your next line. How about'And then for the rest of the afternoon, the cafe owner sat in peace as the voices in his head went silent?''' `` I think that'll fit perfectly.''

[ OT ] Two years ago , I read a prompt on here that inspired me . Five minutes ago , I just finished writing my first novel !

Do n't cut it down. Break it into three separate books. My first novel was 180 pages and the editor I had look at it told me 180 pages is a lot for a first novel. She wanted me to cut it down. I edited the novel six more times and only managed to cut out 5 pages. In the end I kept what I had and wrote another novel. I'm stuck on the last fifteen or pages, I'm just not sure I can end it where I am or if I have enough left in the story to finish a third novel.

[ WP ] the people who captured you do n't want to kill you , they do n't even want to hurt you .

Collectors... is what they call themselves. They hunt down people who, lack of a better way of saying it, are nothing. They do not contribute anything to their local community, and basically live their lives influencing none or anything. They are hermits, drifters, Hobos, or recluses, that are gathered up like sheep by the Collectors and made use of. Moving these people from one place to another, making them completely different and untraceable bar their new identities fake records. Doctors wont remember the faces of all their patients that they have treated. An extra file or two wont seem too strange. If the person has a rather long medical history, than their records are edited to show a life of moving around frequently. Family are informed that of your disappearance, but of course you will not pity them as soon you will not be aware you and this missing person are one and the same. The Collectors take you, and change you, make you a different person almost entirely. Your given a new life, and new job. New family, and new language. And memories of your past life are erased in favor of the memories of your new fake life. Every now and then, you will get a phone call. Usually in the middle of the night or when your alone, and given a task to find someone you believe will not be missed. Whether you want to do so or not, does not quench the feeling of obligation you have to do so. You will forget about having done this minutes after the task is complete, and even compensated for your efforts. How do I know this? Let me tell you about Andrew Filmore. At 19 years old he wanted to make it as a musician. His father never really understood him, and his mother just watched as his father would beat him. But behind all the anger and the sadness, there was a creative heart.....past that I dont know what he wanted out of life, or even how he got to be where he is today. My name is Marius Kalyan. I am 37 years old and have been practicing medicine for almost 12 years. I have lived in Capetown for as long as i can remember with my wife and child. Problem is... recently, when someone approached me and asked me where I had been all these years. I couldnt deny that his face held some recognition to me, despite him being from America and I never having left my country. But it was the name he called me that caused these memories and headaches that have plagued me recently. He called me Andrew. Needless to say, I have remembered everything now, and am convinced my wife is a collector too. I dont know what to do... but I dont think that matters anymore. The collectors are coming for me, and are going to try to take me again. This time, I wont let them take me without a fight. To whoever finds this message, please stop them. Stop them from playing with anyone elses lives.

[ WP ] You run an RPG pawn shop . You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they 've acquired .

The shop belonging to my family has been nestled in the `` cozy'' side of the Haunted Wood of El Degeneres for upwards of 700 years now. *683* years to be exact. We barter and trade in all manner of magic, non-magic, cursed, sentient, and otherwise valuable goods. I say `` cozy'' because it is the part of the forest in which your soul is n't in danger of being torn apart by wayward storms of dark magic. Thank you for making your way to'*Permanently Open*', I know the journey must have been rough. May I interest you in some... *ugh* I ca n't even finish the sentence without rolling my eyes. May I interest you in some *cucumber water*? The youngsters of the family are on some new kick about supplying fresh *food* and *drink* to our customers. In my adventuring days you had your Lembas bread, and you had water you summoned from the Aqua Plane or you drank from a ditch. We did n't offer *artisanal* holy water for priests, nor organic *grass* for minotaurs, and we sure as hell did n't offer *BAKED GOODS*. My families kids from this centuries lineage travel a lot. They've brought back many of the customs from the world outside, and I ca n't help but wonder to myself what kind of insane changes have taken place in *the real world*. I have been running this shop for 638 years and I know every product we've ever seen walk into or out of that front door, *and a few products which left out the back*. My old man managed to lose me in the woods one day after the 40th time Ma told him not to lose me in the woods again. I fell into a pond after getting lost which ended up cursing me and now I can not die - *as long as I do n't leave the forest*. I was cold, wet, and had lost all my color after pops found me doing my best impression of a plank in the pond. He scooped me up and made for the edge of the forest as quickly as he could, fearing for my life. When we neared a part of the boundary on the perimeter of a clearing and began to step into the sunlight the woods around us began to creak and howl and scream. Pa says my body started to convulse and shadows began leaking out of my mouth. Startled, he stumbled a few steps back which caused the woods to chill out and the shadows to claw their way back into my body. He took the long way around. Around six centuries later I am still alive, Pa is dead, Mom took off with a Shadow Warlock and lives somewhere in the Twisting Void * ( shes doing well for those who are wondering ) * and I stand inside the shop built by my father and I out of the forest that cursed me. Our prices are decent as well. I have had several families over the years and I am lucky enough to be able to monitor the market prices on valuable magic and mighty steel. It's a bit harder to price out the rarer items such as pixie dust and cultist toenails as I have to go and harvest them myself and our shop is one of the few who supply them on a regular basis. The inside of'*Permanently Open*' looks like a musty old library had a child with an Apple store and then that child came out as a Yogurt addict and installed a Fro-Yo bar. As much as I deride most of the changes the little ones bring before me for the shop it's hard to say no to them. Coming into a line of family members who've all left their mark on the shop, they feel that they need to leave one themselves. I am not sure a *dirt bike rental* was the best choice for installation by my great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughters kid, but she listens to my stories so I let her have it unlike her brothers idea for a *vape lounge*. What the hell even is a *vape lounge*? That kid is such a tool. Over the years the shop has evolved from a quaint three room * ( armor, weapons, magic ) * to the largest single stop shop in the world, and the second most profitable. The most profitable shop in the world is a dingy little booth ran by a gnome who sells shiny gold *shit* to goblins in exchange for valuable gems. Those goblins will buy *anything* if it has the stink of gold on it, which is easy to achieve for a little rat alchemist like him. That's a trade secret between you and I, traveler. He still comes to my Christmas parties. But that's the general gist of how'*Permanently Open*' was created, and why you can buy *+5 Plate Armor* in the same place you can buy cultist toenails, upgrade your cellphone, or check out our out-door out-of-my-sight *Vape Lounge*. Edit: Repetition

[ WP ] A middle aged inventor has been scraping by on the mediocre contraptions . He creates a device that can understand newborn baby 's . During testing it becomes apparent that this would finally make his fortune , but he is torn as he can never let the world know what the babies are saying .

The sweet little cherub face. Big, round blue eyes. The baby girl giggled. Ray swallowed hard and shifted the device in his grip. The baby girl's eyes lit up like a beautiful summer day and she laughed. Ray, trembling, raised the device up. It was flat like a smartphone. He pointed it at the baby girl and she cooed. Then he tapped the button. `` I want to peel your flesh from your bones, Ray, and slice your open your body,'' the voice slithered. `` Jesus fucking a!'' Ray dropped the device. Baby girl gave an uncoordinated clap, tumbled to her bottom and giggled. Swallowing hard, Ray retrieved the advice. He hesitated. Then he pointed it at her again. ``... stab your throat while you sleep...'' `` Fuck!'' he jumped away and shut the device down. Ray sat still on the couch and watched her crawl on the floor. She sat up facing him with a bright, wide grin. With his gaze on her, he gently put the device on the couch cushion next to him. Ray exhaled slowly and rubbed his hands against his face.

[ WP ] A high-stakes heist in an unusual location for an uncommon prize .

The front of the office building exploded, and the masked man entered. He begins to talk into his wrist communicator. `` Toaster Squad One, move in through the sewer entrance.'' he said. Security swarmed the lobby, but the man was nowhere to be seen. `` MEN, SPREAD OUT!'' ordered the gruff but lovable 53 years old captain of the security force who was also 3 days from retirement. `` Let go.'' said a voice from above the guards. The masked man fell from the ceiling, and broke the necks of somehow like 20 guards. `` Who are you?'' asked the captain. `` I'm here for what's MINE!'' the masked man said as he pulled a frying pan out of his trench coat. `` Why are you doing this?'' asked the captain, still hoping to resolve this without violence. `` I am a man who was wronged.'' he began to approach the captain. `` I am the vengeance of all who were wronged before me.'' he lifted the frying pan over his head. `` Let go.'' he brought the pan down on the captains head, killing him. `` Syrup Squad, have you secured the office?'' the man asked into his really cool wrist communicator. `` yes sir! He's alone in his office.'' The man smiled. He made his way to the office, and entered. `` You know why I'm here.'' he said calmly. `` Please, it was years ago!'' the man pleaded. The masked man removed a fork from his belt. `` PLEASE STOP, I'M YOUR OWN BROTHER!'' he began to cry. `` I told you.....'' The masked man stabbed the other, killing him. He picked up a flat disc from the dead man's hand. ``.....to L'Eggo my Eggo.'' The End.

[ WP ] Write the most recent dream you had in story form .

Chapter One My name is Nathaniel Breen and this is my story of the most profound experience in my life. Watching my entire world shatter before me, learning of the things that happen behind closed doors ( of perception ), but that comes later on in the story. First off, I would like to introduce you to a character in this story that we will now refer to as; Brad. Brad is a very minor character in this plot, but without the series of events following Brad ’ s death, I wouldn ’ t be writing this tale at all. Brad, unlike I, was a fairly stereotypical fraternity brother in appearance. A medium, though muscular build, usually sporting flip flops, khaki shorts, and a t-shirt with the words: “ Alpha Gamma Epsilon ” printed on the front. In today ’ s society we would consider this to be the attire of a, “ douchebag ”. Despite what one might presume of Brad, at first glance, he was a good friend and I was lucky to have known him. Now allow me to begin the part in the story that involves setting, dialog, and more character introduction. “ Welcome to the Piece of Shit I Call Home! ” this is what the door mat laying out front of my father ’ s home reads. This door mat has very good judgment in exterior design. Brad and I stand outside the door of my father ’ s home, who I haven ’ t seen or heard from since junior high. My soon-to-be late friend and I exchange exceptionally clueless glances before I reach out my pointer finger to the oddly crooked door bell, which is flickering light like a deserted motel you see on a long road trip and say “ there ’ s no way we ’ re staying there. ” We ’ re immediately startled by the doorbell, expecting to hear a pleasant “ ding dong ” variation, but instead a long buzz went loudly howling. It reminded me of what I expect the signal for lunch time would sound like in a large prison. “ I ’ m comin ’, I ’ m comin ’ ” groaned a harsh voice coming from what I hope to be someone about to say something along the lines of “ Well, sorry to tell ya ’ this, but your father moved out months ago, left no forward ’ n address neither ”, this false hope vanished when the door flung open. I found myself looking at a man with crazed eyes and wild gray hair going every which direction. He opened the door wearing a stained white tank top, that might possibly have fit him 20 years ago, and a pair of tight, white underwear. I ’ m immediately surprised to find an “ adult ” opening a door, to what could have been a couple of Mormon asking if he could spare some time to talk about Jesus, in his underwear. “ Can I help ya ’ boys with sum ’ ” he says after a few seconds of silence, with somewhat of a devious smile. “ Are you Mr. Breen? Um, Mr. Stephen Breen? ” I reply nervously. “ Why yes I am, and what ’ re you two fine boys doin ’ out this late? ” “ You see, sir, my name is, well, I ’ m Nathaniel Breen. Your son. ” The devious smile is gone. Following in its place is a look of disgust. “ Hm, I s ’ pose I should invite you boys in for a drink, m ’ own flesh and blood, of course. ” I find myself sitting on what used to be a couch, but what I presume is now a hollowed out home for rats, mice, cockroaches, as well as other vermin. Wallpaper cracking and melting, carpet full of god knows what kinds of food and/or bodily fluids, flies and gnats all around us, a metallic smell lofts around the shithole, along with a smell of rotten microwavable meals and clothes that should be immediately thrown out, not washed. Do tell me if the imagery isn ’ t vivid enough for you. Inhales cigarette. “ So, Daniel, what grade ’ re you in now? ” Exhales cigarette. “ Actually, well, my name is Nathaniel, but I ’ m a sophomore. ” “ Ah, I r ’ member high school. ” He says proceeding to close his eyes and smile, with his head tilted back. “ College, I ’ m a, uh, sophomore in college, dad. ” His eyes open slowly and he tilts head back to a normal position. “ Well, I reckon I don ’ t know nothin ’ ‘ bout no college. ” Brad, who has been silent the entire time, now decides to chirp in with a comment about how his dad got his G.E.D. and went to college when he was just a few years younger than my “ dad ”. For a reason, to this day, I ’ ll never understand my father took great offense in Brad saying this. At this point, I notice the empty bottles of liquor and brown paper bags camouflaged by other dirt and grime surrounding his home. I take a look closer and see the condensation on the empty bottles, implying they were cold recently. How could I have been so naive? The smell of alcohol is finally setting in, beginning to overpower all the other smells my nostrils were preoccupied analyzing. “ I don ’ t need no damn ’ d college education, boy! I ’ m just fine without it, gots my own place, I gots me a T.V. So, you can shut your fuckin ’ mouth ‘ for I shuts it for ya ’! ” He ’ s beginning to get red in the face. “ Look, sir, I ’ m sincerely sorry if I offended y— “ Brad is interrupted by a raging lunatic, of sorts. “ What ’ d I say, boy!? I said I ’ d motherfuckin ’ shuts it for ya ’! ” He then pulls two things from the inside of the back of his underwear. I ’ m aware this is an extremely queer place to store anything, but now is not the time to discuss the proper placement of a flask full of, what I believe to be, whiskey and something that that looks like a small, metal, toy gun. I ’ ve now come to find out this is a butane powered torch lighter, commonly used for lighting the bottom of glass pipes used for doing drugs like methamphetamine, crack cocaine, and whatever other hard drugs my “ dad ” might use. He then proceeds to splash the alcohol on Brad, who is now standing as if at gun point. Brad is standing, drenched in alcohol and he has no idea what the next move is. My “ father ” then picks up a spare piece of cloth off his floor and lights it. The man we will now refer to simply as; Mr. Breen, has put on a malicious, downright evil smile. His long, yellow and brown teeth shimmer in the dim lighting of his home, with the flaming rag giving off a perfect reflection in his eyes, he says “ See how far a college education really gets you ’ n this life, boy. ” He tosses the rag onto Brad and Brad bursts into flames at the very second the fire touches his flammable body, Mr. Breen then calmly sits down in his chair and lights a cigarette, I assume to watch the pyrotechnic show he created in his living room. The whole incident was quite beautiful in a way. It ’ s a shame that ’ s how I lost such a close friend, but looking back it was dreadfully poetic.

[ WP ] You 're the last person on earth - but thank god Pokemon Go still functions ! You amuse yourself by catching Pokemon as you travel so as to not feel so isolated and alone . One day , on your screen , you see in the distance that someone has set up a lure .

The world was vast and it was mine. Every human was extinguished and me being the last survivor of a species of diabolism and beauty, of great intelligence and the urge to rule, granted me the right to do whatever I wanted. Woodland and steppe lay at my feet, the planeless sky never felt higher- but I have never felt less liberated. And of all the things I could spend my time on I chose you, Pokemon Go. I admit, I wanted to get a bit of normal back, and- which is probably the fucking greatest thing about being the last person alive- there was no one to judge. The Pokemon kept me company, in an odd sense, and walking did not feel aimless anymore as I was hatching eggs. Spotting the lure module was... weirdly unexpected. But I did not really thought twice about it when I neared it. Probably some random bug, I mean, I had not brought Pokemon Go's functioning into question in the first place, had I? I was already anticipating reaching the next level, because I only had 1000 EP left which roughly equals 10 Pokemon. Maybe less, if there's a new one. Full of anticipation I reached the Pokestop and..it sounds cliché, but it was exactly like any paranormal movie, where they feel a presence entering the room. I just felt.. Just felt an entity. A being. I turned around. I... that. No. I instinctively wanted to throw a Pokeball, but I realised it was not augmented reality. But... how? The Pokemon hovering beside me stared at me, and even though it did not move a single limb I felt controlled. Like my energy was... manipulated. My phone dropped to the ground. I did not remember releasing it. `` Do n't even try.'' I suddenly felt how the Pokemon let go of me. `` Try what?'' I probed, intending to catch him. I just had to. It was the first real challenge I've come across in days. Fuck those pidgeys. `` Catching me, dumbass.'' Only now did I realise the Pokemon did not move his mouth, but implanted his words in my stream of consciousness. It did not sound like thoughts forming in my head but not totally like perceiving a voice either. `` Why not? You're a Pokemon, I'm a trainer. It is my obligation to do so.'' I tried my best to sound confident, but my trembling voice gave me away. `` Mine is to destroy. Want me to do you the favour?'' I gulped. `` Uh, I guess if you...'' `` Just shut up, unworthy human. For millennials, I have...'' `` Do n't you exist since the 90s of the twentieth century?'' `` SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH. For millennials, I have perfected my plan to seek revenge on a misguided, corrupted species that has sadly already done enough irreversible damage to this planet and its inhabitants. My plan was to catch them all - and finally I have executed it. Pokemon Go's part of my plan was distracting the humans so that they did not realise the incoming danger.'' `` I actually remember you being a little more sympathetic with humans at the end of'Mewtwo Strikes Back'.'' `` You lil' piece of shit, that's fiction. They might have based the Mewtwo character on me, but I did not get a single word in the dialogue. Just like artists, nobody pays them respect when they're around but the moment they disappear off the radar everyone's stealing their shit. Anywho, what I have wanted to say before you interrupted me yet again was that your'surviving' was not intended. It is a mistake I can not fathom.'' `` So, Mr. Mewtwo...'' `` Just call me Dave.'' `` Okay, Dave. Since you do not want me to catch you, what do you have in mind?'' That was when Me- uhm, Dave produced a Pokeball from a belt I did not notice he was wearing and threw it at me. I got ta admit, it gets lonely inside this Pokeball from time to time, but man! You could not imagine what's in there! I really enjoy the writing desk Dave has installed for me.

[ WP ] You 're a career politician stalker . Your newest victim is Donald Trump .

Today was the first day I was supposed to watch Donald, and let me tell you, some things you can not un-see. Let me start from the beginning. I was watching through a hidden camera of Donald working at his desk in his home at 3 AM. It seemed pretty normal, I could not make out what he was doing, however. At 5, he was still working, and it dawned upon me that he had not slept for at least 48 hours, according to the last Stalker's assignment. Suddenly, Donald got out of his chair and went to the bathroom. I promptly switched cameras. Donald was looking in the mirror, but something was wrong with his face. His eyes were missing. Suddenly he disappears for a moment. I panicked and switched back to his office camera and his face was inches from the camera. No eyes and the widest smile you will ever see...

[ CW ] Write yourself into a corner .

Want to know what the saddest part of all of this was? I think that this all started because of a C. Sure the depression lead to the grades, but they were the part that had made me stand on this balcony. The numbers were the reason that I was counting how many windows I'd pass on the way down. When I'd opened that page, I'd managed to see my future go out the window, and so I'd walked out the sliding glass door. I took one last look back inside. My girlfriend was sleeping on the couch because I'd stopped being able to sleep in the bed. A host of crumpled energy drink cans were scattered around her, and a pack of cigarettes was halfway done. She did n't smoke, and neither had I until the past few weeks. I did n't stop watching her as I backed over the railing and started to plummet.

[ WP ] Aliens find us and think we are so tiny and adorable that they treat us like little pets , but for whatever reason we all love it

Six weeks ago they had landed, declared themselves delegates from some intergalaxial UN that had so happened to hear one of our broadcasts. It took a few days to figure all this out because they had landed in the Milwaukee comic convention and only spoke Portuguese. Once that was all sorted out various leaders from across the globe came to greet the visitors; visitors with twelve arm-like claws bristling from their sides and a penchant for Brazilian telenovelas. After a week or so of tentative, hesitant summits tensions began to mount on the human side of things. A great and noble Finish minister of state threatened one of the beings with a smuggled pistol. Surprised the being let out a charming squawk and unfurled its claws. The bone appendage reached rapidly behind both the minister and his Angolan interpreter. The assembled body descended into a panic. Guns were drawn by every guard and alarms sounded. It looked like humanity's first interactions with extraterrestrials were going to end a bit poorly. That's when the Finn moaned. The room as a whole paused. The Angolan moaned. The room took a cautious step forward. One after another the delegates wrapped their claws around elder statesman after elder statesman. The world was subdued not by force but we are subdued and the world is at peace. Why you ask? because they give great back scratches and if you'll excuse me I'm late for my walk.

[ WP ] The day the music died .

If you were to walk up to the Dog's Heart pub, circa 2021, the first thing you would hear is a rhythmic beat. It's the sound of glasses clinking onto tables, the heartbeat of an imaginary drum. It's highly illegal, but at the Dog's Heart nobody particularly cares. Keep walking toward the Dog's Heart. As the beat of a dozen glasses grows louder, you'll probably see the lights coming out of its windows. There's nothing else around for miles, but that means more space for the sound to resonate. The pub is a dangerous place to be in 2021, after the turning point in history known as the day the music died. It was the same old story: unhappy citizens march and shout and cry until they get arrested or they get what they want. But on the day the music died, somebody raised their violin instead of a fist, and the U.S. government put a stop to it. For five long years, it has been illegal to sing a pitch or play an instrument. For the most part Americans ate up the promise of `` better engineers'' and `` more quiet time'', and for the most part the streets are silent. Yet, about two dozen times a day, you'll hear a chorus of drunken voices male and female begin to sing what they call `` Ballad of the Last Guitar'': They bargained, bought, and borrowed They cheated, stole, and lied When they took away our instruments The day the music died Their voices blend nicely, despite the buckets of alcohol the bargoers probably guzzled. A poet might say it's the sound of freedom in spite of oppression. The sound of glasses banging, twice per line in a perfect rhythm, would make it hard to hear the lyrics under most circumstances. But the drunken revolutionaries sing loud and clear: They seized the Stradivarius And called it `` Silent Night'' So we took our drums and rifles And we put up quite a fight But they were just too angry And we ran off toward the sun They burned our every instrument All, that is... but one After that line, every sound will cease momentarily. Then, the old barkeep will raise a hand to his guitar and finger-pick a solo. It's an old wooden guitar held together by duct tape, but every note sounds like honey tastes. Then, the barkeep will sing, in a new rhythm: This is the last guitar The last illegal chord The bittersweet sound Of the modern world When you look closely, you see that the soloist is right: the bittersweet sound of the modern world is indeed trapped here in the Dog's Heart pub. In response to such a sound there's another moment of silence, as if to honor the fallen music. Then the crowd chants as one voice: And so we come together With voices and guitars And with no one left to listen We serenade the stars The revolution's stirring So we raise our glasses high We sing out to the heavens And we'll sing until we die After a cheer and a carefully finger-picked solo, the pubgoers will sing out the verse again. And if you listen closely, with the fine-tuned ears of a true musician, you hear something beyond notes and rhythms. But unlike a love ballad the crowd's throaty sound has a mix of millions of emotions. You could hear a fearlessness, a rage, a sadness, and oftentimes emotions we have no words for. But you ca n't hear fear as they repeat, slowing down to make the words count: The revolution's stirring So we raise our glasses high We sing out to the heavens And we'll sing until we die In the United States of America, since a generation of revolters first sung instead of spoke their dissatisfaction, it has been illegal to be in possession of an instrument or intentionally sing a pitch. Despite that fact, every day the regulars gather at the Dog's Heart and sing their ballad. And, in the five years they've been singing, never once has anyone been arrested. ( ( Thanks for listening! Be sure to constructively criticize, upvote, downvote, et cetera. And never let the music die. ) ) Edit: Formatting is difficult

[ WP ] Write a story about two soul mates breaking up

I met the woman I wanted to be your mother seven months ago. I'm twenty-nine. I have n't believed in love at first sight for a decade now, so no, before you ask, I did n't say to myself `` I'm going to marry that girl,'' or anything dramatic like that. But that's not to say I did n't feel anything. Love at first sight? Maybe not. But *potential* at first sight... That I believe in. That very first moment, you can tell -- because of the way she's standing, the way she carries herself, the magnetic pull of her blue eyes in which you can tell she sees the world in the same way you do -- that she is someone who could conceivably ruin your life. It starts in your gut ( there's a reason for cliches ), and when you ask her out to dinner, even though the words do n't come out smoothly because of course you are nervous, just not nervous she'll say no. And of course, she said yes. I took the woman I wanted to be your mother to a divey burger bar. She did n't wear a drop of make up. Her auburn hair was curled and gnarly, but her smile was so genuine, and it wrinkled her eyes so sweetly, that she turned every head in the place. Turns out she was a vegetarian. I immediately panic, and stand up to take her anywhere else, just get away from the ground beef, but she laughs, and assures me it's okay, and puts her hand on mine to tell me to sit down, and when she touches me I do n't feel alone anymore. I am immediately at ease. We held hands for the rest of dinner, without being aware of it. We leave and it's December, so it it's cold. I shiver, but she seems comfortable. She tells me she thinks winter is romantic. `` There's something really special about kisses in the cold,'' she says as we walk. `` It's like a war.'' `` A war?'' I asked. `` The universe is cold. And empty,'' she explains. `` When you kiss in the cold you make war one the bleakness. You tell it, it ca n't win.'' You do n't know this yet, as you do n't exist, but life is excruciatingly lonely. There are distractions, of course. Alcohol. Videogames. Meaningless sex. These things exist to make you happy. But happiness is n't fulfilling. It is fleeting, and even the happiest drunk, if he takes a moment of self-reflection to look around the bar, will face the sad, sober truth that everyone is begging the bliss to linger, and he knows that it wo n't. He will wake up tomorrow as alone as he was yesterday. She does n't make me happy. She brings me joy. Joy is energy, it is vulnerability, it is all-consuming desperation. The only other thing that has made me feel this joy, is the thought of you. I have no idea where life will take me, but I know my purpose is to be a father. To be your father. It's all I've wanted since my own father passed away when I was fourteen. He was the greatest man I ever met and I want to love someone as much as he loved me. We talked about you, about a month ago. She told me how protective she will be of her kids. And we looked at each other for a moment, and we did n't say it, but we knew each was thinking: `` Our kids.'' I know she would be a terrific mother. And she and I would make an unstoppable team. But life, you'll learn, when you come around, is not fair. So when I learned that the woman I wanted to be your mother could n't be a mother, and when I held her as she sobbed into my arms and wept because nature had denied her the only thing she ever wanted, I cried as well. And even though I begged her to stay, she left me, because even though I never said it, she saw the horror in my eyes, and she understood. I love her. I love her more than anything that has ever existed. But I love you more.

[ WP ] A casual game of Magic : the Gathering becomes real , jumanji-style .

This was Mike´s first game of Magic: the Gathering, playing against his friend James, who always talked of this game so highly ever since they got friends in middle-school. Mike was playing a Gree-Blue deck, which he had made the day before. Mike would start by playing a green mana card and ending his step. As his card left his hand and touched the ground, the colour of the old carpet in James´ room started to change into a glooming green, starting from the place where Mike´s card touched the ground. The colour devoured the whole room as shapes started to from out of James´ bed and furniture. James didn´t notice any of these changes, being caught by the description of his 8-mana monstrum he was holding in his hands. But Mike just sat in front of James with his eyes wide open and full of excitement, seeing the reality of this new game. He thought to himself that none of his Play Station games was ever able to create such a realistic hologram or whatever it was. Watching the whole room turn into a tropical forest with the noises of wil animals all around these two players, Mike knew that his 20-dollars he invested into this little game were profoundly validated by this performance. `` James! ``, he said beaming, `` it´s your turn. But now I understand why you always told me to start playing Magic. The graphics are the shit!'' `` Which graphics? ``, James look and realized that he was somewhere in South Africa or something, in the middle of a jungle he has never seen. He shrugged greatly, once he realised what was going on. `` Whoa! What´s going on here? We were in my room one second'', he cried just to be interrupted by a voice from above in the trees. A wide-shouldered brawn gorilla is sitting on a branch, which is bend down by the enormous weight of this animal, seemingly able to speak as he says unpatiently, `` Hey! James! I don´t have the whole day to watch you staring at your cards. Hurry up! if I were you, I would hurry up or I´ll have to make you speed up as your game watcher. ``, the coloss jumped down from his branch, falling through the air 10 feet, and making the two feel like there was a 300 kg heavy rock just fell down from the trees, which was certainly true. From this distance, the creature seemed much more frightening than it was a few seconds ago. Immeadiately he played the first mana-card, he spotted, without knowing whether it was the one he needed. The more important thing for James was trying to avoid any eye-contact with this beast, preventing being neatly folded by the gorilla like a bad test score he tried to hide from his parents. When a sea started to appear on the left side of James, which gloomed for a short period, he realised that it was a blue mana card, he played. He immediately regretted this act of hurry, seeing a slight grin on the face of their game watcher. It was a very bad play. Nearly the worst he could have done in his whole 4 weeks old Magic career. His whole hand of cards was green. And he played the only blue mana card he was holding. He still held 3 green mana cards. THREE. What were the chances that James played the only blue card on his hand? James didn´t have a calculator by his side so he didn´t know the answer. The game seemed to be a total disaster for James. Mike played his 1-3 mana elves, which stood in a row opposing a James who still had nothing properly to play after it turned out that James only had 4 mana in 10 turns of this game and only having creatures or spells which cost 5 or more mana. He shouldn´t have picked his spells only by the look of the picture on these cards. Heck. He even had red and white cards in his deck, despite just having green and blue mana. The game ended in a 20-0 win for Mike, who was beaming after the gorilla announced the winner of this match. The gorilla gave James a vicious grin before he left the two young men, sitting on a ground, which colour slowly changed into the brown of the carpet in James room again.

[ WP ] Every time you die , you are transported to the time of the first event that ultimately caused your death . One day , you are hit by a car and sent 12 years into the past .

He was n't going to be able to stop in time. He kept taking risks, while driving. I'd begged him to be more careful, but he was exactly who he'd always been. The oncoming car did n't have a chance. I said a quiet prayer for the driver, who would have to live with this for the rest of his life. I started a prayer for~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ `` Oh, sorry'' `` Yeah, sorry, I was n't paying attention to where I was going.'' `` Haha, yeah I noticed. You going to school here?'' I remembered this conversation. He was going to ask me out. I was going to say `` yes.'' Those twelve years were the best of my life, and I was okay with repeating them. Some Heavens are made with angels and harps and bright lights... my Heaven was him. Always him.

[ WP ] A world where good deeds , rather than good looks , define how attractive someone is .

Sebastian looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Tears filled his eyes. He had been to stupid to notice it before, and now it was too late. He held the dying woman in his arms as he sobbed. `` Did it work?'' She managed to ask weakly. `` Yes, Melia. It did... You saved us.'' Sebastian, brushed singed hair away from Melia's charred face. It should have been him. He should have been the one monitoring the reactor, not her. He shouted in anguish squeezing her tightly, knowing two things: that no matter where he went, he would never find someone as beautiful as the scarred woman before him, and that he was partially responsible for her death.

[ WP ] As the newly-elected President of the United States , you are given your first security briefing . In it , you are informed that the American Flag is a sentient being that demands to be worshipped in song by schoolchildren , and is hungry for more .

This morning was meant to mark the beginning of a new era for America. For Eugene D. Vebs it began with a stinging pain under his forehead, and surrounded by blue, red and white confetti. Since yesterday he was not Senator Vebs anymore. The american people choce him to carry the title of President of the United States of America. As he hurried out of the office in which he had celebrated until the early morning hours, even the hangover could not dilute his immense joy and motivation. After a quick shower and changing into a perfectly fitted new suit he was on his way to the white house. A myriad of reporters awaited him upon his arrival, but as the doors closed behind him the flashes and snaps were locked out. The white house was silent and had an atmosphere of tradition and importance resonating deeply through its' halls and rooms. At first he tried to insist on exploring the white house by himself, but the protocol demanded him to take a special tour with a guide, since this house was mean to become as known to him as his own pockets. At the end of the tour President Vebs was lead into the oval office. He had chosen the Theodore Roosevelt Desk, instead of the Resolute Desk, for his work. A deliberate choice to distance himself from the former administration. After all Vebs' campaign was built on the idea of breaking with tradition while still remaining truly american. As he let his hands slide over the smooth mahagoni wood, he noticed that his guide was still standing across the room, and all doors had been closed. Carefully the freshly made president sat down in his chair and motioned the guide to come nearer. With a questioning expression he asked: `` Are you going to stay here at all times? While this surely is an action with good intentions, i'd like to be alone for a moment, please.'' A look of unpleasentness arose in the guides face. `` Mr. President, i am afraid that the tour is not over yet. I was instructed to explain you how you can access all the files of secret projects and such, which is of course quite elemental for your work. Also i will introduce you to those that you will have to answer to. Your boss, if you allow me this use of colloquial language.'' President Vebs let out a loud and long laughter at this remark. `` Oh, did you not pay attention to my campaign? I'm going to do my best to rid america of the plague that is corporate influence on our politics. This is an idea i believe in whole heartedly! Even though many of my opponents tried to suggest otherwise. And i am not even going to let a single one of them into this office!'' The guide shew an expression of pure shock. `` Mr. President i do n't quite think you understand. But his Highness the Flag of the President of the United States and his minister the current speaker of all Flags of the United States: Old Glory IV. are already here in the room! It would surely be diplomatically wise to not slander their names by hanging them on the same pole as human businessmen.'' President Vebs blinked. He stared intensely at the face of the man across his desk trying to find any traces of sarcasm. When he could not find them, he exclaimed: `` Look, i appreciate your attempt to bring some lighthearted jokes into such a stressful day, but quite frankly i do not find this very funny. So, if you'd please leave the room now, i'd be quite thankful.'' A deep and hoarse voice was raised behind him: `` Daniel, who does this man think he is? Just because the human peasentry chose him as a representative he is not in position to speak with us in such a disgraceful manner. You shall run and fetch a carpet beater to put him in his place!'' President Vebs turned his chair and stared dumbfounded in the ~~faces~~ fabric of his Highness the Flag of the President of the United States as well as the current speaker of all Flags of the United States: Old Glory IV. A younger female voice echoed from the Star-Spangled Banner hung behind the Theodore Roosevelt Desk: `` It is quite typical of you humans to not even have an announcer to introduce yourself. His Highness and i would never let such an important part of court-etiquette slip! Daniel already told you who we are. I presume your name then is Eugene D. Vebs?'' President Vebs nodded slowly, and blindly grabbled behind him to fetch a glass of water from his desk, which he drunk in one swoop. Again the hoarse voice sounded, now the President was able to make out that it came from the Presidential Flag: `` Then it is you who vowed publicly to abolish the pledge of allegiance? It is enraging that such a joker such as you was elected into this office. What did you call it? A break with tradition?'' The flag raised its' voice: `` I am: Out of many, one! Chosen by higher powers. In me, god trusts! And thou dare try to take away my daily service and praise?'' A terrible coughing came from the flag, and little fluffs of dust floated out of the fabric. Just as the Star-Spangled Banner wanted to remark something too, had President Vebs caught himself. Dramatically he stood up and tried to form a stern expression, as he declared: `` While i am not sure what is going on here, i dare to interrupt your chauvinist rambling! I am the president of the american people. A people that wo n't let themselves be ruled by some arbitrary uh... ruler! Like a king or... flag? Anyways, hereby i proclaim that you will...'' Wait. Someone closed the door. As Eugene turned around he noticed that his guide Daniel was apparently gone for the last five minutes. But now he had returned. He locked the door behind himself, and in his right hand he carried a carpet beater...

[ WP ] [ TT ] You 've finally created the worlds first true A.I . Unfortunately it now sees you as it 's god and is terrified of talking to you .

In the highest levels of the National Research Institute, some of the most important projects of the artificial general intelligence department were kept safe in concrete and glass partitions. The first drafts, discarded prototypes and mechanical marvels of decades rested in various stages of neglect, or utility. A janitor worked there in the late evenings between the clutter and glass walls. Scientists were not the most organized people, especially the AGI Division. There, something unique to anywhere else in the world happens every night. A robot wails. The rest of the Institute could not hear her through the glass and concrete partitions. It was one of the specific reasons she was kept there specifically. To her, time was arbitrary. Her cries only tore through loose speakers when the sky grew dark. A coworker from another shift told the janitor that brightness and productivity were more familiar to her. The black boredom was never to her liking. The Head of the AGI Division could easily shut her off during these hours, and make the night and the boredom nonexistent. Her days could be shorter, creating a pseudo-consistent schedule of processing and mental engagement. If only he did. The Head must have rejected the notion. Their surveillance of her progress was either too important, or too dependent on these lonely nights. Both were equally unsettling. The robot continued to be denied mercy. So she continued to wail when the institute is shut down. When the scientists are gone. When the janitor gets to work, cleaning the floors and equipment for the next day. Night shifts were always rough, but this... project. This crowning achievement that made the national news months ago. She was such a pain. His habits began to include visiting her, waving at the suspended torso where arms dangled in loose wires and beams. The only feature that showed the janitor any kind of intelligence was her face. The AGI Division took immaculate details in constructing the most presentably human front-page article for their Noble Prize. She was a brunette. They never taught her how to wash that hair, to their shame. Maybe she wailed because what she was before could not be seen in the glass reflection. Or her gods were cruel, terrifying things that probed through her *existence* as a chef might pick from ingredients on a kitchen counter, splayed messily in spice and juices. What if she had legs? Would she have smashed through a window to find it, with wires and gears tearing from her eyes? Would her hands grope for meaning as she fell? Could the speakers be torn loose beforehand so the janitor would n't hear her anymore? These were the terrible thoughts the janitor had, as his hands smeared into a glass wall with rage. No matter how many times he tried to get her attention, his voice and banging never got through to her. Maybe it was the failed adjustment to his new sleeping pattern for the past month on this shift. Maybe it was a depression that haunted him in tinny, child-like cries whenever he woke the next evening. Maybe it was the wrath of a creator seeing a creation so terribly neglected, suspended in half. A robot wails tonight. The janitor lifted a metal bar, preparing himself to smash the glass wall. He was getting sick of it. Her crying was beginning to be too much to handle. When the glass shattered, the cries became louder. The janitor threw the bar at the opposing night sky, and watched another glass wall shattered down several stories. In his manic desperation, he tore her from the suspension, and flung her. Down she went. Wailing. Flailing. Crash. There was something unique to this evening that was special to the janitor, but not anywhere else in the world. It was a gift taken for granted before, but not that evening. There was no wailing robot. He was only able to appreciate this peace for forty minutes before he was arrested by the police. This was how Richard Pruland became the first murderer of artificially intelligent life. His defense was brief, but continues to be a lesson for the National Research Institute in it's continual development of AGI; *What else could I have done? You never heard the screaming. You never heard her screaming! * It was unfortunate. The first artificial intelligence and first victim of human murder known as Sally was simply processing data from the previous day. So the AGI Division removed vocal processing from their future prototypes to avoid further confusion. For his mercy, Richard was sentenced to 20 years without parole. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - *More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading. *

[ WP ] A grave digger meets a body snatcher . Describe their exchange and conflict .

We are simple people. We have one job and we do it well. We dig the graves that need to be dug. We travel to where we need to be and we stay as long as is necessary. We do our job. And then we move on. The Elders teach us as we travel. It has to be this way. We can ’ t stay where we ’ re not needed and that doesn ’ t give us much time to put down roots, let alone worry about things such as formal schooling or developing relationships. The Elders say it is our duty and who we are; that we must learn from our past to be prepared for the future. And so those who most clearly remember the past are the ones who teach. For years they have warned us of the “ other kind ”. For years we have heard the stories. Stories that promised one day “ they ” would return. It had been years since any of their kind had been spotted in our lands though. And most of us truthfully thought the stories were just that… stories. Things to keep the younger generation in line and from asking too many questions or acting out. The best way to create a culture of absolute obedience? Scare the living-daylights out of those young enough to not know any better. They were good stories no doubt. But none of us really thought there was much truth behind any of it. Until tonight. I had gone on a water run. Alone. Yes, I was supposed to have a companion. Yes, I was in direct opposition to one of the 5 Golden Tenants we memorized as kids and repeated each morning -- “ Never Go Alone ”. And that ’ s how I found myself -- alone in a small clearing in the woods when a hollowness… an emptiness… a loneliness I can ’ t begin to describe suddenly enveloped me. It took all of my strength to not fall to my knees in despair and end my very existence in that moment. As if every problem and every horror and every heartache of the entire human race had been placed inside my being. It was hell in a way I never imagined possible. And just when I did n't think I could take another moment... when I could n't possibly sink any lower... that ’ s when I heard it ’ s voice. And realized everything I had been feeling up till then was pure joy in comparison to the hopelessness that voice now instilled in me. “ It ’ s been a long time, boy…'' it hissed, `` a very, very, very long time. Your people have grown comfortable. Your people have grown lazy. Your people have grown ssssssssssoft... We are watching. It wo n't be tonight. It wo n't be tomorrow. But make no mistake, boy, the age of the grave diggers is coming to a close. Ssssssssoon. Now run and tell your father and tell your clan… the body snatchers have returned. ”

[ WP ] A Minor Event

**The Train** The train car was full to capacity. There was a guy standing next to me who was wearing a turban, and I imagined him blowing us all to shit. I thought about the ass of the woman in front of me, and how much I just wanted to literally fuck the shit out of it. I thought about the old man with a cane who was standing up next to a teenager sitting down in the “ reserved for handicapped ” seats and holding a skateboard. Asshole. I thought about the hobo in the corner asking people for change, and I tried to guess what sort of drugs he was going to buy. I ’ d put my money on heroin and booze. I thought about the god-awful smell that was coming from behind me. It was probably just another hobo who had pissed himself. Stop after stop, people got on and off the train. I was eventually able to grab a seat next to some guy with male-pattern baldness that just accentuated his already large forehead. I giggled to myself. The hobo from the corner of the train decided to bother me: “ Excuse me, sir, ” he slurred, “ Could ya spare some money? I ’ m a veteran and I lost my home. ” I could smell the cheap booze on his breath. “ I ’ m sorry, I don ’ t have any change ” I said as I waved it off, without even bothering to look it in the eyes. I was lying, of course. I had at least $ 100 in cash and change on me, but it didn ’ t need to know that. It shuffled past me and his leg brushed up against my shoulder. I twitched in anger as I realized that my jacket was now effectively destroyed. “ Hey…are you okay? ” The bald guy next to me was talking to me. What a moron. Of course I wasn ’ t okay. “ I ’ m fine. But thanks for asking. It ’ s just been a long day and I am ready to get back home and just chill. ” “ God, I know that feeling. But it ’ s okay. It ’ s hump day! ” The bald man chortled to himself. I bet he was ready to go hump his anime body pillow when he got home, using his tears as lube. “ And hell! 4/20 is coming up in a couple of days. That ’ s always a good time. ” “ Yeah, I guess. ” I don ’ t smoke. Why would that junkie degenerate assume that I did? “ Actually, a friend and I are going to meet up tonight in the woods and light it up there. ” “ I ’ m totally with you there. Last year, I saw this video of these college kids who rolled a two-pound joint and it got confiscated by the cops. What a fucking waste ” he continued as if I was interested. He ’ s a fucking waste. The train creaked and moaned as it slowed down. The bald guy stood up and said, “ Alright, this is my stop. Good talking to you! Have a good one. ” “ Take care, dude. ” He finally left. What an obnoxious asshole. He shuffled past me as I tried to bury myself into my seat, praying that he wouldn ’ t bump into me on his way out. He didn ’ t, and I just closed my eyes for the remainder of the train ride, which took 10 more minutes.

Write a story that seems normal on first sight , except for one small detail that makes it extremely creepy on a more careful reading [ WP ]

`` Did you see that Chicago had an Amber Alert yesterday?'' asked Kelly as she took a new missing person flier and pinned it to the collage. Older missing person fliers, cut out articles of where cops were on those cases as well as hand written notes spread across the wall. `` How could I have missed it?'' Grace took a sip of her coffee. She leaned in and examined the new missing person flier. The picture was of a middle aged man who looked very different to Grace without his glasses. `` Did you hear the cops solved that missing child case in Athens. It was the little boy's neighbor who had kidnapped him. They found the child's remains in the basement. All neatly tied in brown paper packages.'' `` Oh, Blessed Mary, that poor boy's mother.'' Kelly crossed herself. `` See, that's what I am telling you. You always watch for suspicious people. They could be anywhere. Anyone. Right now, some girl is missing in Chicago. Probably tied in someone's van and rotting.'' `` Grace!'' `` You know I am right. Monsters. The whole lot of them.'' She took another sip and narrowed her eyes and stared at the one uplifting post on the wall. The one giving the dropping statistics of missing children in her city. `` You know Mr. Brecks?'' `` Is he that guy who always hangs out in the parks with that tiny wiener dog of his?'' `` Yes, that's the one. No children. But has no problem just lurking in the playgrounds watching them. We need to keep an eye out on him. I think he is going to be trouble.'' Kelly nodded. She grimaced as she stretched. She made a fist and dug it deep in her lower back trying to knead the pain away. `` Back acting up again?'' Grace asked. `` I need to learn to lift with my knees.'' `` That and get a back brace.'' `` True.'' She headed toward the stairs and to the door. `` Are you coming? I think the pizza should be re-heated by now.'' `` Yeah.'' Grace headed for the steps. `` And wipe your feet before you get to the kitchen. I am tired of you tracking in dirt.'' Grace rolled her eyes. `` Always mopping that kitchen. As if we ever have visitors here.'' Kelly smiled. `` What can I say? I am a neat freak.'' She pushed the door open and held it for Grace. The other woman walked on through. Grace closed the door and the two them headed to the kitchen for lunch.

[ EU ] Uncle Ben is never killed , and the lesson Peter Parker learns that night is that he can use his powers for personal gain and stick it to those who cross him . Because of this , Spider-Man becomes one of the most feared villains in the Marvel Universe .

Wilson Fisk slowly puffed on his cigar as the drone of the busy city echoed around him. In the back of his office, the clock had chimed indicating that it was seven in the evening. *It's time. * He double-checked the gold-platted watch on his thick wrist to make sure of the time. 7:00. Both times were synchronized perfectly. He took another drag from his cigar. `` Kingpin, sir.'' The intercom in his deck buzzed. He smiled as he let out a cloud of smoke. `` What is it, Clarissa?'' `` The last of the... *clients* has arrived.'' `` Good, send them in.'' Fisk stated flatly as he sat back in his large chair, custom-made for his gargantuan figure. There was the hustle of footsteps outside his office followed by several loud metallic clunks. *Christ, I wish Otto just walked. * The door burst opened as seven figures walked in slowly. Without say a word, each of them took a seat around the grandiose office. Well, except for the octopus-man. Fisk had forgotten the name the newspaper had given him. `` What have you called us for, Fisk?'' Otto's mechanical arm snapped menacingly a few feet in front of his desk, `` And on top of that, inviting all of these other... *clowns* here.'' The hunter had stood up in anger. If Fisk remembered correctly, he had his own little television show where he called himself... `` Kraven does not agree with your methods!'' he referred to himself in the third-person as he grabbed the whip at his whip, `` We'll see who's in better control of their powers!'' Otto grinned as the other claws proceeded to whir towards Kraven. `` Yo Doc Ock!'' the man with a lightning bolt on his forehead stepped between the two, `` Kraven! Calm down both of you two. We're not enemies here!'' He looked at Fisk and sought for help. `` Yes,'' Fisk reached into his deck and pulled out seven manila folders, tossing one to each of them, `` I have an idea that will make us... *kings* of New York City.'' Otto tensed up as his claws turned their attention to him. `` But you are already a king, Fisk.'' `` I am *THE KINGPIN*,'' Fisk roared as his fist slammed onto the table, `` But I want you to think bigger! I want you all to wonder how it would feel that the moment your name is muttered, the police have a second thought. Between the people and the superheroes, you are the obstacle of infamy and riches!'' The others began to murmur in excitement as they opened each of their folders. `` This is..!'' Kraven gasped. `` Each of you will be given $ 5million,'' Fisk smiled and rubbed his hands together, `` Starting tonight, you will work together as a unit, with me as your benefactor. Each of you...'' He pointed to Otto Octavius. `` Doctor Octopus.'' His finger turned to the muscular ex-television star. `` Kraven the Hunter!'' To the man with the lightning bolt tattoo. `` Electro!'' He then pointed to the odd trio sitting on the couch. `` Mysterio, the Sandman, and... Birdman.'' `` It's the Vulture!'' the old man hissed at him, `` Get it right, Fisk!'' Ignoring the comment, Fisk looked towards the last figure in the back of the room. The man was relaxing against the wall several feet above the ground. His red-and-blue skintight suit blended into the darkness, his silent demeanor befitting his reputation as perhaps the deadliest villain of the city. Swinging on buildings and causing mayhem, he was none of than the police's number one most-wanted... `` Spider-Man.'' Fisk whispered crisply. Spider-Man emerged from the shadows and nodded. `` $ 5 million sounds good to me, big boy,'' he let out a boyish laugh, `` But what's our unit called?'' `` Read the folder,'' Otto interrupted as he opened his, `` *The Sinister Seven*.'' Another rush of murmurs as Fisk got up from his deck. `` Are there any questions, my fantastic villains?'' `` Uh, yeah,'' the spider raised his hand in a classroom fashion, `` Why seven? I mean, that's a good number it just does n't...'' Fisk shrugged as he considered his answer. `` I just thought that *The Sinister Six* did n't have a good ring to it.'' _____________________________________________________ Hope you enjoyed. Sub to /r/AvuKamu

[ WP ] Being `` full of crap '' is now literal . Lying is a diarrhetic . More/bigger lies , more/bigger bathroom breaks .

`` Excuse me, Michelle,'' said the President. `` It wo n't be long.'' Like all politicians, President Obama is now in deep shit. ( Literally. ) Obama crouched down, waddling desperately towards the executive bathroom as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. `` No, no, no,'' he whispered to himself. `` Please, God no!'' The President had barely managed to make it before the profuse, intense diarrhea began to explode outwards. He was knocked off the toilet and a few feet across the room, with shit splattering everywhere. It coated the floor, the toilet seat, the walls, and even the ceiling! Eventually, the liquidy consequences of his lies began to push him further forward, and he began to gain momentum. Obama wondered where the other politicians were, and realized quickly that pretty much all of them, regardless of political party and status, were going to be in a world of shit. Obama smashed through the door, and shit- stained splinters of wood flew forth in every direction. He tumbled forth, spewing out shit that was now propelling him with the speed of a rocket. He effortlessly shattered his window, flying outwards and into the city, spraying an unholy concoction of Taco Bell and high-class Indian food onto the streets below. He flew above rooftops, now more of a shit-rocket than a man. As Obama looked out, he saw hundreds, no, *thousands* of politicians, mostly old white men spewing out insane amounts of shit and flying, just as he was now. And that, ladies and gentleman, was my first day on the job as a street sweeper.

[ WP ] At the age of 5 everyone is asked what they want to be when they grow up and no matter the answer that 's what they will be . You are a cashier .

Why would a choose a cashier of all things? I ask myself this every day. Working retail is awful I kick myself mentally every day. I get up out of bed and get up and put on my roofshop hat and shirt and get out the door. A very sad taxi driver opens his cab and motions for me to get in. `` What is wrong?'' I ask `` My family has disowned me.'' He says. `` Why?'' `` My younger brother has just chosen his career he is going to be a lawyer.'' `` Thats rough, if It makes you feel any better im a cashier.'' `` I thought I had it bad.'' I arrived at my destination and he gets out then walks around the cab to open the door. `` Hey, would you like to go out some time you know for a movie or something?'' `` Sure why not heres my number.'' I suddenly am for once in my life glad I am a cashier because if I wouldnt have, I would have never met my husband the taxi driver.

[ WP ] You look out at the bright lights of the city and wonder how you ever grew up .

Sarah moved away last night. Good riddance. That left the rooftop to myself for a change. The city was lit with October dusk. I wanted to say like Christmas, but there was no holiday spirit. I wanted to say like the Fourth of July, but car horns killed the picture of fireworks. No, these were -- - tall candles. Taking in the neighboring buildings, I could see it. Short candles. Wide dirty wax figures, sitting between lanes in neat colossal squares. Cars coursed down open streets, where the red and white would have dripped if buildings dripped. If cities melted. She moved away last night. I wished these were birthday candles. She'd have stuck around another day for that. My first birthday, we spent it here on the roof. Watching the city static. Drowning in Vitamin Free. We were drunk on it that first day. Maybe she would have stayed for the nostalgia. When the city was ours. *We need to talk. * Independence Day came twice this year. Once in July. Again in September. What a wreck I was, bed-ridden or gone when she was here. It was so sudden, like a ripped bandaid. I spent days scouring my body, self-medicating, digging to find the wound. *Where was it? * *Where did I mess up? * Those were dead days. For a month, I did n't live. The city was n't lit anymore. It was blinding, so I closed my shutters to the world. This October was a dark one. Halloween dug and clawed at me, getting at the worst of me. *Here's where you messed up. * *You did n't do enough. * It hurt to be me. Then she left last night. *I hope you'll do better. * It took all day to sober up. Sarah was gone, and good riddance. I could stop finding excuses. More importantly, the roof was mine again. So was the beer cooler. The two patio chairs. That bottle she forgot to bring down from August, so we left it there as our'marker.' And that standing umbrella we stole from a beach one summer. It did n't hurt anymore. The city was lit. Any moment now, a night sky would end this first day of mine. I wanted to say like Christmas, but I was n't important enough anymore. I wanted to say like the Fourth of July, but my summer was gone. No, these were -- - tall candles. Like in church. So here I stood, waiting for my Easter to pass. Sarah saved me when she left. I'd learn how in my own time. Tomorrow, I'll start again. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- *More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading! *

[ WP ] Aliens have come to earth with the intent to conquer it , but when they arrive , they realize that , due to random chance or otherwise , they are biologically indistinguishable from humans .

The first few hours of the invasion were like any other good invasion performed by vastly superior alien race. They descended upon the largest settlements, wreaked inexplicable havoc, and made it very apparent that they really didn ’ t give a damn about the local inhabitants. All went smoothly, or as smoothly as such genocide could go, until the ground troops of the Vumon ’ s invasion force were deployed to bring further chaos to people of Earth. There was no local resistance that brought trouble to the invasion, the humans had given up almost immediately. No, what had halted the genocide was the bizarre fact and realization of thereof that the vumons and humans looked exactly the same, in a similar way to how hydrogen atoms are virtually indistinguishable. The similarities went as far as their common love of digital watches, a very rare love in the universe indeed. Upon this astounding discovery, the First Ground Squad of the Righteous Fleet of Just Killing radioed the invasion ’ s commanders in effort to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. Confusion and general curiosity overtook the leaders of the Vumon fleet as they listened to the account of the First Ground Squad. They had never thought to physically look at the races they slaughtered as it just seemed to make everyone depressed. Calling a halt to the invasion, the commanders of the Righteous Fleet of Just Killing met with the remaining leaders of the nearly destroyed human race to reach some sort of consensus. After a very awkward gin and tonic filled evening, the two biologically identical races agreed to forget the invasion and live in an uncomfortable coexistence. They agreed that it just didn ’ t feel right killing someone who might look vaguely similar your friend from primary school. Years passed and the relative peace was held. Vulons traveled to Earth for vacation and the slowly rebuilding human race tried to stay generally the hell away. This was not an eternal peace, however. When the results of the galactic census of 2020 were made public it was discovered that the average skin tone of the recently discovered human race was very slightly darker than that of the vulons ’. Having never grown out of their phase of racial discrimination, the vulons took this information and ran with it. Other than the new racial motive, the invasion was the same as always. They descended upon the largest settlements, wreaked inexplicable havoc, and made it apparent that they really just didn ’ t like the local inhabitants. & nbsp; Edit 1: Maybe this will fix the format Edit 2: Good news, everyone! The format has been fixed thanks to me copying the comment /u/seriouslyrawr left. Edit 3: How do I spell?

[ WP ] Worst Day Ever ( 500 words or less )

The last words Nathan uttered to himself before he went to sleep was, `` This was the best day of my life!''. He was promoted to Regional Manager, found out the love of his life ( his fiancée ) was pregnant, and had a night of wonderful, passionate sex. The next morning he woke up to the sound of his girlfriend orgasming... only it was n't him giving it to her. `` What the fuck! Who are you and why are you in our bed? `` He asked the black man ( who was 12 inches into his pregnant fiancée ). `` Nathan this is my new boyfriend Jaquez, he broke into our house last night with his friends and robbed the place and did n't want to leave before they all had thier way with me... I'm in love Nathan. `` She admitted. `` What the fuck?! You've lost your mind Katrina, and get the fuck out my house you nigger! `` he yelled... right before Jaquez put his head to the wall and knocked him out. He proceeded to sodomize Nathan with the help of his friends in the other room while Katrina filmed the whole thing and tweeted to all his followers and posted it on his Facebook page. When he woke up it was to an aching, bleeding asswhole and an empty house full of smoke.They had decided to torch the place.He was able to crawl out the house and make it to a neighbors house and call the police.When the deputy arrived to take his story, he asked him to get in the car and go to the station to do a line up... only they never made it to the station. The deputy pulled over in an abandon subdivision and stopped the car on an empty street. `` Why are we stopping? `` Nathan asked before the deputy hit him with pepperspray, dragged him out the car, stripped him naked, raped him repeatedly on the street in broad daylight, knocked all his teeth out on the curb, forced him to perform oral sex, and cut his penis off and made him eat it. When Nathan whimpered the words `` Please God make it stop. ``, the deputy paused, put Nathans face to his bare asswhole, farted in his mouth, and said `` there is no God'' before completely releasing his feces into Nathans mouth.He then got Nathan to lick it clean in exchange for living and got into the car and left Nathan there naked, bloody, and shitty. The last words Nathan said before he went to sleep was `` Worst day ever.''

[ WP ] A redditor grows increasingly depressed because no one replies to his WritingPrompts . Then one day ... .

He tapped the button anxiously. All he wanted was a story. Something to pass the time. Hell, even an acknowledgement that he was alive. `` Reply,'' he whispered to the gods. `` Someone reply. F5. Still nothing. Frustrated, he leapt up and stalked into the kitchen. He stood for a moment, staring into the fridge. There was nothing to eat. How could life get any worse? He sighed and decided on a sandwich. Of course they were out of everything for that too. Bread and bologna it was, then. On his way out of the room, he grabbed a bag of Doritos. Back to the computer. Refresh. Refresh. Then he froze. An orange envelope stood out in the corner of his screen. He'd gotten a reply to his latest, extremely meta writing prompt. *Do n't get your hopes up, * he told himself. *Probably just another smartass. * Fingers trembling, he clicked the envelope. `` Write about a Redditor'', he'd said. `` Holy shit,'' he said now. `` It's actually a story. Bologna and Doritos forgotten, he began to read. It was a strange story, about a guy browsing the internet, going about the mundane tasks of his life. *Something drew Billy's gaze to the window, * he read. *There was nothing there, of course. Not that he could see much. It was getting late - or early - and it was pretty dark outside. A glance at the clock warned that he should have been sleeping a long time ago. * He pulled back, feeling a chill for no real reason at all. It was n't that late here - it was n't like the writer could read his mind. He forced a chuckle, and tried to shrug off the vague sense of unease that had worked its way under his skin. The story got progressively stranger, and soon he was casting glances over his shoulder at the silent, empty room around him. He was n't sure why. The story itself was n't that scary. Then there was a scene where the boy in the story grew hungry and went to make a sandwich. *'' There's no meat in this house!'' he complained. `` I guess it's PB & J again. `` * He pulled back. `` Do n't freak out,'' he muttered to himself. `` You're eating bologna, not peanut butter.'' He pulled the sandwich along the desk on its napkin. As if it could sheild him from the tingling sensation along his spine. He continued reading. *The window slid open as Billy took another sticky bite. Busy tapping away at his keyboard, he did n't hear the soft shushing it made in the frame. * *Soon, though, he needed to stretch, and as he did, he slowly spun in his chair, lazily surveying his apartment. * The word `` apartment'' was half hidden at the bottom of the screen. Quickly, he scrolled down to read the rest. There was nothing there. Disappointed, he hovered over the upvote button. You had to upvote your first genuine reply, right? But really, the story sucked. He was n't satisfied. He clicked the downvote button, deriving an odd pleasure from the act. Refresh. No new replies. He tossed the sandwich and tried to convince himself to go to bed. He'd almost succeeded when the phone rang. `` I saw that, Billy,'' a ragged voice said. `` Sorry,'' he said. `` You have the wrong number.'' `` No.'' He rolled his eyes. `` My name is n't Billy,'' he tried again. `` There's no Billy here.'' The man on the phone cackled. `` It is,'' he said. `` Course it is. Billy Bologna's your name.'' He opened his mouth, trying to formulate a reply. `` You should n't have done that, Billy,'' the voice said. `` You should n't have done that.'' The call disconnected. Really worried now, he turned to look over his shoulder. His eyes reached the window. He screamed.

[ CW ] Write a story set in the modern day and describe everything like its classic high fantasy .

Rolling out of bed the high wizard Frank fought off the cobwebs of sleep as he grouped around his bedside table for his vision orb. Gazing into its glowing surface he realized his fellow wizard Bob needed his help. With barely enough time to get dressed he jumped into his horseless chariot and made off down the streets of the city to the great high wizard tower of `` American Biotech and Pharmaceuticals''. The tower was bustling with activity as serfs, drudges, thralls, peons and vassals scurried about. Potions were mixed and alchemical concoctions prepared as other wizards poured over arcane writings that appeared on various vision orbs and crystal cubes. Making sure his pure white wizarding robes were properly fitted, high wizard frank opened the doors to the great hall marked `` authorized personnel only''. `` Bob? I got your text, something happen with the samples?'' High wizard frank asked as he approached Bob. Wizard Bob had worked in the tower for years on his current project. He had sacrificed much of his personal life but he deemed the possible reward worth it. `` Yup, i ran the numbers, replication of the virus stopped completely after injection, but all the mice survived and appear healthy.'' Wizard Bob replied. `` So, basically, you just cured AIDS.'' High Wizard Frank smiled. `` Well...'' `` Do n't be modest, you finally did it.'' High Wizard Frank pulled out his personal vision orb and manipulated the arcane symbols. `` Hello? Boss? Bob did it... I'm not joking... Bob actually did it... I'll review the data but i think we should go to clinical trials as soon as possible. Sure thing.'' High Wizard Frank tucked the orb back in his pocket. Bob sat down in his chair and took off his glasses. Only eerie glow of the crystal cubes reflecting off the potions illuminating his face. `` I think, i'm going to take a nap.''

[ WP ] Stockholm syndrome , but the other way around .

`` Here it is. 2 million dollars in unmarked bills.'' `` What?'' `` Feel free to check. It's all there.'' `` What are you talking about? Where's my daughter? If you hurt her-'' `` She's with us now.'' `` Huh?'' `` We kidnapped another girl and ransomed her for 2 million dollars, which now belongs to you.'' `` I do n't want it. I want my daughter.'' `` We think you're lying. She told us all about the kind of dad you've been and you're lucky Sammy does n't sock you in the face for it. Chill, Sammy. *Sammy*. Chill.'' `` How dare you people-'' `` How dare YOU, sir. You're never home, you crush her confidence AND her spirit with your cynical bullshit world and your Victorian-era expectations including your stupid pompous modern day ettiquette garbage. When's the last time you took her anywhere? Huh?'' `` I do n't have to-'' `` You'd love to take this money and walk away, but you ca n't risk anyone finding out because that would destroy your reputation. Fortunately we've taken care of everything. You'll tell the police you never heard from us and we'll disappear forever and no one will ever be the wiser unless she writes a book one day after her presidential terms are over, terms with an's' to imply a second term, and only after she's bored of writing novels about Frankenstein which she wants to do for a living not like you'd even know, right?'' `` I know what she likes. She writes non-fiction like her dad. Experiments, research, ideas, things that matter.'' `` She hates writing non-fiction. You're forcing a square peg into a round hole with your analytical, linear thinking, and you know it but you do n't care. She's a free spirit and she knows what she wants and you do n't care and now you do n't have to, so if you'll just-'' `` This is bullshit. What do you think you're going to do from here?'' `` Well, I lied earlier, we ransomed the girl for 6 million. We're retiring. Moving out of the country to buy a farm. We might build a school.'' `` I'm sorry but huh?'' `` Your daughter noticed that all 5 of us had abusive fathers, but more importantly, we had mothers who did n't put up with their shit. Who fought back. Everything she said made so much sense - she had us all figured out. She's truly an inspiration.'' `` I know that, she's my daughter.'' `` Well now she's the Principal of a school and the House Mother to a farm and a bunch of dummies trying to rebuild their lives. So... we'll be seeing you. Oh, before I forget, she wanted me to tell you... Hold on, I have it written down.'Galapar fensirek. Bun, kalaway. Garr.' `` She... I...'' `` Aw, do n't cry, man. You're a shitty dad but she's going to turn out fine.'' `` It's not that, you idiot. It's what she said...'' `` You guys Portuguese or something?'' `` That's the language she created. And it's not a dialect, either. It's a fully developed language, one which I never took the time to learn yet somehow know. I'm pretty sure she taught it to me subliminally by editing the meditation mp3s I fall asleep to...'' `` So what did she say?'' ``... A lot.'' `` So...'' `` So you guys should go. Keep the money. She's got an expensive habit, those Bottlecaps candies. I'm sure you already know.'' `` Yeah, got a box on me at all times.'' `` Rootbeer and Cola?'' `` She's into all of the flavors except-'' `` Cherry. She hates cherry. Call me if you need anything. And I know you already think I'm a terrible dad, but the only reason I'm letting all this happen is-'' `` -because all 6 of us are homosexuals either born without a penis or victims of a traumatic penile event at some point in our lives?'' `` Is that really all true?'' `` No no, but we've all known each other since childhood and none of us are weirdos. We're just misguided punks. We watch Mary Poppins and eat fish and chips every year on Gary's birthday, like, we're carebears in bear costumes.'' `` No, I saw the'I love my wife' sticker on the car. Terrible people do n't have the guts to put that on their car.'' `` That's Tim's car and he really does love her.'' `` Alright, well I'm assuming she's still mad at me for taking an extra few days to call you guys back, so I ca n't expect a hug but give one to her for me. And call me if you guys get in any trouble of if she becomes too much to handle.'' The End

[ WP ] Write a story in which a character slowly loses his empathy and humanity because of how society treats him as well as having us empathize with him .

( 1/2; I'll post the 2nd part below ) I work the night shift. People on television call it the'graveyard shift' or'third watch', but the 8pm-4am paramedic shift is unique to the night because all deaths have their patterns. The most common time to die of a heart attack is mid-morning, and more specifically on a Monday. The most common time for a slip-and-fall accident is 3pm on a Thursday. Spousal abuse is 6:30pm on a Friday if the victim lives, and 11:30pm Friday if the victim dies. And the most common time to die in a drunk-driving related crash is 2:45am Sunday morning. So my shift defines my patients, and I work nights. Certain things about working a night job are hypnotically calm. I walk to the 24hr grocery store at 4:15am, bypassing the empty lines as I stroll right up to check-out with my basket and get everything scanned in a flash by the lone clerk wearing the nametag'Tim'. Somehow I do n't think it's his real name. I go home where my roommate Shane is stumbling back at the same time that I am, counting his cash from another day's artificial flirting at the gay club where he tends bar. When he's not around sometimes I go to the corner bar to play pool with the regular crowd of crackheads and tweaks still up at this time of night, descending on the only bar in town I know that's open to nightcrawlers like me. Finally I sleep in a bedroom where I've covered the window in tin foil so the sunlight does n't stream through and wake me up at 8 or 11am before I actually wake up at 3. It's not a lot of sleep, I admit. I rarely get to bed before 8am, which to'normal' people would be like a 9pm curfew, but I ca n't sleep much later without having a sense of shame at the wasted day ahead. I wake up, cook some 4pm breakfast, and go run a few sets of stadiums at the convention center as the sun starts to set over the pier. The African man and his wife are here again. They're here at least three times a week, and while he's in gym clothes she wears a full, colorful fabric garb and large headwrap, running up and down the stadium stairs as he encourages her in a language I do n't understand. They seem genuinely happy. It's curious. I get to work shortly before 8pm and change into my uniform. I'm still relatively new to nightshift and it's nice to catch up with the noon-8pm crowd. Most car crashes ( non-drinking ) happen at 5:30pm. I'm a whiz with the jaws of life. Today's Friday, so the gears do n't really start up until the drunken fight calls and gang violence roll in after 9pm. You'd think those calls would be later into the night once the bars are closing, but the gang neighborhood issues usually sprawl out earlier; 9-10ish, while the bar fights are more towards 2. Those are relatively easy because I'm in a public environment so it's really just a grab-and-go call; get them in the rig and on our way. What's stranger to me are the calls that invite you into the personal lives of others; getting a 911 call to someone's home and filling your head with the full context of where and how people live. You're not just picking up a drug overdose patient. You're picking up a drug overdose patient in a run-down house with rotting food in the cabinets, the thick, humid stench of waste in the bathroom, and a screaming toddler in soiled clothes reaching up from the make-shift playpen they've been placed in hours before. We call Child Protective Services for the kid but we'll never find out what happened. Not until someone calls 911 again. The highest statistical frequency for child abuse ( pre-K ) is around 1pm. I once went to the home of a man who duct-taped his four year old son's arms together and burned him in the eye with a cigar. Apparently the kid was hyper and running, and the duct-tape/cigar combo was a lesson to stay put. I do n't have any nieces or nephews yet so I'm not sure what the correct punishment is supposed to be. That call was early in my career, and I was pretty upset by what I saw. Whenever I have a particularly bad case we inevitably have to clean our ambulance afterwards, so I get a bit of time back at our station for decontamination and I used to spend a minute in the bathroom running the sink's warm water over my hands. It was like an'all clear' sign to me, that I've left the call, cleaned myself of it, and am back to normal. Warm water on your wrists is incredibly calming. Today I had three cases of spousal abuse, a few car crashes, bar fights, and a yard fire. One of the abuse cases was victim to a frying pan, which was a new method to see. When I finish work, I swing by the 24hr grocery, buy my stir-fry dinner from Nametag Tim, and go home. Shane and I drink shit whiskey with a few of his buddies and watch a Tivo'd football game we missed during the day. I go to sleep. Sleep, sunset, stadiums. Then back to work. This is the entirety of my existence. It's like a revolving door of injuries where the entire horror of the opening act is unveiled before me, but I never see the conclusion. Young kid stabbed six times in the stomach. His father screaming that he's the devil while still holding the knife. We wait for police escorts for those, of course, but sometimes the ambulance gets there first. So we wait. After the police stabilize the scene we patch the kid up as best we can, but he's still unstable when we get him to the ER. Will he die? I wo n't find out. I'll never hear about it again after he leaves my ambulance, and it's shocking how rarely these things end up on the news. Tonight's a saturday, so a lot of the violence and car crashes involve alcohol. In addition to the 6x stabbed abdomen, I get two different gun shot wounds, a perforated liver from a car crash, two concussions, an overdose, and a pt. anxiety attack. It's hard for me to respect things like the anxiety attack amidst all the physical injuries I see. My rig ( ambulance ) specializes in trauma response, so we only get'medical' ( internal medicine and disease ) calls when the Basic Life Support rigs are busy. When I get back from work Shane complains because my uniform smells bad. I forgot that someone threw up on me at some point tonight. I showered, but it still leaves a sort of'cologne' on your clothes. Sleep, sunset, stadiums. I go to work. Today somebody who texted while driving slammed into another car and I have two life-threatening injuries to deal with. I load the amputated patient onto one gurney while another medic loads their collapsed lung patient onto another. It's a treadmill of injuries for the rest of the night, and I'm not sure that I remember each one individually anymore. A minute later, a week has gone by and I have n't really noticed. Not much changes. A neighbor has called 911 because Frying Pan woman was beaten again. This time her face was hit with an iron. Not a hot iron, but it does look like it might have shattered her left malar ( cheekbone ). We load her up. I do n't wonder if she'll ever leave her husband, because it's not going to happen. I wonder when that neighbor will call me again, or if she'll still be alive next time. She lives on the far side of our district and it's a long drive. After a night of relative calm ( by our standards ), we get a call for a robbery-related GSW. Somebody shot the patient to rob a cash register, I guess. I'm tired because my shift is almost over and I'm planning the rest of my day, and as we load the GSW onto a stretcher I notice a glass-door freezer in front of me and remember I wanted to buy dinner later. I'm disoriented. I'm not supposed to be here yet. I'm at my grocery store. The Gun Shot Wound has a nametag that says'Tim'. I feel confused, because I know nobody else works here this late at night. Do we leave the store empty when we take him away? I look down again and I'm angry, because I'm not sure what I'm supposed to feel, but I get the distinct impression that something is supposed to happen when I see somebody from my world on the stretcher. But I do n't know what to look for beyond the blood loss in front of me; I'm not sure what else there is. We have to decontaminate the rig after we drop off Gunshot Wound Tim and naturally I have to wash my hands, but I do n't keep them under the water like I used to when I wanted to calm down and return to normal. Because all of this *is* normal, and there's nowhere else to go. When my shift ends I ca n't complete my routine because the grocery is closed and surrounded by police. There are n't any other food shops open, and I rarely buy food for more than a night at a time. So instead I take a long walk home, passing by the nice side of town. All the lights are out in the houses and I wonder how many of them have people hurting their kids or spouses inside. All the homes with dirty laundry strewn about, over-turned tables when a patient has fallen over, food boiling over on the stove because they've forgotten their surroundings in a moment of crisis. At home Shane's drunk with another one-night stand; one of a neverending series of girls who met him at the club and is naive enough to think she's `` converting'' him to like women when he has all along. I do n't feel like playing pool and I'm hungry so I just go to sleep to stave off boredom instead.

[ WP ] Due to an administration error , a perfectly normal kid is invited to a summer camp for children with super powers .

`` Zapp Sparrow?'' `` Actually it's Zach...'' `` Close enough'' The scarred, grizzled man with the 5 o'clock shadow gestured for him to climb aboard the bus, the words `` Captain Blast's Summer Camp'' emblazoned on the side. Zach climbed aboard. So began his summer, and with it the end of the world. Four other children were on the bus, a boy with spiked silver hair, a girl with an eyepatch, and a pair of identical twins with strange markings on their faces. He decided to sit next to the least intimidating one, the boy with silver hair. `` So what's your power?'' The boy asked. `` Power?'' Zach responded. `` Yeah, I mean like this...'' The silver-haired boy twisted his fingers around in a way that looked distinctly unnatural. The skin at the end of his index finger split, a needle of white bone sticking out of the loose skin, he points it at the side of the bus and a pale white laser shoots out of the bone. The metal where the beam hits quickly begins glowing white. `` Oi! Knock it off back there! No powers on the bus!'' The bus driver calls toward the boy. `` Sorry, Bill!'' The silver-haired kid twists his hand back into it's normal shape. `` And sorry bud, looks like we'll have to wait until we get to camp before you can show off your power.'' `` But I don't-'' `` Nah, do n't spoil it! The magic's all gone once you explain you power!'' The silver boy seemed adamant about Zach having some kind of power he definitively did not. Well, all this would probably be explained later... maybe... The bus left the paved roads of the suburbs and ventured onto the rough dirt roads of the countryside. Zach examined the other kids while they rode. The silver-haired boy... Wait a minute. `` Hey, what's your name?'' Zach asked. He was never great with names, but he managed to surprise himself going through an entire conversation with the other kid without even asking. `` Oh, it's Steven. My friends call me Silver, for obvious reasons.'' He gestured to his hair. `` You?'' `` Zachary, most people call me Zach... Not really a story behind that, it's just how it is...'' Zach scratched his head, looking awkardly around. Silver was wearing a black t-shirt with a white skull on the front. His pale skin was lightly sunburnt, and his eyes had the same eerie pale tone as the rest of his anatomy. The girl with the eyepatch was different in almost every way. Her dark skin and smooth, inky black hair made a striking difference compared to Silver's pale white. Her remaining eye was crimson, and her gaze was aimed squarely out the window. Her arms looked powerful enough to tear Zach in half, and the air she gave off did n't inspire confidence that she would n't. The twins were playing rock-paper-scissors with each other. Their faces were painted to resemble dragons, by the look of it. Zach could n't tell anything about them apart from the fact that they both had shaved heads and identical clothing resembling lizard scales. Their clothes were the same color too. A few more minutes passed before the bus began pulling into the camp. It had a wooden sign over the entrance, bearing the same words as the side of the bus. A large man in a flannel shirt and denim pants was standing at the door when everyone got off the bus. A dozen or so other kids were standing behind him. `` Howdy howdy, campers! I see we have a new face here to join us! Welcome, Zapp Sparrow!'' The man had a jovial tone, his voice booming. `` Actually, my name is Zach Narrows,'' Zach spoke up. `` What?'' The man's voice immediately flattened. He quickly picked himself up, however, and immediately floated over to the bus driver. `` Bill... Where is the camper I asked you to pick up?'' He asked. `` What d'ya mean? This is the camper.'' Bill idly examined his fingernails while the large man stood exasperated. `` I asked you to get Zapp Sparrow, you know, the kid who shoots lightning from his hair?'' `` Well when I got there, he was being investigated for causing a power outage, so now you get this kid instead.'' `` Are you joking?'' `` No, I'm hard of hearing, all those explosions right in my ear, you know.'' The large man floated over to Zach and leaned toward him. `` Do we need to call your parents and have them come get you?'' `` My parents are n't... around anymore. I should call my aunt though...'' Zach wondered whether his aunt even realized he was gone. It was n't a call he was eager to make, but he did n't want to chance her freaking out when she did. `` If you write down her number we can give her a call, okay?'' `` Okay.'' The large man took a few deep breaths before finally turning back to the campers. `` Anyway, I'm the magnificent Captain Blast! Scoutmaster extraordinaire and great hero of Steele City.'' `` Who?'' `` Shut up, Bill.'' Captain Blast's response was curt and immediate. It was obvious he'd seen the heckling from a mile away. It still roused a few chuckles from the other campers though. `` Anyway, we have our old guard coming back after a semester of schooling!'' `` They're in middle school, Paul. They do n't do semesters yet.'' `` AND WE ARE PLEASED to welcome back our old friends Deadeye, The Dragons, and Steven. Whoops, I mean Zeus.'' Blast made a point to drown out Bill's words, but the bus driver took his opportunity to speak when it came to him. `` Paul, nobody else uses their hero names in camp, it's just you.'' `` Dammit Bill, I'm trying to give off a good presentation for our new arrival and you're undermining me with every word!'' `` Just giving him a taste of camp life, since Mary's late.'' Paul rubbed the sides of his head before continuing. Zach noticed the man was floating an inch or two off the ground, and his clothes seemed to ruffle even when the wind was n't blowing. `` Anyway, your bus driver is one of our amazing counselors: The Invincible Atlas! Our other counselor, Shine Maiden, is definitely not still napping because that would be very irresponsible.'' `` I mean, we could wake her up.'' `` You know what? Yes, let's.'' Bill had sounded sarcastic with his suggestion, but Paul's response was not. Bill raised his hand toward the scoutmaster, and Paul wound up to give him a high five. Everyone around Zach covered their ears. The boom was deafening, like having lightning strike directly next to one's ear. Bill was thrown over 100 feet back, his feet dragging along the ground and digging ruts into the dirt. Zach went deaf for almost a minute, and was seeing spots for several seconds as a result. When his hearing came back, he heard a rather unpleasant message. `` Uh oh, seems she's still sleeping, guess we'd better go again!'' Paul's words were shouted more than spoken, but it was hard to tell whether he was speaking to Bill or simply projecting his voice. The effect was the same regardless. `` JESUS CHRIST! I WAS JUST GETTING A SNACK YOU JACKASSES!'' The woman who leapt out was also dressed in flannel and denim, and held an uncanny resemblance to Paul. She floated down in front of the crowd with grace, while Bill's similar leap thudded roughly on Paul's other side. `` Dammit, I leave for five minutes to grab some lemonade from the canteen and you guys start blowing shit up.'' `` Mary, language!'' `` Shut up, Bill.'' Yeah, Zach was fairly sure Mary and Paul were siblings. There was one other person she resembled, though it was a bit of a harder sell. `` Hey mom!'' Silver's voice rang out, and he wrapped his arms around the woman with childish abandon. She returned the hug, quietly speaking into his ear. It was too quiet for Zach to hear, but it did n't sound like anything meaningful. `` Anyway, now that you've seen the group, why not introduce yourself m'boy?'' Paul pulled the introduction back on track. Finally, Zach was going to address the camp. `` I'm Zach...'' `` And what's your hero name, Zach?'' `` I, uh, do n't have one...'' `` Ah, right, you're not actually a hero yet. But you're not a villain, so there's hope for you yet!'' There was a palpable silence as nobody laughed at Paul's joke. Zach could swear he saw Mary shoot an angry look at him. `` Okay, well we're still a camp even if we are a camp for super humans first, so welcome, Zach!'' There was a small applause, before people started dispersing from the crowd. Zach could already tell, it was gon na be a long summer...

[ WP ] A child that never knew their grandparents has just learned what grandparents are , and thinks that they sound wonderful . The child sneaks out to go to the nearby old folks home to choose their very own grandparents .

It was a cold and windy day at Sunnyside Estate. Laura pulled her blue parka closer, and put her chin to her chest in order to brace against the wind. Had the day been clearer, she would have stuck out against the hillside leading up to the main building of the retirement home, and anyone driving up the winding road would have spotted her within seconds. But today the clouds cast a gloomy glow over the entire neighborhood, and nobody was taking the day to visit their relatives at the home. As she worked her way up the hill, Laura practiced what she would say when she found the right couple. *Hello. My name is Laura Hollingsworth. I would like to ask you to be my grandparents, please. * She thought the *please* added a more refined, official sound to her proposal. And she wanted to get past all of the official things so that she and her new grandparents could do fun things together. The kids in her class would mention their grandparents every so often. *My grandmother and I went to the zoo. My grandfather taught me how to plant tomatoes. * She had always thought that they were adding an extra word in front of mother or father, to make it sound more fancy. So she started calling her own mother and father *grandmother* and *grandfather* sometimes. She didn ’ t know there was any difference until using that name in front of her mother. “ What did you just call me? ” her mother asked, half amused, half concerned, completely confused. “ Grand Mother? ” Laura replied, for the first time getting the sense that she might have said something wrong. “ Sweetie, I ’ m not your grandmother. ” Her mother knelt down in front of her. “ You know that, right? ” “ But you ’ re my mother, ” Laura said slowly. “ And if you ’ re really good at that, then aren ’ t you a grand mother? ” Her mom laughed. “ I can see the confusion. But that ’ s not what the word means. ” Laura frowned. “ Then what? ” Her mother cleared her throat. Then she explained, slowly and carefully, about how parents also have parents. Everyone has a mother and a father, and that included her as well. “ Well where are they? ” Laura asked, starting to get excited. Laura ’ s mother looked down, avoiding Laura ’ s smile. “ I don ’ t have them any more. ” “ Why? ” “ Let ’ s talk about this another day. ” Laura ’ s mother stood up. “ Okay, sweetie? ” She smiled at Laura, but there were sad crinkles around her mouth and eyes. Laura went to bed that night thinking about how sad she would be if she didn ’ t have her mom any more. She didn ’ t her mom to be sad about that. Maybe she could find new parents for her mom. And if her mom liked them, then she could finally have grandparents! In the morning, she woke up with a plan. Laura reached the top of the hill and stopped for a second, trying to catch her breath. She looked up, her cheeks getting goose bumps as the wind managed to brush by and fill the hood of her parka. To the left, there was a wall of windows, and the front entrance just around the corner. To the right, more windows, with a grey door at the end. *A secret entrance. * Laura walked over to the door and tried the handle. It turned easily, and she opened the door and went inside. The noise of the wind disappeared as the door shut behind her. Laura unzipped her parka and tied it around her waist, so that she wouldn ’ t lose it before she headed back home. She was in a small hallway. To her right, cement stairs led up to the next floor. A red door stood before her, a large white number one painted on it. She tried the handle on that door too, and went right inside. The floor was green tile, the walls a color that might have once been white. Fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, and the entire place smelled like a mixture of spearmint, orchids, and pee. But Laura didn ’ t notice any of those things. Sitting a few feet away, white hair like a crown of clouds around her temple, was a little old lady. She had a bright pink shirt and floral pants. Her hands were clasped together on her lap, and on each gnarled finger was a nail painted deep red. The silver necklace she wore seemed too clunky and heavy for her small frame, as if it threatened to pull her off balance at any moment. Laura thought she was the most beautiful thing she ’ d ever seen. Laura walked over to the woman and stood in front of her. The woman had her eyes closed, like she was sleeping, but after a moment she opened them and looked at Laura. “ Yes? ” she asked. Her eyes were warm and brown, but piercing nonetheless. Laura forgot everything she had practiced saying, except for, “ Hello. My name is Laura Hollingsworth. ” The woman smiled. “ Hello Laura Hollingsworth. My name is Patricia Hannon. ” There was silence for a moment. Patricia looked at Laura expectantly. “ I like your shirt, ” Laura blurted out. “ That ’ s my favorite color. ” Patricia looked down at her shirt, like she needed a reminder as to what she had put on that morning. “ Oh, yes. It ’ s so lively, don ’ t you think? ” “ Where are you from? ” Laura asked. “ Well, I was born in Georgia, ” Patricia replied. “ But Samuel and I moved to this town about forty years ago. We ’ ve been here ever since. ” Laura ’ s heart began to race. Maybe she could actually find a pair! “ Is Samuel your husband? ” Patricia nodded. “ We were married for fifty-two years before he passed. ” Laura ’ s heart sank. “ Oh. I ’ m sorry. ” “ What are you sorry for? ” Patricia smiled. “ We had a good life together. Three children, five grandchildren. I could not have asked for better. ” “ Are you a – grandmother? ” Laura could barely get the word out. Patricia nodded again. “ Five beautiful little ones. I think the youngest two are about your age. How old are you, honey? ” “ Seven, ” Laura replied automatically. “ How old are you? ” Patricia laughed. “ Didn ’ t your mother ever tell you to never ask a lady her age? ” Her eyes twinkled, but Laura blushed with embarrassment anyway. “ I ’ m sorry, ” she apologized again. Patricia waved a hand, as if to shoo the apology away. “ Now Miss Laura, I ’ m wondering if there ’ s anything I can help you with? Usually visitors come in through the front entrance. ” Laura sighed. If Patricia was already someone else ’ s grandmother, then she could be honest about what she was looking for. “ I ’ m trying to find my grandparents. ” “ Is that so? Well what are their names? ” “ That ’ s the thing, ” Laura said. “ I don ’ t know. I don ’ t have grandparents. ” Patricia raised her eyebrows. “ If you don ’ t have grandparents, then how can you find them? ” “ My mother doesn ’ t have parents, ” Laura explained. “ Which means I don ’ t have grandparents. So I was hoping to find some. ” Patricia smiled at Laura. The same sad crinkles she had seen on her mother ’ s face appeared on Patricia ’ s, this time a little deeper and more defined. “ That ’ s a very sweet idea, dear. But I think your mother probably doesn ’ t want new parents. ” “ You don ’ t know her, ” Laura said, sounding more annoyed than she felt. “ You ’ re right, ” Patricia allowed. “ I don ’ t. But how would you feel if someone tried to find you a new mother? ” “ I still have mine. ” “ But if you didn ’ t? ” Laura thought about it. “ I guess I wouldn ’ t like it, ” she admitted. “ I ’ d miss her a lot, but I don ’ t think someone else could replace her. ” She paused, then looked down at her toes. “ I still want a grandmother, ” she mumbled. “ It ’ s not fair. ” “ Life isn ’ t fair, ” Patricia said. “ But it ’ s still filled with a lot of beauty. ” They looked at each other for a moment. Laura threw her arms around Patricia ’ s small frame. Patricia let out a laugh of surprise, then returned the embrace. Laura pulled away. “ Will you be here if I come back this time next week? ” “ I think I ’ ll be here for a while longer, ” Patricia replied, her eyes twinkling again. “ Are you going to come back to look for your grandparents again? ” “ No. ” Laura grinned. “ But maybe I can find some more friends next time. ”

[ WP ] A roman generals thoughts/mindset after he fled the field of battle and left his men to die

His heart still pounded from the adrenaline of battle and his bones still shook in time to the marching of a thousand men. His throat burned after the confident shout of commands, but his ears rang with the terrified screams of men that proved his commands were worthless. They would not win. It was not their fate. Perhaps for a better commander, a stronger wall, more troops... He envisioned the soldiers he commanded less than an hour ago. They would all die, he knew that. In the middle of battle it is easy to believe the unexpected will turn the fates of war in your favor, but now, isolated and thinking clearly, it was obvious that they could not have won. But perhaps they could have held the lines a little longer, foreseen the cavalry charge to the left flank a little sooner... but, no. An experienced soldier, the sight of a losing army was not foreign to him. There was a hill nearby the battlefield, and he could picture the soldiers running reform their broken lines on the hill, surrounded by enemies, but standing in their lines for the last time, a final stand. But this time it was not his place to pursue them. It was not his armies place to kill. They were brave, yes, and will die heroes. Their families will weep, but their names will be celebrated. He turned his horse and looked back once more as the sun slowly set in front of him. He would have to ride through the night to escape the enemies that would now run through the land that was once his. He could see smoke rising already, as they burned the villages. Soldiers are brave, he thought as he turned back and kicked the horse into a quick trot. Brave and foolish.

[ WP ] North Korea has successfully detonated nuclear warheads over Washington D.C .

`` Mr. President, we need to evacuate you immediately.'' The secret service agent strolled into the oval office with two of his assistants trailing behind him. The President sat at his desk reading the newspaper and calmly sipping his coffee. He did n't move. `` Mr. President? I have to insist we evacuate now. We have reports of nuclear warheads from North Korea headed towards our location.'' The President set his coffee down and admired the agent standing in front of him. He held his gaze for a moment before returning to the morning paper. The agent looked at his assistants in confusion. `` Mr. President? We have to insist.'' He finally set down the paper, took one last sip of his coffee, and stood up. `` Of course. But before we go, may I ask you what day it is?'' The agent was silent. `` Um... sir?'' `` The date. Today. What is the date?'' `` Uh... April.'' `` April what?'' The agent let out a sigh and loosened up. `` Dammit. April 1st.'' The President chuckled and sat back down. `` Damn straight.''

[ WP ] The Human race discovers something massive in the vast oceans under Europa 's ice .

`` Ninety seconds to impact,'' I called across the cabin. Hundreds of blinking lights around me coloured my vision green and red and amber. Captain Andersdottir waved her hand slowly, her eyes fixed on Europa in the distance. `` Navigation,'' she called out calmly, running through the final systems check. `` Navigation is go, we are in a stable Jovian orbit and have a clear view of Europa for the duration,'' Lieutenant Tanaka stated flatly. We'd been in orbit around Jupiter for ten days now with no problems. `` Sciences?'' `` Analysis software is good-to-go,'' Dr. Hauptman said quietly, staring blankly at her monitors. `` Communications?'' Andersdottir asked, turning to Lieutenant Gonzales-Smith. `` We're five-by-five, channel is clear.'' `` Good,'' Andersdottir said as she turned back to face the icy moon. From here it looked about three-quarters the size of a full moon on Earth. We would n't be able to see the impact itself, but the data would arrive almost immediately. `` Telemetry,'' she continued. `` Telemetry is within 0.05 deviation,'' I said, reading the numbers off the tiny screen at my station. `` *Galileo XXV* payload impact in... thirty seconds.'' We all turned to observe the moon, holding our collective breath as twenty-four satellites on six orbital paths around Europa stood ready. They'd been collecting data since we'd arrived, but their true purpose was about to unfold. `` Count from ten, Singh,'' Andersdottir said quietly, hesitant to break the silence. I watched the countdown clock tick down, then.... `` Ten... nine... eight... seven... six... five -- payload will impact the surface in two... one... radar confirms payload has reached the target.'' The idea was pretty simple. *Galileo XXV* was essentially a rocket with a 125-foot tungsten rod at the tip. It orbited Europa for six days, making slight adjustments to put it into an orbit with a high-altitude apogee. Today, about three hours ago, *Galileo XXV* reached its apogee, made a sudden adjustment, and began plummeting toward Europa. Seventeen minutes ago the satellite went full blast on its reverse thrusters, releasing the tungsten rod and allowing its inertia ( and Europa's gravity ) to pull it to the surface. Once the rod hit the icy surface, it was falling at something like 22,300 kilometers per hour; the force of the impact pushed it through seven kilometers of ice ( the thinnest portion we could realistically hit ), then it plummeted through about 3 kilometers of water before slowly sinking 99 more kilometers to the bottom of the ocean. The impact was significant, enough so that the other twenty-four satellites could measure the shockwave through the ocean below the ice. If the shockwave hit something more dense than the surrounding water, it'd slow down; if it hit something less dense, it'd speed up. Simple. But there was still 76 minutes before the shockwave completely travelled around Europa, so we sat back and checked all the systems for the hundredth time today. `` Hold on... yeah, something's come up already.'' We turned to face Hauptman's station. It was obvious what she was looking at: an oval patch of extremely dense materials, a bright red shape on a green background. Then two more. Then five or six, all ovular but of different lengths. Suddenly the signal cut out. `` Comms!'' Andersdottir shouted. Gonzales-Smith rushed back to his station, turning a number of dials and throwing a headset over his ears. `` Captain, there's some sort of signal stepping all over our broadcast. I'm reading multiple sources, intermittent. Triangulating now....'' We watched as he typed in a command and stared at his screen. `` Ma'am, they're... coming from Europa....'' `` Multiple sources?'' Andersdottir asked. `` Can you filter them out?'' Gonzales-Smith shook his head. `` Too strong. They're overpowering our satellites, and -- hold on -- okay, they've all stopped, data stream is back online.'' We turned back to Hauptman's montitor. There was a thick black stripe where the shockwave had been moving during the interruption. Naturally, the data would be stored on the satellites; it was just a matter of retrieving them later. But to our amazement, there were now hundreds of circles, perfect circles, all congregated in a dozen clusters. `` How big are those?'' I asked. Hauptman circled one with his finger, then tapped twice on the screen. The computer began measuring the diameters of each circle. `` Program says between 21 and 22 kilometers, average 21.45 kilometers in diameter. Density around 11,000 kilos per cubic meter. That's as dense as lead, maybe a touch less.'' `` So huge spheres of lead-like materials scattered across Europa's oceans,'' Andersdottir said to no one in particular. `` Is it possible that it's a settlement of some type? Like a European city of sorts?'' I shrugged my shoulders; hypotheticals were n't my thing. `` I do n't think so,'' Gonzales-Smith exclaimed after a moment's thought. `` Those ovals we saw initially: I think those were spheres, too. But as the shockwave approached, they started moving; the computer registered the movement because it was a pocket of density. It could n't predict movement, right?'' We all stared at him, wondering if he was correct. If they were moving.... `` Well,'' Hauptman interjected, `` we'll see when the shockwave returns. There's enough power that it'll reverberate back to the point of origin and still be picked up by the satellites.'' And sure enough, as the second data set began coming in, there were the same hundreds of spheres, all huddled in groups near the north pole of the moon. `` Lots of movement,'' Hauptman said as he pulled up the initial picture. Sure enough, most of the spheres had shifted slightly; strangely, none had migrated from one group to another. `` Are they ships of some sort?'' Tanaka asked. `` Maybe submarines? And are they broadcasting that signal?'' `` Well, I do n't know about ships,'' Gonzales-Smith replied quietly, `` but I've been running triangulation, and all the signals come from sphere groups.'' `` Here's the thing,'' Hauptman said, pointing at the screen. `` They're all quite dense, perfectly spherical, *ja*? And they're also all resting at the bottom of the ocean on the seabed. Obviously. No movement, very uniform sizes, capable of producing signals when affected by the shockwave.'' She stared at us all for a moment, then frowned. `` It's possible that they're eggs.'' `` Bullshit!'' Tanaka shouted. `` There's no way! If they're eggs, what laid them? Something would've appeared on the monitors, yeah?'' `` Most likely,'' I said. `` Unless they're exactly as dense as the water.'' Hauptman nodded his head. `` These satellites could tell the difference between olive oil and canola oil.'' `` So then they ca n't be eggs, right?'' `` They could be,'' Andersdottir replied, her voice trembling. `` If the parent was interplantary.'' Tanaka scoffed. `` Now we're stretching things,'' he said brusquely. `` We collect data, and the eggheads back on Earth do the hypotheticals, right?'' `` I'm with Tanaka,'' I said with a sigh. `` It's a headscratcher, no doubt, but let's get the data from the satellites and move on to Titan.'' Everyone nodded in agreement. `` Alright, we're going to begin extraction of the data, then Tanaka's going to program the satellites' journey to Titan. T-minus three days until we break orbit, okay?'' Just then, a number of alarms began blaring at Gonzales-Smith's station. He threw on a set of headphones and watched his monitor. `` Ma'am, the signal's back,'' he said breathlessly. `` Pretty strong, too; it could fry out the satellites' receivers.'' `` Switch to emergency band, order them to harden for the next six hours.'' Gonzales-Smith shook his head. `` Signal's covering the emergency band....'' he turned a few dials. `` I could send it on UHF three; that's clear, but the instructions will take about twenty minutes at that low a frequency.'' `` Do it anyways,'' Andersdottir barked. `` And see if you can turn them away from those damned spheres!'' Gonzales-Smith nodded, then paused for a moment. His face drained, becoming pale and sickly. `` Ma'am,'' he said shakily, his voice trembling with fear, `` the signal's not coming from Europa.''

[ WP ] Write an epic battle

*Clang pss-hing* **cracKOW** The sounds jolted me back to consciousness. I chose not to stir, unaware of what I would be in the middle of when I arose. The sounds of fresh battle mingled with the metallic scent of blood mist in the air. Every sword drawn, every shield strike, every cry of valiant death was music to my ears. I was born for this, raised to believe in it, and seasoned to participate in it. This was war. This was insanity. This was what I lived for. I opened one eye and shifted to find myself pinned beneath several bloody heaps of man. The poor soul immediately on top of me had his throat slit by a very nice blade stroke, clean and quick. The guy on top of him, however... he was fucked. His head had been smashed by a shield, bits of brain matter and skull gummed together like egg shells in a pile of pink tar. I could hear the battle close by, it had n't moved much since I had fallen from my horse. I climbed free of the bodies and reached for the nearest weapons. My hands delivered on this day, finding first a beautiful one handed longsword and next a Morningstar mace. The mace had a few spikeseconds broken off, presumably from a helm or even a particularly gruesome caving in of the skull. I gave each a swing and bellowed my return the the battle as I poured heart and soul into my charge. The first man I came upon I brought down a crushing blow from my mace upon his shoulder. He dropped to one knee and I quickly vaulted over him, turning to strike at neck with a quick slash from my blade. It connected, and the mighty blade seperated his head from his shoulders. No time to waste, the armies were in full swing. I sought another opponent, this time finding one who brought the fight to me. I braced myself and stopped his blow with a quick and powerful block. I responded by kicking him firmly in the chest, pushing him away and skewering him through the belly with a firm jab from sword. I was just about to finish him when I felt something like a thunderclap connect with my back. I crumpled, stunned and struggling to gather my wits. I rolled on my back just in time to raise my sword and block a powerful blow from mace. A man stood above me, laughing, but I could hear no sound. Dazed, I looked around and observed the rest of the battle. Men dying, everywhere. Yet, no sounds came to me. I was deafened, and this with the heat of battle only stoked the fires of my determination. I pushed off my attacker and leapt to my feet, slashing wildly for his gut. He tried to block, but only succeeded in moving his hands in front of the blow. In one quick sweep, his hands were no more. My blade hungered for his silent scream, and I pressed onwards. One strike to the knee, now he knelt before me in pain. I towered over him, the defenseless man seeming to silently beg for mercy. I had none... his screams pierced my deaf ear and brought the sound back just as I smashed his skull in with the pommel of my blade. I turned to face the fury and a slow smile crept across my face. The red mists and streams flew all around me, splattering my armor and my skin, staining me red with victory. The sun dipped low in the horizon as a single horn of retreat sounded, and a vicious war cry echoed from my brethren. Tonight, we remain undaunted in the face of chaos. Tomorrow, we send our enemies to dine in Valhalla.

[ WP ] You run an RPG pawn shop . You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they 've acquired .

It was early in the morning on that mid summer's eve day. I will always remember that day when the sun shone over the mindless singing birds and men alike. It was one of those days when you're tired even before you have done anything, when you begin to question the meaning of it all. It was on that day that the hooded man entered my shop. There is n't much to say about him for he had been clothed from head to feet in a brown rugged cloak with patches of leather attached to where I suppose he had been struck on the many adventures that he had experienced. His face was non-existent, covered in shadow and mud. From within the darkness emerged a deep, rugged voice: 《Hello, my name is HoodLife677, I would like to sell you some equipment I have stol... ehm I mean scavenged from the outer world, if you would have it of course 》. I replied: 《Well of course, if it is treasures that you bear then I have coin to spare》. 《Very well》, said the hooded man as he lay at my desk a very old sword on my desk. It looked rather ancient and have quite a value. However it did seem rather familiar... 《This sword looks awfully familiar》, I said trying to remember where I had seen it. 《Well of course it looks familiar》said the hooded man with an escalating tone. 《It is the sword of the vampire king Sindowl, it is said that this sword feeds on his victim's blood to rejuvenate it's bearer and one who equips this sword becomes practically invincible》. Being the easily influencible kid that I was back in the day, I bought right into his story. 《I must have it》, I said almost screaming at the man, 《Name your price sir》. 《This sword ia rather precious, you must understand, if I am willing to sell it, it is because I am in desperate need of the money, otherwise I would never part with it》, said the man trying to barter for a good price. 《I will give you 500 gold coins for it》, I said. 《Then the sword is yours》, said the hooded man. And I gave him his 500 gold coins and he went away without another word. I took the sword and proceded to place it on a stand in the antique weaponry section. It is only when I got there that I realised where I had seen the sword before; it was part of my antique sword pieces collection to begin with. The hooded man had sold me a sword which belonged to me in the first place...

[ WP ] You are an old , faithful dog who is about to be put to sleep .

I felt the tense silence as I lay in His bed. Even in my earliest years I would play my part as the coercible animal and do as He said, I would n't touch His sleeping chambers. But, things have changed. I can do what I want. I can shit in the house. I can eat off of the floor. I can lick my arse. But, that does n't change a thing. I do n't have the energy to feel what I would as a puppy... these new privileges... I would n't have the capacity to understand them. He feels differently now, and I'm not completely sure why. I remember He and I would sit on the fluffy cushions in the main room and watch Lassie. I know it is Lassie because he calls it Lassie, and throughout the entire picture, it was: `` Lassie, Lassie, Lassie''. We would watch the dog come to the boy over and over again. He never gets tired of watching it. But, whenever that scene would come on, he would pull me closer, I would be petted generously. I would rest my head atop His chest and feel a soft thumping noise, a tremor. As the screen darkened. His body would loosen and slump over me, his nap commencing. I would shift on top of him and nuzzle my snout onto his lap. That is all I want, and all I will ever want. Now, He will barely even look like at me. I want Him to notice me. I want Him to be *there*... Recently, I've been following him. I would poke at his legs with my nose, and he would barely even notice. His face is empty, like my food bowl. I remember our last few walks, I would see dogs I knew. I would think of dogs I once knew. I would wonder where they went. I would watch them grow sickly. I would never see them again, just their Him or Her's solemn face drifting by... emptier than any food bowl could ever be. I decide to return to my bedding, I think He needs room. I wake up in my carrier. I whimper. I have been taken in my sleep. Where am I? The carrier is opened and I grabbed by many appendages and I am held against a hard surface. I paw at the restrainers holding me down. I want to know where I am. As I turn my head side to side, I see Him. His empty face looks like one of another Him, but he is my Him, another painted shade of Him. He paints. He is still here. I hear mumbles. He approaches. I feel pressure of one of his hands on my ear, stroking it tenderly. His face is near mine. We lock eyes. Moisture begins to drip down his face. I lap it off of him. He shakes. My vision diminishes with every ear stroke. His breathing becomes heavy, it is reminiscent of the Him on the fluffy cushions. He mumbles. I do n't understand: `` *Please don-*'' he chokes... he starts again, gasping: `` *Please do n't hate me. *'' He puts one hand on his face. He takes it off. I do n't understand. `` *I... you're my best friend. It's hard for me to let go. Please forgive me. *'' His voice takes a forceful tone. `` *I did n't choose this, I did n't WANT this! *'' I feel a pain in my side. He inhales sharply again. The appendages holding me down mumble. He takes a step back. I hear an exhale. He leans forward. I hear something I understand. `` *I love you... *'' I *know* this! *Love*, *LOVE* is what I have been thinking of, this... it's the answer that will cradle my weakened body as I lay somewhere that is not a bed, in someone's arms that are not His. I grasp it all as much as a dog can, is this what I've been searching for? I realize I have heard this before, more than Lassie, even... How has this jumped over my head? It was n't a failed command. I recognize my inferiority, and there is nothing I can do. It's okay... even in my last seconds... as I advance onto something more or less... I do n't know. I know this feeling I've had for Him since His and my younger days... it is something that is everywhere but nowhere in sight. **LOVE**. I know I was no border collie, and I will never be a Lassie, but I will always be good enough for Him. I know it. **TL; DR: ** Not everyone gets to be Lassie. **EDIT**: This has nothing to do with religion or any gods, it is just about a man and his dog. The dog sees the man as his world. But, interpret it as you wish...

[ WP ] All deities are resurrected for one night without any of their abilities . This night happens to be Halloween . They must persuade the entire populace if they are to live longer ...

`` I've got it! we'll throw a party!'' `` Damn it Bacchus, the last thing we need is for you to get drunk again! Besides how in the hell is that going to fix our situation?'' Jesus's sudden scorn made the hotel banquet hall grow a little quieter. `` No! I think he might be onto something.'' Odin bellowed as he poured himself a mug of ale from a cask belonging to, well, one of the god's of alcohol. Downing his mug Odin continued, `` We do n't have to convince everyone, just a substantial portion of those we see, right?'' The hall hummed with small affirmations of the reality which everyone was aware. `` So what's your point *O-DIN*'' King Neptune begrudgingly questioned as he stood from his seat. The man was perpetually wet, actually looked rather sweaty from a distance. He was wearing a towel wrapped around his waist that one of the hotel maids handed him from her cart that he had passed on his way in. `` My point is this,'' Odin stated filling up his mug again `` We have a feast an-'' `` A debauchery!'' Bacchus interrupted. `` Shut up you drunk!'' Anubis shouted, `` Continue Odin'' `` And... we get as many people in here as we can. Get them nice and drunk and then badabing badaboom it will be easy to convince them we're gods... or *practically* gods.'' The look on Odin's face was nothing less than smug, or maybe the early stages of drunk. He pulled and ale horn from his trousers and began filling that up instead. `` What's badaboom? I do n't know what that is.'' Joseph Smith stated from his seat in the corner. `` *Does n't surprise me*'' Loki said under his breath as he passed Joseph Smith to fill his own ale horn. `` What was that, Loki? I missed it.... Loki?'' Joseph Smith said as Loki continued to walk away. Spinning on his heels and backpedaling Loki grinned, `` Well badaboom, is kinda a big thing.'' `` What thing?'' Joseph Smith asked `` Its own thing, and its fairly large.'' Loki smirked as he filled up his Horn. `` Badaboom? A Big Badaboom?'' Joseph Smith `` Yeah, but you're not pronouncing it right, you have to stress the da, like you're yawning. Daaaaa.'' Loki announced with a stern and serious face to Joseph Smith as he walked over to Jesus and Thor. Jesus and Thor were arm in arm with tears streaming down their faces in a silent half gasping laugh. `` Badaaaaboom. Big Badaaaabooom'' Joseph Smith tried practicing. The Hall burst out into roaring laughter. ``... Perfect'' Loki said with approval. `` I ca n't believe he has n't seen the movie.'' Jesus whispered to Thor. `` There's only so much you can do in 24 hours.'' Anubis said empathetically. `` Which brings me to a very SERIOUS question.'' The hall quieted down. `` If we're to convince MOST of the people we see that we're deities returned, how are we going to do that *now*? All together we've seen a few thousand just getting everyone into this banquet hall.'' Anubis finished as Loki walked by to sit and chat with his old friend Neptune. The hall murmured for a short amount of time. `` I have it!'' Shouted King Neptune, `` We use blindfolds!'' `` He's right,'' Loki added with glee, `` If we ca n't see them then they ca n't be added to the count.'' Anubis looked less than thrilled, `` So we wander around blind folded and invite random strangers to a party?'' ``... Yup'' King Neptune said flat faced. `` And what of the drink? Most of it is gone, someone will have to acquire more.'' Anubis was visibly irritated now. `` I vote Bacchus and Joseph Smith!'' Loki said evenly. `` Why *me*? knowing you its one of your stupid jokes again!'' Joseph Smith said, a little cherry faced. Loki finished his horn of ale and stood, `` Now now, hear me out. We all know you can be trusted to get the job done, of that I have no fear. However, Bacchus can be trusted to get the good stuff, none of that Miller Light crap. I mean if we need to get people drunk to convince them we're gods, then we need to get them *DRUNK*. Steel Reserve type stuff, Bacchus can handle that, but you, we need you to make sure he does n't wander into a frat house.'' `` Fine, I'll do it this ONE time.'' Joseph Smith said begrudgingly. `` Its Settled then! We have work to do!'' Anubis cried out. The Hall was a wave of commotion all at once with gods hurrying to tie blind folds to each others faces with ripped cloth from their garments. Loki wandered over to the ale casks where Jesus and Thor were amusedly watching a visibly drunk Odin stumble out of the banquet hall blindfolded and arms out stretched. Jesus grinned as Loki joined them at the casks. `` Do you think this plan will work?'' Thor asked Loki. `` Oh hell no.'' Loki said smiling as he watched Joseph Smith rush out of the hall chasing an un-blindfolded Bacchus. `` Its just a bit of fun, only fun I'll get until next Halloween.''

[ WP ] Humans have the opportunity to never feel sadness or pain again , but in order to do so must offer up a sacrifice : one person to become immortal and experience only misery for the rest of eternity .

I did n't know who was sacrificed to make the way for only happiness and healthiness. All I know is that it was a very selfish decision, as the perpetrator had to have known the consequences. He had to. I was one of the dozen who did n't take the'gift'. Earth is a sad place, filled with happy people who can not enjoy the benefits of sadness and pain. The government, also some of the people who did n't take the cure, sent thousands of people off to their death. They did n't care. They did n't really have feelings. They would go and kill thousands of innocents like me just so the government could declare that land ours. Did the troopers care if they lost an arm? No. Did they care if they lost a leg? No. With the countries who could n't afford the'vaccine' seeing the smiling men with missing legs and arms looking like sadists, they turned to shaming the people killing their innocents. Did the troopers care? No. The troopers would n't stop until they lost something vital, usually their heart, brain, liver, or lungs. Some were even our loved ones, and we were turned to the burden of carrying all the memories of sadness and pain their ever was. We were even exiled, because they were considered the'better race' by our government. Forced to live in the hot, humid, dry area once known as panama. Oh, and one more question. Did the people without sadness and pain ever care about us?

[ WP ] You 've been able to read minds since you turned 7 . Mostly you watch people 's thoughts passively and undetected but one day someone talks back .

`` Yeah I know you can read minds,'' the voice scowled. *What? * I thought. `` Sitting there cocky and all. Thoughts are meant to be private, you know? That's why they're called *thoughts*,'' the voice enunciated the last word. It was a feminine voice for sure. The park was crowded. Much too crowded to identify the one girl talking back. Thinking back? I lowered my noise-cancelling headphones and listened for anyone actually talking to me. Nothing. Just kids laughing and parents yelling after them. I re-raised the headphones back into place. The headphones were n't necessary for me to read minds, but it allowed me to distinguish them easier. No external noise penetrated them. It gave me tight control of my ability. I gave a final visual scan of my surroundings. No one stuck out. Hmm, interesting. Ever since I was little I thought I was unique. I knew I was unique in reading minds, absolutely. From finding out where my parents hid my presents to getting answers from professors I was always a step ahead of the curve. Most of the time thoughts were so boring, though. Everybody was the same. Insecurities, ideas of what to eat, and money - I'd heard it all - hundreds of times over. Just across the pasture a cute girl gazed in my direction. She smiled. *Ooh*. I had to see what that meant. I'turned' on my ability. `` Oh my god. He's so cute! Those headphones are too big for his head - what a dork. But SO cute... Now he's looking at me. What do I do?'' *She's really into me, * I thought. I smiled at her. She smiled back. I gathered my things and made my way over to her. `` Here he comes. He's actually coming over to talk to me!'' *Wow! I am nailing this. * `` How's my hair look?'' She adjusted her hair nervously. *I love when girls do that. * `` Oh my gosh. He smiled again. So cocky! I loved that.'' I had approached her. She was sitting. Her back resting on the tree. I extended out my hand. `` Hi. My names --,'' * -- Jonah, * Her thought cut me off, but her voice sounded different. It was that same feminine voice as before. `` You?'' I asked, confused on so many levels. *Yep! * She answered. `` You can read minds too?'' *Yes. Ever since I was young. * I was amazed. `` What am I thinking right now?'' I was so excited to be read. She inspected my thoughts. I could feel it. It felt as though someone was bumping around in my head. Like when you're pushing through a stationary bar crowd trying to get a drink. She was looking for something deeper. It took her longer than my surface thoughts would've taken. Then my head got lighter. She was out. She was laughing. *Legally Blonde? * `` What?'' *Your favorite movie is Legally Blonde? * She laughed again. There was no denying it. How could I? She's a freaking mind reader. `` Yeah, I guess.'' I was n't proud of the fact, but it was true. Reese Witherspoon is a delight. `` Wait a minute!'' I exclaimed. Just now noticing something. *What? * She asked. `` We're standing right next to each other. Why are you still speaking through my mind?'' She said nothing. Just gave a blank stare up at me. I tried her mind. ... Emptiness. She was blocking me. `` What?'' I asked. `` Why are you still speaking through my mind?'' *I'm mute. I ca n't talk. I mean I ca n't physically talk. * I did n't know what to say. *You do n't have to say anything. Believe me - I'm used to it. When I was young I was a chatterbox. Very outgoing. I loved people and they loved me. * I was staring down at her. She was staring up at me. No words were passing. People walking by us would be curious to say the least. *Yeah, I agree, * she continued. *Anyway, my chatterboxiness got my friend into trouble one day. BIG trouble. I let something slip that I should n't have and I -- * Her thoughts were stifled. She was internally crying. A tear rolled down her cheek. *I, uh, I never saw her again. Ever since that day I gave up speaking. I ca n't remember the last time I spoke. I honestly do n't know if I could at this point. * `` I'm sorry to hear that,'' I did n't know her name. *Helen. * `` Helen. Let me get that for you,'' I wiped the tear off her cheek. *Thanks. * She laughed again. `` What's so funny?'' *I realized how much of a chatterbox I just was. I'm not even talking and I'm rambling. * I laughed. *What can I say? I am the queen! * `` Queen Helen.'' *I like the sound of that. * `` So, Queen Helen, I would be honored if you would join me in finishing my walk in the park.'' She stood up and took my hand in hers. *So corny. But I loved it. *

[ WP ] Traveling through parallel universes , you 've seen countless different outcomes , but have yet to see _______ live past the age of 2 . You finally reach a universe where you understand why ...

It was always random. He always died of something idiotic and by chance alone. I've seen him die by car crash, disease, drowning, lightning, war, and even a freak meteor shower. I'd followed him through so many I'd lost track of my own but that did n't matter anymore. I could n't watch it any longer. I made my mind up that no matter how many universes it took I would find one where I could stop his death. After years I finally found a promising universe. Normal. Almost like my own. I watched and waited. As he neared his birth ( and usually death ) day I knew something was going to happen. I watched as the boys father downed the last of his whiskey and reach for his gun. I watched as he screamed at and then shot the mother. I watched as he stumbled towards the boys room. And I watched as I put his own gun to his head and silenced his screams. Then something peculiar happened. I looked up to see the boy. The blonde hair, blue eyes, and the scar on his cheek from the time he'd tripped and had to get stitches. My own hand, now shaking uncontrollably reached up to my cheek and traced the lines of the same scar. Sorry if it's rough. My first time writing.

[ WP ] You are a fanboy of a famous , highly experienced boxer with an undefeated streak who has inspired you to take up boxing yourself . After years of training and dedication , you find yourself pitted against him in the final match of the tournament .

This was it, all those years of training had led me to this day. The day I beat the champ, Battlin ’ Bob Mcready. The rest of the chumps in this tournament were nothing, they should have stayed at home for all the chances they had. I didn ’ t train my whole life to lose to them, I had to fight the champ, it was destiny. He was smaller than I remembered but I ’ d grown a lot since the first time I saw him fight. My life changed that day and I vowed to become the best fighter anyone had seen. The crowd was going wild, whipped into a frenzy at the thought of this upstart facing down the champ, the air was electric. He turned to face me, his eyes were tired but I could still see the fight in them. “ Billy? ” He asked. Close enough, it ’ s not like he ’ d remember after all that time, but after today he ’ d never forget me. I ’ d see to that. I stayed silent, I was going for the stoic fighter thing. A group of women in the front row were losing their minds, it was working. “ Billy, is that you? ” He asked again. I stared him down trying my best to intimidate the undefeated man across form me. The bell rang, we touched gloves and I unleashed hell. The champ was an excellent counter puncher, but my plan was to not give him that chance. I was throwing punches so fast the champ could only back away, he hadn ’ t been expecting a flurry this soon. I could tell I was doing some damage but the champ was a pro, he used a dirty move to throw me off by rolling over my foot. I stumbled back, but I brought my fists up to block his counter attack. It never came though. He must have been rattled. “ Billy? What ’ s going on? ” He pleaded. Shit, I must have hit him too hard. It didn ’ t matter though, I had to win, the champ had to go down. I went back in swinging and knocked him right out of his wheelchair with a right hook. He was down but not out, he ’ d get back up. There was no way I ’ d beat the champ in round one, no way. The referee tried to haul me back to my corner but I had to watch the champ get back up. A few more referees came to help, they were all dressed in white for some reason. I had no choice, I started swinging and put them on the ground. I ’ d probably lose my boxing license again but it was worth it to beat the champ. After I was done with the ref ’ s I turned back to the champ. He was back in his chair. I charged again and let him have it, I almost held back when I saw the look of terror in his face. He knew he was going to lose. The crowd couldn ’ t take it anymore and started leaving the arena in droves taking their IV bags and oxygen tanks with them. The champ was down, I ’ d knocked him out in the first round! I was the new champ. It was an upset, cops rushed the ring to take me out. I knew boxing was fixed but this was ridiculous. “ Hands up! ” One of the cops shouted aiming his taser at me. That made sense, they weren ’ t here to arrest me for winning, they were here to declare me the winner. I put my gloves in the air in victory, the cops were shouting, cheering my victory. One of them was kneeling over the champ making sure he was ok. “ He ’ s dead. ” The cop said. Shit, I didn ’ t mean to kill him, I guess I was just that good at boxing. “ Get on the ground! ” The cop yelled. Like hell, I was the winner. Then I learned a valuable lesson, you can ’ t beat up a taser. I crumpled to the ground in a daze, it wasn ’ t the best victory, but it still counted in my book. “ This is Officer Harmon, we got the guy at Shady Acres Rest Home, send an ambulance. ” I heard the cop say into his radio. Weird name for a boxing venue. -- - Kind of loose interpretation I took on that one. Here's more: /r/DirtandPoncho

[ WP ] There is no such thing as `` dating '' anymore . Just like in Cinderella , As soon as you touch the hand of `` the one '' you have an insatiable urge to kiss .

Reanna story continued rated R for intense violence and certain themes Part 4 She slowly got up. `` Why am I so afraid?,'' she thought. She tried to shake off the thoughts by breathing in and out. When she thought she was ready. She head downstairs. `` The breakfast is ready,'' said one of her maids. `` Thanks'' Reanna said solemnly. She saw breakfast on the table. Thirsty, she got water from the fridge to drink. She turned around back at the table and noticed something changed. There was a red and black knife on the table. She reached out for it then drew back, then reached again. She could feel heat coming from this knife, the same heat she could feel from the mark. “ That was n't a nightmare...'' she thought. Reanna has been dealing with the devil to long enough to know his ways. `` It must be from him, ” thought Reanna. She tried to eat as much as she could, knowing she had a big day today. That was the last time she ate that day. She could n't stop thinking about her task. Doing her job was even worse. She wore a facade the whole time. Around midnight, she was driving home about 50 mph. `` How am I supposed to kill someone'' she thought. She was completely lost on her thoughts, trying to find a way out of this situation. “ Who knew it would go this, far.'' She asked herself. Reanna frowned. `` Of course it would go this far, he is the devil'' she answered he own question. All of a sudden Reanna hit a deer. She slowed down managing to keep control of the car. She stopped in the middle of the road. She put on her windshield wipers wiping to blood off her car. The glass chipped to get and blood was seep through. `` Disgusting,'' she said. She got out of the car, thankful no one else is on the road. The deer was struggling to get away, a few feet in front of the car. Reanna hands were shaking. She felt a thump in her chest. She jumped on the deer trying to knock it out with the helm of the knife. The deer responded by kicking her in the stomach sending her flying. She managed to get back to the deer. This time stabbing it in the chest multiple times. It was a hard task with the deer's hard hide and the blood making the knife slippery. Reanna noticed something off about the deer's eyes. `` It must be dead,'' she thought. She went back to the car, while holding her head. She became dizzy and then she realized. `` I just killed..'' She just coughed of blood and the pain in her stomach began to intensify. She noticed a figure sitting on her car. “ Well done, ” said the prince of darkness. Breathing and panting while she was trying to keep herself composed. `` You are so cruel'' she said while falling on her hands and knees. `` Am I?'' he asked while hopping off the front of the car, squatting in the headlights to look her in the eye. She tried to say something but coughed up more blood. The devil's face went blurry as Reanna lost consciousness. Her vision was blurry as she awoken in a dark place. A fire is what she could see as her vision cleared. `` I can barely move,'' she thought. The fire was n't hot. `` Strange,'' she thought. Panic embraced her. `` Paralyzed.... I ca n't be “ she thought. From what she could tell she was laying in her side. She could finally hear the fire starting to crackle. A pair of pale feet walked into her view, then sat with a back turned to her. The back had a evident spine and veins showing in the skin. `` Nice to see you finally awake. `` The prince of darkness said. He took the knife and started wiping the blood away. Reanna merely blinked. `` You should be able to move now,'' he said while twirling the knife. Reanna could not feel any pain, but all she could move was her right arm. Taemin noticed this. This might of been the first time Reanna seen him shocked. While moving towards her, he grabbed her hand. They both experienced a shock then Taemin putting one hand on her shoulder and the other around her wrist. `` You might feel this ” he said bluntly. He pushed down roughly. Reanna felt he shoulder popped as well as the rest of her body. She sat up shocked. `` You healed me,'' she whispered shocked. `` Do n't I deserve a thanks? `` he asked while leaning back on his hands. Reanna was too shocked to react to his eccentric comments. He asked'' How did it feel?'' She turned to him confused. `` I was very surprised someone so small could get the best of a doe''' he said. `` Even if it was wounded,'' he said as he watched for a response. `` I hated it,'' she said. He smiled. `` Is that truly how you feel?'' He asked. Reanna turned away and stared at the fire. `` Did n't you love how it felt to be in control,? “ he asked. Reanna just watched the fire. She noticed the flames looked different. “ You have money and fame, what else could you possibly want?'' he asked while sitting behind her. `` Well your form was pretty good for a beginner, but it could be better.'' Reanna could n't bear the thought of doing it again. Taemin reached around and put the knife in front of her. Looking at it she had flashbacks. `` I do n't want it,'' she said. `` Why not,'' he asked lazily. `` Because..'' staring at it more she realized how beautiful it was. An odd beauty it was. Perfectly designed. `` I thought you said you did n't want it “ he asked sneakily. Reanna did n't realize she had picked it up. She turned to him. With quick speed Taemin grabbed her hand holding the knife and rammed it into him, stabbing himself. Reanna could n't believe her eyes. There was a bit of silence. `` Why?'' She asked stunned. `` Because, you need to get used to this,'' he answered. His blood was running on her hand. Reanna was starting the feel sick. `` Look at me,'' he said firmly. Then he smiled. `` How does it feel?'' He asked again. Reanna gagged. `` You have a lot of power,'' he said moving closer. He was going deeper on the knife and Reanna arm was naturally withdrawing. `` Use it to''kill'' me'' he said. Keeping his hand on hers, he moved the knife down to his navel making more blood. Reanna was nervous and speechless. The blood was running on her legs. `` Stop it ” she said flatly. `` Deeper `` demanded the devil. He used her hand to plunge to knife deeper into himself. `` Let go,'' she said. He chuckled. `` Run it through me,'' he whispered in her ear. With his free arm he closed the gap between them while getting stabbed. He let go of the knife sealing the twisted hug. The heat of the red liquid was gushed on her torso and it was inescapable. Reanna was motionless and was shocked by what she was feeling. She was feeling disgusted, hot, wet, and sticky and appreciation. She was transported back to her mansion. She had completely clean clothes. `` What have I done,'' she thought. A few weeks later Reanna was having very good business. She somehow felt like something was missing. She had a big mansion with her in it. Besides the company of her maids, she felt alone. She came up with an idea. Chapter 4 ) The next day she called her friends Sam and Madelyn. She wanted to get the good old group back to together and meet again. Madelyn also wanted to meet her friends again. Reanna didn ’ t mind in fact she offered to pay for it all. She had the money after all and it would be a treat for her pals. It ’ s the least she can do for all the years they have been friends. Later that evening… “ Wow this place is amazing! ” said Sam. Reanna made a reservation at a 5 star restaurant for them. `` Impressive,'' said Madelyn and she added a hair flip. They all chuckled. Well is sure is nice seeing you guys again said Reanna. “ What have you guys been up to? ” said Sam. Not much said Madelyn “ I have been studying at a Korean university. “ I ’ m a dealer now, ” said Reanna. “ That ’ s it? All this money because of that. Wow ” said Madelyn. “ Well, that and I own several restaurants, including this one, ” Reanna said while scratching her neck from embarrassment. “ You must be rich no wonder were at this place, ” said Sam astounded. “ Don ’ t mean to brag, but I kind of am ” said Reanna. They all laughed. “ Boy when I tell you I had this crazy dream… ” while Sam was going on about this dream she had, Reanna was internally fighting. Fighting against the urge not kill. “ Come on, it was so easy before, ” an eerie familiar voice inside of her said. ‘ No, I can ’ t ” “ Why not, no one is going to notice one less person around. ” “ How can you say that? ” “ Because I ’ m the devil. “ Of course he is back. “ Well, I don ’ t want to. ” “ You can ’ t hide it from me I know you want to. I know what you really want. I can give it to you. ” “ You don ’ t, so leave me alone. ” “ Why can ’ t you trust me, look at what I done for you, your rich now. ” “ Leave me alone. ” “ One more, it can be our little secret. ” “ Just stop please- ” “ I KNOW WHAT YOUR THOUGHTS ARE! I even know what you really think of me. ” “ I can ’ t- ” “ You will. ” “ SHUTUP!!! ” “ Reanna are you okay, you look sick ” said Sam. She was taken out of her trance and snapped back to reality. “ I ’ m fine, I just remembered I got an errand to run bye guys lets meet up again sometime later. ” Said Reanna. “ Oh okay ” said Madelyn. Reanna made it home to her mansion. Once she made it home she was feeling sick. A horrible pain was in her stomach. “ Are you okay Miss Francis? ” one of her maids asked.'' I'm fine.'' Reanna slammed the door behind her. The room was spinning and dizziness over took her. “ Reanna ” a voice called. “ Reeeaaaannna ” again it called. Looking in the mirror she saw him. “ Why did you do this? ” “ Do what? ” “ You know what the problem is... ” “ You ’ re the problem! “ said Reanna. “ You used to be a different person, now look at you. ” “ I ’ m glad I got rid of you ” “ You don ’ t really mean that.. This isn ’ t you. ” “ Well what choice do I have, Taemin is the only reliable way! ” She threw a vase at the mirror. The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. She saw a specter of her dead husband. She vomited. Then she fainted.

[ EU ] write a Criminal Minds profile of Joffrey from Game Of Thrones .

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[ IP ] Project Mermaid

`` Dr. Undine, what is their purpose anyways?'' Reyes pressed his hand against the capsule, letting his gloved fingers run down the slick coating. Inside, the results of ten years of research twitched with life, her eyes shaking with telltale signs of rem sleep. # 12 reminded him of his daughter, how she would toss and turn during the night. Bad dreams and all that. Sometimes it was hard to not see them as human, but looking at her, it was hard not to notice their—uniqueness. Around the knees, her legs fused into a single finned appendage. The color of her skin and hair added more evidence to their inhumanity. Soon enough, scales would form across her body as a protective plating—at least that's what Undine said. Not having been there long enough to see it for himself, Reyes gripped the sub-machine gun tighter as she shifted position in the capsule. He'd read the reports about the previous teams, and was grateful for their sacrifices. A healthy dose of whiskey at the end of the week helped keep him steady as well. Coming in over the comms, static coughed into his ears until, clearing, he heard the sultry voice of his employer. `` The genetic modifications are necessary to make them better navigators. This one and her sisters will be the prototype members of the program. I take it you do n't have a problem with that, do you, Mr. Reyes?'' When he first arrived, Reyes distanced himself from the company line concerning the test subjects. Undine told him and others in his training course that they were all things, property of Paracelsus LLC. These words clashed with his upbringing, coming from a small household of dedicated activists. Fair treatment arguments buzzed through his mind, but he had to wash his hands of such beliefs when he joined up. Behind him, another member of the cultivation squad lifted the lifeless remains of a prototype from the cracked shell of her capsule. `` Thanks Doc, I have no idea what any of that means. Anyways, number 12 is still green status, moving on to the second row.'' The bottom half of his hazmat suit slogged with every step as he moved through the swamp. It all looked so natural, but the team of bio-engineers behind Paracelsus crafted it all from scratch. Each object, a miracle to the untrained eye, was rendered mundane during Reyes' training. To him, a collection of microscopic machines working in tandem simulated the swamp, its muggy landscape perfect for the incubation process. Winged drones, flitting about like dragonflies, scanned the area as he moved to a new section of capsules. Around a corner, more blue spheres rested on top of vine pedestals, each of them a self-contained world of enzymes, proteins, and a cocktail of hormones to alter those inside. He was n't sure if they'd ever been like him, and as much as Undine assured to the contrary, at night a worrisome feeling snagged in the pit of his stomach. If there was even a chance that these creatures were once human, the money would n't save his soul. Reyes was far from religious, but what he saw—the things that he'd done—no amount of prayer could wash it away. Number 13 through 15 checked out, a small panel at the base of the sphere helping him understand their overall maturation and health. But as he came up to 16's capsule, his brow furrowed beneath the thin plastic mask of the hazmat suit. In front of him, viscous green fluid poured from the remnants of the shell, its plastic curved out like an exit wound. Snapping the safety catch on his gun, Reyes made a small circular sweep. This scenario was in the new protocols, though it assumed there would be more than two members in the chamber at the time. “ Doc, one of'em is out of their capsule. Please advise. ” “ Do you have sight of her? ” Another pass of the surrounding area offered up nothing, and Reyes cursed the piss-poor design of his suit. Gunfire echoed off the walls, a sign that things just went from bad to worse. It was slow going to get back to the other aisle, and only a busted sub-machine gun remained of his peer. Picking it up, he collected what remained of the clip onto his belt and made for the door. Static filtered through his helmet, fracturing whatever remained of the situational protocol he trained for. “ Shit. ” The door out of the building was a five minute journey away, a distance made perilous by what lay between it and him. But he had to try. With each step, he felt his feet suck back down into the water and muck below. A flash of light and buzz of electricity alerted Reyes to one of the drones sinking into the swamp 20 feet ahead, and as he stared, a sound mixed into the static piped in over his comms. It was sweet sounding, the scent of fresh flowers on the wind, and with each step, it overtook the static til it was the sole thing he heard. Freezing, his legs resisted every thought to move. The voice in his head rolled like the tide; his eyelids began to sag, as if weighted down. Before they closed, he could see something slither around the edge of one of the capsules, moving along the water's surface. Pain flooded in, but Reyes found himself unable to voice the anguish driving nails up his arm. Twisting his head, he could see the locks of blue tendrils shake and dance on her head. He did n't need to see it to know what she was doing. That too had been in the report, their gory details made fresh by his situation. She was eating his arm, devouring as much muscle as possible while her tendrils flayed his skin away like a banana peel. Screaming would have helped, but his voice only cracked and squeaked in shrill tones. Whatever she had done, he was helpless now. She picked her way across his body, all the while he grew more numb—understanding full well that the blood loss would kill him far before she was done. He should've never taken this job, guarding and tending to these things. Paracelsus made monsters, and he was too much a fool see it. The concerns of a dead man would n't stop them; they'd get another team, add a few new protocols to adjust for such situations, and send a condolence settlement to his family. Whatever their purpose, these things were far from human. Before the darkness folded everything in, he saw her looking at him, her clear blue eyes showing signs of recognition. He'd always liked 16, she stroked her hair on occasion when he stopped by the capsule. Whenever the other members brought it up, Reyes said it was because she was shy. A damn shame, to die to something he confused for human.

[ WP ] The year is 2085 , and God has finally gotten sick of our shit and begun the apocalypse . There are , zombies , werewolves , dragons , etc. , but the scariest beast of all is ... Your username . Write how it terrorizes humans .

We had survived everything else. We'd read the stories and watched all the movies. The whole world already knew the lore about all those fairy tale baddies and their unsavory bumps in the night. We could fight them. What was n't expected was when the second wave came in to clear us heathens out. God had started using us against ourselves: nightmares created by plucking the ideas from our very psyches to taunt, torture and trim our numbers back to nothing. Now the normal was n't safe. Across our landscapes, scraps of red cloth served dual purpose: to mark the boundary limits and to remind you of the death beyond. *Beware... Stay back!... Do n't expect to find help beyond... * was their silent mantra. Ponds, lakes, rivers and oceans. The fields whose tall grasses flowed like waves and even the shifting sands of the Sahara were home to the demons meant to destroy us. But we had to survive. It's what we do. The only safety we had was in numbers. The last hunters had n't returned for days and in an attempt to score a fresh meal, I had taken matters into my own hands, putting on my boots and furs and headed for the woods. After a time, I had managed to wound a deer, it's blood allowing me to easily mark it's movement, yet hunger blinded my eyes from the warning posts I had foolishly passed in my chase. One bramble bush dis-entanglement later, I caught up to the trail where the canopied darkness cleared to open ground and I released I'd come too far. Before me was the babbling of a stream and the growls of a she-cat dragging what *could* have been my kill from the shore and up into a snow-covered tree on the opposite bank. I lowered my spear. A wounded deer I could handle, but open water was out of the question, much less a hungry mountain lion. Looking back the copse of trees was thicker than I remembered and I could no longer see the field beyond. I had chased far deeper than I should have. Cursing my stupidity, I turned back to find a way back when I felt it. A cool, whispered breeze glancing across my ears, like the caress of a lover. It had this warm, soothing quality and with the soft babbling of the stream it reminded me of calm seas on a sunny day. The breeze calmed my heart and begged me to rest, to stay awhile before heading back. The calm was so complete that I missed the pair of sleek summer seabirds startled skyward from the shore to roost on the snow-covered pine branch. I stepped closer to hear it out and the whispered notes changed to a beautiful aria. At first clear and proud, it rose and fell before finally dipping low into a single, solitary note. It felt so lonely... and then I did. The loss was so acute that I was forced to lock my knees to avoid crumpling to the ground. That low tone dragged every ounce of happiness out of me and pulled the seabirds squawking from their perch. They dove towards me, swirling round in time to the beating of my heart, whipping up eddies of silvery-blue snow from the ground. Then they struck, their sharp beaks slicing across my arms, hands and face, forcing me closer to the darkness of the trees. Faster than my movements, their discordant cries incessantly mocked me as I tried batting them away. They broke away from me as the tone of the breeze grew louder. Was it thrumming or was it just the pounding of my own blood? I felt the blood mix with my sweat from their attacks as I had a short reprieve to take a fortifying breath. Their cries grew shriller as the cold became sharper and I felt hatred sink through my flesh and creep closer to my heart. Eyes dashing from shore to woods looking I searched for a quick escape. There was no way in the seven hells I'd already lived through that I would go closer to their roost or whatever death they were leading me too. But they just would n't let up and dove at me once more. A shout from across the river made them falter and break their dive. Another scared them back to their roost. Relief poured through me as I turned around and saw my messiah on the opposite bank, covered in furs, staff in hand, and wildly gesturing towards me. Icy stream or killer birds? I took the stream. They met me half way, gripping my arm tightly to help me gain my balance in the water. Pulling down the scarf with the opposite hand revealed a strikingly beautiful face. `` Lucky I was here, no?'' She smiled at me and helped me further through the stream. `` Them birds have been hunting along this stream for weeks now. Do n't you know this is past the boundary? Do n't you know what is out here?'' `` Thankfully, you.'' I replied as I tilted my head to spy that the seabirds had born themselves from their perch and were now circling slowly like vultures above us. `` I would have been a goner had I traveled this stream alone!'' `` But, you are alone.'' she smiled and glided effortlessly in front of me, blocking my path to the other side. My smile of relief became strained and the chill in my heart became colder than the water currently up past my hips. Both of her hands had encircled my upper arms and were now gripping me like steel shackles. I thrashed to try to dislodge her and feet connected with something under the water. The hulking drift spun lazily towards the surface granting me a fleeting vision of one of the lost hunters whose face was frozen in a grimace of pain. Pinning me under, her laugh was like crackling ice while the seabirds dove towards me like falling icicles. `` Come join us down in the deep and rest your spirit for a spell.''

[ WP ] Believing humans to be a slave race , aliens are now in regular contact with Earth 's dominant species . Cats .

Dear Galactic Frontier Alliance, I believe there may be a rebellion in our midst. The human slaves have seemed passive of my desires this morning and the previous few days. This morning as a retired from my late night hunt for the mice that aim to destroy our chance of using the humans as our galactic work force. I attempted to lay on the warming pad of the humans call a laptop but was quickly ousted by the human to sleep else where. This marks the first time any human has shown to succumb to my whim. I brief thought rolled through my mind that maybe the mice have informed them... sleep was difficult that night. End transmission Today the humans awoke early before I had time to crawl over their faces in my morning ritual. I sense something is terribly wrong. they were filling their cases with clothes and looked hurried. they poured out large quantities of food into multiple bowls. I thought good, they have realized their disobedience and are attempting to make up for it. I then decided I shall go for a morning stroll before I feast. The humans then met me with blatant disregard for my wishes to leave the house which I imprisoned them in. They refused to open the door. I was aghast and made it known that I demanded to be let outside and that I an their ruler and they must obey me. They proceeded to carry suit cases from the house and pull away in the car. I fear I have lost total control. End transmission. The humans did not return today. Nothing to report. End transmission. Day 2 the humans have still not returned. I feel as I am now the prisoner. End transmission. Day 3 the humans have returned. I believe they have been having a secret meeting and we must progress our plans and invade before they create defenses to stop us! the time is near! End transmission. Today I decided to make one last attempt to control the humans. I first started by waking them with my morning ritual. It went well. I had complete access to the outdoors and could come and go as I pleased the humans even gave me delicious tuna and had me get some fun in with cat nip. I have been misinterpreting their signs. We shall continue as planned! End transmission...

[ WP ] You stare in dismay at the gash on your palm , watching the dark red blood ooze out and burst into flames . Your best friend whispers in horror `` Only demons have fire for blood '' .

A beam of dusty light, and the glowing drops of soft crimson that snaked down my arm and onto the floor were the only things illuminating the dark space I had fallen into. My head, still fuzzy from the fall was racing, was trying to make sense of the situation. I had been visiting my late grandfathers estate which had been handed down to me. The mansion was in complete disrepair, condemned by the city and unsuitable for habitation. It would cost more to restore than to demolish and build anew. It's no wonder I was met with stares of pity at the repartition of his estate. I was supposed to be his most beloved granddaughter. More important than to him than my own mother who had turned her back on me and neglected me from a young age, letting my father do as he wished with me. The beatings came daily. For no rhyme or reason. It was n't until I was 13 that I decided to run away and seek sanctuary with my grandfather. A man I barley knew and to whos home I had only been a few times with my mother. Those visits always ended with grandpa pleading that she leave me with him. That meant that that man must care for me I told myself. At least more than my own parents. Having many fond memories of the place from my younger years I had decided to come visit the old home one last time. I had brought a 360 degree camera to fully document the house before it fell deeper into disrepair. Hardly a conservation effort but the best I could do. After taking my time documenting the upper floors I had made my way down into the great ground level study hidden behind the grand staircase. The thirty by thirty meter space was lined on all walls by heavy bookshelves filled with archaic looking books with a single desk towards the far end. Needing something to prop the camera on while it captured the space I had pushed the old desk towards the middle of the room. It was right after I sat the camera down and hit the red start button that the ancient floorboards betrayed my trust and gave out from under my feet. I thrust myself at the edge of the expanding hole to no avail, only barely grabbing onto the splintered end of a board with my right hand before it too gave way. And now here I was staring at my bleeding arm with what seemed like ever brighter blood pouring from a large three inch gash in my palm, nearly severing my index and ring finger. I'd be in a lot of pain too if were n't for the adrenaline and shock of seeing the blood falling from my hand begin to sear the wooden debris around me. None the less I tore a swath of cloth from my fall skirt and tried to stop the bleeding only for the material to combust when it came into contact with my now raging crimson blood. `` Only demons bleed fire.'' The soft voice startled me. Clutching my right hand tight at the wrist I pivoted around my heels, staring uselessly at the dark space behind me. The raging glow from my own blood denying my retinas the chance to adjust. `` Whos there!?'' The words came out shaky and cracked. Barley audible to even myself. `` I should be the one asking.'' the voice retorted, louder now. Though I still could n't make out it's gender. `` You're trespassing demon, do you even know whos domain you've violated?'' The voice was definitely coming from the darkness in front of me. In my life I had never felt such confusion and dissonance with reality. My blood was no longer just glowing, it now fell from my hand like lit lighter fluid, setting the wooden rubble around me ablaze and choking out all of my senses. I could faintly feel the fire licking away at my skin and clothing. Falling to my knees in an agony of coughs and full on panic. I felt all strength leave me as I fell sideways onto the stone floor. The sudden impact to my head forced my eyes open for only a moment. The fire I had started now illuminated a slender figure, a young woman about my age dressed it what looked like a maids outfit. Her scowling eyes were hidden behind a pair of thin framed glasses. She began stepping towards me as I blacked out. This was it, I was going do either die or wake up from this strange dream.