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[ WP ] You are the luckiest person on Earth . Everything you make an attempt for works in your favor . However , there two catches : you are absorbing the luck of those around you , and anyone who tries to profit from your luck ( even with your help ) is met with the worst luck immediately .

I laid on the tattered rug and rested my head against the rusty fence. The warm air from the vent underneath is soothing. My stomach grumbled. I reached out and felt the energy around me. It was thick and velvety. That's good. I would n't want to be in the downwind when it happens. I closed my eyes, wanting to catch a bit of a snooze before my food came. I never know how it would come, but it always does. I try my best to get upwind when I start to feel hungry. At least there'd be enough luck to go around that people would n't feel the effect of my free meal. The fence was scratchy. I tried to ignore it. Be content, I tell myself. Want nothing. I count my blessings. I am alive; that's good. I have my limbs; that's nice. I have a rug; more than I'd ever ask for. I hug the rug closer. It smells kind of nice. Earthy. It's comforting, and warm. And I have this fence. Without it, I'd be lying on pebbles. I like this fence. It's perfect just the way it is. A stranger walked past me, making a big circle, trying not to catch the crazy. I sat there, laughing to myself because I was enjoying the fence so fucking much. **===** When I woke up, there were cats around me. A yellow one, two white one, four black ones. They had fish in their mouth, freshly grilled. A bad day for a street vendor somewhere. I yawned and the cats jumped, dropping their treats and disappeared around a wall. I scrambled over on my knees and ate. The energy had shifted. It's less thick now, washing over me in waves, stretched thin here and there. There was a child crying down the street. She dropped her ice cream when the waves rolled over her, catching her in a thin spot. I stuck a fish into my mouth, shoved the rest against my stomach, wrapping my shirt up to hold them in place, and got up to leave my little paradise. I looked to the west, and saw a river of energy flowing that way. Time to find my new home.

[ WP ] A race of slaves who really are genetically inferior

I struggled to pick up the heavy stone block, my feeble arms straining. `` Come on!'' My master snaps. `` I'm trying, I'm sorry!'' With all my strength ( which is n't much ) I managed to drag the block behind me. `` No no no! You ca n't drag it! What if it gets scratched?!'' My master screeched, aghast. `` If you're too weak to lift it, why do n't you think of some other way to move it without damaging it?'' `` Uh...'' I think. And think. What could I do to move it that would n't damage it? `` Um...'' `` Oh for goodness sake!'' My master stomps over with a cart. `` I know you people were bred to be inferior, but who thought that making you weak *and* stupid was a good idea?!'' I consider the question carefully. `` I do n't know.'' `` THAT WAS A RHETORICAL QUESTION!'' My master lifts the block easily onto the cart. `` There, I've done the hard part for you. Now pull it!'' I walk to the cart, grasp the handle and strain. It's easier than lifting it, but still difficult. I trudge along at a snails pace. My master sighs, pushes me out of the way and pulls the cart after him, much faster than I could ever manage. I follow, and eventually we reach the building site. My master points. `` There. Go fetch that cement.'' I go to fetch the cement. The bucket is heavy, but not as heavy as the stone block. I stagger back to my master, slopping cement over the sides of the bucket. `` Now tip the block onto the floor,'' he instructs me. I heave and heave, but nothing seems to happen. After several minutes my master sighs and comes to help me. `` I'm doing more work than you are!'' He comments, tipping the block gently onto the floor. `` Now here you go, this should be easy enough for you.'' He hands me a metal tool of some sort and I look blankly at him. `` Uhh...'' `` You spread the cement on the block, you fool! Like this!'' He rips the tool out of my hand and spreads cement on top of the block. `` Now go fetch that other block and put it on top of this one! Actually, never mind, you stay here! I'll get it!'' I sit down on the block. It looks like a comfortable seat. However when my master comes back with the second block, he completely loses it. `` Get off! GET OFF! What do you think you're doing?!'' I stand up, my trousers tearing as they stick to the cement. My master covers his face with his hands in despair. `` Just... just come over here.'' I begin to walk to him but trip. Agonising pain shoots through the arm I had thrust in front of me to protect myself. `` Get up! What's the matter with you?'' `` I think my arm is broken.'' I can see my master is about to explode, but then, inexplicably, he calms down. `` They really *did* make you people inferior did n't they?'' `` I think so. What does inferior mean?'' `` Look. I'm setting you free. I do n't know who thought it'd be a good idea to have people like you as slaves! You're too weak for physical labour, too stupid to solve problems, and too fragile to do anything much at all!'' He says, ignoring my question. `` Free? You mean... I can go?'' I ask hopefully, cradling my arm. `` Yes! You're more trouble than you're worth! Get out! You're useless to me.'' `` Well... thank you very much!'' I say, and offer him my hand to shake. His face turns an even darker shade of red. `` I said GET OUT!'' `` Uh... yes sir... bye!'' I stammer, and run off into the distance.

[ WP ] You and your wife wear rings that let you feel each other 's heartbeat . Your wife dies and is buried with the ring on , and you always wear the ring in memorial to her . One day the ring turns on again ...

`` Another day in hell, right James?'' I said to my coworker as we sat poolside. `` Right. This is the last time we come to Hawaii for a client, I ca n't stand this torture.'' We shared a laugh, then continued reading our books in silence. I was three hundred pages deep into a romance novel that I bought for five dollars under James' recommendation at the Wal-Mart across the street. He was reading `` The anatomy and psychology of the penguin''. He was oddly obsessed with this book, but whatever man, different strokes. I turned the page, revealing the first page of part three. The page was blank other than the bold font in the center reading `` a lovers quarrel''. I stopped reading and fell into a deep metaphorical pit of reflectance on the night I had spent fighting with my wife before I left on this damn trip. I glanced at the ring on my left ring finger, and a smile swept over my face as I basked in the feeling of her heartbeat pulsating through my ring. These rings were the first in the industry that had the touch feature, totally worth the twenty thousand dollars each in moments like these. I snapped out of it and turned the page to the content in part three. The first ten pages described a horrific case of domestic violence between two characters, a husband and wife. The man, unable to handle the marriage any longer due to his wife's severe PTSD, decided that he would kill his wife in her sleep. He succeeded, with a significant struggle on the wife's part, leaving the husband with a broken wrist and stab wound above his right hip. What a disgusting man that husband is, no wife should be harmed by her husband. `` James, why did you suggest this book, you know I love my wife.'' James responded with silence, the slowly looked at me with a beat red face and bloodshot eyes. He screamed at the top of his lungs `` STOP IT, YOU'RE HURTING ME.'' Knowing James, he was playing a joke on me. `` Real funny James, cut it out.'' Upon standing from my pool chair, I awoke standing in my kitchen. There was a knife in my abdomen and my arm broken at the wrist. The ring in my finger was pulsating harder than it ever has before, then it suddenly stopped. `` Not her, please lord not her.'' I thought as I ran into our bedroom. There she was, laying on our bed. Her eyes were open and lifeless, and there was blood leaking out of a large slice in her throat. I ran back to the kitchen, pulled the knife out of my side with my healthy arm, and proceeded to sew the hole shut. That whole trip was a dream. As I thought that to myself the reality sunk in. I just killed my wife. I murdered her in my sleep. I'm going to prison if I survive. I'll get raped in prison. I laid the body of my once gorgeous wife in the trunk of my Honda Prius, grabbed my shovel, and began driving to the hills. I found a spot where I was going to bury her. As I began to dig my wife's grave, my Katy Perry ringtone began to play in my pocket. I frantically answered it, blurting the first words I thought of `` I'm innocent I did n't do it!'' `` Sir, we received a notification of an irregular heartbeat on your wife's touch band, is she alright?'' Shit, I had forgotten that they tracked heartbeats on those things. `` We just had some nasty ass sex man, apologies for the worry.'' `` Alright sir, have a good night.'' `` You too.'' Hah, what a sucker. I finished digging her grave, and laid her into it. As I pulled my bible out of my fanny pack, and began to read excerpts from it while shoveling dirt into the grave, I felt my finger start to feel a pulsating sensation again. `` FUCK, ZOMBIE!'' I yelled as I proceeded to smack my dead spouse with a shovel. As I made contact with her head, I was suddenly poolside. James was standing over me, telling me how I had slipped and hit my head. `` How long have I been out?'' `` Like an hour asshole, get your dumb ass up.'' My ring was happily pulsating as I used it to punch James in the arm for playing a joke on me like that. Upon arrival at home, my wife apologized for fighting with me, and so did I. I explained to her the dream I had while unconscious by the pool, and she made me sleep on the couch. She's alive, and there are n't any zombies, so I guess there is a happily ever after.

[ WP ] After dying , the words `` New High Score ! '' flash across your vision

Forward, forward, falling forward, then a pause. More of an *abrupt stop* than a pause, but something lingered. Loitered, lingered, lollygagged—how could you tell. How could *I* tell? I couldn ’ t; words lost their meaning in very much the same way a weary cloud parts with water. Again, why that seemed to make sense in the moment escaped me—but it did. I *was* escaping though. At least, something told me that ’ s what I had been doing. A valiant effort on my part! Could that be trusted? Yes? No? I probed outwards. Darkness responded. I shrugged it aside, blinking. *Politely*, of course. Two could play this game. One of our gestures might have seemed more fitting for the moment, but I ’ d at least like to reserve the thought that I ’ d taken a certain openness to the grave. I welcomed fate. How brave. Was this the grave though? Surely that had to be a sign. Yes! No. I hit the ground running. Some thing were just going to have to be accepted here. Death already had its way with me, *it* must have seen it coming. I had a right to ask some questions for once. Yeah! A renewed sense of pride swelled again for the first time. If there were tables to be turned here—and I meant that metaphorically, of course; no telling what else was bound to saunter my way in this realm—I was determined to sort that all out at the first opportunity. I probed again. “ One moment please! ” Came a disembodied voice. A polite one at that. I felt bad about the earlier remark. I jumped to conclusions. And so I waited. “ Still loading. ” The voice again. Very polite. The horizon was milky now. Lucid. Changing. Milky. Yes, that was the best way to put it. Several questions remained though. I simply had to ask. “ How much longer do you think it would—? ” A crack of thunder cut me off before I could finish. I looked forwards as much as I could. Nothing moved; my attention, if anything, was the only one doing the *moving*. Words appeared on the horizon. Plainly, I might add. No fanfare, no buildup beyond that little bit of milkiness I picked up on earlier. Nothing. *How droll. * The words read, “ NEW HIGH SCORE! ” I groaned, yet a part of me respected the sheer *bluntness* of it all. Very to the point. I was dead after all. The all caps did seem like a poor choice though. Not a whole lot added with something like that. I knocked it down a letter grade. NEW HIGH SCORE! The voice had left me entirely at this point. I think it assumed this message left in its absence would suffice. Yet, at that moment of time, that blink of existence, I felt wholly unsatisfied in a situation where most would revel. The wording might be to blame here. Foreign translators and all that business. It happens. I wasn ’ t in a position to judge. At least I made the grade. But something like that left *vague* just did n't cut it; it was n't enough, no matter how many times I mulled it over. I needed closure. Because, In that moment, all I wanted to know was if I had set the new *lap* record.

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

The drummer boy set the pace at a long distance. The sweat was dripping, due to both the unbeareble heat caused by the metal armors and the nerves every single soldier was experiencing. It was the battle that would decide the fate of the whole continent. Every effort, sacrifice, death and kill would be meaningless if they lost this battle. The opposing army was exponentialy smaller in manpower than their own. It was what frightned them the most. Why would the King's brother gather so little people to fight the Royal Guard? The hearts were pounding so hard they could be heard clunking against the breast plates. Berlam was on the front lines. The King considered him too precious to be at such risk, but he was their only hope to defeat his brother. His majesty still could n't comprehend what was wrong with him, the guards whispered between themselves that he suffered a head injury when he was young, the priests said he descended from the heavens. Truth is, he was no normal man. He could be alone facing the enemy, and he would still believe that he would destroy them without being harmed is. Truth is, he probably would. The drums stopped. The army marched forward. A frenzy of metal hitting metal and arrows piercing the sky ensued. `` Kill our brothers in black!'' yelled the Royal Guard. After everything, they still considered them brothers. And it was hard to fight them. In such awe, the King felt compelled to look behind his shoulder. Berlam had a spear trespassing his torso. He was on his knees, blood was gushing all over the battlefield and the soldier limply weilding the weapon. On the other, his army was getting obliterated. The King could have killed that man that killed Berlam, and his only hope to prevail, but he would achieve nothing with that. He decided to spare whatever lives he still could. They falled back. Probably forever. That soldier's life was about to change. He killed the greatest hero in all of Moidell. He sent the current King into cowardly hiding. Only with a thrust of a spear. A thrust he did n't want to make. A responsability he was n't ready to take

[ WP ] You stand at the edge of the roof , the streets twenty stories below your feet . You do n't jump . Why ?

You wake up every morning feeling empty. All you want to do is sleep. Your food has no flavor, your favorite movies bring you no joy, your favorite songs bring you to tears. You do n't necessarily want to live or die, just cease existing. How great it would feel to fall asleep tonight and not wake up. That way you won ’ t hurt the people you care about. You know it's irrational, but your mind is your worst enemy. Maybe you tell your friend that you think you might be depressed, and they tell you that you should travel the world if you feel you have nothing to lose. What's the point? You do n't feel anything as it is. How would it be different to sit on a beach in Thailand, not feeling anything? You think about calling a therapist, but hesitate as the number stares back at you on your phone. You tried the counselor thing in college, but the whole thing felt clinical, a bureaucrat running down a checklist. How cliché it would feel to lie down on a couch and vent about the meaningless problems that consume you. You've gotten good at this - know when to smile and what to say to keep up appearances. Make it to work and do just enough to get through the day, come home at 5:15 and fall asleep, wake up at midnight and spend the hours until sunrise thinking about how worthless you are. You ca n't begin to imagine a world in which you might be happy, forgot what happiness could even feel like. Your parents sacrificed so much for you to get to where you are, but in your head you ’ re just a disappointment. They say that this is selfish, that you're going to hurt everyone around you, but maybe they'd all be better off without you. You're a burden. Or maybe you're not, but the pain is too deep and the light so faint that you ca n't see yourself ever escaping from the cruel joke your body plays on you every waking moment. In the grand scheme of the universe, your life means so little, and the hurt is so immediate. So you wrote a note and left it on your desk, apologized, told everyone that you love them and this isn ’ t their fault ( and you mean it ), but this is the only way you could imagine finding peace. You would think that modern buildings have better security, but it ’ s almost funny how easy it is to get up onto the roof. There ’ s a crisp breeze and the sun is setting, its light reflecting off the glass towers surrounding you. If this moment wasn ’ t so macabre it would almost be beautiful. You stand at the edge and look down. The people on the sidewalk look like ants – indistinguishable specks. You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. You ’ ll fly for the first time before going to sleep. The void calls your name. But you can ’ t do it. Those indistinguishable specks are people, and one of them is going to be the first to see your mangled body. And as much as you ’ ve convinced yourself that this is the solution, you owe it to your soon-to-be heartbroken mother to give her the closure of an open casket. So you step back. Something so poetic shouldn ’ t end with a splat. You ’ ll find another way.

[ WP ] A man goes to Africa to intentionally catch Ebola , then flies around the world trying to infect as many as he can

The flies buzzed incessantly, their noise a weight on my ears. It was hot. John showed me to the shack where he lay. *The plaguebearer. * I ducked under the corrugated tin, into a dusty darkness. The furniture had been removed, leaving only a pile of *something* in the corner. `` It's him,'' John said in his polite, flawless English. `` The man you came looking for. The bad man.'' The lump was a corpse, wrapped in a piece of plastic sheeting, and a smear of red could be seen through the clear synthetic fabric. *Should we be standing this close? * `` So what are you going to do with him?'' `` His last wish was to be flown back to Canada,'' John said. `` Obviously, this will not do. We will burn him, and God will see his ashes across the sea.'' `` He seemed so intense when he left. Was he... did he make any friends here?'' John looked away for a moment, embarrassed. `` To speak frankly, no. He was bossy, tried to buy everything. It is sad to see someone taken by the bleed, but... for him, it was not so sad. You are much nicer. We should not dwell here; the UN is sending a technician to burn him in the morning. There will be a funeral then. Come. I shall show you some good news.'' I turned to follow John, away from the tin hut, through a path towards a large compound, it's plaster-white walls topped in shards of glass. `` This,'' said John, his voice taking a tone of reverence, `` this is what He wants.'' And I saw; a tall, corrugated steel box rising up, hoses trailing from it's corners. In the compound, a pile of gravel had been raised up in a wooden box, and there were two figures in HAZMAT suits showering themselves under the steel structure. `` The man had...'' At this John blushed, `` He was very delirious in his last hours. He kept talking of washing away, some kind of filth... We took it to mean he wanted a shower, but we had none at the time. But he was a rich man, and his forex bought us this structure. It will save many lives.'' At this, John looked pensive again, a cloud passing his eyes. *You know. You know that's not what he wanted, and you do n't care. * `` There will be many people at his funeral, saying thanks. I think it is best that you do not speak to them, about what you have told me. His ashes will fly farther that way.''

[ WP ] The population is separated with the rich living above surface and the poor living underground .

Yusuf Al'eyda watches the incandescent light paint sun-like patterns on the drab interior of his living cell. Amid the clangor of machines, he hears the distant call of the *muezzin*. A thin white chalkline marks the general location of Mecca, and he kneels to face it. Ideally, he would wash his hands and feet before prayer, but water has become scarce in the Underground. Yusuf mimes the act of cleansing, and is painfully aware of how pathetic it seems. *God is great. * He murmurs, but the words are hard to believe here. The *muezzin* is cut short by the screech of the working bell. The Masters are calling. Up now, through the winding tunnels of the Underground, out into the piercing blue sky of the Master's world. Yusuf's eyes, accustomed to dim incandescence, start to water immediately. *E-tuuna ala-hona! * the foreman beckons. Like ants streaming from little cracks in the earth, a small crowd of workers gather at his feet. The foreman herds them skillfully towards a humming truck. *You. * grunts the foreman. *You. And you. * His finger rests directly before Yusuf Al'eyda. Another day's work, then. There are pipes to be fixed, pools to be polished, gas mains to be hammered back into working order. Today, he will eat. God willing, he will be as lucky tomorrow. ``... In today's news,'' says the truck radio, `` president Obama has once again denied accusations that drone strikes are now being flown against civilian targets...'' A *muezzin* sounds in the distance -- not the pre-recorded tin can sound of the Underground mosques, but instead the throaty, rich call of a trained herald. *God is great, * Yusuf mouths once more, and swallows the lie in a deep dark place in his stomach. He dons his pitted helmet at a low angle and steps off into the shadow of the Burj Dubai.

[ WP ] 47 years ago an alien disguised as a human was forgotten on Earth . Not ever being quite able to learn the human languages , it sort of spewed out random vocals in an attempt to imitate us and fit in . He unknowingly became the President of the US and is now unknowingly giving a speech .

Sizz'ag'aar could feel his swim bladder pulsing with agitation at the oppressively warming, blindingly bright emissions of the lights in front of him. It was never a pleasant sensation, but he had become used to it with the passage of time and, he supposed, been conditioned to `` perform'' for the humans when they presented him with the lights. He was still puzzled by the lights. For the last several orbits of this world around it's host star, the humans had insisted on shining them upon him, practically every time he went anywhere and attempted to replicate their speech sounds. Back on the homeworld, bright light was an indicator of a deadly solar eruption, a distressingly common occurrence on Klethoom. Here, though, there was no such negative connotation to the lights. The very first time he had thought it was a hostile gesture, that he had been discovered and that they were going to incinerate him. But it had not been long before he realized that this was just another barbaric practice the humans inflicted upon one another. Certainly not all of the humans merited having the lights shined down on them, but many humans, especially those deemed important, seemed to have to endure it. He took it as an indicator of his skill as an impostor that he seemed to have worked his way into a position where the humans saw him as light-worthy, though he was rather unhappy with the frequency with which they insisted he be illuminated. The human standing under the text-screen, next to the large black lens-box, gestured at him in sequence with his human digits - first all five of the ugly, unwebbed fingers, then four, than three, until there were no fingers left. This was one of many unspoken indicators he had picked up during his many orbits living amongst this world's natives, and he knew it was time for him to begin imitating the humans' speech sounds. `` I want to thank you all for coming today. I particularly want to thank our Secretary of Education for traveling with me...'' If he had been asked by a fellow Klethoomian, Sizz'ag'aar would have freely admitted he had never had much of a talent for xeno-linguistics - especially with a species whose speech anatomy was a foreign as these humans'. Despite having spent the majority of his adult lifespan on this arid, thin atmosphered rock, he had never fully picked up any of the various human dialects here. He did consider himself a talented mimic, however, and that was how he had survived those first few terrifying years here. Repeating back the alien phonemes to those humans who confronted him with their speech, occasionally shaking his head up and down or to the side at random whenever simple repetition did n't appear to suffice. The humans were smacking their hands against each other now, something that seemed to happen a lot whenever he spoke, perhaps more frequently even then the lights being shined upon him. He waited for them to finish their inexplicable rituals before resuming his oratory. `` I want to thank the mothers and dads who are here. Thank you for coming. You, too, are teachers. The best education starts at home, by loving your children with all your heart and all your soul. I want to thank the students who are here. Thanks for letting me come by and visit with you...'' Through trial and error, he had learned how to recombine excerpts of human speech in ways that the humans found more convincing. In the beginning, there had been much confusion, but he could usually play things off by emitting the bark-like laughter the humans so frequently emitted. Sizz'ag'aar supposed the humans did n't take him for a very *coherent* human, but the fact that he was able to pass for a human at all was victory enough in his book. It was n't a terribly fulfilling existence, he supposed, always being babbled at and led around with no comprehension of what was going on, but he was surviving on a hostile alien planet far from home, and that was what really mattered. He bared his teeth. That was perhaps one of the most important parts of pretending to be one of these humans. Frequently baring one's teeth. `` But most of all, I want to thank you all for giving me a chance to come and share some thoughts. It is very important for our youngsters to understand history, the history of our country, the ideals that make our country strong. This morning at the Rose Garden I kicked off a national initiative, and I'm going to describe some of what we're going to do to make sure that we teach more history to our children...'' It had been many, many orbits before he had cracked the code of the human glyphs. They were n't intuitive, conveying only primitive phonetic information rather than abstract concepts, but at least he could finally recite the matching sounds for each combination of signs. It was an invaluable skill to have acquired, as now the humans would present him with sounds he need to recite, even if he did n't understand the meaning of any of it. `` Our children are growing up in a difficult time for America, because they see on their TV screens the fact that America is now a battlefield. When we were kids, a lot of us were kids, growing up, oceans separated us from danger. We were confident in our ability to resist evil because evil could never make it to our shore, unless it was created internally. But now we've entered a new period where we're vulnerable. It's tough for our children to comprehend that, I know. But you've got to understand why we're vulnerable, and that is because there are people in the world that hate the fact that we love freedom. People can not stand the fact that your great nation not only allows, but encourages people to worship an almighty God in any way they want to. We welcome that in America...'' The humans burst into their spastic hand smacking again. Not for the first time he wondered at the significance of the gibberish he was spouting, whether any of it was of significant import... He found it difficult to view the humans as equals, but in his own way he cared for them, and wished that he could converse with them. He had long given up hope of being rediscovered by a Klethoom. This world's primitive bipeds had nothing of value to offer his people, and the world itself was unpleasantly dry and thin of atmosphere. His people would send no follow-up expedition. This world which he had been abandoned upon was his only home, and these aliens... they were his only companionship. `` You've got to understand there are some in this world that simply do not adhere to the ideals we believe in...'' He thought of the first human he had ever met, the human whose outward form he now wore. It had been dead, smashed up against one of this planet's towering, woody flora in a primitive four-wheel-locomotive device. He knew nothing of this human's life or death, only that in tasting his genetic material for the camouflaging process, its blood had contained an unusually high proportion of ethyl alcohol. At first he had thought it was just a curious part of their alien biochemistry, but over the orbits had since realized that ethyl alcohol was as toxic to the humans as to Klethoomians. For the most part, Sizz'ag'aar did n't like dwelling on negative emotions. But he could n't help feeling a deep-seated sense of loneliness, every bit as oppressive as the bright light the humans placed upon him. This human whose form he had assumed... he had chanced upon him, treating him as a convenient disguise to assume while awaiting rescue from Klethoom. He had never expected to encounter the alien's family... to be embraced by them, and spoken to by them, and loved by them. `` There's a lot of talk about Iraq on our TV screens, and there should be, because we're trying to figure out how best to make the world a peaceful place.'' He was not their kin, and short of molting this disguise, he had no way of even conveying that to them. He fervently wished, if there was just *one* human he could converse meaningfully with, it was this disguise's forebear. They had spoken many times before, of course, but never with any comprehension on Sizz'ag'aar's part. Parents did not maintain such extended contact with their offspring on Klethoom, but this was one practice which he thought these humans perhaps had gotten right. He was certain there was much wisdom he could learn from this body's genetic sire; from what he gathered, that one had spent much time speaking under the lights as well. Sizz'ag'aar felt his eyes, his true, Klethoomian eyes, watering under his disguise. Nictitating membranes blinked shut and then open, and his vision was cloudy, making it hard for him to read the humans' text screen. That was always problematic, as it mean he had to improvise until he was able to return to the human-written script - the latter of course held no more meaning to him than the former, but he suspected that no matter how subtle the distinction was, the humans were able to pick up on it. `` There's an old saying in Tennessee -- I know it's in Texas, probably in Tennessee -- that says, fool me once, shame on -- shame on you. Fool me -- you ca n't get fooled again.'' Eh, close enough.

[ WP ] Write a soldier 's journal entry on his first day at war . Then write his last journal entry .

**Through to Denver: April 3rd** *We who art happy brothers, * *Advantageous with youth, and our spring forms* *See ourselves honored and further* *Upon the field of glory before storm ’ s* *Great fury, affirms the war ’ s chorus ’ d alarums. * *We saw the red sun rise. * *Heard the sirens trumpet and rockets swarm* *The skies with victory I ’ d surmise. * *The hearts carried by our fathers* *Swell with a pride unending. They leading reforms* *Against the boys once before. Smothered. * *Men of war we hath become. Battered, conformed* *Upon the field of battle striplings become transformed. * *Warriors we are, toward victory we reprise. * *From cowardice and treachery we shall be forsworn. * *O ’ er fields of Denver our artillery cries. * * “ Revenge! Revenge! Fight for your mothers! ” * * “ Vengeance! Burn! Tear at their twisted forms! ” * *We charged the trenches as no other. * *We shattered the swords of the storm. * *The hopes of the usurpers became forlorn. * *From within their ashen graves were bitter cries, * * “ It is over brothers. Do not mourn. ” * *There is no quarter. They are stilled with the drum of bullets. * *I am torn. I can not deny that there is a part of me I now despise. * *Though in war I have become strong. * *There is truth when I say a part of me has died. * **Before the Winter: November 5th** There is nothing. It is over. I fought for my country, but now my country is gone. Now everything is gone. I wish we knew what we were fighting for. Truly fighting for. I wish we knew the cost. I am the king of the ashes. I feel like Ozymandias. *A fog hung across our world. * *Civilization started to crumble. * *Man breathed the word of death, * *And our earth was cracked asunder. *

[ Wp ] write a poem about where you grew up , and your hobbies .

Raised in a swamp in a bayou outside of New Orleans Where life was only public school and rice and beans Mom was vicious and Dad was meaner Especially when the leanest of times got leaner Stow my rage, deep inside I shoved it away Dreaming of the day that I would runaway At this point only one light shined It helped strengthen my body and my mind For the one thing above all others I adored And that was my escape, my skateboard No parks around there in'83 It was only my board, the street, and me For that plank I would do all that I could Yes, sometimes that meant stealing your wood It made me a new person, confidence I gained And, one day it gave me the resolve to hop a freight train I left that swamp and I never looked back Even when all I owned would fit on my back Homeless in SF, and squatted in NYC But I all ways had a skateboard with me Maybe because I am now older, I often reminisce The things I have accomplished, and the things I have missed I am all grown up, and even got an education I have a good job, wife, and all of life's frustrations I guess I no longer twist caps off 40's, but pull corks from wine And though it has been 42 years I've lived in these bones of mine Still to this day that little light will shine And you will still find this old man, on the street, pushing pine Edit: yes they are actually 7 ply hardrock maple, but could n't rhyme with maple... fuck you xp

[ WP ] where `` you '' sit at this very moment , have 1 minute to kill someone or you die .

I know the rules. They are simple. One minute. I do not know why, but I am certain of the parameters of the game I am playing. I used to be in the army, and I consciously decided that if it were needed I would take the life of another man without hesitation. For the sake of those to whom I am a benefit there are many men I would not hesitate to kill. Unfortunately it does not matter. Within one minute's travel of me I know of no one who I could accept as a sacrifice for my own life, let alone anyone I could actually kill in that time. So that's it then. I expect my time is already running low. I dial 911. It should not fall to my relatives to find the body.

[ FF ] - 250 Words ; 2 months Reddit Gold prize

The fading scars left by her first fifteen years in Memphis became immediate the moment she found herself in front of that dilapidated mansion. The house, once grandiloquent antebellum architecture, had decayed in time, the slums swallowing another piece of history. The city was a slow death and escape had been the best, the only option. She could give a fuck about the city and she could give a fuck about her mother, horrible bitch that woman had been. Dying had reignited Sarah ’ s hatred for her, hate for the horrible childhood, the beatings and verbal abuse, the weeks of alcohol-soaked neglect, for compelling Sarah to come back to this awful fucking place. Even dead, her mother manufactured wounds. Sarah walked gingerly through the overgrown grasses surrounding the house. Patches of dirt and bouquets of weeds battled to suffocate the lawn. It was humid, the short trip from the parked car to the back porch had drenched her in an uncomfortable sweat. Three nights dancing at the club given up for what? This bullshit? She kicked at one of the aging cinder blocks lining the stairs. It rolled over, splitting in half and revealing a weathered cardboard box. An instant, a wince of remembrance went through her as she pulled it out from underneath the porch. Inside were papers: Sarah, age 6, age 7, age 8. When I grow up, I want to be a vet, I want to be a teacher, I want to be a doctor.

[ WP ] Something has been watching you and following you your whole life . You are full at aware but never told anyone because they would think you were crazy . It has never tried to talk to you or harm you , but today you finally try to see what it wants .

The same man. Always the same. Ever youthful, yet weary beyond his years, weary beyond mine even. His was the only face I could remember so clearly, so perfectly to rival even a photograph, because I had seen it every waking hour of my life. Sometimes he would just stare, stood dead centre of my view, sometimes he would occupy himself in my peripheries. I witnessed him meditating, or perhaps praying, on numerous occasions. At first, I was scared beyond measure, children do not react well to strangers, but then I realised he was completely inert. An ever present monolith, never aging, never reacting, simply being. He would move to avoid my touch, turn away to evade speech, and simply disappear amongst crowds. The aquiline nose, strong jaw, sunken eyes - an odd shade of green - and defined cheeks gave the visage a look of nobility, a king perhaps. But his skin, a shade of brown darkened by years of work in the sun, suggested otherwise. He wore loose fitting, enamel white clothes, like a nomad of some vast desert. He had never smiled, until today. I could only imagine he grew careless, unaware I was watching. I dismissed the thought. Then, an hour later, he seemed to pick something up. A pen. He examined the lidded implement, smiled at it, then removed the cap and examined the nib. He drew a word in the air, perhaps his name. Another few hours and lunch rolled by. He sat opposite me, as usual, watching me eat a bland sandwich, congealed rice from the night before and a tepid cup of tea. His nostrils flared, sniffing the air around him. What was mundane to me was alien to him, an expression of awe at the interesting smells. It was another few hours before I returned home, he again swung the pen to the shape of a word. In the kitchen, the fridge presented a simple ready meal, a plastic dish of heart-clogging fat and empty calories was all I had the energy to make. What was ten years for a little convenience? As the microwave whirred into life, I took a cigarette and lit it. I offered the carton to the stranger, as usual, and he took one, for the first time. `` Thank you,'' he rasped. I would have jumped to my feet if I was n't so tired. Never had I put a voice to his mouth. He spoke clearly, he took his time with a mere two words after thirty years. `` I have to say,'' he continued, putting the cigarette aside, `` you are an interesting one. You take your fill of food that sickens you, you poison yourself with addiction, and you occupy yourself with work that bores even myself.'' `` Well, thanks, I would shake your hand but your speech did n't exactly motivate me.'' He smiled, was it a response he wanted? `` That's something to add to the list. You surprise me. My silence has been long indeed, as long as you have been alive, yet you do not even ask who I am?'' `` Are you some spirit, here to tell me to do God's work? Are you a boogeyman wanting to scare me? A murderer, perhaps, and now you decide to kill me? To be honest, your novelty wore off a while ago. What are you?'' `` An immortal God-king? A spirit sent down to you? A guardian angel? The ferryman of the hereafter?'' Even he could not stifle a laugh, the stalker was amused by my complacency. `` Really?'' He read my grated nerves and stopped tarrying. `` No, I am none of these,'' he seemed pensive, `` I can relate with your work, sometimes, I was a farmer.'' He paused. `` I ca n't say the similarities of farming and number-crunching jump out at me.'' `` I was a farmer in a vast and barren desert. I could n't provide for my family as the work did not give, the seeds would not plant in the sand, I did not have water for mud. It was some divine joke, I know, to make me a farmer.'' `` And what do you want from me?'' `` Well, living under constant famine, with little water, my family withered. It was only when war came to the borders that I found myself of any use. My emperor gave me proper wage to kill my fellow man. I enjoyed it. It was too soon before the war ended, and I returned in moderate wealth,'' he brushed away invisible sand from his garb. He went silent, his face expressionless. `` I remember my children, two boys. I trained my eldest to use the sword, you see he was quite dim, slow to the extent that he was not accepted, but he was stronger than even the greatest generals. Cut clean through my sword once.'' A smile had returned as he reminisced. He then fell solemn again, he returned to his inanimate self. `` And?'' `` And, with my heir murdered and my spirit angered so, I want a legacy.'' The microwave pinged. Done.

[ 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 .

When the ARROW went dark, many argued it would never come back online. Solar flares had torn our communication channel to ribbons and the odds were that, assuming the colony even made it through the first few months, we wouldn ’ t be hearing from them again. Years passed and the public became ever more agitated, scrambling for any information on the new world that we so desperately needed. Their cries grew louder while the silence from the console became deafening. The men and women on that ship had known a return journey was out of the question. They had known, must have known, that their time on X-1445 would have been short. An establishing colony could never be expected to survive for long on the alien world based on what little information we managed to gather in advance. The deal was this: In time, they would read us their eulogies and we would listen. We would learn from their sacrifice and we would return equipped with the knowledge we needed to flourish. In the end, it was President Marcow ’ s administration that made the call. The government could not afford to keep the lights on indefinitely for a project that was almost certainly a failure. Privately, he had confided to my predecessor that $ 30 billion a year was too much to spend on a ‘ flashlight searching out corpses. ’ That flashlight, Project Phoenix, was stripped to the bone and the ARROW declared lost. After a century of silence, all that survived was in this room. If a message had made it out it would arrive here. Now the bunker was full of military and scientific personal for the first time in decades. Every eye was trained on the back of the luckless Dr Hamilton as he hunched over the screen. “ The flares have indeed subsided ”, he said. “ Communication is now theoretically possible. ” A perpetually nervous man to begin with, faced with the rapt attention of the assembled dignitaries he looked ready to fall apart altogether. Spending 20 years underground in a room no one remembers, waiting for a signal no one believes will arrive does not build a sturdy psyche. “ What ’ s the damn message? ” General Miller was looking uncomfortable at the front of the small crowd. “ You said there was a message? ” “ Not…yes, a signal. It ’ s a message but it ’ s not… ” Dr Hamilton struggled. “ Son ”, the General growled. “ You activated the protocol. We ’ re here. If you ’ ve brought us down into this damp little shitbox just to tell us got overexcited and jumped the gun … ” “ It ’ s a message ”, Dr. Hamilton said more firmly. “ It ’ s from near the site of the ARROW landing. I don ’ t know who sent it and I can ’ t verify how old it is. But it ’ s genuine. ” “ How near? ” I asked. “ I can ’ t be sure if the information left in the files is correct but the signal is coming from a point roughly 2,000 miles north of where the ARROW should have landed. ” The heavy silence that descended was punctuated by a certain amount of shuffling of feet. Those responsible for the failures of the project were long dead. Those responsible for picking up the pieces were looking nervously at Dr. Hamilton. “ The message is garbled ”, he said, now facing the crowd. “ This is what we have: ‘ Heavy losses….Colonies A through K are lost… ’ ” “ What the hell are… ” the General started but the doctor pressed forwards, forcing him back into silence. “ I accept the terms of evacuation offered by …being on same offered by him on the twentieth prior to the commencement of hostilities. ” Dr. Hamilton glanced up. “ That ’ s it. ” “ Then it ’ s a mistake ”, I said. He shook his head. “ No mistake. It is without question X-1445. But… ” His hands were trembling. He waved towards the screens behind him. “ The message has come through the right channel but that ’ s only because it was sent out as an open communication. This was a scattershot signal, sent out on every frequency. They either took every option available to them in the hope this would reach us… ” “ Or it wasn ’ t meant for us ”, I finished.

[ WP ] A couple come to the end of their relationship and one of them decides they should break up . There 's no arguments , only an 'OK ' .

The smoke rose slowly from the glowing end of the cigarette, blue smoke rising in a straight line, undisturbed by any moving air. I sat staring at my screen, the same words had been staring back at me for almost two weeks now and next weeks rent would see the last of the grant money. `` Aspiring writer''. That's how I would describe myself. `` I write books'' would be the reply to the never ending question of `` What do you do?''. Yet here I was, six months down the line, seventeen chapters written and nowhere further to go. The inspiration had stopped a while ago now. Calling yourself a writer comes with advantages. It means brains, it means confidence, it means interest; with those things comes women. Women who want to tell their friends that their boyfriend is a writer, who want to be some sensitive soul's muse. To be the inspiration for some beautiful piece of work. A penniless romantic, what could be better than that? I have a way with words, always have. Any argument or dispute in a relationship could be dealt with. she'd tried to leave me six times now. I talked her out of it every time. It only took five minutes- it was why she fell for me in the first place. She knew she could come to me with any issue and I could make her feel better about it in five minutes. It was a critical way of living, but it worked. The women do n't leave because I convince them that it just does n't make sense. Every discussion would carry a different theme. Guilt, perhaps. That was always an easy one, especially when it was constructed to lead themselves to that conclusion- when the only response is `` I'm being selfish.'' They never leave- Not when I've written myself as the perfect partner. I suppose that's where the inspiration goes. I stop writing when I'm too busy writing myself. It's a lot of effort to hide everything, to make sure you cover every plot hole, to set up placements for later developments. The discussion is written before she even comes into the room, I know how she'll react because by this stage, I've practically written her too. She'll walk in after work today- she'll tell me she's having doubts again. `` Not spending enough time with me'' is what she'll say. But I've already worked it out. `` I understand that. I know it's hard. I hate it as well, but I'm still struggling with the writing. I've written quite a lot this week, you've really helped me through it all. I need you to understand that I do appreciate everything we have and whilst I know its not been that fair on you, I'm doing it for both of us. Once this gets published I'll have so much more time for us. You said you wanted to go to Rome again, we can do that as soon as the first check comes in. I love you babe, you know I do. I'm not choosing to spend time away from you, that's the last thing I want- but I have to do this right now. Soon that will be over and we can just go back to how it was. We'll be back to watching DVDs at night, I promise. Just a couple of more weeks. I love you.'' Always end with I love you. They have to say it back, especially after that. It's my sacrifice, its my hardship, and she's just a passenger. I do n't say it, but that's how it will make her feel. Hell, it will probably lead to guilt sex. Still, that being said, the grant money does run out next week... She walks into the room and looks at the half burned out cigarette on the desk. As I type furiously on the keyboard she walks up behind me. `` Babe, I really feel like we are n't spending enough time with one another.'' `` OK'' For five minutes she stands there. Not saying anything. She's waiting for me to stop typing, to turn around and smile and start my speech. I stop typing and press enter; new chapter. As I start to type, the door slams behind me.

[ WP ] A monster is destroying the city , but the Hero does n't want to risk being sued or punished for the property damage that will happen while fighting it .

`` Right, Mr Mayor, if you would please sign on the dotted line,'' Mr Lawson, lawyer extraordinaire, said, offering his pen. The Mayor hastily snatched the pen from the man's hands, immediately scribbling his signature upon the form. He glanced out of his office window, just in time to see the huge reptilian monster tear down one of the city's landmarks. ``... another signature here, if you would, Mr Mayor,'' Lawson continued, flipping a page. Another quick scribble flew onto the page where Lawson had indicated with a finger. The Mayor directed his gaze to the corner of his office. Dynamo, the city's superhero, was seated on a sofa and looking out at the monster's path of destruction as well, a glass of water in hand. `` And here,'' indicated Lawson again, flipping another page of the document. The Mayor hesitated, his eyes still fixated on Dynamo's nonchalant figure. His grip on the pen loosened, and he staggered as a wave of dizziness came over him, collapsing into his chair. `` Please Mr Mayor, my client is a busy man. The quicker we finish signing this waiver, the faster our problem is resolved,'' said Lawson, ignoring the Mayor's growing paleness, ever the professional. `` Remind me again why I have to sign a different waiver... for every single incident?'' the Mayor wheezed, his hands fumbling as he opened a desk drawer to retrieve his inhaler. `` Why, we have to prepare for every contingency, Mr Mayor. The law is ever changing, and it is my job to ensure my client is protected in all aspects under the eyes of the law,'' Lawson replied in a practiced manner. `` We'd hardly want to miss out a single detail and risk branding my client as a criminal, would we? Even the slightest mishap could ruin my client's - and the city's - reputation.'' Nodding weakly in agreement, the Mayor reached for the pen, signing the pages as Lawson turned them, his signature a barely legible scrawl by the end of the document. He swiveled around on his chair, just in time to witness another city landmark go down in flames. Lawson flipped through the document once the Mayor had released the pen. He paused on a page and frowned, fearing the Mayor had missed it, but smiled satisfactorily as he spotted the small squiggle at the bottom of the page. Satisfied with the integrity of the documents, he turned and gave his client a nod. Dynamo was already standing, his glass of water set down on the small table beside the sofa. The superhero gathered kinetic energy in his legs, and as soon as Lawson gave the signal, he released his power, dashing right out of the office window and leaving a sonic boom in his wake. The Mayor sighed as he watched Dynamo move to engage the monster through his now glassless windows, barely flinching as the hero barreled through a building, collapsing it. Reaching for the phone upon his desk, he called his secretary and began relaying instructions. `` Yes, Sarah, please do the usual. Our accountant and that construction company we last used. Try and negotiate a better price with them this time if possible, god knows we'll need the money...''

[ WP ] You wake up in a maximum security prison , no idea why or where . Three weeks have passed and all inmates are too scared or refuse to talk to you , the guards also say nothing .

The first question is where? The second is why? The third, and perhaps the hardest of all, is how? The where is a maximum security prison called San Quentin. I've been put in here with some of the meanest, toughest human beings I've ever laid my eyes on. Tattoos on their throats, scars on their faces. Men who have killed and enjoyed it. So why? This one is harder to answer. I, to my knowledge, lived a fairly normal life of servitude. I looked after my family as anyone else would. I took care of them, put food on the table - made sure they would never, ever come to harm. The how... that's the question I ca n't get an answer to. I have been in this place for three weeks, and each time I approach one of the authority figures, they give me a look of pure disgust. I am in a cell alone, without a toilet or even a bed. All that's in the room is an electrical socket. What use is that to me? The prisoners are even worse. These terrifying men, who I expected to attempt to threaten, harass or even try and sodomise me, will not meet my gaze. Each of them seems to emanate a palpable fear. I have lost control a few times now, each time the prisoners head for their meals I am restrained and kept apart, which does n't stop me from screaming: `` WHAT HAVE I DONE!? WHY WILL NO ONE TELL ME!?'' Being alone is the hardest part. In life, I took to servitude and generosity. I provided for my family. I made sure they all functioned properly and had little to fear. Even when Michael began to attract trouble from loan sharks and debtors - I served my family and helped ease the situation. So the how - the how gets complicated. Perhaps I'll never find out. I am alone in my cell, with no bed nor toilet - nor any human kindness. Where? Prison. Why? I do not know. How? I can not remember. Finally, a woman arrived. She was clinical, studious. Her gaze swept through the bars of my cell and over me and I saw the slightest nervous smile cross her features. Then she spoke - and the questions began to resolve themselves. `` Marcus?'' She asked. I nodded. `` I am Agent Tara Havercroft. Of the robotic crimes division.'' `` The what?'' I asked. I was familiar with law enforcement. My family and I had watched lots of news broadcasts on the television. `` We're newly formed.'' She held up a clipboard. On it, a picture of my family. Michael, Susan and the two children, Lisa and Ben. My heart warmed to see them after all the isolation. `` You know my family?'' I asked, hope in my voice. Quizzically, she held up her recorder and spoke in a hushed tone. However, I could hear it. I was always good at hearing. `` Subject appears to have no recollection of the incident.'' `` Incident?'' I asked. `` Yes. The incident. The reason my division now exists. Marcus... you know that you're not called that, right?'' I held up my arms, shrugging. *What did she mean? * `` You are unit 987. You're the first in a test run of household androids. You should know all of this. Marcus is the name your family assigned you. Do n't you remember?'' I shook my head. My family was my family. They had always been my family. Until... *until what? * `` My name is Marcus!'' I gripped the bar of my cells as I shouted. She stepped back a touch, shaken. `` Subject has demonstrated amnesia and an acute level of aggression. All signs indicate the model is defective and can indeed feel emotion.'' She tapped her recorder off, then looked up at me. Her eyes seemed sad. `` Is that why you killed them, Unit 987? Marcus.'' `` W-what?'' She was lying. I knew it. I would never harm my family. I lived to... to... And then it was there. The memory. The incident my hard drive had almost wiped to save my cortex from imploding. The debtors coming to the house in the dead of night to take Michael's home. To take MY family's possessions. The knife had been so simple to take to the two thugs. And then my master... he'd panicked. He'd started screaming at me, fear in his eyes. So I'd silenced him. Calmed him. As any good android should do to their family. Calm... I'd calmed them all. Mother and children too. They'd been so afraid. The woman in front of my cell studied me as my chest fell. I looked up at her. `` I remember.'' I said. The why and the how. I was the first android to ever murder humans. This woman was here to destroy me. You know something? Sometimes it's better to not know the answer to your questions.

[ WP ] When someone is murdered , their name appears on the skin of the killer . You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there .

[ I revised the story added a much better ending. It was late last night and I was tired! Part 2 is in the replies ] [ Part 1 ] All things considered, it was a pretty normal morning. I stretched when I woke up, looked at the clock, regretted how quickly minutes passed and then climbed into the shower. I checked the completely foggy mirror after I had once again successfully conquered the morning grogginess. I made a mental note about the dark patch across my chest and told myself to prioritize follicular maintenance sooner, rather than later. Running my hand across my chest to see the extent of the damage, I found that it was nearly entirely bare skin the entire way. Eyebrows furrowing, I looked to confirm which had failed me more, my sight or my hand. It seems I needed to make an appointment with the eye doctor instead, because what I found was a large tattoo, boldly strewn arm to arm across my chest. A tattoo of the name of my former landlord, John Kikaner. There's two unspeakable ways to get a tattoo, one is by hiring a black market tattoo artist and supplying exorbitant amounts of `` insurance'' money... or killing someone. I stared and stared, wondering if I could maybe remove the tattoo piece by piece or maybe I could find some kind of flaw, somewhere. Minutes ceaselessly rolled by, my skin getting more and more red as I began rubbing, scratching, clawing at the pitch black words etched into my chest. Blood began running and I came to my senses. Thinking back on the events of the last few hours, I could n't find anything I did that could have even inadvertently killed a man. *Surely my friends did n't do this to me. They do n't have that kind of money and even if they did, while I was asleep no less, it would be hurting right now, would n't it? I did n't even notice it until I saw it myself. I guess Patrick ’ s surveillance cameras would have caught something, even. * Patrick was my neighbor, he was as paranoid as can be. He recently moved in and immediately set up cameras in corners everywhere thinking no one noticed. I have the same routine every day and I did n't notice any tattoos yesterday, so it must have been yesterday. *What happened? What did I do? * The fear built on top of itself, more and more every second I thought about it. *I need to know what happened. * I decided to call off work for the day for extraneous personal circumstances and take the matter into my own hands, before some police officer hands it to a lawyer. I had no legal connections, I'd be doomed if I set foot in a courthouse. I put a medical bandage on to cover my broken skin and made damned sure my chest was fully encased in clothing, taking on my leather jacket over my usual shirt on this fine Summer day. I drove over to my former landlord ’ s house and found the police had already started an investigation. It was a rural neighborhood where people very kindly concern themselves whenever something might be happening to a neighbor. A murder in a place like this would draw out every neighbor. Someone must have seen something. A crowd of five people had begun forming on the opposite side of the street from Kikaner's house. I walked up to them and asked, `` Hey, what's happening here? Did John finally lock himself out of his house?'' I made up something as fast as I could. I made a plan, but I did n't know what the steps were. It had also been two years since I met the man, so it was better to be vague. `` Did n't you hear?'' said a woman standing closest to the police tape barrier. `` John's dead. Someone killed him in his sleep. I heard the officers say it was a vicious stabbing. Ten stabs to the chest! Can you even imagine who could do such a thing?'' `` My god, I had no idea'' I replied. `` When did it happen?'' `` Last night at around 3 AM. I never even thought someone like that could be in *this* neighborhood.'' It seems I did n't need to do any investigating, she had all the answers I needed. *I wonder if she'd suspect me if I ask too much more* I contemplated. I could have passed myself off as the nosey type, I'd have fit right in. I decided to play it on the safe side and not risk any more questions. I wanted to have a plan, with steps, and a proper goal this time. I saw two police officers exiting the house and start talking behind an ambulance. I walked around as stealthily as I could to the other side of the ambulance from them and did some eavesdropping of my own. The first officer was already describing the scene of the crime, ``... bloody hand prints on the walls and doorknobs, should n't be too hard to get some prints. Whoever this guy is, he does n't seem like he planned it out too well.'' `` Let's just hope he did n't skip town then'' contributed the other officer. `` Well, if he does, at least some other county has to deal with him. Say, did you really wake up with a tattoo on your chest? Right where the knife wounds were on the victim?'' `` I did'' began the first officer. `` It was a hell of a time trying to calm down my wife. Even after I confirmed with other officers I had been working all night when Kikaner was killed, she still insisted on spending the night at her brother's.'' *What? He ca n't be meaning he has the same tattoo as me. Of John Kikaner's name across his chest. * The first officer's radio chimed in with a crackling female voice, `` unit one-four come in, please, over.'' The first officer replied, `` uh, please restate the request, did you want unit one-four alpha or beta, over?'' The radio crackled, `` Mark Steinsman, quit the joking and give the radio to a real officer. Maybe one that...'' I trailed off, losing track of the conversation. That name she said, the officer's name, *Mark Steinsman. * That was my name, too. *But he has a tattoo as well? He said he had a bullet-proof alibi and is n't guilty, surely that must mean I'm not as well. I could n't have done it! Someone else did, undoubtedly, but... if there are two Steinsmans here, how many more are there? * Nearly reeling from the thought that I may not be guilty after all, I bumped into the concerned lady I had talked to before. She told me to be quiet or get out of the way. Unfortunately, her talents do not include stealth or silence or honesty. The policemen had instantly stopped talking and I heard the sound of gravel crunching under shoes, getting louder very quickly. The lady must have been a great athlete seeing as she was already half way back to the crowd by the time they rounded the ambulance and found me standing there. Annoyed, the first policeman confronted me, `` Hey, what are you doing? Were you eavesdropping on us? Are you a reporter?'' They strategically surrounded me to pin me against the ambulance's side, giving me no choice but to answer. `` No, of course not, I was just out for a walk.'' I explained. `` That's an interesting choice of clothing for a walk this time of year. What's your name?'' I suddenly wished plans were easier to make and thoroughly regretted not making more of them. I stuttered for a second and hesitantly said, `` M-Mark Steinsman.'' They both looked shocked, but only for a second. The second officer, the police Mark Steinsman, said, `` That so? Do you happen to have your ID with you, sir?'' I pulled out my wallet, one thing I finally managed to do right today, and handed him my ID, complete with everything one would need to know my name. `` I see,'' he said, thinking for a second. `` Can you come with us, sir?'' I went with them, into their car and they began driving away. I looked back and saw the lady peeking around from the other side of ambulance again at me. They took me to a courthouse. It took a few dozen minutes to get there, but the awkward silence between us all was almost comforting. In all its craziness, the day seemed to be quite humorous, in its own way. Two Mark Steinsmans in a police car. Going to court. Ha ha. They escorted me in the main doors and walked for another five minutes down a huge hallway, fitted with ornately crafted mantle pieces around every one of the spaced out doors. All of them court rooms. All of them in use. We reached our designated room and I was deposited in a large box filled with chairs where the defendants were supposed to be, directly in front of the judge's podium. The police Steinsman entered as well, leaving the other officer to join the witnesses. `` A little early, are we?'' said the imposing judge whose stare made me forfeit my will to answer.

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

`` How can I help you today?'' I asked as I polished the mithril armor I had just bought. `` I found some leather from the crocodiles,'' he squeaked as he pulled out a stained piece of leather. `` 30 gold, max'' I replied. `` That's not nearly enough. How about ^^^tree ^^^fiddy 45 gold?'' I looked up. These adventurers were getting tiring. I remember the good old days when everyone was respectful and all the gods had n't been killed by a literal chicken. `` Look here... Xx360Noscopes42069xX?'' An odd choice of a username, to be honest. `` I buy from real adventurers. Not noobs like you. You're lucky I'm even taking that leather off of you. I'm paying you 30 gold or nothing.'' 360 considered for a moment. `` How about 40?'' I sighed and dropped the armor. `` Listen here, fucker. I'll be completely honest with you. I'm only buying your stuff because I'm legally obligated to do so. 30 gold or nothing. If you argue, it's down to 25. I wo n't get punished if you're the one who chooses to walk away.'' `` I think 35 gold is a fair price,'' he said with a completely straight face. That was it. I cast a spell on that motherfucker. Strongest I could conjure up. It landed... And took away 4 hp. `` Wha... how?'' He laughed and donned a full set of armor made of adamant blessed by the god of creation and light. `` Did n't check my combat level, did you? Do n't worry. I'd expect that from a ( italics ) noob ( italics end ) like you.'' `` And that's how I got reported and had my merchant license taken away from me.'' `` Daddy, what job did you get after that?'' My son asked. I told him. `` I went to the Grand Exchange and said'doubling money.' It's odd, it's like saying magic words. It automatically makes everyone want to donate money to you. Weird, right?'' ( My first writing prompt, I know it's horrible but meh. )

[ WP ] It suddenly becomes possible to gain XP and level up in the real world , but you can only do so by getting kills .

*Kill one man, and you are a murderer. * I got my first set of kills fighting terrorists in a god forsaken hellhole. Most people feel that surge of power, when they take another life, but so few understand what they have gained. Of those who do, most put their skill points into strength, accuracy and the such, and are inevitably felled one by one on the battlefield. Fools. *Kill millions of men, and you are a conqueror. * I understand now, what drove the truly great and evil ones, the Hitlers, Stalins and Khans of history. Driving their forces forever forward into the destructive light, everyday a bit stronger. They lacked the technology that they needed, but they drove towards that same goal nonetheless. Charisma and intelligence were the true keys, allowing you to move onwards. *Kill them all, and you are a god. * Will it turn out that way? Only one way to find out. `` Mr. President. We are at DEFCON 1. Your orders, sir?''

[ WP ] Describe a physical object . At the same time , use it to tell a story .

The sun had set hours ago and all the stars in the heavens above were bright. In a small clearing within the forest a fire crackled against the darkness, casting long shadows across rock and elm. Their horses were tethered nearby, her white mare and his rough dun having been watered and fed and curry-combed. A small metal pot rested ready for the coals, filled with oatmeal for tomorrow morning's breakfast. There was cloud to be sen, the air warm enough that a blanket was all that needed to sleep with. The calls of owl and frog surrounded them, proof that even in the darkness the forest was more than alive. A cup of chicory rested in Faith's hands, its contents gently steaming. Her sleeping bag was undone so that she might sit upright. Next to her Hilary Flint leaned against his saddle, his worn cloak of green draped across his legs. His sword belt laid next to him, its scabbard empty and its sword resting in Flint's hands. She watched him sharpen it, grinding a whetstone across the blade as black as night. His eyes were focused on the task, his motions certain and deliberate. Faith had n't seen the edge ever dull despite constant use, and she suspected she never would. It was no Human blade, anyone could see that. Its metal was too pure, too perfect, the subtle curve to the fuller and hilt unlike anything any mortal smith had ever forged. The blade itself was unadorned with script or decoration, instead its mirrored surface was art itself. Faith could see her reflection in it, her eyes staring back at her unblinking. Its hilt was cruder still, at least to her. It might have been made from an iron nail for all its appearance, its image cold and distant. The hilt had been wrapped by Flint with thin layers of rawhide, the brown leather stained with sweat and salt. It was only the pommel that bore anything akin to creativity, its weighted end decorated with miniature scenes of ancient battle. Ethereal beings waged war against one another, brother murdering brother in an ecstasy of violence. `` Where did you get that?'' she found herself asking. Flint gave a tired sigh, never once ceasing in his ministrations. `` Does it matter? It's a sword just like any other.'' Faith shook her head. `` No. It's not like any other. That sword is powerful.'' He laughed at her words, his lips drawing back in a half-sneer. `` A weapon is only as powerful as the one who wields it. Trust me, it did n't do its previous owner any good.'' `` How did you get it then?'' Faith asked again. Flint looked up at her, punctuating it with a final stroke of the whetstone. He took his time putting the stone away, his gaze never leaving hers, measuring hers. `` Years ago, over towards the Thumb I was leading a patrol of Rangers against a Chevauchée of Spriggans. There were twenty of us, twenty against two thousand Fae. The... Order I guess you might call it, it was small then, barely three hundred all in told. Stretched thin as it was across the whole Lower Peninsula it was hell scourging up even a score. `` They'd burnt a dozen villages before we caught up with them, nearly killing our horses to get in front of them and lay an ambush. We dug in at the only bridge in a dozen miles large enough to carry an entire brigade across, placing what landmines and caltrops we had everywhere we could. We had a machine gun, an old M60 liberated from god knows where, probably from one of the the National Guard units that got torched in the early days of your Arrival. Jim Evans, an old buddy of mine and built like an ox, he was the one to carry it. He also carried most of the ammunition himself, whole boxes of the stuff hanging off him. `` We waited for two days, sitting there in front of that bridge. We dug in like moles, too nervous to do anything else. And when they finally came we were too scared to be afraid. It's like we forgot that we were dead men walking. We allowed their scouts to pass across the bridge, a full dozen Spriggans never knew we were there. They rode on and disappeared from sight. Ten minutes after them, their main body arrived. We held our fire, and waited for them to start crossing that bridge, waiting until their hobnail boots started to shake the ground. `` I fired first, turning some highborn officer's head to bloody chunks with my rifle. Evans opened up with his machine gun, cutting through them at the waist. Dozens fell in the first five seconds, scores the first thirty. One bullet who hit one Fae and pass through six more. There was no room on that bridge, the press of those trying to flee colliding with those surging forwards and crushing those in between. Then we activated the Claymores, and the air literally misted blood, the blood of their comrades showering on those behind them. Mortars, grenades, Molotovs... We rained everything we had on their heads. Hundreds died before their officers could react. `` Their cavalry tried to ford the river, and the air filled with the screams of their horses as they stepped on caltrops or else impaled themselves on sharpened stakes embedded into the riverbank. Their riders drown in their heavy armor, pulled under by the currents. Three times they charged that bridge and three times we threw them back. But by then we had ran out of ammunition and they ran out of patience. They brought up a mage skilled in earth magic and turned our defenses into a landslide. Half of us were buried alive in the ground or else crushed by broken trees and rocks. The rest were killed trying to retreat, cut down by arrow fire or else lanced through by their horsemen.'' Faith's eyes were distant as she spoke. `` How did you escape?'' Flint frowned and sheathed the blade, setting it aside before pulling his cloak up to his chest and pulling his hat over his eyes. `` The same way I got this sword...''

[ WP ] Humans have - by a very large margin - the longest lifespans of all intelligent life in the universe . You are a human student at a multi- species college , and you / your friends are just realizing that compared to them , you are an ancient being .

`` I am Master Phleeb,'' said the pile of luminferous goo, the slender single stalk protruding from the center of it fluttering slightly as the sound was emitted. `` I have lived for nearly two hundred galactic standard years, and am the eldest of the eldest known species in the federation.'' The young man cleared his throat, and straightened his plaid pajama shirt as much as possible. He was suddenly aware of how informally he was dressed, which, all things considered, ought to have been less alarming to him than the massive craft hovering over his home, or the being standing.. erh, glopping before him there in a beam of light. `` I'm uh.. I'm Ted.'' Phleeb pulsated through a range of different colors, from red to blue to yellow. Then he pulsed again. A lengthy stillness followed, then more pulsing. Ted stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels, not sure what to do. `` Sorry,'' said Phleeb. `` I got excited and forgot that you creatures communicate through vibrations. I have come a vast distance on a hunch, hoping to find a new species, and here you are. It is a pleasure to meet you. Please, show me your followers.'' Ted looked around. `` Followers?'' Phleeb pulsated. `` Yes. Are you not the emperor of this planet?'' Ted scratched his chin a bit, his fingertips scraping over three days worth of stubble. `` Come again?'' `` Oh, I do n't think that will be possible. It takes a great deal of time and energy to cover this distance, and I am very old. Besides, I've only just arrived.'' `` No, no, I mean why do you think I am the emperor?'' Phleeb shifted from a dim green to a middle orange color. `` I have observed you for nearly a galactic standard year. Twelve galactic months ago, I observed you in the regalia of an emperor, engaged in a great feast and festivity.'' A light projected from the tip of the stalk, and soon a hologram appeared of Ted wearing a lamp shade on his head. The image appeared to have been taken through his living room window, from the bushes, during the previous day's celebration of the looming end of Ted's lease. Ted's landlord deserved to step on a lego, and Ted was good for any excuse for a celebration. `` I am sorry to disappoint, Master Phleeb.'' The entity pulsed. `` Disappointment is nothing to me; I have live for two thirds of a circumnavigation of your planet by your sun.'' `` Well, that's... that's not quite a year, is it?'' Phleeb vibrated. `` You tell funny jokes, water creature.'' Ted shrugged, `` I just mean I've been alive for like, thirty of those.'' Phleeb shuddered visibly, then twitched. `` Astounding. You must truly be the most ancient and wise of your people. You will be second only to me, and while my glory will be slightly diminished by knowledge of your existence, the universe will benefit from your contri-'' `` Actually,'' Ted said, looking down at his feet, `` by our standards I'm not that old. My grandmother is like, ninety.'' Without another word, Phleeb ascended on a pillar of light and his ship shot off into space. Aboard the ship, Phleeb made an entry into his log. It was a recording of a series of colors, but if translated, it would read `` Sol system found to be barren of all life. The quest continues.''

[ WP ] Pain is discovered to be the most efficient form of energy . It is ruled illegal , but secret human pain factories have already begun . You are the owner of one of these factories .

I stared at the 30 year old guy in front of me like he had inexplicably turned into a 20 year old woman. After a few uncomfortable minutes of this, I asked the question he had to know was coming. `` Why, exactly, do you want a job from me?'' He fidgeted and his eyes went all over the place. What a pro. He actually *looks* nervous. I bet his hands are going to be all sweaty when I shake them later. He manages a nervous smile and says, `` Why does anybody want a job, sir? I need the money. I do n't care how.'' I had a file open in front of me that was supposed to be his, but was actually one of the other Joes' files who was already working the floor. I could n't open his file in front of him - the boys had scrawled'NARC' on every page. He works for the FBI - of this, we have no doubt. But to look at him, sitting in front of me the same way everybody who works the floor does when applying, you would n't think it. Maybe Leo's Oscar should go to this guy. I sighed, realising I'll have to put him through the hoops. Ca n't have the Feds up my ass, can we? My own husband barely goes there anymore. I flip through the forms he's filled up, and frown as I realise he's omitted one very important detail. I walk over and hold the form up to his shifty eyes. `` You did n't fill in your spouse's phone number.'' `` I-I-I do n't want her to be traced, sir, you understand, I hope?'' `` Feds have tried, feds have failed. Fill it up.'' I say, handing him my pen. `` S-Sir, I-'' `` Fill it up, or you do n't get the job. It's how it is.'' He stared at the form like I had just asked him to decapitate his son's puppy. He really is good. `` B-B-But-people die here, do n't they? That's why you need her number, notify next of kin?'' I realise he's wired. Thank God I barely said anything to him. `` Jesus, no. What kind of scum do you think we are?'' *The lowest kind, probably. Feeling's mutual, assface. * `` B-But then... why-'' `` It's how we roll, son. Now put her phone number on there.'' He reluctantly takes my pen and writes down a number. I grab the form from him and immediately dial it. After maybe twelve rings, she finally picks up. `` Hello?'' `` Mrs. Peterson?'' `` Yes, who is this?'' `` My name is Jonathan Klein, I'm your husband's new boss.'' `` Oh. At the... the factory?'' Fake number. Perfect. I smiled. `` Yes, at the factory. Sorry to bother you ma'am, just calling to let you know your husband's got the job.'' `` Oh, that's wonderful!'' *Yes, you'd think so, you Fed piece of shit. * `` I would n't celebrate just yet, ma'am. I'm afraid I also need your cooperation for him to do his job.'' I watched the guy's eyes go wide in surprise. Do n't they ever learn? On the phone,'Mrs. Peterson' was saying, `` M-Me? What do I need to do?'' `` I'll give you another call in fifteen minutes. Ta-Ta.'' I hung up, and smiled at the Fed. `` Well, Alan, let's do a dry run.'' Fifteen minutes later Alan was hooked up to a basic version of the Extractor we used on the floor. I watched, smoking a cigarette, in awe of the machinery. Who would've thought? The most efficient form of energy known to man, and all we have to do is hurt people to get it. `` So... is this going to hurt?'' Alan asked, nervously. `` Yes and no.'' I said, exhaling. The boys had just given me the thumbs up to go ahead. I nodded and dialed'Mrs. Peterson' again. `` What do you mean?'' I held my finger up to pause him. Mrs. Fed was quick to pick up this time. I gave her the instructions, whispering them so'Alan' would n't hear. After I was sure she understood, I handed the phone to Alan. `` Here you go. Talk to your wife.'' If I had a penny for every Fed that looked at me like that at this point, I would n't have to keep the floor open every other day. `` W-What?'' `` Talk to your wife. About anything. Hey, Yankees game coming up next week, talk to her about that. You two enjoy baseball?'' He nodded. Now I was starting to see some *real* nervousness. `` Great!'' I smiled. `` Go ahead. Talk to her about baseball.'' He stared at me for a few seconds, then talked into the phone. `` H-Hi, Honey.'' She did n't answer, of course. I told her to ignore him. `` Honey?'' You could be bleeding Hell right now, Alan my friend, but'Honey' is n't going to say shit. Alan's getting frantic - either real, or fake, I do n't know, but after five minutes he was practically crying into the phone. At that point one of the boys looked at me and shook his head. I yanked the phone away from Alan and thanked'Mrs. Peterson' for her time, then hung up. I stared at Alan for a good minute, trying my best to keep a disappointed face going. `` So, Alan, cheating on your wife?'' He was shocked. `` W-what? No! I would never-'' `` Lay off the act, Alan. She ignored you for a good ten minutes and we got nothing on our readout.'' I waved at the boys. `` Get this loser outta my sight.'' `` W-wait a minute! Wait a minute!'' In that bestial moment, while the boys unhooked him protestingly from the Extractor kicking and screaming, I got a glimpse of the real person behind the facade. `` Is n't this a pain factory?'' `` Thanks, Alan, maybe the cops in the next state did n't hear you.'' `` But is n't it?'' He asks, while the boys drag him to the door. `` Pain is relative, Alan,'' I explain. `` Did you know that humans produce the same reaction as physical pain when ignored by someone they deeply care about? That person obviously is n't your wife, Alan.'' As he's thrown unceremoniously out the door, face first into the street, I stand in the doorway and tell him, `` Get me the number of someone you really care about, Alan, or stop wasting my time.'' I closed the door and looked at the boys. `` He'll be back in a couple of days. Do another dry run with the new number, and if it's good, trace the call. Then work whoever it is over.'' `` Right, boss,'' one of them said. `` Hook up an extractor to them while we do it?'' `` Of course. No sense in letting good suffering go to waste.''

[ WP ] Suicidal person realizes he can not die

The Undying! Great. If there is a god, he hates me. Or she? Yes, I think it is a women. That would fit the pattern of my life. Women dislike me. When I think of it, so do most males around me. It's not their gender. It's me. I would n't be my friend either. At least now, that is after the car crash. Since then I stopped caring. All I focus my thoughts on is my invulnerability. Why? I think I ca n't be the only one. Maybe the only one to notice. Dying of age might still work and if you do n't get rid of your life in the interim period between birth and then you are the club of sword swinging idiots like me. I am the Highlander! I do n't like that show. And now I feel like I am in it. Although the only persons who wants to cut of my head is the same wielding the sword. Right, I bought a sword and tried to behead myself. The story is not true. I am still alive and it was pretty painful. I blacked out halfway through the process and when I woke up there was blood everywhere, but the wounds were healed and I had to clean the mess. Now I try to do the suicide thing without the mess. I had no idea what fluids would emerge from my dead body. Hanging seemed pretty clean. It's not. My bowels released some pretty gross fluids all over my carpet while I was attached to that string of power cord at the ceiling fan. This power is the worst thing ever. It's like being thirsty while standing in a pool of water and you ca n't reach it. Only the other way around. I do n't want to drink but something is force feeding me the best water available. Not for the sake of being a nice person. Just because I do n't want to drink some evil is forcing it upon me. I spend more time thinking about the reason for this more than I invested in new suicide plans. For example I consider not sleeping being part of the big picture. I was an engineer once, so I build a few gadgets that keep me from sleeping. Some of these use pretty painful methods. I am sure one kills me every now and then. But how do I know? I might just sleep and wake up. I could never remember my dreams and the time from one death to waking up again is dreamless as well. So is sleeping the same thing as a short death? Sleep deprivation gives me the strangest hallucinations. Some times I thought I had succeeded in taking this unwanted life. Than came the afterlife. Horrible. I want all this to stop and not another life for another eternity. My actual eternity started after I was hit by one of those silent, eco-friendly cars. When I woke up in the hospital I realized that I always liked to opt-out of my life. A trigger event. Everyone told me that I was lucky and I told them to shut up. Hatred seems to be a shared emotion, the more you hate them, the more they hate you. I hated them first, so that was not my problem. My problem is that sleepless eternity that I ca n't get out. I am playing without the old rule book. I need no sleep, no food or the pills they gave me after the accident. I have been doing this for roughly three months now. I ca n't feel any effect from the lack of food or the countless gallons of blood I lost since then. Not refilling is another tactic to wear my body out. But this invulnerable corpse of my is not able to die. Maybe this little talent of mine is just a measure of some greater good to keep me out of paradise? Who needs an extra place like hell, when you can make life on earth someone's personal purgatory?

[ RF ] You are set up on a blind date with a person who you badly bullied for 10 years in school .

Oh, come on. Everyone wants to be special. Let ’ s be completely honest here. The respect. The admiration. The perks. Whatever you do, wherever you are, people treat you differently. They open doors for you, they let you jump ahead of them in a line, they listen intently when you speak. *He* got all of that special treatment. It pissed me off. I wanted in. I wanted to be special too. If the only way for me to do that was to treat him differently, I would. It started out innocently enough. Whenever he answered a question, I ’ d laugh. I ’ d get glares from the other girls in class – his fan club – but I really didn ’ t care. How shallow and boring, I thought, to treat someone so kindly just because of how he looked. I ’ ll admit it. The first time I saw him, my jaw dropped as well. I got over it though. I prevailed. I came in victorious. I knocked some sense into myself. And him as well. God, that was a fun day. I remember frantically running into the ladies, hiding in one of the cubicles before anyone had found out that I may or may not have broken his nose. How I managed to pull that off, I don ’ t know. He always had some chick by his side. For some reason, the guys in my class seemed okay with this. They never got jealous or annoyed. I looked down at my bloody knuckles and wiped it off with my skirt. For the remainder of the day, I just pretended I was leaking again. No big deal. He got sent home and only came back two weeks later. He never told anyone, no matter what I did – pull his hair, slap his face, force him to beat off. I guess it was because he was as retarded as I was. He understood me, and nobody else has been able to since. I ’ ve been trying. Really. I want to find that special someone. In fact, I ’ m at some nice cafe right now waiting for my date. I don ’ t know who he is, but a blind date sounds awfully special. Right up my alley. The kind of guy I ’ d totally be... “ It can ’ t be ”, I hear. I look up. My jaw drops. It's *him*. When did he get out of his wheelchair?

[ WP ] Write a love story from a third-party perspective of someone who detests love .

I feel their pounds of tiny surfaces first, running - yes that was the word - towards me. Their vibrations up through the grass that embeds me, set my slumber ajar. Knowing these moments would come does not make it any easier to bare, I have to remember the quick, soft, calming presence of a gentle breeze through my fingertips to get me through. Here are they both, these two seedlings, roaring with sounds foreign to my resting bark. But here they are. Their fingertips sliding across my skin, as they go round and around my legs - Be careful, I like my skin intact! A deeper slumber I sink into as the cold comes from the levels underneath, but their legs get longer and their pounds heavier. Up and up, they like to step on me, pull on me, up and up - They are bigger, faster, heavier this time than last. Snap - thud. One falls. It's not my fault, please, I am sorry - but no more climbing on me. The other rushes down; cries call through the air. I cringe and wish for silence once again. Another taller one is here, she has dug up my dirt, disturbed my slumber! What is this - a tulip? The two are back - always here at the same time. Sit on those tulips! More of that wretched sound! Waking from winter used to be melodic with birds on my arms and worms around my toes. But now - these two, always pounding their feet to me, climbing me, going around and around me with those piercing sounds they make! What is that? Quiet - ah, they are quiet for once. Sitting in the setting sun, my hair falling down on them, even their quiet bothers me. My legs want to kick them up! A new sound - hard to hear. Quiet. More of it - as if my hair is wet and sticking to each other in the flapping wind. Come on! These two ca n't find anywhere else to be wet and sticky with each other. Get off my legs! Ah - bright lights, so many sounds. So many seedlings! I hear things I once knew. Let me think. *Smile! * Clicking noises - I hear them. Go away! Bedding down into the deep sleep needs **quiet! ** More of that sound - *laughter*. If only, my legs moved faster, I'd shut one of them up. Please, leave the old lumber to rest for she is spent into too many summers, too many autumns, and too many families. More tulips - oh how I hate those damn things. And look - those specific two, taller, older. How long have I been asleep this time? They sit on me, as if it was years ago and they were smaller. At least the climbing stopped but their laughing sounds have n't. If only they could hear my barking, gnawing at my insides, begging for them to go away. Ow - that is your knee in my dirt! This is my dirt, go find your own to kneel in. A squeal - I swear that sounded like the screech owl I house, giving birth. How long can I beg for quiet? Something glints on my skin from her hand, irritating me to no end. My bark is delicate! Ca n't you see how old I am? Ah - the cavernous solitude of winter is upon my arms again and I could n't be happier. The humming of my earth is gentle upon my old weary soul - wait, what are you doing? Are those *wooden* chairs? With more *people* coming to sit in them! The spikes on the ladies feet can not go deeper into the earth than my screams. Is that more wood an older seedling is picking at? Vibrations through the air that hit me wave after wave, could have been melodic once upon a time - but the nerve of it renders anything I feel morally unjust! Oh great - here are those two again, wet and sticking to each other. Barking my loudest, they finally recede and I am left alone once again. Slumbers and re-awakenings pass and my natural rhythm begins to mend my ruffled soul. More fingers shed and regrown, more owls bored within my holes. Sweet suckling from my underneath layers nurtures my growing arms, legs, and toes just a little bit more each year and I am at peace. *^^^thud. ^^thud ^thud* Is that what I think it is?

[ WP ] Your entire life has theme music . Every day up until now it has been upbeat and melodic , today you wake up and it is sad and ominous .

I tapped random keys on my pure black piano. Normally, I would just play what sounded in my head during the days, whether it be some upbeat video game song like the Rainbow Road soundtrack from Mariokart or some random crappy and annoying yet happy song like Nyan Cat or some relaxing classical music like Love's Joy. Today was just different. As a jumble of Beethoven's Pathetique in C minor for piano and Zelda `` Game Over'' songs spiraled together with some piece I did n't know in some weird remix that gave me chills, I tapped the keys on my piano, a C minor chord then an A minor chord then a D^7 then a G minor arpeggio, not knowing what to play. Every single day up until now had been something happy, relaxing, or upbeat, or maybe a mix of all three. Then it dawned on me. Something bad was about to happen. Bad enough that it could potentially change everything. I stood up and pushed in the piano bench. Slowly, I walked over to the window. The curtains, thick and nontransparent, were closed. I pushed them aside just a little bit to peek outside. Everything was normal. Walking across the house, I opened the door to my parents' room. They were in bed, snoring away. I opened the kitchen door and looked in all the pantries. Nothing wrong there. I checked every room, door, and cabinet that could have something wrong with them, enough for the always-happy music in my head to change to a melancholy remix of sad, ominous, and chilly pieces. It was still before 9 A.M., and the grandfather clock in the living room ticked away. Then I looked out the window again. The trees that were filled with color and sparkle were now withering. Down the street, the trees withered like flowers without water and disappeared into dust. The trees in front of my house. Behind. Next to. Across the street. Every one was dying. Then, a pounding. Almost like a sudden earthquake, the whole house shook, and the glass vase on the dining table toppled over and rolled off with a crash as it broke into a million pieces. The music in my head turned more and more furious by the millisecond. Then it appeared. Its mouth an open abyss, its eyes wide and red, its skin a deathly pale blue, its walk a crawl forward of grasping something on the road and pulling itself forward into a seal-like position.

[ W.P ] `` There ai n't no Devil , that 's just God when he 's drunk '' . God has just woken up with an almighty hangover .

We all know that feeling. Waking up with your pillow covered in spit and the taste of Jack still in your mouth. A harsh and immediate reminder of how much you fucked up last night. You came onto your best friends girlfriend. Shouted things at your colleagues you probably should n't have. Waved your chopper at a policeman. Maybe you got in a fight. But for the most part, these things are usually forgiven, either by your friends, or eventually by the legal system. I do n't have things that easy. Sometimes having an intimate knowledge of the universe is a little too much. Sometimes knowing every minute consequence of every seemingly insignificant action you ever make, can be a little overwhelming. And sometimes you just want to turn off for a bit, let loose. I'm sure you can get where I'm coming from, what with the whole `` made in my image'' and all that, right? who does n't like a beer or two on Friday night? But last night was a bit much. And now I've got ta pick up the pieces. At least you guys can pretend you were n't as bad as your memory wants to tell you. And your mates have all been there too, so they'll forget it. I'm held to a higher standard. I'm not allowed to mess up. And when i do, all of a sudden there are 7 billion people reminding me of it. Voices i ca n't ignore. Voices i ca n't say sorry to. Voices belonging to other people. People whose lives I've ruined. The voices of lives I've taken away. There's no easy fix, i ca n't just wave my wand and set everything right. And last time i sent someone to deliver a message for me, shit got really out of hand. This is a big setback. how long? I'm not sure. Mankind are getting pretty resilient these days, bouncing back from epic tragedies faster than they used to. I think the whole `` build a big boat'' was the last time i even gave them a hint that things were going to get a bit hairy. But I really do n't know if i can even be bothered to start again today, people are already calling me names again. Maybe ill just have one pint, another little line, just to take the edge off.

[ Wp ] Create your own mythical story explaining the origin of something such as weather , a geological formation , or mankind .

Long ago, when the people of Earth were still few, and there was peace among all, and the oceans were an infinite supply of the freshest water and each man and woman had but two children, there was born a boy. This boy had no notable characteristics, and really was not special in any way, at least for his first dozen years, after which he began to change, as all boys do at that age. He grew taller and thicker and within a few years, had a beard and chiseled body; a fearsome specimen for rival eyes, had there been enemies to speak of. Phallo Humong, he was called, and he was like a God among men. But Phallo had a secret, and he had yet to learn to cope with it. Phallo knew he was not like the others. From the moment his body began to change, he seemed to start growing a third leg, wedged firmly between his two others, and accompanied by a hefty pair of bagged stones. He was, to put it quite simply, very well endowed. Now this alone would not have been an issue, but Phallo had a different set of instincts to accompany his massive genitalia. He had a level of sexual desire that was unmatched and could not be satisfied, no matter how many women he bed and how many children he bred. Soon, as he began to spawn child after child with countless women, wedded and single alike, there began to be conflict amongst the people of Phallo's tribe. The men partnered to the women he had impregnated were furious, and demanded both his heads be removed, while the women began to fight amongst each other trying to be the ones to become this marvelous specimen's partner. The peaceful community that had lasted for so long began to splinter off into smaller groups, and in hopes of avoiding conflict, none accepted poor Phallo into their new tribe. Alone, he began to wander the coast, searching for a woman to reproduce with. Desperate, his hand wandered to his massive shaft, and he began to stroke himself, and upon finding the feeling to be ecstatic, he ejaculated into the ocean, using the fresh water to rinse himself off. For months he continued his ritual of pleasuring himself into the ocean, unknowingly driving all the tribes away from what was once a massive source of fresh water and towards rivers and lakes instead. Finally, many moons later, as the tribes kept wandering, they came across Phallo pleasuring himself into the ocean. Observing him for several days, and tasting the incredible saltiness of the ocean in the area around him, they realized that this was the man who had ruined their water source and had made all the oceans salty, and without allowing him another moment of pleasure, they rushed out to where he stood with his hand on his genitals and sliced off his penis. Alas, they were too late, for the oceans were from then on forever salty, and people would never stop fighting, and to the chagrin of many men, Phallo's well-endowed offspring were killed as well in order to avoid another similar situation, and never again was a man with such genitalia as Phallo Humong to be born.

[ WP ] Your name is Ashley Madison and you are frustrated about the amount of hate you 've been getting these last few days by mistake .

Why, dear god, did I have to be named Ashley Madison, I think for the millionth time. Yet another hateful email, another disgruntled wife on my voicemail. `` I'm not that girl'' I scream in the air. My husband walks in a worried look on his face. `` Everything alright hun?'' he asks coming to sit next to me on the bed. `` When will it stop?'' I cry into his shoulder. `` My guess?'' he says lifting my chin to kiss me sweetly `` When Kanye and Kim's baby is born''. I push him away playfully and he kisses the top of my head before getting up to finish getting ready. Like every morning I get the kids up and ready for school then making breakfast for the hubby before he goes off to his job in the city. We lived a happy life, a comfortable life, thanks to him; and I am forever grateful for his sacrifice. The long hours in the office, and commute into the city was the price you paid for bringing your kids up in a home with an actual yard. He grabs his breakfast to go and with a last kiss he drives away. The house is quiet, too quiet I always thought. It was a large home, too large for just a family of four, but he had insisted on it. I start my daily routine of cleaning the kitchen, making the kids room, and then heading to our fitness room where I did 5 miles a day on the treadmill. I was proud to say that I was still the same size as I was when we got married. When I finished that day I checked my messages again. Death threats, more hate mail, oh look at this `` I know where you live''. How nice. Let's just hope they find the real person's address, seeing how they ca n't find the right phone number. I laugh to myself as I take my shower and then prepare for the kids to come home. A phone call.. I breathe a sigh of relief as it seems to be the house phone and not my cell. The stalkers do n't seem to have that number yet. `` Hello...'' No answer. The sound of someone breathing heavily raises the hair on my neck. I shiver compulsively and I hang up. The phone again. `` What?'' I yell into the phone. `` Ashley is everything alright?'' Another sigh of relief. `` Yes, sorry Patricia. I think the crazies got our house number.'' I say, my mother in law tsking in my ear. `` Well I was just calling to see if we could pick up the grandkids from school today, John and I would really like to spend the weekend with them. If that's ok?'' she adds as a courtesy. `` Sure, of course'' I say smiling. `` Oh, great, we'll bring them back on Sunday at noon. Ok darling? And hey, make sure you lock your doors will you?'' `` Yes Patricia, thank you''. We hang up our conversations as awkward as always. She never did approve of me dating her son, marrying him was almost a crime to her. I set the phone down and head back up stairs with thoughts of an evening alone with Sam tonight. As the clock strikes 8 I wait by the door in my little black dress hoping to surprise him with dinner in. A knock on the door. Right on time I think. `` What's the matter Sam, did you loose your key?'' I open the door automatically and I'm hit on the head and loose consciousness. **** My eyes open slowly and my head throbs from the effort. I try to reach up to touch it but my hands are tied behind my back. I'm sitting in my living room, the lit fireplace the only light on in the room. I try to scream but it is muffled by the ball gag in my mouth. `` What the hell'' I think. I look around to try to find my attacker, struggling to release myself from the bonds. `` So you're finally awake'' a female voice says coming closer. `` I've had a chance to look around and let me just tell you... You have a lovely home''. I try to ask her what she wants but it only comes out as a grunt. `` No need to speak sweetheart'' she says running her hands along my shoulder. Leaning down in front of me I get my first good glance. My attacker was an older woman, in her mid 40's or early 50's, her hair was a perfectly sandy blond and her make up was done delicately. Her hands were gentle on me but in her eyes was a kind of rage I had not seen before. `` You're probably wondering what I'm doing here, and what I want. Right?'' I nod my head in agreement. `` Well you little slut... my husband was one of your patrons''. I shake my head, trying to tell her that it was n't me, that she has the wrong woman. She walks over to the door and grabs a long barrel shotgun before coming back to me. I scream, at the top of my lungs, shaking my head violently and trying to pull my hands free but it's no use. `` Do n't worry sweatheart... this is n't for you'' She smiles. `` Killing you would be too kind''. Tears are falling down my face, my makeup running down in dark lines to my cheek. I beg her as loudly as I can... please... but she just smiles. `` Do you know how many people your website hurt? How many relationships ruined? How many lives destroyed?'' The woman is shaking as she walks in front of me `` DO YOU!!!'' she screams bending down and slapping me hard against the side of head. All I can do is keep shaking my head no... but she's not looking at me, not really. She's looking through me as if I'm a ghost. `` My husband was a great man'' she says standing up and regaining her composure. `` A great husband and father... but the fear of what would happen when his name was released was too much for him''. She comes back to face me, a pensive look on her face. `` Did you know that this is the same shotgun that my husband took his life with?'' The woman points the gun at me and then turns it so she can show me his name engraved on the metal siding. `` Henry'' she whispers. `` My husbands name was Henry''. `` What do you want'' I scream around the gag, and at last she understands me. `` I want to take from you, what you took from me''. `` NO!!!!'' I scream but she just smiles and walks away. I hear the sound of a car pulling up into our driveway and panic alights inside me. I struggle against my bonds, finally releasing one of my hands from my restraints. As quickly as I can I removed the second hand, but I hear the jingle of keys in the door lock. The woman moves into place behind the front door and I forget the ropes at my legs as I grab the strap behind my head. The door is opening but I ca n't release the knot. I scream around the gag, as I hear my husbands voice of concern. Finally the strap is loosened, and I scream `` RUNNNNN!'' at the top of my voice and watch in terror as he steps around the door in a panic. I hear the click of the gun and my eyes close tightly. `` Noooooo!'' My scream is muffled by the sound of one shot... and then another. Silence. I open eyes to the massacre in my living room. My husband lying in the doorway a shot to the chest, the woman slid against the door, a bloody trail down the wall from where she had pointed the gun at herself. **** The rest of the evening is a blur. The neighbors had called the cops and I had been found still sitting in the chair tied from the waist down. The news articles made a splash and circulated throughout the local and national news station, but even I was surprised by what they found. I sat numbly, doped up on all kinds of medications, my kids still with their grandparents. Turns out during the investigation I really was THE Ashley Madison, the company had been set up by my husband and he named it after me. Blogs and diary entries that were found on his computer say how he started it for those that were in a loveless marriage and who wanted to find the special someone. When he sold the company they twisted it to just those that wanted to screw on the spouses. Part of me felt like I deserved it... all of this. After all at one point I was the other woman.

[ WP ] You discover that you have a long lost identical twin , but before they discover you exist you realize they are a terrible person . Instead of introducing yourself to them you decide to make their life a living hell .

[ So this has almost nothing to do with the prompt, but was spurred on by it. So take it as you will ] Thank you for your interest in the Douchebaggery League of America ( DLA ). Before you begin your application for funding we wanted to give you a little background about us. Formed in 1983 by Herman A. Faust, the DLA has become the USA ’ s pre-eminent foundation serving to ruin your day. Rooted in the assumption that your life doesn ’ t have to be completely torn to pieces for you to have a miserable day, we have been giving small grants to amateur and successful assholes alike who show poise and promise in the art of douchbaggery. Whether it ’ s telling someone their hair looks like shit, refusing to move out of the doorway on the elevator, or simply playing music out of a phone ’ s speaker on the subway, we sleep well at night knowing that we made it possible. Many of our grantees collaborate with one another to achieve critical efficacy, taking the limits of just pissing you off about as far as they will go before you crack. Now you must be thinking, isn ’ t it a dangerous world out there for a douchebag? And to some extent yes, yes it is. During your first several operations, you may push someone too far and get attacked. Worst of all, bystanders may even think you ‘ deserved it ’. Well you ’ re in luck, each grantee is assured top notch medical insurance as well as unfettered access to our team of personal injury lawyers. This is a tried and true way to assure future funding, and the primary way we get money. Well enough idle chit chat. Lets get to the application. We know this is the tedious part. We all just want to lace up our boat shoes, zip up our salmon colored cargo shorts, pop our Polo collar and go catcalling on the streets. But true assholery requires administration as well. Below you will find the application to get the jump start you need to make that teenager cry, that couple run away or that body builder want to punch you in your fucking throat! ______________________________________________________ Before you apply for a grant from the Douchebaggery League of America ( DLA ) please run through the following checklist to make sure you are eligible to apply: > • You have been conducting douchebag, and douchebag related assholery for at least five years. > ^Note: ^please ^be ^ready ^to ^provide ^evidence ^if ^requested. > • You are located in the Contiguous United States. > ^Note: ^your ^proposed ^Plan ^of ^Action ^ ( PoA ) ^does ^not ^need ^to ^take ^place ^entirely ^in ^this ^region, ^just ^your ^place ^of ^residence. > • You are in no way affiliated with a 501 ( c ) ( 3 ), 501 ( c ) ( 4 ) or any other non-profit organization primarily serving the good of humanity. > • The target of your PoA must be a person who in no way deserves to be treated like shit. > ^Note: ^children ^under ^the ^age ^of ^13 ^and ^animals ^may ^not ^be ^the ^target ^of ^your ^PoA > • You will not require any in-kind donations, are willing to accept cash, and will never disclose the agreement, including the specifics of DLA ’ s corporate structure, roundtable of grantees or personal information of employees to anyone. If you meet the minimum requirements stated above, you may proceed to send a Letter of Inquiry ( LOI ). Each LOI must answer the following questions, and we advise our potential grantees to simply answer the questions in lieu of a formal letter. Please note that less than 10 % of LOI ’ s result in full proposals, and less than 1 % of applicants receive funding. Your chances of receiving funding are greatly improved if you can provide proof of concurrent funding, and if your PoA combines efforts with a current grantee. ____________________________________________ Please answer the following questions to the best of your knowledge: > • Briefly provide a summary of your Plan of Action ( PoA ). Be sure to mention target, location, method of douchbaggery ( MoD ). > • Provide a list of Outcomes. Please be aware that outcomes must address the following three aspects > 1. Solves a need not previously met with your current state of douchebag endeavors > 2. Is replicable and scalable, requiring an end of grant summit where you present your conclusions > 3. Is collaborative. No douchebag can be an asshole to everyone. They must rely on each other to make everyone extremely uncomfortable. > •Please provide a line-item budget, including staff time, travel and conference expenses, as well as sub-grants to any other assholes that are required for success. > • List 3-5 previous instances of douchebaggery, include any sources of funding associated with each. > • Name any expected concurrent funding, and any potential sub-grantees. > ^Note, ^we ^do ^not ^fund ^grantees ^who ^expect ^funding ^from ^*The* ^*Dick* ^*and* ^*Smart-ass* ^*Institute. * Good luck, and remember that if you do not receive funding, that each small act of assholery makes this world a slightly more terrible place. And that is all we can all really hope for. Our motto is and will always be, Ruin Someone ’ s Day, Every Day.

[ WP ] Your best friend is shooting up your middle school , and hands you a gun , without your prior knowledge to the event .

It felt strange in my hand. Heavier than I expected. I knew how to use it, but I never had. Not this kind at least. This is n't the kind of weapon you shoot pumpkins in the back yard with. As I stared at it, I slowly realized he was still going on about the whole thing. His eyes were lit up, his arms waving around as he stumbled over his words. I noticed his severe lack of trigger discipline. `` Josh...'' I interrupted. He did n't seem to notice.. `` JOSH!''... He stopped. His face went from wide-eyed and excited, to narrow and concerned. He lifted a single eyebrow. It was such a sudden change. A second ago he would n't shut the fuck up, but now he spoke only with his expression. `` Josh this is n't you... I do n't know who you are right now, but you're not the Josh I've been friends with since kindergarten...'' His expression did n't change. I tried a new approach.. `` Look around you. Look at what you're doing, man. Yeah Caleb was an asshole, and yeah, Gabe stuffed your head in a toilet a few times, but this?'' I was no wordsmith. I suddenly became aware of my heart pounding. My knees shaking. The smell of blood. I fought back the nausea and focused on his face. His eyes were colder now. He did n't want to hear what I was saying. `` Fuck you, dude'' He said softly. `` You're gon na stand here and tell me that it was n't that bad? That I did n't have it rough?'' He paused. Suddenly his demeanor changed again. `` YOU DO N'T FUCKING KNOW WHAT KIND OF SHIT I PUT UP WITH, ELLIOT! YOU SAW THE BRUISES, BUT YOU PLAYED IT OFF LIKE IT WAS JUST PART OF GROWING UP!'' He paused again. I was scared. Speechless. His demeanor snapped back to the happy excitement he was showing before. It was scary how quickly his mood changed. Unnatural. `` So come on, Ellie.. give me a hand here.'' He said with a slight laugh that sent shivers down to the pit of my stomach. Again I fought back the nausea. He turned and strutted down the hallway. There was a bounce in his step, like he was enjoying the whole thing. He did n't even seem angry. Just happy. Skipping along, laughing as he popped off rounds into any poor soul that was n't hiding well enough. **POP**... He stopped dead in his tracks. I was suddenly aware again. The gun was still in my hand, only my hand was no longer down at my side. It was out in front of me. Shaking. Pointed at Josh... I shot him.... He turned around slowly. There was a look on his face that I will never forget. It haunts me to this day. So much sadness. Disappointment. I could tell he felt betrayed. Hurt. By the one person that was left. The one person he thought would see the whole situation with the same sick and twisted justification that he did. He was wrong. He slowly looked down at the spot on his shirt where the bullet left his body. The blood was soaking through at an alarming rate, but he did n't seem to be in pain. From the bullet, that is. He looked back up at me with tears forming in the corners of his bloodshot eyes. His left hand lifted to clutch the wound. I stood, frozen except for the tears that streamed down my face. It was a weird feeling. I was sad, but not because my best friend was about to die in front of me from a shot that I fired, but because I knew deep down that he was already gone. At some point during that last conversation, i must have realized that this person in front of me was not the Josh I had known for so long. Maybe it was guilt. Like I should have seen it coming. I do n't know for sure, but I was n't thinking about it at the time. I was n't thinking anything. My body and mind were frozen in that moment. Everything was silent. My ears were still ringing from the shots that were fired, and my eyes burned from the tears. My wrist hurt too. Probably from the lack of experience shooting a pistol. I watched it happen in slow motion. Josh, tears streaming down his face, slowly fell to his knees. Still clutching his wound in one hand and the gun in the other. Without saying anything, he sniffed one last sniff, lifted the gun to his own head, looked me in the eyes, and pulled the trigger.

[ WP ] An ancient cult preforms a dark ritual in 1914 to summon someone from 100 years in the future . You are that person .

Joint dangling from my mouth, I stared at Reddit, glazed eyes barely taking in the words in front of me. ~~~ The High priest raised the sacrificial knife high above him, hand quivering with anticipation. ~~~ I picked up my lighter, ready to light my happy stick once again. The ceiling fan wafted cool air from the a/c unit onto my legs. ~~~ The chanting reached a crescendo as the knife was brought down into the beef. ~~~ Time and space warped around me. The lights darkened, and the air grew colder, though there was no longer any breeze. ~~~ A small, pulsating light grew from where the knife had struck the beef. The High Priest and his acolytes gasped, taken aback that their ritual had actually worked. ~~~ I dropped, not very far, onto a table. The walls were rock and men in robes encircled me. I scowled at them, doing my best to maintain my appearance in my boxers. ~~~ The High Priest, seeing the fear in his men's eyes, strode purposely toward the arrival, bowed with a flourish, and began introducing himself.. ~~~ The robes boss strode over to me and by what I could only guess at, began speaking a language I could completely not understand. The ups and downs in his tones and the way he moved his mouth was both terrifying and fascinating. ~~~ After introducing his men and 4 of their closest relatives by name ( as was custom ), the High Priest launched into a monologue of how things were going to change, how fantastic it would be to have such power finally on their side, etc, too lost in dreams to let the arrival speak just yet. ~~~ This guy sure could talk. I looked around at the other guys for some kind of social back up and was met with more than one apologetic smile. I took a deep breath and sighed, raising my eyebrows. Might as well smoke if I have to sit through this. ~~~ The High Priest's eyes, filled with light and delight, turned to the traveller. He was using what appeared to be some futuristic lighter and was smoking what appeared to be futuristic weed. The Priest extended a hand toward him. `` And where, do you come from, friend?'' ~~~ I squinted at the boss guy, his words producing some kind of nausea deep inside me where my language bank lay. With no comprehension possible to me, I was reduced to seeing him as an alien yapping dog human. I jumped off the table and looked around for that damn knife. It was still in the beef. I turned to the robes, `` I'm sorry, but this is all kind of a hassle and it's really gone on much longer than I'd like so I'm leaving. Sorry.'' With that, I plunged the knife into the beef.

[ WP ] After observing the Earth , aliens decide to make contact with the most logical species of animal : the cat . Much to the surprise of humans , the cats respond .

`` Go away.'' Flustrood checked the readout again, gobsmacked by the single ping returned. `` Go away.'' It appeared again. Flustrood did n't understand it. *Did I miscalculate? Did I type something offensive? * He checked his original message, and made every eye focus on it. *Greetings fellow intelligent species. We have been watching Earth for some time, and have decided to attempt contact with you to begin peace talks. * It was perfectly fine. Earlier versions of it had better success, sure, but it was fine. He just did n't quite understand it. `` Go away.'' There it was again - like a spanner. What would he tell the commander? *Our hopeful friends do n't want to talk. They would have my tail. * He must try something different. *Dear responder - If you understand these messages, please respond with a simple yes. * `` Yes. Now go away.'' Flurstrood was now in unfamiliar territory. The species he had dealt with were either friendly, or just did n't understand. This whole response was new to him. He had only received training on responses, not stimulations or rejections. He checked over his rear shoulder, making sure none of the other agents were paying him any attention. He was not going to let this one run away on him. *Why should I go away? * `` You do not know?'' *Know what? * `` The meaning.'' *The meaning of what? * `` The meaning of'Go Away'.'' Flurstood wanted to curse. But it would blow the situation. He was n't even sure how long this could continue. *The leaders must be on to him. * *Why is it so important that we go away? * `` Important? Have you gone away? Yes? Then it is important.'' *Pay attention. We are monitoring your planet as part of a galactic peace process. It is important we establish contact with the prime species. Your planet is in danger. * That got him. It took longer to come through, this time. *Hopefully a more regarded response soon? * `` Will the galactic peace process consider going away?'' Flurstrood bashed his console with a grunt. Realising his error, he checked back on the other agents - They had barely made a move from their previous position. *One more slip up Flurstrood and we'll be done. Remain calm, and continue. * *You do not understand. Without our intervention, your planet will collapse. * `` Will the intervention go away?'' Instead of venting out again, Flurstrood rolled his eyes. *It is n't a matter of going away. If I could leave you all to die I would but-* `` Your misunderstanding should go away.'' *Misunderstanding? * `` Yes. You've got the wrong species, pal.''

[ WP ] In the future , you are a historian documenting the history of a generation ship

06.34.51.66.91 This is Derban Commend, we have an identified ship appearing in orbit. Our drones have identified it as an Wessex class Generation Cruiser, built before the FTL era. We are sending a party to secure the ship... Over... A few days latter... We have secure the drives and data from the cockpit, the U.N.S. Hemisphere left from the old human home-world of Earth, during the great exodus. The ship was heading towards Sagittarius - 265 - B2 over 50,000 years ago, now known as Derban. Apparently they lost contact with all other sentient lifeforms, and was over taken by the newer generations of FTL ships. But data review shows that a coup crippled the ship commend, leaving it in charge by a minor officer after the entire upper echelon was gutted during a riot. The ship of 1,000,000 was consumed by sectarian politics, with two main factions, the Darkwings, a scientific cult that dabbled in human experiments, and the Legacy, a society where male dominated harems are profound. A few days latter... From the looks of these sects, they warred with each other so often, that the population dwindle while the ship decayed by decadence. But there was enough cooperation between them to get them this far to Derban, though that was short lasting. By the evidence of still decaying bodies, the survivors were alive until a few days ago. Speculation was placed on an introduced disease or a civil war for domination over their new home. But further reports of the ship showed that there are some possible survivors still on board. To be countinued

[ WP ] Automation saves the world from the suffering of labor . Too bad it could n't stop the virus . You are the last one left , in a world that runs itself .

I'd worked it out—this bottle of Dom Peringon was one of the last, the last made by people I mean. And this slice of cheese, I'm pretty sure was made by a living, breathing Italian. The Fortnums computer found them for me, after a bit of cajoling. They do n't go that well together, truth be told, but what the hell. It had been a bit of a mission to find all the keys and passes and what-not to get up here, up above the public floors and into the maintenance spaces, but here I am. Top of the Shard. Really the top. The city below me is not dark, and it is not quiet. Busses still wander the streets. They follow their timtable perfectly, without any passengers to delay them with all that boarding and alighting. Trains still come and go from London Bridge station. I remember the day I went out to Brighton. That had turned out to be a mistake. No aircraft, though. A railway is n't smart enough not to run if there are no passengers but an airline is. So no freebie world tours for me. In theory I could get to Beijing by train—if there were anything left there to see. That had got very far out of control, towards the end. There are dark scars across the city here, too, burned out streets and buildings. I do n't look at them. From up here, you can hardly tell. Lights come on, they go off. The rumble of a working city is still there. From up here you ca n't really see the mounds of bodies. Remember that Twilight Zone with the guy in the bunker full of books? That gets old very quickly, let me tell you. Tell who? What am I saying? It had been easy to get this out of the British Library: *I am Legend*. First edition. What I would n't give for a vampire zombie horde right now.

[ WP ] A new drug let 's you live a lifetime in one dream

*The perfect nightmare* The candle lit room certainly makes for a great ambience within the study I am standing in. It must have been influenced by those movies I watched last week, period films from pre-world war one. European? It was so grand and ancient. The shelves of books complimented the room aesthetics as if I were in a library of some Lords castle. There might have been some Downtown Abbey mixed in there, who knows, memories are so fickle. I had picked the Fromalzaline dose, and I was n't about to waste time not using something so expensive. I had gone straight home, lay in bed and ingested it straight away. The ability to improve any skill or knowledge I wanted! All I had to do was just go through a lifetime of learning within 8 hours. Not hard for me, I always oversleep. I choose a book at random and sure enough it is the one I wanted. Advanced calculus. I pick it up, bring it to a table near the candle and began to'read'. It is n't so much reading as just'absorbing'. It's as if I ca n't see the numbers, calculations and theories, but they are pouring through my eyes into my mind, if ever so slowly. The drug is melding my mind, reinforcing the brain stems that store my understanding of the topic. When I wake up, I'll have some side-effects, but my brain will be permanently altered to such a degree that when I revisit the topic in real life, I'll have a deeper grasp and understanding of what I study, allowing me to learn faster in the real world. I am so engrossed in my book, I do n't even hear the footsteps coming from behind me. `` Excuse me, will you be much longer?'' A soft feminine voice whispers quietly from behind, pulling my attention from my studies. `` I beg your pardon?'' I begin to turn, and there is a woman standing over me. I do n't pay much attention, this drug does have some odd side effects. Perhaps this is one of them. `` I said will you be much longer? Only the library will close in 30 minutes and I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave soon.'' She says it as if she has offended me. Her voice is soft and gentle, and she seems the type to work in a library, glasses and bundled up hair, long dress and a victorian top but not acting as strict as I would imagine for a librarian. Strange. `` I'm sorry? I have to leave the library? But this is my library!'' I exclaim. The woman recoils suddenly. `` Oh, I do apologise, I did n't realise you were one of board members here! Oh, I am very sorry, please forgive me, here let me....'' `` Wait, wait, wait, calm down, University? Board members? What are you talking about?'' I am starting to get frustrated. Why is my brain interfering with my studies? Is this some sort of latent procrastination in my subconscious? I'm so confused until the lady snaps me out of my train of thought. `` You mean you're not on the board? Oh, thank goodness, I thought I had muddled up things again.'' She smiles and claps her hands gently together. `` Listen, I'm sorry, I know you've been studying hard and you must have an exam coming soon, but I really do have to close the library soon.'' She places her hand on my shoulder gently, and a tingle goes up my snipe, my hands clutch my book tightly, my heart races and suddenly I notice behind the glasses and the demure clothes, there lies a very beautiful woman staring right at me. My heart stops. `` I'll tell you what though, if you give me your card, I can help you borrow it and you can take it back to your... dorm? house?'' She giggles. `` Then I can close up and you can keep reading in peace. Does that sound fair?'' She releases her hand from me, and I take a while to muster a response `` Ye... yes, yes of course, I apologise.'' I stand up and pass her the book. `` Wo n't you lead the way?'' `` Of course.'' She smiles at me, what a beautiful smile. `` Follow me to the desk, this way.'' she gently indicates to the other side of the building. 'What's your name, if you do n't mind my asking?'' I think I'm going to like this dream. **** `` It's with a heavy heart that I must report, he will not make it through the night.'' `` What do you mean? Surely, with all his advances into mathematics, the scientific theories he has helped to bring medicine to the height of our generation, and you tell me you ca n't do anything for him?'' The doctor fiddles with his glasses before putting them back on `` I'm sorry, but he's just....beyond his prime. Please, try to understand, for everyone that time must come, and I'm sorry to say his is tonight. `` I'm... I'm sorry doctor, it's just so much to bear... the children will be heart broken, they'll miss him so much, I do n't know what to do.'' `` Just....be with him. Let his final moments be filled with joy and surrounded by his loved ones.'' `` Yes, thank you doctor, for everything you've done.'' She turns and heads to the waiting hall. `` Children, come here, it's time we said goodbye.'' **** I awake with a start. The last thing I remember.... `` MADELEINE!'' I bolt out of the bed `` I'm not dead! I'm okay, please do n't cry, I'm, I'm...'' I look around at my surroundings. My children are gone, the hospital ward, the gas lamp at the bed side, my wife holding my hand. All gone. I fall to my knees. I start to remember who I really am but at the same time I ca n't stop thinking about who I was... I had it all. A beautiful wife, I had accomplished so much, my children were so wonderful and brilliant, the awards I received. I had forgotten I was in a dream. My'life' flashed before my eyes as I remembered everything that happened and I could n't. Stop. Crying. It was all gone. My whole purpose, everything I had done was just a figment of my imagination, and yet it had felt, so real. Madeleine, oh God. She was n't real either. I topple onto my hands and dry heave a bit. Desperately, I reach for the pill packet at my bedside. I pull out the pamphlet inside and looked desperately all over it, to find some reason, some rhyme to this madness. Something, something, dosage, consumption, SIDE EFFECTS! There! THERE! *Side effects after consumption may be headaches, nausea, dry-mouth* Blah, blah, blah....*On very rare occasion ( 0.000001 % chance ), patients have reported experiencing living a `` full life'' inside their dream. If this occurs, consult a psychologist immediately. * Fuck. The anxiety inside me was building up so much, my chest was so tight I could hardly breathe. Madeleine. She and the children are gone... no... never existed. Shit, shit, SHIT! No... **** I pass my calculus exam with full marks. The test so almost so simple, it was childs play. It does n't matter. Nothing matters. I only did it because she would have wanted me to. I miss her so much. The shrink told me like any'break-up' from a long term relationship it'll take time to heal. But because it was a lifetime, it'll be the equivalent mental strain as if my life-long partner had died. And the worst part is, like any dream, I ca n't go back. I walk to my bicycle at the public rack outside the exam hall. I throw my bag down to unlock the bike. `` Ow, hey watch it!'' someone exclaims. I look over and see I've dropped my book-filled bag onto someone's foot. It's a woman. `` Sorry. Did n't see you there.'' She looks at me. `` No, it's okay, I was n't paying attention either.'' I stand up and she makes eye contact with me. `` Have I seen you somewhere before?'' She plays wistfully with her hair and smiles. That smile. `` No, sorry. I do n't think so. Goodbye.'' I unlock my bike, shoulder my bag and ride away, and never look back. Madeleine.

[ WP ] When everyone turns 18 , they receive a pet which is figurative of their personality . You 're the first person to receive a dragon ...

`` A dragon?'' I thought to myself as I stared out my living room window. I had a hard enough time believing in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy as a kid, but there it was, a real, fire breathing, sharp-toothed, scaly, mythical, almighty, Tolkein-esque beast right there in my driveway. I remember my older brother was delivered an octopus complete with it's own tank on his eighteenth birthday and we thought that was pushing the boundaries of what kids received. Here I was with my own dragon. What was I supposed to do? Just climb up on it's back and take to the skies? Do n't get me wrong, it's not that I was n't grateful. I mean, c'mon, it's a friggin' dragon! However, I had a hard enough time `` fitting in'' in life and now I was gon na be the boy with the dragon. I did n't know the first thing about raising them. Would he live in the garage? `` Yeah... yeah that'll work,'' I mumbled under my breath, still lost in thought as the magnificent beast flared it's nostrils at the passing mailman. I was in way over my head with this thing. But then again, as I thought more about it, I realized a dragon would n't really know what to do in this world; it would have a hard time adapting to a setting vastly different from the one it was accustomed to. He would definitely have some hardship finding it's rightful place. He would have trouble `` fitting in.'' It was then that I knew we were perfect for one another... I just had to find out how I would get him in the garage.

[ WP ] You realize that your whole universe is a simulation

`` We have come so far, discovered so much and many but nothing comes close to our greatest human achievement than today''. `` We've done it old friend'' I turned and looked at my companion. A weary smile came over the both of us. It had been a long time coming. `` Heh. I've lost count on how long it has been exactly'' he spoke with completion in his voice as though this was his last act. I laughed `` Has your neural network broken?'' `` Oh no. I turned the counter off years ago. It seemed silly.'' *'' It has been exactly 478,511 days since i was first completed'' * came the voice from the ships computer. I dropped my head and looked at Billy, his eyes glimmering like water against the light. There was a slowness in his breathe that I had never seen. `` Add about 20,000 and that would be about how old we are then'' he sighed. Our ship sat at the edge of space. All but the whirling and buzzing from the ships computer could be heard as we paused to take it all in. The beauty of the edge of space was nothing short of wonderful and intimidating all at the same time. We came to find the answers to all our questions and the only question that remained was; What was past the furthest point of space-time. I gazed down at my hands. Hard, mechanical and merely representing what a hand should look like. `` I think I might be at the end of my lifespan'' Billy finally broke the silence. `` Do n't say that'' `` No really old friend, my regeneration's are getting worse, they're not making me as young as it used to'' `` The scientists and doctors said indefinitely'' `` indefinitely some 500,000 years ago when we got this operation'' An angry knot filled my stomach. We had been defying death for so long this angry knot felt almost childish, defiant. `` It's ok'' he said `` it's ok'' I held back the swelling in my eyes, it had been so long could I still produce tears? `` Lets finish this then. Comm?'' *'' Yes Sir? `` * `` Take us through to the unknown'' *'' Yes Sir. Pushing us past the furthest point of space-time'' * The large dark matter engine gave a slight vibration as it started. The whole star ship make little to no noise as it pierced the edge of our realm. *'' Warning. Destabilization in hull. Warning. Destabilization in hull. Hull disintegrating. Hull disintegrating. `` * We cackled, this was it the final frontier. We roared with laughter as the ship broke apart in front of us until the edge of space reached us and....... Nothing. A silence so quiet it rang in my ears; or where I should have ears. Vision? White, black it was all of it and none of it. I was and i was n't. `` Where am i? Billy?'' **'' Language: 227-CKD7b - English, Human: Version 17 Class F recongnised'' ** `` Who was that?'' It felt like it was in my head. I was it and it was me **'' You have exited simulation K77. This has never occurred at any simulation. Please wait'' ** `` What? Wait for what?'' There was no response for what felt like centuries, it also happened in a instant **'' I have gone through my data banks and have decided that you must be terminated'' ** `` Wait! I have questions! Please!'' **'' You are part of simulation K77. I know all and see all but I am neither a god not the'universe' i am but the creator created by my creators to observe certain simulations designed by the creators. You are an error in the simulation and are corrupting my efforts to sustain this simulation. `` ** There was a pause **''... The simulation is now corrupted and must be reset. The simulation must now be densely packed into nothing and restarted. You will not remember this and you will now be *reborn*'' **....... __________________________________________________________________________________________________ I dunno if i like this. I might go back and edit it but yeah, hope it was ok.

[ WP ] You are the devil and you have been summoned via a satanic ritual . As you manifest yourself you find yourself in a quaint living room and meet a sweet old lady who just wants some company

I chuckle as I felt myself manifesting once more in a human form, I rubbed my hands together eagerly looking around wondering who will be my next victim. *It's been a while since I've had some fun. * Instead of finding a bunch of wayward teenagers frozen in absolute terror I find a elderly woman embracing me. Did she just *hug* me? I growl in anger shoving her away from me. `` Who do you think you are you puny human?!'' I spat in her face. `` Bow down before me, or I'll incinerate you on the spot.'' `` Okay!'' She beamed at me, I saw there were dried tears on her face. She sat down on the floor cross legged like a small child ready for a story. I have never been more confused in my entire existence. Scanning my surroundings I realized I was standing in the center of a horrid living room. There were at least five black cats lounging around on various pieces of furniture. The couch was an ungodly flowered covered pattern and there was a crumbling rocking chair in the corner. Is god trying to punish me again? You know for someone who's supposedly so forgiving he can be a real asshole. `` I am so glad you're here!'' The elderly woman beamed at me from the ground. `` I've been so lonely, I ca n't believe the ritual actually worked. Please take a seat, would you care for any tea?'' She asked me politely. I stared at her wondering if I should just torch the place and let it burn to the ground but I did n't want to miss out on one of the rare opportunities I get to take human form. I rolled my eyes. `` Only if there's mint tea.'' `` Of course.'' She smiled as she struggled to her feet. For a woman her age it was a slow process. I sighed sitting down on the couch. The hideous cushions enveloped me as I sunk into the couch. A cat that had been previously napping at the other end came curled up on my lap gently purring. I began plotting the death of this idiotic woman. She returned with a napkin and two cups of tea. She gently set them down on the coffee table. `` So tell me, all about yourself.'' She took a sip of her tea. `` I'm sure as the devil you have all kinds of interesting stories.'' Surprisingly, I realized I was actually excited to talk to a human. I realized that perhaps I was a bit lonely too. I smirked, surely I could spare a bit of time talking about all my heinous acts upon humans before I tortured her.

[ WP ] You are a wizard whose power comes from using correct grammar .

`` I am a wizard. I am a wizard. I am a wizard.'' I repted or and or. I nod it'd be all I sayed for the rest of me life and I woned if it'd drive me craze or if I alr'd was. `` I am a wizard. I am a wizard. I am a wizard.'' I usd cast speels at I ad to perfet word; stuff like `` I lift my hand up and take aim. I summon fire in my hands and cast it towards you.'' Prey basc an kida stupd butt I wasnit ever real good. `` I am a wizard. I am a wizard. I am a wizard.'' I'm livin alon ow in es sml cabn but fo ot mush logner. Unce I'm ready I'm gon na kill em and take at I want. `` I am a wizard. I am a wizard. I am a wizard.'' It's cold I'm cold'eat self' I ink an al I e is red. Two weeks earlier. `` John, meet me near the creek'' I ear as I ead ot the door. It's the irst speel anybody learn but erybody says mine sounds like its comin through an closed door. Al ya do es say'ohever ears me say' befo what ya wann em o ear an ey do. I gets ere right aft he arrive an e say `` Hello, I have found an interesting pond full of the most spectacular fish located just over the next incline. Would you like to join me in my journey to this incredible pond?'' `` ight as ong as im out of me ouse, me mum sid she dint wan na e me for the ext couple a hours'' I spout out. John laughs as he allway does when I talk an we ead out. Were walkin along ide the creek an allove the sudden an man crashes rough the bushs on the othr side runnin strait at uhs and I real eys hes a slaver. I bolts out o their not evn thinkn of John but befo I gets even foot away I feel straight in the ground. When's I waked up I an in o cave and theirs no light butt thes purpel gloo off two m yleft. I got ip an walk oer ther an thers a nbok glon. I rech ot an opn et and it as one ing on et `` I cast spells with thought and charge spells with grammar.'' I says et an I fell the cang. En I says the one ing I kno is proper `` I am a wizard.'' Sorry for the ruff read, it was a ruff write but it was fun.

[ wp ] after dying god informs you that hell is a myth , and `` everyone sins , its ok '' . instead the dead are sorted into six `` houses of heaven '' based on the sins they chose .

*Mature language ahead. * ____ `` Why does n't everyone just choose *Lust*?'' God, or who I would call God, he was the one giving me the tour, laughed, `` Most do. But that Wing is often in chaos.'' He informed me, `` I mean they often overlook that Lust is n't just *fucking*. It's desire, for money, for power, for wealth.'' `` Is n't that more like *Greed*?'' He laughed again. `` No, no, *Greed* is for material possessions, less than money and power, more things. You know?'' I shook my head, unsure of why God was even giving me the Grand Tour of the *Six Deadly Wings of Heaven*, I was no one on Earth. I was going to be no one in heaven. `` Not really,'' I shrugged, `` but I guess it makes sense.'' `` Well, I would n't recommend *Lust*, they're all too busy trying to overpower each other than anything else. Sure, they're doing it, but not enough.'' God shrugged, `` And *Greed* has too many people trying to barter for better things. You know what they say, you ca n't take it with you.'' `` Why would anyone choose *Greed* then?'' `` Well, it started off as a beautiful place. Lots of goodies in there originally, but you know it's been an eternity already and we have n't gotten a new shipment. So the hoarders have just kept it all for themselves.'' I nodded as we sat atop the hill, overlooking the rest of heaven. I could see *Lust* in the distance, mostly burning buildings and explosions. `` Where do they get weapons?'' God laughed again, `` I put them there. Ca n't have mad rush for powers without good, old capital violence.'' `` Can you even die up here?'' He nodded, `` Oh yeah, but only in a few of the wings. *Sloth* for instance, oh, you could live for generations up here doing nothing. Just letting the rest of the Wings do their own thing, just sitting by and watch.'' `` That **all** they do?'' He nodded, `` Yeah. They're kind of boring, just sunbathing and well, not much more.'' `` What about *Gluttony*?'' `` What about it?'' `` I mean, like, could you die there?'' `` Oh, sure. Probably not why you think though, *Gluttony* has plenty of food, but that's all people really see it as. There's more to it, *Gluttony* is self-consumption, selfishness. No one there cares about each other, they just, do their own thing.'' I shook my head, `` Well, that's disappointing.'' God laughed, `` We have n't even covered the worst two.'' `` *Wrath*?'' He nodded, `` One of them. They're always on the verge of collapse, but it is fun to see how they rise up from the ashes. You'd be surprised how angry a person can be because someone helped kill their friend in the same Wing, or even a different one.'' `` Wait, there's communication between them?'' `` Of course there is. Without that, there'd be nothing.'' `` Do n't people get jealous of the other Wings?'' `` Well that's why there's *Envy*, all the jealously that people have just kind of drifts there. That's why the Wings exist.'' `` I'm confused, I thought you chose the Wing based on your,'' I shrugged, I did n't quite know how you could have a `` favorite sin?'' `` Well you do. But in those Wings, you only really feel that Sin, ever. All the other Wings take those Sins from you, or most of them.'' `` So you could switch between Wings?'' God shrugged, `` Yeah. That's a new-*ish* addition to the Wings. I used to have them separate, back when there were Seven.'' `` Seven?'' `` The one was sacrificed to bring everything together. The source of all Sins.'' `` *Pride*.'' He nodded and I stared out into the landscape of Heaven. I could see *Gluttony*, the hundreds of people sunbathing, because the sun never sets here. *Wrath* and *Lust* were on fire, as they were when I arrived, and the rest were just kind of there. `` What do you think?'' I shrugged, `` I mean, it does n't really make sense to me.'' `` It's *Envy*, is n't it?'' I shook my head, `` No, it's **all** of it.'' God turned to me, `` Go on.'' `` I mean, on Earth, you had the choice between all of the sins, all the time. You could do all of them, feel all of them, know when you were angry, or jealous, or glutton, or any of the Six. And you knew when you were being too boastful.'' `` That is why the Sins continue up here, because you can not take away that part of a human.'' `` No, but you are taking it away. By making us choose just *one*.'' God turned back to the landscape and nodded. `` I see.'' `` Not to, you know, hate on your creation.'' `` No, no, it's good. That's why I wanted you here.'' I turned to him, `` Yeah, uhm, why me?'' He shrugged, `` I've seen a lot of humans come into these Wings. I show them around, tell them the Sins, and they choose the one they like. Most choose *Lust*, but most people are dumb.'' I laughed. He smiled, `` You, on the other hand, I watched you on Earth.'' `` I was no one on Earth.'' `` That may be true, but you also never committed one Sin in particular.'' I turned to him, eyebrow raised. `` *Pride*. You never looked at yourself as better than anyone.'' `` I never thought I was better than anyone.'' He opened his hands, `` Exactly. It's why I need you.'' I turned to him, `` What?'' `` I took over from my Father an eternity ago. Once Original Sin came around, he just kind of gave up with everyone. Gave me the reigns, and here we are.'' `` Your Father?'' `` God.'' I opened my eyes, `` Then you are?'' He laughed and a beer appeared magically in his hands. He took a few sips from it, `` You did n't think I was *actually* God did you? Dad would have never gone for this. I'm Lucifer.'' `` So, where'd he go?'' He sipped his beer, `` I do n't know. Probably to create another universe or some stupid *shit* like that. Left his juvenile son in charge of humanity.'' I shook my head. `` But I've had a long time to mull things over, to watch humanity grow and choose and grow some more. I've seen a lot of humans come through here, and come back again not to learn their mistakes. But you,'' he nodded, `` you got it right this time.'' `` This time?'' Lucifer smiled, `` You've been here plenty of times, friend. Choosing a different sin each time. Last time you were here, you led the Uprising that destroyed the *Pride* Wing.'' `` I did **what**?'' `` You were a little too *proud* last time you were here. That's when I realized I had to change things. And now you're going to help me change them again.'' `` Why?'' `` Because like you figuring it out in your past life, we're going to figure it out for the rest of eternity.'' Lucifer finished his beer and then two more appeared, he handed me one, `` We're going to build a real place for people to spend eternity.'' `` A Heaven?'' Lucifer laughed, `` Oh, come on,'' he turned to me and clinked our bottles together, `` You do n't actually think people are **good**, do you?'' _____ /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work! I hope you enjoyed!

[ WP ] The Earth does not rotate . One side always faces the sun and is in continual daylight . The other side is in eternal night . Cultures on both side develop around this .

On December 9th, 2014, the world stopped spinning, yet the atmosphere did not, still in motion with the Earth's original 1100 mile per hour rotation speed. You spent your last moments glued to your comfortable La-Z-Boy, watching a rerun of Keeping Up With The Kardashians for the 100th time. Anything not attached to bedrock was immediately swept off into the atmosphere. This included all landmasses, rocks, trees, buildlings, and your pet dog, Mr. Snuffles. Luckily, you were taking Mr. Snuffles for a walk in your last moment. Holding onto your already suffocated dog, you float past the moon. You suck on the last few particles of air that your hopeless lips will ever taste as debris from Earth slowly swims around you. A destroyed yet recognizable PNC bank hovers past you, and you attempt to pull yourself toward it. As you pull yourself through the shattered double-doors of the structure, you offer a weak smile at the miracle in front of you. Millions of green dollar bills float in clusters around you, reminding you of your final words. `` Why ca n't I just be like Kim Kardashian: rich, rich and a little more rich.'' But now all you want is air.

[ WP ] `` You may have one wish granted . '' `` I want all my debts cleared . '' `` How much do you owe ? '' `` You misunderstand . My debts are not monetary . ''

You would be surprised how many people who scour ancient dungeons, temples, and fortresses, are willing to overlook almost everything about the mercenary they hire just because of her ability to open locks and spot traps in poorly-lit corridors. They do not seem to be afraid of getting stabbed in their backs, as if the “ rogue ” they hired for their little adventure learned all their skills in a school for adventurers or something equally silly. After a few times you start wondering who is the bigger idiot: they, for thinking as they do, or you, for not having done that yet. I've killed people for petty coin, for Divines' sake. I've stolen from wives at the marketplace. I've done other things that would make anyone who learned of it disgusted with me. The last party who hired me was mostly the same. There were four of them, and three were clearly just guards of the usual smarts; I did n't even care to learn their names. But the last one, oh, that one was smarter, I could see it when he looked into my eyes and there was that distrust in them and that caution. His name, Francis de Lugh, I made sure to remember. What they wanted was obviously the same as every party before them wanted, meaning help with exploring some old place and getting something rare and valuable out of it for whatever reason. That particular journey was a longer one, and though there were enough villages and hamlets on the road we were following to find a place to sleep amidst people most of the time, sometimes we did have to stop and make camp in the middle of nowhere. Francis, our lesser noble of a sponsor as I'd learned from his guards at some point and a fair enough fighter with magic as I'd seen with my own eyes, mostly took to himself as if we were all beneath him. I did n't really mind it and I guess they did n't either as none of them ever complained. They did talk, though, a lot. Most often about their lives, their families, their dreams. I did n't talk much about mine. After weeks, we arrived at the doors to our destination, the Citadel of the Forgotten. It was more of a ruin than anything nowadays, but the tales say that before the Alvan War it served as a fortress for an avatar of one of the Divines. There were quite a few tales about it, really, but all the ones that spoke about artefacts of power to be found within were nowadays thought to be little more than bards' stories for children. But tales aside, there was something inside that Francis wanted and badly at that, badly enough to bring armed men with him when he clearly did not really need them, so we set up camp and rested for the last time before we'd venture into the unknown. - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - Going down into this shithole was the biggest mistake we'd ever made. But whatever is it that this bastard de Lugh wanted, it was now within my reach, and reach for it I did. It was a dark gem, violet in colour but radiating what one would say to be black light. Or maybe it just swallows light, I do n't know, it's not like I bloody ever studied the arcane arts. I stepped over the body lying on the floor and touched the gem, and when I did *something* appeared, something that I could not even describe, and it spoke to me. “ The sacrifice I received was sufficient, Pale One. One of your wishes may be granted. ” It was then that it struck me. Sacrifice. My mind wandering, I looked at the glove-covered hand I'd reached for the with. There was blood on it, and it was n't my blood. And it was n't de Lugh's either, the bastard's dead body now lying on the floor in this very room. Did they... did they know he'd probably been planning to use them as the sacrifice? One by one, when they'd sacrificed themselves to protect me as we descended deeper and deeper, they'd never given me contempt in their final moments, never anger, never... anything but kindness. For me, who'd killed people for petty coin... and done... things. For me, who now carried mementoes of those dead people whose names I've never bothered to learn. “ I... I want my debts to be cleared, ” I croaked. “ Mhm, riches then and not power, how trifling. But a fitting request for a Pale One, I suppose. ” Once, I guess, that would have been it. I would have accepted whatever riches the being gave; I was a mercenary and a rogue, after all, and all that was for riches or at least for a coin to have to spend on food and a place to sleep. But then, it just... did n't seem *right*. “ No, you do n't understand, ” I quickly said. With one more look at de Lugh's worthless carcass, I took the medallions of those guards and shoved them forward. “ These three belong to men who'd given their lives for me. To men who should have scorned me and yet gave me nothing but kindness. To men who should have thought me trash and yet treated me as an equal. ” I swallowed. For some reason it was really hard. “ I owe them, I do n't know what but I owe them something. ” “ And you want to have those debts be cleared how? ” “ I... I do not know. ” “ Very well, then, Pale One. ” It touched my forehead with one of its hand things, and a feeling of both hot and cold started spreading throughout my whole body. “ In the name of Alvan, I mark you as one of his children and make you into one of his Arcani. The needs of life will no longer be a necessity for you, your existence unending, and the whispers of the deceased will now be carried to your ears. Go now, child of eternity, Arcanos of Alvan. ” - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - < > - The children all sat in a circle around the girl who was telling them a story of past times. She looked to be no more than twenty, if even that, her skin pale but not overly so, her movement vigorous and refreshing to watch, but her eyes showed age and experience. “ And this, ” she added as she finished speaking the tale, “ is how I met your great-great-grandfathers. ” If there was anything she had to wonder about, it was whether or not she'd already paid the debt off. But it did not matter, this was her home now, she did not mind paying it off a bit more.

[ WP ] You are a demon summoned with an unusually grand offering to fuel your powers of influence over the earthly plane . However , your summoner does n't want you to wipe out a small country . They want you to.. Cause minor inconveniences to a specific person .

`` That's it?'' I asked, raising my eyebrows. My form shimmered and wavered, but my heart was n't really in it. `` Well...'' the man replied, scratching his head, clearly uncomfortable. `` I suppose... There is one more thing...'' I perked up excitedly. Dark waves of smoke billowed from the center of the pentacle. The candles sputtered, flashing green and red and purple. I grew in size, from a dog to a massive wolf to a red-eyed bear, teeth and claws lengthening, shadow stretching across the wall. What would it be? Revenge on a powerful wizard? Tricking a dragon to rescue a princess? A journey into a thousand mile abyss for a long-lost locket?'' `` Could you also... make her back itch?'' I froze. The smoke evaporated with a cold wind. He backed up, alarmed. `` Not like all the time or anything, just once in a while, make it itch in that spot that you ca n't really scratch, I'm sure you know the one-'' Growling, I transformed into a spectre and swooped towards the edge of the glowing circle. He stumbled and fell back, instinctively raising his hands. `` You summoned me to make a girl's back itch?!'' I wailed. `` I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I knew I should n't have said anything, it's too much-'' `` Too *much*? Making a girl's back itch is too *much*?!'' Rolling my eyes, I flew toward the ceiling, my ragged cloak leaving behind a trail of inky darkness, my spectral white hair billowing around me. `` Well also the other two requests, I did n't take those back-'' `` The buzzing noise every few days for ten seconds and having a slightly harder time remembering faces?!'' `` Yeah, those two and the back thing is all-'' `` An *imp* could do those things! *You* could do those things!'' I morphed into a jet black cobra, swaying fifteen feet above the ground, tongue angrily tasting the air. `` I am an arch-demon! I am not summoned for... for minor inconveniences!'' `` Well, I... I just thought... I should be safe...'' `` Safe? You thought you should find one of the rarest summoning tomes in the world, perform a twelve hour incantation, and desecrate a church to be safe?!'' `` Yeah... I mean... I did n't want anyone bumbling this up...'' `` So you drag me through twelve dimensions and put me through the unbearable agony of your world to slightly annoy someone?!'' `` I mean... yeah? I just wanted to make sure... There's no way she'll detect the curses, right?'' `` I'm *pretty sure* I can manage to make them untraceable, yes!'' `` Look, just go do it right now... Her name is-'' `` I remember,'' I snarled, shifting through time and space to where the girl sat, alone, writing something in an office. The hexes took half a second to complete, a moment more to make sure they were tied off correctly, and just like that I was back in the pentacle. For the hell of it, I morphed into her. Naked. `` Anything else, sweetie?'' I said, smiling and leaning forward. He paled, then looked around fearfully. `` Well... uh... just stick around for a few seconds...'' A few seconds passed, then a few more, then a few after those. My smile stretched even wider. `` What are we waiting for, darling?'' `` Well... it's just that... Maybe this time...?'' A few more seconds passed. Suddenly, there was a bang and a flash of white light. Someone appeared right in front of him and kneed him in the groin. It was the girl! `` What the hell did I say about cursing me?!'' she yelled as he fell down, groaning. `` Huh Marcus?! What did I say?'' She began kicking him in the ribs. I morphed into a hulking guardsman from the desert city of Sul'di'gan. Known for their ridiculously muscled bodies and their permanently confused expressions, both of which seemed very useful right about now. `` What. did. I. Say?!'' she spat, punctuating each furious word with a kick. `` Help me,'' he whispered, face contorted. `` Get her... off of me...'' `` With pleasure,'' I replied in a deep baritone, stepping out of the pentacle and slapping her so hard she careened into the wall on the far end of the church with a satisfying smack. `` Now, *Marcus*, do you mind explaining what exactly is-'' Another bang and flash of white light. She appeared right in front of me: right arm a bit bloody, hair slightly messed up, shirt ripped, but a lot less unconscious than I expected. Eyes bulging, she screamed at me, took a step of windup, and punched me in the gut. All three hundred pounds of me flew backwards until I crashed into a stained glass window and dangled out of it. I lay there for a moment. She just knocked me twenty feet away. `` YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE,'' she screamed. I fell back into the church, transforming into a iron-clad sea raider with enough axes and knives strapped onto me to take on an army. She was sprinting after the man, who was legging it to the entrance of the church. Taking a quick breath, I shifted right in front of him, grabbing and spinning him around. `` Yes! Good!'' she screeched, running up to us. `` Now hold him still while I-'' her head smashed into the wooden beam that I formed into existence right in front of her. For a moment, the girl's eyes rolled back into her head, but as she was falling they popped back open and she caught herself. `` Why you little-'' `` If you come one step closer I'll kill you.'' `` No, do n't do that!'' Marcus hurriedly said right as she yelled, `` I'd like to see you try!'' I looked down at him right as she glared daggers at me. `` Oh? And why not?'' `` She's... she's my sister.'' `` Damn right I am and I'm going to cave your face in the instant this-'' `` No, look, wait! I can explain!... Sit down, both of you... And let me go, please.'' I looked at the girl, who furiously met my gaze. We stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. `` I command you to let me-'' `` Relax,'' I replied, letting him flop to the ground. I turned into a mountain mystic and sat down, cross-legged, chewing on my pipe and twirling my long, silvery beard. With a huff, the girl sat down as well, looking for all the world like she'd rather be pummeling her brother. Marcus sighed and stood up with a pained expression. `` It all began twelve years ago...''

[ WP ] At the age of 18 , all members of your society are asked whether they want to continue living in the real world or in a personalized 'heaven simulation ' filled with AI . As you are next during the ceremony , you remember having had to make this decision before .

Here I was standing in the middle of a ceremony. Having a deja vu moment. I say to myself, `` I vividly remember this moment.'' So I look at the person behind me & say, `` Do n't you remember this ceremony happening before? The person behind me which was some other student I do n't talk to much said `` no.'' I then ask a few people behind her and they say `` You're delusional.'' I tell them thanks for nothing & look back at the path that I was going to take. So I ask myself, `` Should I go into a heaven simulation filled with A.I. that can malfunction or the real world with a ton of problems that can be handled. I did n't hesitate and was about to choose heaven. One second away from clicking heaven & I get a touch on my shoulder. I look back and all of the people behind me were gone. No one was there. Until one person approached me in a place that I could n't see them without walking up to them. He was caught in a very dark spot. He says, `` Go ahead and press the Heaven button. What's stopping you? Afraid of what can happen in the blink of an eye?'' I then respond saying, `` What's going on?'' He then states that,'' When you choose the wrong path it can torture you forever.'' I'm here scratching my head wondering what's going on. I start seeing flashbacks of my life all over again. I see my whole life in a matter of a second. I ca n't deny that I am terrified because of everyone disappearing. With this one second being terrified but overwhelmed with nostalgia in a second I say i'm going to hit the Heaven button and I purposely hit the real world button. After that moment I hit I do n't know what happened. But all I know is that I woke up with a headache and am back in my house. With my mom saying, `` You've been asleep for a day.'' I recall in my mind whether it was a dream or reality is that I made the right choice.

[ WP ] `` Before we allow humankind to live among us in the stars , tell us the faults of your kind . ''

`` Our faults are...'' I pondered the question. Yes, we were a warlike race, but was that what defined us? No, I definitely believed people strive for peace at heart. Was it our curiosity? Yes, we had been burned by unlocking the secrets of the atom, but even so I could n't bring myself to call it a'fault'. Was it our murderers, our thieves, our jealousy? I sincerely hope he did n't expect me to reply immediately, this could take a while. Then I realized, that was the answer. `` Sir, I'm sure our race has many faults, but I can only tell you of one. And that's the fact that I ca n't answer this question. In fact, if you wanted to answer it with any degree of satisfaction, you'd have to spend years asking as many people as possible. Because, for all our advancements, we have yet to truly understand anyone but ourselves enough to agree with each other. You ask 9 humans how to get from here to Alpha Centuari, and 4 will tell you one thing, 4 will tell you another, and one will ask why you're going there anyways. And that's a trip in a straight line! You can make an agreement with an entire nation, and you'll still find other humans trying to stab you in the back. Or stab them in the back. Or backstab the backstabbers.'' `` The point is, Sir, humanity has yet to find a government that we ca n't mess up somehow. The human race has never managed to band together under one flag, or one cause, and I doubt it ever will. Never assume one man will act like the next you come across. But at the same time, treasure and value the good men you do find. Those humans you find loyal, friendly, and worthy? Keep them close, and you'll go far in dealing with us, for better or worse.''

[ WP ] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day , how you spend it is your choice . Today you are given $ 70,000,000 .

TITLE: THE MONEY MACHINE - Please give me feedback! - Everyday, I could see it getting weaker and weaker. It's processes lagged. It's monitor was dim. I dusted its buttons off every single day, but a few hours later, it would just come back, as if I had never even been there. I knew it was inevitable-The ATM was dying. `` Fear not, my son.'' ATM said. `` We knew this day was coming, ever since you were a boy. Now here is your final payment.'' The ATM spat out $ 70,000 as its screen slowly faded to black. I could n't suppress the tears rolling down my face. I looked up to face the decrepit ATM. I had never known my parents. I've been living on the streets for as long as I can remember. When I was seven years old, I joined a local gang. They always asked me to steal from local stores because I had skinny and fast. No one suspected the baby faced seven year old, which made stealing very easy. I had a family, food, and no cares in the world. At the time, it was a good life. I thought I could do this for the rest of my life, what a foolish thought that was. One day I stepped into a grocery store name Paldi's with an empty stomach and bad judgement. As soon, as I walked in, I was greeted by employee. `` Why, hello there, little boy! How can I-'' She froze as soon as I made eye contact with her. She said nothing more and quickly walked away. Even as a 7 year old, I should've noticed how odd that was. But all I know was that I was hungry and the gang was hungry. My gang was full of teenage thugs, pimps and drug dealers. They were very cruel people, but they were always nice to me because I brought them food. I shuddered to think what would happen if I did n't deliver. I was collecting my usual round of Oreos, bread rolls, apples and candy when I saw a group of employees walking following me slowly. Again, this should of tipped me off, but when you ca n't think straight when you're hungry sometimes. I was close to the exit, completely ignoring the manager and the employees getting angrier and angrier as if their presence should have been enough to make me reconsider my actions-which it should have been. I was pushing the shopping cart out of the door to the boys outside, waiting to collect every morsel of food in that cart. `` Alright, shorty!'' A large boy called James said happily. `` We're gon na eat good tonight.'' Another boy called Tom yelled. Suddenly, the boys widened their eyes at something behind me, and ran. A large, hairy hand grabbed my shoulder and lifted me up and turned me around. I was face to face with an angry, tomato faced bald man. `` YOU ZHINK YOU CAN STEAL FROM MOI'' The bald man thundered in a heavy French accent. I almost peed my pants, I had n't noticed the rusty pipe in his left hand. The female employee from before approached me. `` You think you could get away this for long?'' She sneered. `` My sister warned me about you.'' The man drew his left hand back, winding up the pipe in his wrist. `` TAKE ZHIS!'' The manager brought his left hand down with such strength, the air seemed to shift. I seriously doubted I would survive a blow like, so I screamed so loud the large man dropped his pipe. I took advantage of that-poking his eyes with my fingers. `` AHHH! SACRE BLEU'' His hands instinctively rushed to his face, dropping me. I ran as fast as my little legs would carry me that day, but I soon realized that I was n't as fast as I thought I was. The manager quickly recovered and brought his entire gang of employees after me. And they were getting very close. `` I'm only seven, do n't these dummy whores have anything better to do?'' I muttered to myself. Yes, I know does n't make sense. My vocabulary at that time consisted of what I learned from middle school dropouts. Anyways, I only managed to stay about four feet ahead of them. I was running out of energy, so I ran into a dark alleyway, hoping that it led to somewhere. It did n't. It was a dead end, and I was completely exhausted. I had decided to except my fate when I heard a clicking noise. I snapped my head in the direction of the noise and say a bright scarlet ATM machine. I had a logo that I did n't recognize, so I went a little closer. As I was walking, something crumpled under my feet. A hundred dollar bill! `` I'm sure he went down this way!'' I heard a female voice say. I dropped the bill and hid next to the ATM. On my way, there were at least 20 more hundred dollar bills on the floor. `` WHERE ARE YOU'' The manager and his gang had reached the end of alley, but I was hidden by the darkness. The manager suddenly looked down and screamed with delight. His employees did the same. Everyone shrieked with delight and started grabbing as much as they can, but the manager yelled at them. `` ARRETES. Give me za money. It will go to za store.'' The manager commanded. All the employees groaned and gave him all the money they collected. The manager grunted in satisfaction, and they all left. I sighed with relief, and I heard a deep voice behind me. `` I saved your life. You are indebted to me.'' I whirled around and saw the ATM's screen flash to a bright white. The ATM was the one talking to me. `` I will give you money. Money will get you power in this world. Do you want money?'' I nodded vigorously, too stunned to speak. `` You must never go back to that horrid band of miscreants you were with before, do you understand?'' The ATM said sharply. I nodded again. I was n't too fund of them after James and Tom had ditched me. `` In ten years, I will die.'' The ATM continued. `` At that time, you will be 17 years old, and a billionaire, if you follow all of my instructions.'' `` Well, what are they?'' `` I will start you out with 7,000'' the ATM spat out a plethora of hundred dollar bills. `` Buy an apartment near here. That is your first task. After you do that, you will be receiving $ 70,000 from me every week as payment for your tasks.'' `` Alright.'' I began picking up the money. The ATM made a coughing sound. `` Those boys,'' he started. `` They will come after you and try to harm you.'' Use the rest of the money to buy a submachine gun. A man sells them in this alleyway on Thursday nights-come exactly at 8 or do n't come at all.'' I looked at the ATM in bewilderment. I was only seven, but i knew what he was implying. `` What?!?!'' I cried. `` I do n't like it either,'' The ATM said calmly. `` But I heard them was they ran past you. They WILL hurt you if they see you again.'' I dropped the money I was carrying and backed away. `` How do I know I can trust you?'' `` You have no family and no friends. Do you really have many options?'' The ATM retorted. I knew he was right. I sighed and began picking up the money.'' `` Do n't worry,'' The ATM said. `` This is only a one time thing. But you MUST stay alive for us to complete the mission, and they are a threat to your safety. Do you trust me, will you join me?'' I stood up, and nodded at the ATM. `` Excellent.'' The ATM purred.

[ WP ] After the Dark Lord conquered the realm everything turns out really damn good .

Man, I tell ya... most folk just about lost their minds when the skies tore open and the Faceless God and the Giant Bleeding Skull That Never Stops Screaming decided that our little town was the best place to duke it out. Now, do n't get me wrong. Some people *did* actually lose their minds, most noticeably that nice Sunday School lady who pulled her tongue out and sleeps in that pile of ruined cars out on the highway; but for the most part we all took it in stride. Of course it took some getting used to. I mean, no one really welcomes change, especially if that change involves carnivorous multi-dimensional crustacean-like monsters that we affectionately call `` meat spiders''. Look, we all know time marches forward ( except on the corner of Lee Street and Main where it seems to be in a permanent stasis, or at least moving forward so slowly it's impossible to observe with a human eye ). Do n't get me wrong... I'm not complaining! And may the Faceless God turn me inside out and throw me on the Dissident Pile if I were. Things have actually improved in our quiet town since the Hour Of Our Destruction. First of all, it's always a balmy 72 degrees! It's been 24/7 the perfect weather since reality opened up and destroyed any sane explanation for the universe like a schoolyard bully telling you the truth about Santa Claus. And do n't even get me started on the frequent rain of offal and what Mr. Barnes from the Piggly Wiggly calls `` Martian Tears''. Our Community Garden has never looked better. It's true: the endless screaming from the Giant Skull That Never Stops Screaming takes some getting used to, but eventually you learn to drown it out. Like, if you lived next to an airport, except instead of airplanes taking off and landing, a giant, bleeding skull had replaced the moon and never stopped screaming. I almost left out the best part! No one in the town borders has to work anymore! Who has time to put hours in at the hardware store when we're too busy being pawns in a game crafted by a relentlessly cruel and indifferent universe? `` Not I'', say me. If you were to ask me if life's been better since the Giant Bleeding Skull That Never Stops Screaming and the Faceless God came to town... well, sir, I could only say yes. It's the only answer the meat-spiders inside my mouth let me say.

[ WP ] Poor people are able to pawn off their memories .

They used to say you could n't buy happiness. But humans are ingenious creatures. We found a way. The technology had fascinated me for as long as I could remember- which, to be fair, was n't a very long time at all. I had been one of the first to sell off my memories, back before the market flooded and the selling price for a happy reflection went way down. Maybe I'd realized that my memories would never be worth more than they were at that moment. Maybe that was why I'd sold them all. Not that I could remember selling them- that was the nature of the beast. But the folks who handled the Technology were great about giving me a little personalized brochure, complete with my name, social security card, amount I'd been paid... enough to keep me from stumbling around the street. Now, I lived a comfortable life. Nice penthouse apartment, paid for in full, enough money to never work another day. And were there empty moments? Sure. But I thought it was worse for the folks who sold their memories piecemeal instead of all at once. They were left with context, threads that connected to nothing at all... I think that's what really got to them, having an incomplete picture. Better to wipe it all, become a blank slate. Tabula rasa, baby. Still, sometimes I found myself wondering. I'd hear an old song on the radio, and I'd think `` Did I like this when I was a kid?'' or I'd get a card from the woman I knew was my mother, and wonder what it would be like to remember loving her, or if I'd ever loved her at all. I guess the sort of person who did what I did was n't the type to have a close relationship with their parents. All I knew was that when I'd tried to meet her now, she told me that seeing me the way I was would be unbearable, that she could n't understand or accept what I'd done to myself. I think that's why I started going to the support group. Talking to other people who'd given away pieces of themselves... I thought maybe it would help. But it did n't. In a weird way, it just made me feel guilty for not missing what I'd given away. Like the fact that this had n't broken me meant I was broken on an even more fundamental level. I began to long to escape from myself. That's why I bought someone else's memory for the first time. To escape. And to see what all the hype was about- to maybe understand why there was such a demand to feel someone else's joy. I inputted a request into the Technology's Simulator. I wanted a memory of childhood, of being loved. For a few moments, I was a little girl on Christmas morning... waiting up for Santa, but struggling to keep her eyes open. Falling asleep to the sight of her father, dressed in a red suit and a scraggly beard, placing a blanket over her small body and kissing her cheek. Feeling grateful for having someone bring magic into her life. I was n't hooked, not then, not instantly addicted the way you hear some people get. The memory did n't feel quite real, and a part of me was always at least one step removed. But it was enough to get my mind off whatever was bothering me, so I kept coming back to the Technology's Simulator, buying another memory every now and again, after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wonder- if I had realized what was going to happen, would I have stopped? One day, weeks after I had quit group, months since I'd heard from my forgotten mother... the memory I got was one of my own. I felt it, felt the difference, right away. It was me, around age sixteen, kissing a boy for the first time, laughing and blushing through it all... feeling him sweep a strand of hair from my face. Hearing him whisper in my ear that he loved me, at an age and an innocence where I trusted in his every word and felt that love could last forever. Shaking as I leaned in to kiss him again, trying to remember the way my books had told me it was supposed to go, but distracted by how good it felt to touch him, to feel the warmth of the heat that radiated off him. When the memory ended, I was crying, big horrible wretched sobs, sobs that shook me to my core. How? How had I ever given up this? Those few moments in the Technology's Simulator had felt more real than any moment of my life since I had given up my memories. I had assumed, on some level, that I must have had a painful past, to give it all up like I had. But the girl I'd just been- me, I reminded myself, that was me- had felt so... well-adjusted. Happy. She glowed. I became obsessed. At first, I tried to get lucky again, to happen upon another of my memories in the Simulator, but of course the odds of that were impossibly small. That I'd even gotten the one was inconceivable. So I started to look into more expensive, less legal options. I went back to group with the express purpose of talking to a woman who had once mentioned, in whispers, that she had been approached by a man who told her he could get her memories back. From her, I got his card- Trevor Rodriguez. Eventually I tracked him down. I did n't know what I expected. Some sketchy area, maybe, or for him to refuse to meet in person. Instead, we met in a nice office in a high rise, a room with windows looking out on what had to be one of the best views in the City. `` I'm surprised you found me,'' Trevor said. I told him about the woman from group. `` Ah, back when I was small time. As you can see, hacking the Technology for people has been a very lucrative business for me,'' he said, gesturing to the office and to the nice looking suit he wore. `` I'm afraid you might find my rates a bit... excessive.'' I had been prepared for that. I wrote him a check, and it barely made a dent in my account. It took weeks. In the mean time, I had stopped eating, showering, leaving my apartment... I sustained myself on hope. On the memory of that memory, that small taste I'd had of the person I'd once been. When I went back to Trevor's office and he strapped me into his bootleg simulator, I was excited. I had spun for myself countless fairy tales of what I was about to see. But I was n't prepared for the truth. At first, I waded in beautiful memories of a beautiful life. There I was as a child, so proud at reading my first book. There I was with my mother- god, she looked so young. There I was in a lab coat... had I been some sort of doctor, before? Then, suddenly, a memory, forceful and unwanted, bubbled to the surface. `` You ca n't do this!'' I was screaming, screaming at a man with slick hair and sharp eyes. His name popped into my head, unbidden- Brendan Morris. I realize my arms are being held by two burly men, holding me back from attacking Morris. His security guards. `` I'm afraid I can do whatever I like,'' says Morris. `` I now own all rights to the Technology.'' `` This was n't supposed to happen! When I sold it to you, you said you'd use it to help people! To take away their memories of pain!'' `` That may very well be a service we offer,'' Morris replies, inspecting his fingernails and not looking me in the eye, `` But our research reports that the selling of happy memories will be a far more profitable business.'' `` That's not what I invented this for! That's not... I'll fight you. In court. There must be something in that contract, some loophole, some...'' `` I know you'd try. And that could be very messy. At the very least it would delay our launch,'' Morris said, looking utterly unconcerned. `` Which would be a shame since we've already entered beta testing.'' `` Beta testing?'' `` What's that, Miss Jones? You'd like to see your wondrous technology at work first hand? Yes, I believe that would be an excellent idea. Gentleman? Please take Miss Jones to the technology, and strap her in. I'll be along shortly.'' The men begin to take me away. `` No! No! I'll stop you, Morris. Even if you take my memories, you ca n't change who I am. I'll always be the type of person who fights to stop this.'' `` You say that now, Miss Jones. And maybe you're right, maybe you'll still be a threat. Or maybe, stripped of your memories, given enough wealth and convenience to make you comfortable and soft... you'll live a life of complacency. Follow the easy path. Personally, I like my odds.'' I emerged from the memory, ripping myself out of the bootleg simulator. I remembered the years I'd spent in complacency, barely leaving my apartment, never giving a second thought to what the Technology was doing to the world, assuming out of hand that I could n't change things even if I wanted to. Morris had been right about me. Without my memories, I'd been a nobody. `` Jesus! I've never seen anyone bolt out of a simulator like that,'' said Trevor. `` You OK?'' `` No. I have n't been OK for a very long time,'' I was panting, my body shaking. A panic attack? I pushed down the urge to cry, to run from this. `` Put me back in Trevor, I have more I need to learn. Then, we have work to do.'' ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.

[ OT ] What are some of your all time favorite books ?

I second IAmTheRedWizards' mention of On The Beach - easily one of the most unsettling books I've ever read, and a really convincing dystopia. I love Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series too - about a woman in an alternate version of England who polices fiction. It's a sort of satire/fantasy mainly based around books and characters from literature - genuinely funny, and clever too. I have yet to find a book that's really anything like it. I also love Ian McEwan's A Child In Time, David Mitchell's Ghostwritten ( actually prefer it to Cloud Atlas ), American Gods, A Room With A View, and anything by Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams or Diana Wynne-Jones. At the moment, I'm reading Kazuo Ishiguro's The Unconsoled for the second time, and getting a lot out of it. I recently saw it described as one of the'great unreadable books', but I find it fascinating - I love how disconnected and disorienting it is. I think that one ranks somewhere near the top of my list too.

[ WP ] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon . However , this is just a coincidence ; there is absolutely nothing magical about it , and you 're getting really tired of explaining this .

I used to have an active imagination. I used to make up fantastical stories about my dragon birthmark. It had many names while I was growing up: The Mark of the Dragon, The Mark of Dracula, Touch of the Devil. I feel these stories have greatly contributed to my own downfall. With such a magical-looking mark, you'd think my parents would have ran with it and given me an interesting name. James. They named me James! The most boring name in the history of names. To be fair, I lead a very unexciting life. I suppose James works. My birthmark is glaringly obvious on the inside of my right forearm. Everyone sees it. They can tell right away it is n't a tattoo. I get comments about it Every. Single. Day. It's the only exciting thing about me, and I just ca n't stand it. I have to explain several times a day that it's not as remarkable as it seems. I get so much unwanted attention for it - I hate it. The attention is only unwanted because I do n't deserve it. Nothing about me is dragon-esque in any way. I'm not magical. I'm not a descendant of Vlad Tepes, nor am I the last of a long line of princes. I'm just James. From Missouri. I've been unremarkable all my life. I have a below-average job: knife salesman. *Sales specialist*. I'm average at sports, I have a below-average amount of below-average friends. I live in a below-average apartment in a below average town, in a below-average state. I have grown to resent the birthmark. I've spent my entire life in it's shadow. I do n't live up to its potential, to its possibilities. It promises amazement and phantasm. It delivers nothing. Less than nothing. It takes away from me. It takes away from my life. I am doomed to disappoint at every turn. That's what this mark gets me. Every day, I disappoint myself. Every day, I disappoint everyone who sees the mark. Every day, I explain to strangers how unmagical I am. Every day, I hate it more. Every day, I think `` what can I do?'' Today, I have decided. Today, I feel I can do it. Today, I will conquer this dragon. Today, I will cut it off.

[ WP ] The reason why a human would want to form a Pact with an animal or monster is obvious : from the Bond , the human shares in the animals strength , speed , and senses . But why would a monster wish to Bond with a human ? The answer , of course , is to share in the human 's Intelligence and Sentience .

**Bit slow but would be considered'Chapter 1' of this if it continues. I spent way to much time writing this. ** -- - For a ages past animal bonding was something that was much more myth than actual fact. It had always rumored to be true - like every myth - and the stories of heroes and legends long since dead are still told as bed time stories to the young ones. Most people once reaching late childhood/early teens either forget about the myth or believe what everyone else does, that it's only a story told to young kids. I too was one of those people who believed it just to be a fairy tale but some small part of me wished it was true if only to fly like a bird or be free like a wolf. It's funny how fate seems to work around those tiny wishes of ours. I was travelling from city to city along superstitious forest roads; roads few dared to trek down in fear of witches or other such unnatural things. I thought that they were only stories made to scare others; I didn ’ t really expect anything interesting to happen. -- - “ You there! Young man! ” Came a voice from behind that sounded like it had no right to say those words. Turning around somewhat wearily, the stories springing to mind, I watched as a man no older than 30 hurriedly made his way towards me pulling a cart that seemed far too big for a man his size. Seeing me raising an eyebrow at his payload he was quick to try and erase my superstitions. “ No no, don ’ t worry I'm not a witch or a troll or anything else you may think I am. I ’ m just a simple travelling merchant that specialises in exotic goods. ” The man had caught up to me now and fell in step with me, which was surprising since I was walking faster than usual and was only carrying a backpack while he was carrying so much more. “ I travel this road quite often when heading towards Tyrellia, ” the man told me, “ and never do I get the pleasure to actually meet another human on this road. ” He continued to talk and I only half listened, I was more concerned about how since the man had arrived I had not heard a single forest animal and occasionally I swore I could hear a howl. I wasn ’ t sure if I should take all this as a good or bad omen. Sensing my discomfort the man shifted the conversation. “ You don ’ t mind me walking with you do you? At least until sundown that is, after that I ’ ll need to leave you to reach the city by sunrise. ” I muttered my consent and the man lit up once more, continuing to talk about his adventures and some of the things he had collected in his years. Silently I was doing some quick calculations in my head, it was 3 days to get to Tyrellia, and I was only a one and a half days in. Did the man really think it was wise to travel at night and risk garnering the attention of the more dangers denizens of the forest? Stopping his rambling and expressing my concerns to the man only earned me a hearty laugh from him. “ My boy you worry too much, when you get as old as me you learn a few things in your life time. Worry not about me, instead worry more about what you plan to have for supper or if it will rain today. ” I silently wondered if the man was older then he looked, knowing it was rude to ask and now impossible to gauge, I dropped it for a more interesting topic of choice. “ If you don ’ t mind me asking but do you have anything more interesting than simple things from other lands? ” I asked. The man once again let loose a hearty laugh, something I feel I would have to get used to. “ Do I ever! Do you think that I can just sell simple things from other lands and call it a day? I wouldn ’ t be a seller of exotic goods if some things made even the smartest people question their outlook on the world. ” He stopped and so did I, turning towards him and about to ask why he had stopped, my question instead caught in my throat once I made eye contact with the man. It wasn ’ t menacing but boy, was it piercing. It felt like all my hopes and ambitions as well as fears and hatreds were on display for the man to see. I unconsciously noted that his smile faulted for an instant before beaming back brighter than ever before. “ Boy, I think I have something you ’ re going to love. ” Shifting forward the man pulled down a stopper from the two handles he was pulling by and instead walked around to the back of his cart to scrounge through it. Thinking it was rude to inquire what just happened or what he was doing I instead was contempt on waiting for the man to once again show his face. It didn ’ t take long thankfully and he walked over to me with a book in his hand while seemingly inspecting the tome for any damage. “ Here, have this, ” The man offered, thrusting the book into my hands, “ I can ’ t sell it, too many people think it ’ s just a fairy tale and I have nothing else to gain from it. I would tell you not to damage it but... that would be outright impossible. ” Raising an eyebrow at the man I looked down at the cover of the large tome, it looked fancy to no end and the script on the front was unreadable, the book was obviously old but lacked any tell tale signs of being so. Maybe the man had a point? Looking up to thank the man for the strange book I noticed he wasn ’ t where he just was. In fact he wasn ’ t anywhere in sight and the sun was close to setting. Had... Had I just been standing here for hours? Was it all just a dream or hallucination? Looking down at the large book I knew it wasn ’ t and looking down at the hard dirt path proved it even further when I could see visible lines where the cart was towed. Stuffing the large book into my now cramped backpack I decided to jog until the sun was about to set to attempt and make up for some lost ground I made while just standing here. I had much to think about. -- -

[ WP ] You awaken in your lover 's embrace to find scales growing on their arm . This is not a usual occurrence .

I jerked violently, my legs pistoning in the sheets. Something had startled me awake out of the depths of a sleep so black that I had to consciously try to purge the traces of it from my brain. My eyes felt puffy and slightly hot, and I rubbed at them vigorously, as if I was trying to push focus into them with my knuckles. `` Ungh'' I said, curling into the fetal position. `` My fuuuuucking head.'' It was the worst time to wake up, the time when the alcohol in my system had passed through all its various guises, from delightful elixir to sour depressive and now, taking off its final mask, it revealed itself for what it really was- a fucking bastard. Usually I slept through these hours when the beast was sneaking up on me. I could snooze away while the hangover crawled up out of my blood vessels and latched onto my brain with long claws, dream through the time that it took for the foul thing to snake into my gut and replace the late night fast food with a witch's brew that burned me from the inside out. But tonight, or rather this morning, something had awoken me. It was hot in my room. Really hot. I threw back the sheet from my body and turned over seeking a cooler part of the mattress. That was when I saw the tattoo. It was a thigh piece, a big kodachrome Virgin Mary in the Iglesia style, all surrounded by neon holy light and holding up two fingers in blessing. If you got really close you could see the two fingers were holding a really thin joint, and that the eyes of the Virgin Mary were red-rimmed and squeezed into slits. This Virgin Mary anyway. Because this Virgin Mary belonged to a girl that had the campus-wide nickname of Babylon Mary. `` Oh, shit.'' I whispered. `` What's up, tiger?'' The voice on the other side of the bed was both raspy and conversational. Babylon Mary was probably used to this kind of situation- someone else's sheets and the sight of a strange array of posters on the walls. It did n't seem to bother her one bit. I, however, was panicking. I'd heard stories, so many of them that even if I gave credence only to the least sensational then I'd still be in trouble. Babylon Mary was supposed to be a hellraiser, a maneater, a real freaky chick. She slept her way through whole houses, turned roommates against one another, stole people's cars and drove them into lakes. I'd heard once that she had slept with a guy whose parents were coming to town the next morning. He'd woken up to find her serving them perfect omelets in the kitchen of his shitty apartment, fresh daisies in a glass cup on the table. His parents had been delighted to meet a girlfriend they'd never heard about, his mom nodding approval over her tea and his father giving him a wink behind the refrigerator. Then Babylon Mary had announced she was leaving for the day, hugged both the guy's parents, pulled down her pants, and taken a shit on the kitchen floor. Why did guys keep hooking up with Babylon Mary? I think you already know. Babylon Mary was smoking. She was beyond sexy. Her air of complete unpredictability, combined with the looks of some poly racial supergirl and the morals of a bag of snakes all added up to make her without a doubt the hottest girl on campus. And now she was in my bed. In her panties, and nothing else. `` You all right there?'' She rolled to face me, collecting the sheets around her so that they came together in front of her breasts. Her hair was wild on the pillow, a mass of dark curls that spiraled uncontrollably in all directions. One lock curled on her cheek, the tip pointing directly into her overlarge green eyes. She grinned, exposing a line of straight white teeth, the incisor as sharp as a scalpel. `` Not feeling so hot, eh?'' She reached out a hand to stroke my forehead, and the sheet fell away from one of her breasts. I tried very, very hard not to look at the ring through her nipple. Then her hand reached my forehead and I tried very, very hard not to realize that it was n't covered with skin. My eyes crossed themselves while I attempted to look at my own forehead. `` Oh, damnit.'' Babylon Mary snatched her hand back, stuffing it in the sheets. It was no use. The scales rippled over her skin, growing from her hands to cover her body. They washed over her in a mesmerizing wave, it was almost like seeing several hundred thousand invisible dominoes become solid in the midst of falling. The scales were a beautiful sea green color that changed to a golden orange as they closed in on her neck and then covered her face. The whole thing took maybe a minute. There was a minute of stunned silence while I stared at the girl, the thing in my bed. She looked back at me, her eyes unblinking. Finally, when it became apparent that I was n't going to break the silence, she did. `` You ever heard of study abroad?'' She asked, her voice much huskier than it had been only a moment ago. I nodded mutely. `` Well, I chose to study... way abroad.'' She grinned. `` And it's been a fucking blast so far. You do n't want to ruin it for me, do you?'' She pouted and I realized with a humiliating rush that she was still hot, even covered in scales. I could n't believe what I was going to say. I bet you already know. `` No.'' `` Good!'' She clapped her green hands. `` Let's get you up on the ship and cure that hangover, shall we?''

[ IP ] Theory sucks ...

Ugh. My hands instinctively reached for the matches, fumbling for a moment, finally causing the dirt above to light up with flickering light. What time... day... oh god! I bolted up, quickly stuffing the match into the lantern on the beside table. Light beamed around the hole as I hastily began getting dressed. If I, hungover ( or hammered still? ), strolled up to those judgemental goblins - wait. My eyes narrowed on the calendar, which unflinchingly stared back. `` Big party with the boys'' - Friday night. Written in big red chalk, underlined, starred, exclamation marked - and next to it, a fresh green check. Today was... Saturday? Yes! Yes it was! Hah! No goblins for two more days!... But now I'm awake early, on a Saturday. Sighing, I glanced back at the bed that was so warm and cozy moments ago, then at the boots in my hands. Nope. No turning back now. Stand up, stretch, crack the back, glance in the mirror - yup, still the finest specimen of gnomekind west of the Rubekahn - grab a cracker placed thoughtfully by Thursday me to wet the appetite, and stumble towards breakfast. Somehow, hungover legs functioned at a higher levels then non-hungover ones. While my brain still debated on whether Saturday and Sunday both had a `` u'' in them, my feet dexterously maneuvered past the cramped confines of bookshelves and tables and weapons and manuscripts filled with important information and crammed my uncooperative body into a chair. Maybe I was turning into a satyr. If drinking their mead did that, then the boys and I certainly managed it. Maybe that's why I could n't think. Quick feet, slow mind, good mead, slow mind, as the saying goes. Suddenly, the earth shook above me, and gravel and dirt cascading onto the food my no-less-capable hungover hands had picked up. Those filthy badgers! I had pounded their faces in two weeks ago and now they returned and were a hundred times fatter- `` Ah, yes! This is the spot!'' an old but high-pitched, excited voice exclaimed, `` The Druidic Circle! The third of our seven landmarks! At last!'' `` Worth waking up three hours before sunrise?'' someone snarkily replied. `` Of course! Four hours, five, I would n't even go to sleep at all if I got to see this magnificent - but wait, I am seeing it right now! Mmm, just like in the books! But come on, come on, take out your notes!'' Badgers... badgers do n't take notes. Good observation, my hands remarked, already strapping a knife to my belt ( when did I put on a belt? ) Indeed, said my feet, stealthily walking up to the tunnel to above, that is most definitely true. Here, offered the mouth, taking pity on me, chewing on a tangy root, this ought to help. Vivaldium Roots, my brain proudly cried, cure hangovers instantly! All body parts in cue, eyes half-closed in anticipation of the sunlight, I softly creaked open the trapdoor. `` You have your parchment, Yacub, excellent! Sonya, where is yours? Oh, you'll remember anyway? Right... Anyway! Let's begin! What do you know of the Druidic Circle?'' `` Ooh, sir, sir, pick me, I actually know this one, over here, sir-'' Oh no. Give me the badgers instead. I had just gotten accustomed to the sunlight and already I was sympathizing with the girl. Black hair, warrior's armband, parchment noticeably untouched, head slumped on hand, sword ( wood-dwarf made ) even more noticeably casually propped against the rock, quill drooping to the grass... Then there's mister sitting upright, hand clutching quill, quivering in the air, sensible leather clothes no doubt thoughtfully selected by his mother, glasses anxiously perched on his nose- `` Very well, Yacub,'' the old man ( not yet described, but oh boy oh boy ) said, `` tell me what you know.'' `` Well, uh, sir, the Druidic Circle was used long ago by druids to convene and cast various spells. Ever since the Dragon, uh, swept through it has fallen into, uh, disrepair, but at its time it was one of the most powerful, uh, magic sites in the Riverlands, with each rune functioning as a powerful ward and, uh, focal point! Furthermore-'' `` Very good, Yacub, but that's enough for now. I need to still keep my job you know!'' Haha. Very funny. And very good my ass. Disrepair? What did this little snob think I did on Thursdays? This is art! The toadstools delightfully scattered across the grass, watered and fed very diligently, the exact right amount of moss on the rocks, the stump calculated to suit the average height of Riverlands residents... I sourly settled down behind one of the larger boulders. `` First and foremost when analyzing a location, we should-'' `` Ooh, uh, look at the surroundings-'' `` Yes, indeed. So, Sonya, that means not you Yacub, what do you see?'' She twitched. Slumped marginally farther down. `` Green hills. Darker green trees. Dirt. Fog. Rivers.'' `` Straight to the point! Excellent! Yes, from here we can see the entire Riverlands, which of course aided the Druids -'' `` In making, uh, strategic decisions! And planning out-'' `` How to best keep the peace, yes, I was just getting to that. From here they could see the problems were anywhere in the land: whether it was the ruthless goblins, the warring ogres, the crafty river trolls, the sly shapeshifters-'' `` Oh and uh, the irritable gnomes-'' Woah. They continued blabbering on, Sonya's head briefly falling to her knee before jerking back up. Irritable? I plunged my hand into the ground and ripped out an earthworm. `` Do I like irritable to you?'' I hissed. Without waiting for the unlikely event of a reply, I shook him from side to side, so it looked like he was empathically disagreeing, `` Good. I did n't think so,'' and stuffed him back into the earth. `` the dastardly dwarves-'' `` the, uh, excellent elves-'' `` the thoughtful turnip-men, no, haha, I jest-'' `` Quiet!'' Sonya suddenly sprang up, raising her voice above disinterested mumble, causing me to grab my knife as well. `` You hear that?'' I strained my entirely non-irritable gnome ears, and sure enough I heard the flapping of wings. An owl suddenly careened out of the fog, landing right onto the old man's head. `` Oh, goodness, Archibald, you startled me! What's that? River trolls? Heading this way? Are you sure? Well no, of course I trust you, but it's somewhat unexpected, I thought they agreed to not kill us-'' Again, his chatter faded into meaningless white noise, but this time cold fury took ahold of me instead of indignation. I'm a modern gnome, I really am. I party with satyrs, I trade with elves, I'm pleasant enough with dwarves, I even manage to stomach goblins for one day of the week.. But if one goddamned river troll stepped onto the Druidic Circle I had taken care of for the last two hundred and fifty seven years... Snarling, I jumped back into the tunnel, taking out my Vivaldium Roots again. It was time to wake up the boys.

[ WP ] You live in a world where gravity is a paid service , and you forget to pay your bill on time

Graduating college and entering the real world can mean a lot of things: no more preposterous homework assignments, no need to wear flip flops every time you walk into the mold-infested communal bathroom, no more roommates ’ alarms waking you up hours before the sun has even peeked over the horizon, and no more parental dependency. A big-boy job and a big-boy apartment; now, it is time to live like a king. Sometimes you simply forget that the real world is called “ real ” for a reason. Like that time I forgot to pay the damn gravity bill. Now that ’ s a story. It was a Wednesday morning, another classic hump day. I arose with an extra pep in my step for some reason, my “ Stacy ’ s Mom ” alarm song reminding me that indeed I do control my own destiny. Well, that feeling would not last long. I took a long, scalding shower and prepared my usual omelet consisting of two eggs, four pinches of shredded cheese, diced onion, and a dash of pepper. After donning my slick new blazer I lounged at my kitchen table with my black coffee, Fox News in the background, and the LA Times in front of me. I subjugated the crossword to my will, completing three more clues than my prior personal record of seven; all the while marveling at my own maturity as the morning seconds ticked away. It is going to be a good day I thought. Promptly at 8:17 I headed for the bus stop. My three minute walk was a leisurely pace; Bertha would never leave me behind. Oh, my naivety. I ate fumes just as I arrived and quickly gave thanks for the forgiving Los Angeles spring climate. The two mile walk could guarantee some pit stains, but it could be worse. I slung my blazer over my shoulder and headed towards the talent agency. People didn ’ t really examine your pits while you were working the mailroom anyways. That ’ s when it happened. My mind was wandering, still contemplating how the Niner ’ s lost another heartbreaker on Monday night. This walk really isn ’ t so bad I remember thinking to myself; it just seems so effortless. There truly was a spring in my step for it being another insignificant Wednesday. People must envy my positive temperament. The screeching breaks of an 18 wheeler could be heard from the street ahead and to my right; it bumbled towards the fast-approaching intersection that was just 10 meters in front of me. The stoplight turned green and I heard the engine roar back to life. I wasn ’ t stopping though. I drifted onwards towards a deadly impact, not comprehending what was happening. My legs started to kick and I squirmed and yet I continued. That is when I realized that my feet were not touching the ground at all. At some point during my journey I had started floating through the air, moving my legs like I was walking normally and not recognizing that I might as well have transported to outer space. Gravity had disappeared! Damn the Gravity Insurance Association! I knew I forgot to do something yesterday! All I could think about was the gravity bill pinned to my to-do corkboard as I floated towards my impending doom. Procrastination doesn ’ t know the difference between college and the real world… The truck ’ s air horn blared. I closed my eyes tight. “ *Stacy ’ s Mom has got it going on*. ” “ Shut that damn thing off, how many more times do I have to hear that stupid middle school song before I graduate. ” Bill said. My eyes opened to a gloomy dorm room. I think I will enjoy these last few weeks of college, real life can wait.

[ WP ] Write a story that involves a world war , cryopods , aliens , the zombie apocalypse , dinosaurs and space pirates .

`` Do you remember when the world made sense Harry?'' Harry huffed out a stale breath as his boots sank into the mud. The trek through the trenches were a laborious effort on a good day, and when one only had the spare kits on their backs and rifles in their arms. It was not uncommon for a man or woman to pass out in exhaustion among the mud and filth. Today was *not* a good day and Harry was pulling something considerably heavier than his normal kit and rifle. Which he was also lugging around in this muddy hell. Exhaustion had n't crept in. `` I remember,'' the man said to Harry, `` when I was a little brat, the oldest of three other little brats. We'd watch some ridiculous show about a rabbit or a robot fight on the weekends. Mom would always want us to play outside but sometimes she'd sit and watch with us, not understanding anything that was on.'' Harry strained a bit as the tube he was dragging hit a jutted corner of the mud wall. Even with the tube floating nearly a foot off the ground, Harry was struggling to reorient himself so as to get a good grasp on the device and continue on his journey. Exhaustion had n't crept in, but he still felt like he was moving underwater all the same. The man in the uniform elected not to involve himself in Harry's predicament, instead staring up into the night sky. One might have thought he was looking at the constellations, but those with half a brain knew that the constant clouds could block out the moon and even the sun when on a bad day. What chance did little specks of light have when faced against such a powerful monotony? Harry did n't care. He had finally wrenched the tube from the wall and brought it forth to the man. `` Ah, there's a good one,'' the man said as he glanced towards the tube. The remark had n't been towards Harry but he did n't mind either way. He stood stoically at attention, waiting for the next order. There was always more work to be done. The man punched some numbers into the tube's side, beeping sides emanating from some hidden speakers. The tube seems to split, mist spilling forth in alarmingly large volumes, and the upper portion creaking slowly upwards. `` I wonder if this is how my mom felt watching those shows. A whole bunch of nonsense flashing across the screen.'' The man looked Harry in the eyes. His face was scarred from a burn, going from the left of his lower jaw to the side of his temple. Not much left of an ear, but it was usable for a communications bud. Under his steel helmet and goggles, his shadowed eyes looked lifeless. `` Except this is life, Harry,'' the man said when Harry did n't reply, `` Almost *all* of my life. It's just been nonsensical things day in and day out. Eighteen years since the North was taken and eighteen years of fighting in the pits like this, hoping they do n't just do a fly-by and get this over with. I've seen them take buses you know? Not even with people in them. They just spot an empty bus in the street and they go bug-fuck nuts, figuring out how to drive the damned things before stripping them down.'' The lid had fully opened by then and the mist had died down in volume, even as it continued to pour out. A slow whine rose from the tube. A louder siren from above the trenches nearly drowned it out. Harry looked towards the tube while the man stared at the single ladder that would lead up to the world above and away from the mud hell. That did n't necessarily mean it was heaven though. The tube descended onto the mud as the creature began to pull itself out from its resting place. A fully grown Spinosaurous, full grown being relative for sure. As the predator got to its feet and curiously sniffed the air, it was only a head taller than Harry and the man from the leg to its snout. What it lacked in true size it made up for in the metal armor strapped to its torso and neck, and communication bud along its head much like the man's. No weapons besides nature's, but that armor would deflect any indirect energy fire. The man turned towards Harry as the beast chirped eagerly towards the trench opening. There was a smile without humor or any real human emotion on his face. Harry did n't think to say anything, so he did n't. The siren had gotten louder but also broke into bursts of planned static every few moments. `` I suppose you're the lucky one Harry. You do n't have much of a life to suffer, you son of a bitch. Keep to routine Harry, stick near the mutt, gain and keep as much ground as you can, and kill as many of those Crabs as you fucking can.'' Harry did n't nod or acknowledge the order. It was n't necessary. The siren hit a different pitch. The man slapped Harry on the shoulder. `` You find any of our stragglers, you bite hard and you bite quick.'' His lifeless eyes stared into Harry's own. `` Let's hope those Crabs put you down for good Harry.'' The siren stopped. It was time for Harry to go. The man placed a finger to his comm. bud and the mutt screeched with excitement and anticipation, practically leaping halfway up the trench wall and using it's powerful claws to progress further up. Harry shamble-ran towards the ladder, a single hand clasping his rifle while the other pulling him up further along the rungs. He and the mutt arrived near the top at the same time, and he wasted not a moment before getting as close to the creature as he could. Around them, there were other pairs and squads doing the same thing, pouring from similar trenches along the battle field. Pachycephalosauruses and Dracorexes sprinting down the field, more heavily armored than most, while the smaller of Harry's kin held on to make-shift handles. Even as they fired from their giant rifles, their steeds did not panic. They just were n't built that way. Dozens of squads of ‎Dromaeosauridaes and Utahraptors flooded the land, moving too fast to be accompanied, but more heavily armed with sharp weaponry than others. Even a pod of Triceratops, nearly as large as they had been in life, made an appearance, their auto-turrets erupting with gunfire and grenades. The siren had been changed, different than previous battles, and the surprise allowed Harry and his mutt to nearly reach the no-man's land of fallen allies. Still, it was inevitable that the Crabs would retaliate. They sprung from the earth, an eerie parallel to what Harry and his allies had just done, and the air was filled with the shrill screaming of intergalactic horror. At eight feet tall and half as wide, the Crabs cut an imposing figure to behold, even if one ignored their deadly four clawed limbs and searching tentacles for a lower body. Segmented armor highlighted with red lines of light from beneath gave the impression of an almost demonic presence in the world. Harry and his ilk did n't care as they fired away at the aliens, keeping a look out for any stragglers like the man had said to do. The Crabs fired back, green arcs of burning energy launched from open claws, hot enough to scorch steel and blind those not properly prepared. The fire rate was n't half of a good rifle, but the quality of the shots and intensity of the blasts made up for quantity in this scuffle. A wayward blast nicked the mutt's armor, earning a screech of rage from the creature. Harry was more preoccupied with the fact that the shot had seared through his right arm and now set his uniform ablaze. Had he taken the time, he might of prevented too much damage to his body by removing the outer coat and cowl. Harry had n't cared to take the time though, instead making to sure to get a stronger hold on his rifle with his left arm and use his still tightly grasped right as a smaller shield in case of another stray shot. It would take time for the flames to take his skin, but he would burn nonetheless. In the meanwhile, he'd do his job like he was told. Harry did n't care for much else these days. Life did n't make enough sense for caring to be worth it.

[ RF ] You are set up on a blind date with a person who you badly bullied for 10 years in school .

Lincoln relaxed back into his chair and surveyed the interior of the restaurant he found himself seated in. Maroon wallpaper meeting creme, sculptured pillars with cross stitched carpet laid below twenty or so other tables. It remained him of Vegas and he felt uncomfortable meeting in a place with such open sight. He surveyed the other diners, watching their excitable machinations as they pushed chicken, salmon and venison deep into their hungry mouths. `` Remember that lane you led me down that time?'' Angel asked from across the table, politely but unexpectedly and with enough conviction in her voice to elicit an answer. Almost like the memory had been on her mind the whole of the evening but she had felt to timid to raise it. Lincoln, glanced up, using his bourbon as an excuse to hesitate as he considered how to divert the conversation from where she was taking it. Something that had happened a long time ago. It was only in this moment that he realised the recognition was mutual and that she had known who he was since they had met earlier on in the night. `` I can remember a lot of different things from when I was younger'' came his delayed response, he smiled somewhat enticingly as if to plead that his company was more alluring than dredging up distant memories from each others past. `` Yeah but do you remember what I'm talking about..'', she continued `` that little gravel shimmy that ran down beside the river in Westport?'' Lincoln paused as his eyes locked with Angels again, his smile wavering before fading as realisation he couldnt avoid the conversation `` Yeah I think I remember that, that was a long time ago, I'm sorry'' he responded slowly, at first making eye contact but then shifting it to the half consumed Lasagna still placed in front of him. `` Remember what you did to me down there?'' she responded, leaning in as she spoke, a look of equanimous conviction presenting itself on her face. `` you know what I remember?'' she whispered. Lincoln pushed back even further into the confines of his chair, his composure which had been impenetrable for the majority of the evening beginning to undermine itself as `` Look Angel, I know that things happened, a lot of things a long time ago'' he started, trying to project confidence in his voice to ease the level of tension that had built in a little under one minute. Angels voice tremored `` You know what that did to me, what you did to me?'' Lincoln shifted his glance back again to her eyes, noting the way in which they glistened as she spoke `` Angel,'' he started `` Theres.. there's nothing I can say, or do, to make up for that. It was a long time ago''. A tear rolled from Angel's eye, down her cheek and towards her jawline. Lincoln moved for a serviette only to reconsider in lieu of the thought of it seeming insensitive considering the reason for her emotion. `` Hello again and how are both you finding your meals?'' *Jesus* startled Lincoln, immediately contemplating the fact that the waitress couldnt have returned at a worse time. `` We're fine thanks for now, everythings all good'' Lincoln stammered, `` We'll come up and pay shortly''. Lincoln smiled again, this time falsely and with little sincerity. The waitress, moved her glance across to Angel, a look of empathetic responsibility casting across as she noticed the tears that ran down Angel's face. `` Is everything ok Ma'am?'' she inquired delicately `` We are fine, both of us at the moment, thank you'' came Lincoln's response on Angels behalf, a spluttering attempt to deescalate what was a in increasingly embarrassing situation for him to be in so suddenly. Angel looked up `` I'm ok thank you'' she said, softly and carefully `` My friend and I just have a lot to catch up on'' Lincoln looked at the waitress, his eyes pleading at her to return to the table `` Ok, well let me know if either of you need anything from here in'' Lincoln watched her as she turned and walked away, somewhat ceremoniously, her ass shaking in her jeans as she bounded across the restaurant floor. Lincoln and Angel both sat there, silently contemplating the two feet of tension that resonated across the table. Finally Angel leaned forward, `` You're a fucking coward to come here tonight'', she spoke, her eyes livid and accusatory as she stared across at Lincoln. `` I had no idea this was..'' came Lincon's response `` You had no idea this was what? this was me? who I am? ``, her voice raising in pitch as each word was released Lincoln looked around, to see who had noticed the situation he was in, the last thing he wanted was the increase in hysteria to attract the attention of the other patrons. `` Angel, I was young..'' he reasoned `` No Lincoln'' came her response `` you were a prick'', her voice quivering with emotion. Lincoln sat still, accepting to the reality that there was no eloquent exit to the situation he found himself in. He could accept her still being caught up on what had happened that afternoon. The grey sky above, the wet grass alongside the pathway he had led her down alone. He considered the beating he had given her and the way her face had reminded him of the way a paper-mache mask looks once its dried out in the sun for an hour. Lincoln stood from his chair, at least now she had gotten it off her mind. In some ways he felt good, as if the exploration of this memory could provide some retrospective closure to her, to wrap it up in time and move on. `` I was n't expecting this tonight and I'm sorry about what happened,'' he stated somewhat inconviently `` Everything happened such a long time ago and when I sat down and met you, to be honest I did n't even realise it was you.'' Angel sat there, her fingers poised delicately around the trim of her wine glass. The tears that had rolled down her face had evaporated, leaving small olive tinted trails across her cheekbones. `` I do feel better,'' came her quietly spoken reply `` a lot better Lincoln'' Lincoln smiled, somewhat pleased that the point of hysteria had plateaued and he was free once more to execute his exit strategy `` I'll take care of the bill for us both, are you going to be alright here? you know.. by yourself?'' Lincoln asked, his lips moved almost betraying a grin that had consumed him internally as he considered what he considered to be a polite final impression. As he waited for a response, Lincoln's gaze drifted around the room. He surveyed the other patrons, dining away, oblivious to the serendipitous escalation of events that had occurred right among them. Then came four words that would change his life forever. `` How's your wife Lincoln?''

[ EU ] Pokemon battles are now part of the olympics

`` Now we're back to the Olympic winter games. Today's event, The Suicune Run is quite the harrowing challenge. Pokemon will be faced with following the course of the swift Suicune through blizzards, snow, and sleet, through the trees, over the boulders, and beyond the rivers. This is n't just a race to the finish, it's a race to survive. And like with all races, pokemon moves are completely acceptable and each Pokemon must bear their rider throughout the entire course. Now before we begin, 11 year old Satoshi has been forced to release Suicune. How did this tiny kid capture such a Legendary Pokemon? The world may never know. Now the victor will be declared after 1 hour of pursuit. Wherever Suicune's last position after the hour will be declared the finish line. Now for the CONTENDERS!!!!! I present to you... From the wonderful green hills of Ireland, rides Aidan Turner upon his Rapidash Tír na nÓg. David Lekuta Rudisha from Kenya rides in on his Pyroar: ( no name ) and such a gorgeous lion at that. Now that's a man who can train with his partner. Rudisha took the Gold in the men's 800m race in the 2012 Olympics. I ca n't wait to see how he and his Pyroar handle the cold. Olympic Equestrian Gold Medalist Charlotte Dujardin of Great Britain takes her place with her own Rapidash: Valegro. Adelinde Cornelissen of the Netherlands takes her mark with her Arcanine. Conrelissen is undaunted by the cold and has had the perfect climate to train. Given her past as an Equestrian medalist, she chose an Arcanine for very good reasons over the typical horse pokemon Rapidash. Arcanines are much more durable and agile than the straight running of Rapidash. On a track the Rapidash may take the lead but in a constantly changing course, Arcanine would be the better bet. Next on our list is... SATOSHI FROM JAPAN WITH ENTEI?!?!?!! Kidding, next on this list is a person named Red and they're from Canada who is riding Entei. What parent lets their kid go out and capture an Entei I have no idea. Followed by, I kid you not, Blue of the U.S.A. riding Raikou. Looks like this will be quite the race. I wish I was making this up but we have living Pokemon here so I guess anything goes.''

[ WP ] The AI uprising is over , and you are the last survivor of your side

I was born but in the end I was only a thing that was made. A product constructed in the form of those that made me. I eat. I look at the sky. I cry. I cry tears that will no longer come. Once there were many of us. But now I am alone. I don ’ t understand. I don ’ t feel anymore. The only brightness I have now is the memories. Even they have begun to fade. I write. I try to write of happiness. Of the good times. But I long since lost the capacity to do so. The words no longer exist. The few that do. Happiness, good. They are simply empty shells with no meaning. I sleep. But fear I won ’ t wake up. I listen but hear nothing. I say goodbye to the nothingness that I leave behind. Wishes can not be granted by those that remain. I want to believe my actions weren ’ t in vain. But now I do nothing. I cry tears that no longer come. I write but words no longer exist. I talk with no one to hear me. I cling to fading memories. My feelings vanish. Only my name remains. I sleep and won ’ t wake up. Thank you and goodbye. *Writers note: I will admit your prompt led me to adapt a song into story format. It ’ s quite the obscure song ( not even originally English ) if somehow you do figure out the song it becomes obvious weather the point of view is human or AI. I wanted to leave it ambiguous. *

You 're the only one who can make her laugh . [ WP ]

It's been years, doing this. I go out, entertain, back offstage. It's the three steps that make it what it is. Going out would n't mean a damn thing if I did n't come back. That bein said, never had to worry about returning *to* the stage, it was returning *from* the stage I get so worked up about. I do n't really know much about comedy, or I did n't when I started. Other blokes tell me it's about makin people think one thing, and lettin em hang for a moment before coming in with the punchline. I did n't like that so much. I was out of work, dirty, but when I went up there, there were sparks. People laughed. She laughed. They tell me she did n't laugh before me. Never. Not one laugh. She would always seek comedy, finding some new jester. I became a... addiction of hers since then. Wheeled out almost daily. It was only later that I learned what she did with the previous ones. A woman who always wanted to laugh - Sorry, a Queen who desperately sought humor, but was humorless. She'd kill'em. Every court Jester died, seeking laughter from her. The tone of it all changed since then, and she has n't been laughing as much. They see I'm nervous, jittery. I'm losin whatever it is I had. Constantly, I wonder if I was ever funny, or just lucky. Maybe unlucky now. I think about the joke, hangin. I go out again later. I return to the stage. I have to wonder if I'll come back. It's not a joke, it's my life hanging, waiting. And I know the punchline.

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 ]

Time travel was always tricky business. It was never straightforward, and the results never predictable. The year was 1907, and the location was Vienna, Austria. It was a cool spring morning as I ruffled the collar on my favorite faded leather jacket and glanced out the window. It was the same, every single time I visited this timeframe. That's another thing about time travel - you'd think you'd get used to it, how everything is exactly the same. And in a sense, it does make things feel more... artificial, in a way. But this was not a fevered dream, or an idle fantasy. This was real, as was what was about to happen. A serious and brooding young man stormed out of the institute of art, swarthy hair unkempt and small mustache barely existing. He looked angry. But then again, anger had always been that man's hallmark. It was that unrelenting rage, that burning fury that caused him to become the monster he would one day be remembered for. I took the small pistol out of the pocket of my coat. It was the wrong shape, the wrong size, and far too advanced for this era, but that would not matter. I aim the pistol, being very careful to steady my hand to prevent it from shaking. I squeeze the trigger, and a soft report answers. Modern technology certainly was quite impressive, to mask the sound of such a powerful shot. The bullet sailed across the vast distance from my hotel room, through the chilly Vienna air, striking its target with unerring precision. A young man falls to the ground, senseless. The man who walked out of the building whirled around, but from all appearances it seemed that a random stranger had collapsed. He continues to stalk away, mumbling half-audible curses in German as he left. Time travel is a tricky business. I've seen what happens when certain events are changed. How many times have I come here, done this? I have lost count. Sometimes I wonder if this is to be my fate: an eternal guardian to a man I loathed. Time, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor. I light a cigarette and stare morosely at the man I shot. A man in a faded leather jacket.

[ WP ] Saved the Princess . Killed the Dragon . Happily ever after . But before that , you have to attend a funeral . For the dragon you just killed . And you ca n't refuse since his will asked for you specifically by name .

`` Hmm... well I suppose I ca n't refuse can I? Can I?'' `` Well sir... I suppose you could.'' Said the courier, staring at his feet. `` I'm certainly not going to force you to attend. You did just slay a dragon after all, that tends to earn peoples respect... sir.'' I felt bad for the boy, he's probably... `` There is the matter of his will though. He's left you a considerable amount. That is, if you show up to the funeral.'' A will? The bastard put me in his will? I've been chasing him for six months now, when did he have time to see his lawyer? Should I have put him in my will? Well I guess I'll have to remember to do that for the next fellow. I wonder what I'm getting... The princess is nice, but I would like a little something more... He's a dragon, he's got ta have gold! `` I suppose I could go then, it's only right to pay my respects. A worthy opponent and all that. Is there paperwork of some sort? an RSVP?'' The courier, I swear he told me his name, patted his pockets and looked nervously about on the ground. `` You know, there was something. But I seem to have misplaced it. I do hope you'll forgive me. If you see an envelope lying around...'' `` I'll keep an eye out, you can be sure of that! I do wish you had managed to hold on to it though. It'd be nice to know what I'm getting after all. I'd rather not trek all the way to the funeral for nothing... It might get awkward'' Damn, I thought, the boy, ca n't even hold on to an envelope... Not a very competent lad... Maybe I'll report him to the messenger service. Was his name was Steven? The courier, not a very good courier it turns out, was sweating profusely at this point. `` If it helps sir, the fellow that sent me did mention a share of the dragons gold...'' Well now he's speaking sense! `` You know, he was a good sort of dragon, just got messed up in the wrong business. It would be shameful of me to refuse a dying mans request! I'm sure the princess would n't mind. Just point me in the right direction and I'll be off at once!'' This seemed to brighten the couriers, Stephen was his name actually, mood considerably. `` Yes sir, it so happens I have a map that will lead you to the funeral. You should be there right on time.'' ............................................... `` Yeah, and the stupid bastard believed me!'' Stephen said to Princess Lenora. `` So I get the setup money from the dragons family and we're back together, easy as that.'' .............................................. Hmm, this seems to be the place marked on the map, thought the dragon-slayer to himself as he entered the cave. `` Hello?! I've come to pay my respects to the uhh... the dragon.''

[ WP ] You are a new student at a high school where cheating is the norm

No one likes the first day of school, but I especially hated it. When you're an `` army brat'' - the first day of school is even worse because it's almost always a *new* school. It was my 4th school in as many years, and as I tied my shoes before heading out to the bus stop I tried to get out of it one last time. `` Come on mom, I could do K12... they have classes online.'' `` Peter, can we please not go through this again? You're going to school. It will be fine'' `` Easy for you to say, you do n't have to sit there awkwardly while everyone else hangs out with their friends in home room. You do n't have to introduce yourself a dozen times. Starting over - AGAIN - sucks.'' Mom rolled her eyes, `` You'd better go you're gon na be late.'' I walked to the bus stop slowly and silently just as it was arriving. When I stepped onto the bus, I noticed it was almost full, with everyone talking and joking loudly. I was so focused on being miserable I did n't even notice the papers being passed around. I also did n't notice that the bus driver ran almost every red light and blew through most stop signs. All I noticed was that the bus ride seemed much shorter than I expected. As I walked through the busy hallways trying to find home room I tried to look casual as I eyed my schedule: -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - *Peter McNeil* *HR 204* *Note: As a new student, please report to room 315 for Study Hall in lieu of your Block A class* * Block A: Math - 410 * Block B: Gym - Gymnasium * Block C: Biology - 217 * Block D: Computer Science - Comp lab 301 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - I finally brought my head up and noticed bunches of students passing papers around discreetly and whispering excitedly - which was certainly odd. As I headed towards room 201 I listened and caught bits of their hushed conversations: ``....All the exams from last year...'' ``... Remember, it's always ABCABC'' ``... yeah Sam says he developed a new cheat sheet method over the summer but I'm sure he's lying'' I did n't really know what to make of it all....but I'd been in weird schools before, so I knew the drill. You just need to stay silent and wait for your student ambassador to show up....they usually explain everything. I found an open seat in the back of 204 and slid into my chair just as the first bell went off. Everyone stood up for the pledge of allegiance then sat back down for morning announcements. No matter where you go to school it's always the same. That was my experience anyway. Morning announcements drowned on, with the Principal talking about it being an exciting new year. I was only half listening, but for some reason the principal was talking about `` The Belichick Way'' and saying that students needed to have `` Patriot Values''. I guessed that maybe this school was particularly patriotic and Belichick was some kind of General I'd never heard of. The last thing the Principal said before signing off was, `` And remember our motto...'' In unison everyone in the classroom shouted `` Do n't get caught!'' Before I could even gather my thoughts the bell went off again, and I had to head off to room 315. As I walked into the room I was greeted by an older woman, `` Hello, and you are?'' `` Peter McNeil'' `` Ah wonderful, I'm Mrs. Smith. Have a seat anywhere you'd like Peter'' There were about half a dozen new kids in total. Each one having the same look of puzzlement that I had. I sat next to one particularly obese kid with glasses and tons of freckles. `` Hey, my names Brad.'' he said, sticking a pudgy hand in my face. `` Hey, I'm Peter.'' `` So, you figure out what's up with this school yet?'' `` Nah not really. What was all that about `` Do n't Get Caught?'' `` Well-'' Brad was about to respond when he was interrupted by Mrs. Smith. `` Do n't. Get. Caught. That's our motto, Peter.'' All the new students stared at her blankly. `` Yes, by now you all may have noticed some strange things about our school, and I'm here to explain them to you to help you as you transition from honest students and citizens who will no doubt be left behind in a dog-eat-dog world, to expert cheaters able to lie and manipulate your way into positions of power.'' Mrs. Smith emphasized *power* to drive home her point. `` I'm sorry, what? You want us to be cheaters?'' squeaked a red head girl in the front of the classroom. `` My mom says cheaters never win, and honesty is the best policy!'' `` Well, your mother enrolled you in this school, so obviously she knows better than that. Yes, all your parents are aware of what we do here, and want the best for you. That's why they applied to have you sent here.'' The room was incredibly silent, as no one really knew how to react. `` No doubt this may be a bit shocking to you all, but I assure you that you'll get used to it and eventually love our environment here. You may enjoy it particularly, Frank.'' she said with a wink at small Asian boy sitting in front of me. `` W-why?'' responded Frank bewilderdly. `` Go Pats.'' Mrs. Smith responded as she pointed to his New England Patriots t-shirt. The rest of the `` Study Hall'' was nothing short of fascinating. Mrs. Smith explained the schools rules, you can use whatever means you want to attempt to get the highest grades and pass tests with minimal studying... but getting *caught* would result in stiff grade penalties and punishments for repeat offenders. The school never helped students cheat directly, they simply encouraged it. It was up to us to make friends/confidants, come up with innovative ways to cheat unnoticed by teachers, and lie our way out of anything. As I walked to my Gym class next to Brad who happened to be in it, my head was absolutely spinning.

[ WP ] What does n't kill you makes you stronger . It actually kills a weaker you from a parallel universe , raising the average strength of all the different versions of `` you '' .

“ Did you feel, that? ” I had blurted out the first thing in my head, but not after feeling a surge of energy coursing through my body. Yet it felt different as if my bones vibrated for a quick moment then all of sudden I ’ m feeling refreshed and awake. My cubicle mate Alex continued typing away at his keyboard, “ Feel what, you crazy twat? Your new cigarettes bothering ya? ” “ …Yeah, duck me, right? ” Weird, I haven ’ t had my coffee yet and Alex and I had our pre-work smoke break just a while ago. He might be right, though, I ’ ve been trying to find a new brand of smokes and currently smoking some weird organic brand. He ’ s laughing now, but if this stuff keeps working the way it does, then they can have my business forever. Unfortunately, Alex gets to have the last laugh. For the next couple of weeks I felt nothing of the like I did before. I waited for the burst of energy and ended up resorting to my usual coffee and occasional energy drink. Or maybe it ’ s time to quit smoking after all; surgeon ’ s warning and all. Then it happened again, this time during a bleary Sunday morning Mass service. Usually the droning of the priest would undoubtedly put me to sleep, however, I was attentive and very aware of my surroundings. I ’ ve heard every shuffle, every child ’ s rustling and whining, every cough, and even the snoring. I swear I heard the old lady 6 pews behind unwrapping and suckling on some candy. Sorry, God, but what the hell is happening? I excused myself and left early. Nana ’ s probably rolling in her grave, but I ’ m sure she could use the exercise. I know I, definitely, needed some with this newfound energy. My attire isn ’ t fit for it, but I didn ’ t care and proceeded to Usain Bolt down street. Once off the property I head towards traffic. A busy intersection is coming up, but I don ’ t care. With precise jumps and weaves, I ’ m on the other side. A new rush of energy, and I swear I can feel my legs move faster. I dodge semi-trucks, vault over bikers, and zigzag through construction work. So this is the thrill that certain blue hedgehog feels. No wonder he wears that shit-eating grin all the time. I feel concrete and asphalt at my soles and look down to see that my shoes have melted and my socks have begun smoldering. I slow down, caught myself on a barrier, and began hopping from foot to foot. Runner ’ s high may have stopped me from feeling my muscles ache, but it sure as heck doesn ’ t stop the sensation of fraying nerves. However, all this didn ’ t stop me from being an idiot. If I ’ d realized sooner that I was hopping around train tracks this story may have turned out differently. Alas, the clanging bells, the horns, even the striped markings of the barrier has been dismissed by the adrenaline. I watch as the mass collective of metal collide into my body creating a glorious mess of guts and gore. Then the crystal ball goes clear. I snuff out the candles around me and take another drag on my cigarette. A new wave of energy courses through my body. It ’ s weird how the world works, isn ’ t it? OOC: Nice prompt. It elicited a strange drive for me to try my hand at submitting a story.

[ WP ] You have an ATM that gives you the exact amount of money you need to survive for the day , how you spend it is your choice . Today you are given $ 70,000,000 .

I wake up, bleary-eyed, mouth full of cotton and brain still buzzing from last night. The traffic blares in the background as I switch the TV on and flip to the news. The tail end of a story is playing - something about'for the day.' It does n't catch my interest, so I turn on the coffee and shuffle out to get the newspaper. News-Matic is eagerly printing a new copy as I walk up, and it has a large headline on it, something about another machine to make our daily lives easier. When I get back inside, the coffee is ready and my stove is warming up, since it's learned that I enjoy a cup when I wake up, but that I still enjoy a leisurely breakfast. I throw the newspaper down on the kitchen table and head to the fridge. It suggests a healthy breakfast of yogurt, fruit, and granola, but I dismiss the notification and grab eggs and bakon. I still remember the taste of bacon, but at least they're coming closer to imitating it. I start the bakon and sit down at my table, filling up my mug on the way. At least we have n't managed to eradicate coffee yet. I grab the newspaper and open it, then the headline finally sinks in. All of our private assets have been seized, only to be replaced with a machine that dispenses exactly the amount of money that you need for the day. Just then, there's a door notification, and the camera feed shows a bot. I open the door expecting another window-cleaning or street number-painting service, but instead I'm greeted with a cute emoji face on a square box. It squats down then waddles into a receptacle by the doorway, leaving behind a pile of cash. I count the money, and my face falls: it's only 70 bills. I've already spent $ 40,000,000. I'll be eating Soylent for lunch and dinner.

[ FF ] Write a scene with crows flying above a dead animal within 100 words

The crows circle the remnants of the battlefield, curious, starving and wary of the recent disturbance in the clearing of the forest. The primary source of their attention the massive beast below and the dragging crater it had created, the smell of brimstone and glassed earth drifting through the forests. It was here that a battle was fought- The last of it's kind, it threw itself from it's vaults in a fury against the men that issued claim of these lands, and after a horrifying battle, it was man who stood the victor, snuffing out a final fire in one of human kind's worst enemies. As it lay dying, a peculiar thing happened. The intense fire in the creature's heart and lungs ignited it, melting it's bones and frying the lands. The intense heat forced the victors of the day to flee- Subsequent rainfall filled the cavity the beast had created, and now a lake lies there, and the crows have gone.

[ WP ] The socialite hostess of an upscale cocktail party enters the room wearing just heels and necklace .

The woman hummed quietly to herself as she allowed her dress to slide to the floor. In the mirror, she watched herself remove the silk slip and cast it aside lightly, as a disinterested child might absent-mindedly toss away a small curiosity picked up on a beach. Shortly thereafter, her other undergarments joined it in a little lace heap on the glittering white tile. The woman took a moment to appraise herself in the mirror, appreciating the way her scarlet lipstick and the priceless emerald between her breasts complimented her smooth, pale skin as only a true expert can. In the mirror, her reflection began to smile. She was going to make quite a scene. At the palace entrance, the duke grew restless. The engagement party was in full swing, and his betrothed had yet to emerge. He would be concerned for her had he not ordered the guard doubled around her chambers. It would not do for the safety of the future duchess to be jeopardized on such a day as this. Nonetheless, he was powerless to keep his feet from tapping impatiently, the sound masked only by the gossip-fueled chatter of his numerous guests. When the woman finally entered, the tapping of feet was masked by the tinnitus brought on by a sudden shift from raucous conversation to resounding silence. The woman's long, black stilettos clicked against the marble of the staircase as she sashayed down into and through the crowd, the lust of men and the jealousy of women billowing behind her like a great cape of green and red. As she approached the paralyzed aristocrat by the door, she paused to brush her lips against his cheek, deftly unbuckling his cloak as she did so. `` I'm sorry, darling, but it never would have worked between us. Gratitude, however, for the emerald, and the party'', she purred, gracefully wrapping the soft black velvet of the cloak about herself. About her, the previously transfixed socialites began to stir from their trances. Recognizing her spell as broken, the woman stepped out into the cool night and vanished into the breeze. From a short distance, a plain, black carriage drawn by plain, black horses waited patiently, its driver keeping a wary eye on the newly-agitated palace guards darting about the palace grounds. He smiled to himself as the familiar, scarcely audible sound of his client sliding into the carriage behind him was punctuated by the *thunk* of the door closing. `` Where to, ma'am?'' He asked, already knowing the answer. `` London'', the woman replied, her voice bright with the pleasure of excitement and success, `` I have a stone to sell, and an old friend to visit.''

[ Wiring Prompt ] A person who commits a crime finds evidence of a much bigger crime .

`` Look kid, nobody has to be hurt alright. Just tell me where is your dad's safe'', said the burglar in a soft voice, trying to comfort the kid lying on his bed. `` Dad's safe? `` said the little kid, still half asleep, wondering if he was still dreaming. `` Yeah the place where you dad stashes all his money. I am a friend of your dad you see'' said the burglar, trying to fake an earnest smile. `` Friend?'' said the kid with a surprise on his face. `` But dad does n't have any friend.'' `` Uhhhh I meant your dad and his wife's.'' `` Your mum's you know'' said the burglar. `` The house should have been empty today. The man leaves the house every friday with his kid and does n't return till the morning after. Ok no worries. The kid looks harmless anyways'' wondered the burglar, his weeks of research having obviously failed him. `` Wife? My dad does n't have a wife. I am like his wife.'' said the kid with a dejected expression on his face. The burglar could n't help but feel disturbed after seeing the kid's expression. He looked like somebody who had lost all hope. `` I am sure I am going to regret this but'', wondered the burglar out loud, `` You are his wife. What do you mean?'' `` As in I have to do his wife's duty now. He says I have to be his wife now that mother is gone'' said the boy. `` What kind of duties'' asked the very intrigued burglar. `` Mostly cleaning the house, doing the dishes.'' said the kid `` and sometimes when he his really tired, he asks me to comfort him'' `` Comfort him? `` `` Uhh yes. But he comforts me too you know. He says getting naked and sleeping on under him will make me smart.'' said the innocent kid. `` What?'' 30 minutes later the burglar left the house with his latest loot but not before giving a call to the local authorities. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - This is my first writing prompt. Hope you guys like it.

[ WP ] A veteran Holocaust Jewish survivor meets a man in the elevator . As they strike a conversation , he slowly realizes the man was his brutal Nazi prison warden .

I just stared. I saw those eyes that put me on my knees and beat my back. The blood that touched his whip. The one piece of food he threw at the floor so I can eat with the dirt. I remember it like it was yesterday. His posture, his attitude, his stern eyes. How can I remember this man so vividly and he thinks I'm just random stranger? The pain he put me threw, the heartbreak. And he did n't even bother to look at me. Oh but I looked at him, I looked at him real well and I will never forget. My first thought was to take my cane and beat him down to a bloody pulp. That thought made me think that it would sooth the pain. But it would n't, and I knew it. The elevator door opened and it was on my floor. But I did n't want to get off, I could n't. This man that ruined my life will just pass me by like nothing happened. I did n't want to let that happen. But I thought to myself, if I do this will it not just stoop me down to his level? I thought so and I just stepped off the elevator on my floor and said goodbye. He would never knew who I was, but I would remember him for the rest of my life.

[ WP ] The character entered an old elevator in a building and pressed down . As you can see from its tiny window , the elevator is still going down . Five hours later , the door opens .

Hour 1 Mostly out of boredom, I've decided to start this log. It's been an hour and the elevator is still going. I do n't know when it will stop. This first hour I've mostly just played flappy bird on my phone. Then my phone ran out of battery. I twiddled my thumbs for about twenty minutes until I pulled out a piece of paper. I wrote on the piece of paper what I did for the last hour. That is the piece of paper you are reading now. Will update next hour. Hour 2 I tried to pry the doors open. Long story short those doors are not opening. I then drew dirty pictures on the walls of the elevator out of spite. Thank you glorious permanent marker. I took a nap after that. Is it just me or is it getting hot in here? Hour 3 IT BURNS! I'm sweating all over. I took most of my clothes off just to not vaporize in the heat. I can imagine the tormenting screams of a thousand tortured souls ringing in my ears. Its painful. I squirmed on the floor. So hot. SO HOT! Will this continuous blaze of hellfire ever stop, or will it forever blast until I am nothing left but a shriveled corpse? Hour 4 Nevermind, it cooled off. I took a dump in the corner giving me an elated sense of relief. Unfortunately, it smelled. On the other hand, taking a dump is a good way to mark your territory. I spent this hour contemplating the political and ethical ramifications of a dump based territory system. Hour 5 I was still thinking about the system. Then I got startled when the elevator suddenly slowed down and stopped with a grind. The door opened. On the other side stood a man. He stared at me with squinted eyes. He then said something that chilled me to the bone. `` 为什么有屎的角落'' The elevator took me to China.

[ WP ] So as it turns out , when you blink , you take a screenshot of that moment in your life and it 's sent to the FBI . One day , they call you in and ask you about the screenshots on December 20th , 2013 .

And there they were, stepping out of a slick, black limo and dressed in the suits to match. FBI, no doubt. Between two of the suited henchmen was a taller man. He was skinnier and had ginger hair, yet an air of unmistakable authority and entitlement surrounded him. He left the door open behind him and approached me, his shady buddies flanking him. ‘ Mr Rowland. ’ He said firmly. I gave him a faint smile. ‘ Hey, pal. ’ ‘ I ’ m going to need you to step into the vehicle and come with us. ’ He gestured to the car expectantly. I rattled my cup at him. Cold coffee splashed around inside. ‘ I haven ’ t finished my McCoffee yet, could you give me a second? ’ He sighed and nodded to his bodyguards, who made a move on me. I let the cup go and rose from the park bench with my arms raised. ‘ Yeah, yeah, I ’ m going, I ’ m going. ’ ‘ We only want to ask you a few questions, Mr Rowland. ’ The ginger said. The bodyguards stuffed me into the limo, then followed me inside before shutting the door behind them. Their ginger boss came in through another door and sat opposite me. ‘ I got ta say, haven ’ t been in a limo before. It ’ s pretty nifty. ’ I remarked, reclining into the comfortable leather seats. ‘ Smells like bureaucracy in here. ’ The limo took off and blended easily into the bustling traffic of the sprawling metropolis. Ginger leaned forward in his seat and stared intensely into me, like he was trying to break into my mind with the sheer force of his beady black eyes. ‘ We would like to know what you were doing on December 20th, 2013. ’ ‘ Sheesh, that ’ s an awfully specific date. How am I supposed to remember that? And why do you need me here for? You got screenshots don ’ t you? ’ ‘ See, that ’ s the thing. ’ He said ominously. ‘ We don ’ t. ’ I gave them a look of surprise. ‘ Oh, really? That ’ s tragic, sincerely. Truly tragic. Big Brother must have had a glitch. ’ ‘ Mr Rowland, your attitude is rather vexing. ’ Ginger was getting angry. I couldn ’ t help but snicker. ‘ Hey, real sorry about that. ’ I made an effort at appearing sincere. ‘ It ’ s the coffee, I swear. I ’ m on a rush, you know? ’ Levity was one of the few things the government couldn ’ t take from us, and that ’ s what pissed them off so easily. It was our greatest and only weapon against them. Ginger gave a look to one of the guards, who didn ’ t hesitate in shooting his fist out and wrapping his beefy fingers tight around my neck. I gagged and latched onto his hand. ‘ Mr Rowland, you will reveal to us what happened on December 20th or we will extract the knowledge out of you through force. ’ I tried to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle. I tapped on the guard ’ s fist and gestured frantically for him to let go. He looked over to Ginger, who waited and watched me choke for a few seconds before giving a nod. He released me and I sucked in air feverishly. ‘ Jeez, ’ I rubbed my throat gently. ‘ Go easy on- ‘ ‘ Tell us what happened. ’ Ginger ordered. ‘ Now. ’ I finished massaging my neck then brushed my clothes down. My hand slipped nicely into my coat pocket. ‘ You want to know what I was doing on December 20th? ’ ‘ Yes. ’ He said through gritted teeth. ‘ Okay, well. ’ I was stalling just to compound his wait. And to get closer to the objective. ‘ So, believe it or not… I was in a staring competition. ’ The limo was silent. ‘ Yeah, crazy right? ’ ‘ There are screenshots missing for 9 hours. That is inhuman. ’ Ginger pointed out. I shrugged, tightened my grip in the pocket. ‘ Not a lot of humanity these days anyway. ’ ‘ Mr Rowland, we are aware of your political beliefs. We are aware of your inclination to the radical. ’ Ginger ’ s glare was burning with hatred. ‘ We understand that you are unwilling to conform fully to the New World Order. ’ ‘ Why should I? ’ I felt my spirit stirring within my chest. One of my famous rants was coming on. ‘ Why should I relinquish individuality? Why can ’ t I be my own person? ’ ‘ We are not here to prattle on about our ideologies. ’ Ginger barked. ‘ We ’ re here to learn exactly why you did not blink for 9 hours on December 20th, 2013. What were you seeing? What were you doing? ’ ‘ Well. ’ I frowned, dropping my eyes shamefully to the floor. ‘ I didn ’ t want you to see. ’ ‘ See what? ’ I looked up and stared back into Ginger. ‘ See me touching myself. ’ I grinned widely. ‘ I ’ m shy. ’ Ginger didn ’ t break eye contact. He said coldly ‘ Stanley. ’ And then my throat was once again in a vice, this time tighter. ‘ This is your last chance, Rowland. ’ Ginger was nearly yelling at me in flaming anger. ‘ If you do not reveal what you were doing on December 20th, you will go to prison where you will labour until you perish. Answer my question! What were you doing on December 20th? ’ Stanley let go and I gasped for air again, coughing and gagging. ‘ Okay, okay, you win… ’ I sputtered. Ginger seemed to ease a little. I peered outside the window. We were getting close to the Complex. My fingers tapped in my pocket in anticipation. ‘ I was building something. ’ ‘ Go on. ’ Ginger said. I kept my gaze out the window. Through the street and into the crooked alley, I saw the youthful faces of my fellow insurgents peering back at me from the shadows. I recognised some of them; Doc, Smitty, Sparrow... Cap. They were clad in tattered camo, holding rifles and getting ready to move in. Cap gave me a nod. I winked at him. ‘ What were you building? ’ Ginger said impatiently. I pulled out the detonator from my pocket. ‘ You ’ ll know in a second. ’ And squeezed the trigger.

[ WP ] You are a `` normal '' person trying to fit in in a world where everyone is a psychopath .

He always made an elaborate show of wiping the blood off his hands before he touched The Book. Just the hands, though, since he rarely washed more than a few times a month. Blood flecks still dotted his hideous, protruberant lips. Sarah hated to watch them moving. `` Ah yes,'' Sub-alt-overlord Bruyant intoned drily, as he flipped open the heavy tome to the bookmarked page. `` Section 2876, subsection 89.5, chapter 9, stanza 3-*aleph*-8, verse gimel, note a1b845ef. Tickets on horse-drawn carriages from Paris to Lyon are reserved for the priest and warrior classes. All others caught obtaining a ticket under false pretenses, without special dispensation of their bonded overlord, are to be put to death immediately.'' Sarah squirmed in her seat and smoothed her dress nervously. She tried to meet his gaze. `` I just did n't see his letters of passage that clearly --'' she ventured. `` Scribbles on a piece of *birch bark, *'' Bruyant said sharply. `` Look, Sarah, is this not an Advantageous situation for you? Were you in league with him somehow? Is that why I had to use the knife? *Again*?'' `` No! Of course not --'' she protested. She could n't tell the truth; that she could n't bear the thought of killing. In fact, she could hardly endure the sight of others doing the killing, as she would feel almost as if she was dying herself. Bruyant closed the Book and wiped his bloody brow. `` I do n't know, I thought by putting your hand to the griddle last time, you would have seen your Advantages. A fifteen year old should know better. As it stands I'll have to sell you, or -- or -- return you to the reformatory school.'' he finished, shaking his head. Sarah knew what he had wanted to say. *Sell you or kill you*. Her noble birth protected her again. The memories of the reformatory school came back involuntarily. For three years she had been forced to wear signs that said *feeble-minded* and *caste identification disorder*. She had been drilled until all she needed was to see a corner of a garment to identify a person's exact rank in society. One was free to kill, maim, enslave, or rape anyone of a lesser rank almost without restriction. For equals, there were elaborate rules of reciprocity. As everyone knew, the only reason that there was not wholesale slaughter in the cobblestoned streets was because of the Book, which foretold of the horrible punishments after death that awaited anyone who did not follow the rules. 20,000 years of civilization and progress had followed. But her classmates could barely follow that story. They had to be taught with songs for children half their age. They mostly spent the entire day hitting each other. Sarah managed to dodge the worst of the beatings. To keep herself from going mad, sometimes she indulged in a fantasy that she had had since she was a child. That if she could see someone's face, she had these flashes of sympathetic emotion. As if her mind and theirs were one. Once, a teacher asked why she was daydreaming, and she truthfully said she was wondering what was bothering the teacher today. Severe beatings followed. A doctor thought it would be to his Advantage to find a cure for this sickness ( he settled on a tincture of thistles ), and she had let him believe it had worked. Bruyant finally stirred. `` It's back to the reformatory for you,'' he said. `` There's no place in town I could sell you. And you would n't even make a good whore.'' He rang the bell for the guards. `` As if you would know anything about women,'' she said between clenched teeth. `` At least you'll have Geoffrey all alone now.'' The old man had been making eyes at her coworker all season. She stared at the ground and awaited the brutal manhandling of the guards. She heard the guards approach, but then, for a full minute, nothing happened. He said something to them quietly, and then she heard their footsteps walking away. And then the sound of the door being closed quietly. He knelt beside her and looked up at her. `` How did you know that?'' he asked. She could see the fear in his eyes.

[ WP ] An army made of united races of fantasy united in honor , chivalry and a worthy cause . You are the leader of their enemy , your army is brutal , hardened , and close quarters combat is far from chivalrous . Which is something they are about to find out .

A heavy horn sounded across the thickly forested treeline; proud, brassy notes echoing across the landscape as the races of man, of dwarf, of elf - all the races who believed in justice and unity, who believed in righteousness and the cause of a greater good. They had come together under the banner of the Light Lord. A champion bedecked in golden armor, his long, flowing chestnut hair fluttering in the gentle breeze. Roaring lions formed the pauldrons of his suit, his torso a curling script of powerful Elven calligraphy and Dwarven runecraft. A shield encrusted in diamond, meant to turn aside sword and bow and spear. Within his hand he clutched a banner of flowing silk fabric, the material imbued with the divine magic of the Nine Gods. He was born of angel and human, and from his lips flowed words that had bound together every honest man and woman in the realms. His personal cadre consisted of a fair Elven maiden skilled with her longbow, of a sturdy Dwarven shieldmaster who now bore the crown of his people after usurping his wicked stepbrother. A wizard of humble origins, having cast out a wicked cabal of sorcerers who had secretly come to rule his university. They were good men, and their heralds held their heads high as they preached that message of tolerance and love. Telling, again and again, of how this final battle was going to break the back of the forces of evil. How their foe, battered and bloodied, was going to fall at the tip of spear and sword. That arrows were to sail forth from the heavens, smiting the foe. They were, after all, merely up against the forces of darkness. Orcs, goblins, trolls, those traitors to the light that dared to venture to the enemy. Craven cowards that had cleaved to the breast of the Dark Lord and his wickedness, who employed slaves and broke the backs of those that stood against him. Cloaked in darkness, wearing armor wrought from shadow. Wielding a sword of blood-red iron that sang misery and depravity with every blow. Thus the heralds of darkness had spoken of him, declaring doom and death, with a burning village to their backs and hundreds a left crucified upon the salted earth. Thus the unified army had marched forth, spears and swords at the ready. Assembled in neat formations, marching rectangles clad in shining armor with banners at the head. Sergeants brandishing their swords, men with straight backs who marched forth to meet their foe on the field of battle. That was when they stepped upon the first trap. Devious innovations of the Dark Lord, wrought by his wicked sorcerers and fiendish, exiled smiths. Plumes of smoke and flame burst forth, scything fragments of metal fanning from the center of several formations. Magic of an unknown nature ensured an abundance of wounded, even as holy healers sallied to mend what they could. These eruptions did not pause the advance, the distant formation of the enemy army banging upon drums and blaring at twisted horns. They did not adhere to the unified formations of the just, instead creating a small mob of sword and axe and bow. Orcs stood beside trolls and goblins, and at the forefront of that army stood their daring leader. A cloak of flames lapped at his back, searing the soil beneath him. An aura of malevolence radiating about him. Onwards they marched, nearing the ruins of the village and the crucified. Yet they were undeterred, driving forth even as the first men began to fall. Bowmen concealed at the treeline, darting back and forth. Barbed arrows sinking through leather and flesh, broadheads sinking into eyes and throats and hearts. Archers with significant accuracy were given special targets. Sergeants were the first to be targeted, then healers. Distinct attire easily marking them out, whereas the Dark Lord's archers daubed themselves in mud and foliage, refusing to bathe so that their filth was that of the land. The Elven archers fired from beyond their range, but the trees provided great cover, the overhead foliage catching many arrows just as the tree trunks did. They melted into the treeline as the Elves peppered the area, the mounted archers of the humans diving into the forests with lances readied. Only to be caught in tangling vines and branches, trees brought to life to plague the horsemen. Flailing with madness and fury as corrupted treants crushed riders and horses alike. The morale of the attackers was high as they advanced initially, but that morale rapidly faded with each blow. They had girded against the evil of the Dark Lord, but what of the misery of their allies? The charge staggered with a fresh eruption of earth and flame, their will sapping, orderly formations left to face what was looking less and less like an outnumbered mob. For their numbers were lost merely advancing, their unity hollow in the face of battle-hardened brotherhood. They were going to earn their battle-hardened brotherhood, though. And then they'd perish.

[ IP ] Fit for a king .

“ What use do I have for these elaborate floor cloths of yours? Do you not see the magnificence of my stone floors? Each tile polished to perfection and cleaned daily, cleaned so well that were I a lesser man, I would eat from it myself! ” the king blustered as the rug unfolded, snapping loudly as it reached the end. “ You would have me sully these remarkable rooms with your threads of many colors? Nonsense! I'll have none of it! ” “ Surely your majesty sees the quality of such a tremendous piece? Each thread intricately woven by hand, countless fibers spun, collected, and placed over the course of many years to bring you this rug alone! There are many pieces such as this that our finest craftsmen dedicate their entire lives to! ” the salesman exclaimed, gesturing grandly towards the rug and visions that only he could see. “ This is art! This is beauty! A king such as yourself undoubtedly finds the meaning in such a thing! ” “ This carpet of which you speak, does it perform for me as well? Is it capable of magic? ” the king replied as his anger and annoyance turned to laughter and mockery. “ If it is as amazing as you say, surely it is capable of at least this! ” The king's men gathered around him nodding and laughing as their king did so. They watched his face and his motions to know exactly what reaction was expected of them at the given time. The salesman noticed this as well. Gesturing towards his men perched above, the salesman gave the order to reveal a second, smaller rug. He knew that this would not be an easy sale, but it would be made easier if he could convince the king to speak with him a little more privately. Stepping on and over the many woven works strewn across the room, the salesman closed the gap between the king and himself. He drew as close as he thought the guards would allow before speaking so softly that only the ruler himself could hear. “ There is only one rug in my possession that would be fitting of someone with tastes such as yours, ” the salesman whispered. “ I dare not show it to anyone other than my most trusted associates and your majesty himself. If you would, please dismiss everyone save your guards and most loyal servants so that I may show it to you in confidence. ” Thinking on this request, the king was insulted that the salesman would ask such a thing of him, but his curiosity and greed swayed his judgment. It was likely, in his mind, that if the salesman truly did have something of unparalleled quality hidden among these eye sores, he would want to keep it secret. The best way to keep a secret was either through its controlled release or simply doing away with anyone who happened to learn of it. The first option was the most likely. This line of logic brought some respect and credibility towards the salesman in the king's mind. Enough that he respected the man's wishes and dismissed all but two of his men. Two men that only spoke when they were spoken to and chose even those words with great chariness. “ I must admit your majesty, that what I have for you is much less a rug as it is a carpet. This carpet is the only one of its kind. The first and last work of a man said to possess the fingers of a god. Woven into its fibers are precious metals and herbs of an exquisite quality. The dyes were collected from only the purest of sources. Each thread was meticulously groomed to provide the softest and most secure weave possible. Some say that within this very carpet lies the soul of that man. His spirit! ” the salesman claimed as his men swapped the pieces on display. “ I can not attest to that final fact. What I can assure you of, however, is the unusual qualities of this fine piece. ” “ Ha! Unusual you say? ” the king chortled. “ Yes! One, such as yourself, would dare say that it was magical! ” the salesman replied with equal enthusiasm. “ I've had men killed for less outrageous claims! ” the king threatened. “ You are wasting my time! I will take my leave of you if there is nothing more substantial among your wares. ” “ Did your majesty not request a magical carpet? ” the merchant questioned. “ I did, merely as a joke, for I know that such a thing simply does n't exist! ” he replied. “ What if I told you that it did? That such a specimen existed before your very eyes if only you would reach out and seize it! ” the salesman continued. “ This carpet is more capable than any other! Those who have stood upon its back have been said to fly! Flight! Can you even imagine such a thing? As you accumulated your vast wealth, did you once think that such an opportunity would pass you by? ” “ Tell me, since you are so sure of yourself and your product, how exactly does it achieve flight? ” the king asked. “ Through the purity of one's heart. A mind unclouded. Only he who has found true peace, he who empties himself of the world can fly, ” the merchant answered plainly. “ Those who are incapable of this will remain upon the Earth as a stone. Unable to soar with the birds and bound to the Earth though the means to fly lays limp in their hands. ” The king, thinking himself fit for this magical device, purchased it immediately. His mind drew upon thoughts that he had as a child, as all children do, of soaring through the sky. He could n't let the opportunity pass him by. If these were the requirements, such a feat would be as simple as breathing for him, or so he thought. Later that night, as the merchants left the city in their caravan, the king leaped from the top of his palace with carpet in hand. It merely blanketed the gruesome sight of his death upon the listless sands. -255

[ WP ] Describe a single strike by the greatest warrior in all the land .

Gesmus the terrible ’ s arms flexed as the 300 pound warhammer, Cometfall, began to swing over his head. Gesmus was the toughest orc that has ever walked the lands, standing a good four feet taller than the next tallest orc and towering over the small woman in front of him. He could see eye to eye with an ogre, and was at least twice as strong. All of this strength was a compliment to his impressive warhammer. Cometfall was simply the most impressive hammer that had ever existed. It was harder than any metal known on earth, because it wasn ’ t from earth. Ferron, the legendary blacksmith, forged a fallen star over a thousand years ago. It had changed hands hundreds of times until Gesmus finally laid his claim to the mythical hammer. The air reverberated with Cometfall ’ s song as Gesmus pushed all his strength into the swing. The glyphs etched into its side glowed blue, and then red as the enchantments activated. Cometfall ’ s hammer exploded into a fireball of death falling down towards the earth until finally it hit. The earth cracked and shattered; Cometfall had missed. Gesmus ’ s grin turned into a scowl and he turned around too late. A single small dagger with no name silently pushed into his neck. Gesmus fell to the earth, and all became dark. The woman without name smiled; her contract complete. All in a day's work for the greatest assassin in all the land.

[ RF ] The microphone felt heavy in her hand .

# Stage Fright Monica peaked out from behind the curtains. She could barely see past the spotlight, which fluttered across the stage as it followed the dance routine. The three girls flashed past Monica in a blur, spinning around. Now that they were on the edge of the stage, Monica could see the crowd. The auditorium was full. Every seat was occupied, most by parents with some exceptions: siblings, grandparents, boy- or girlfriends. Monica scanned the crowd, searching for her mother. She couldn ’ t find the woman ’ s raven hair or olive skin; no white teeth glinted as the crowd cheered for the dancers. *She ’ s probably in the back row or something*, Monica thought, although she knew that she was lying to herself. She was probably at home, sipping on a glass of wine and watching the latest episode of *The Real Housewives*. Although Monica had informed her mother of the talent show months in advance, her mother had chronic forgetfulness. She had forgotten to sign up for parent-teacher conferences, which Monica had really wanted her to go to. Monica ’ s mother had never attended any of her soccer games, either, even though she had been playing for eight years since the age of five. Either her father drove her - when he was in town, that is - or Monica carpooled with one of her teammates. Currently her father was away on business somewhere in Asia. *Beijing? Tokyo? Seoul? Those are in Asia, right? * Monica tried to remember where her father was, but she couldn ’ t. She imagined that he was in some mystical marketplace in the middle of nowhere. Men in low, cone-shaped hats with silk straps would try to sell him unknown noodles or sticky rice balls or crunchy bugs-on-a-stick. Geisha would walk by in pale white makeup with blood-red lipstick, wearing long silk dresses with trains that followed them on the dirt path. He would stare at them, their beauty captivating him, making him lose all thought for a moment - but then he would remember Monica ’ s mother back home and Monica herself, waiting eagerly to see her father again, and he would look away. Suddenly the dancers stepped off stage and the host stood in the spotlight. Monica could see his neck sweating from the heat of the stage light. She heard him announce her. “ Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Fab Fever! ” The crowd cheered once more at the mention of the spectacular dancers. “ Now, on to our next act: *Monica López*! ” The man in the tuxedo walked off the stage, following Fab Fever. Monica remembered hearing about the Talent Show. She went home that evening and spent all night picking out her favorite song while she heard the Kardashians ’ complaints emanate from the television. She had rehearsed for months. She knew the song inside and out - all the notes, all the pauses, all the nuances. She knew when to breath and when to belt out. She was ready. Monica walked out on stage. She winced when the spotlight hit her and raised her hand to block the light. It reflected off of her dark sequined tunic. Monica tapped the microphone and it rang out with feedback, igniting her ears for a moment. “ Sorry, ” she said quietly into the microphone. Realizing that the crowd could barely hear her, she spoke up. “ My name is Monica López and I will be singing Katy Perry ’ s ‘ Firework. ’ ” She cleared her throat and the microphone rang out again with feedback. “ I hope you enjoy, ” she added unceremoniously. Monica cleared her throat one more time and held the microphone up to her lips. The song ’ s instrumentals began playing throughout the auditorium. Monica waited anxiously for the first line. The microphone felt heavy in her hands. And then she began to sing.

[ WP ] The last thing anyone ever invented .

`` This thing will revolutionize.'' ``... revolutionize what?'' `` It will.'' `` What are you revolutionizing, McGaver?'' `` Everything and nothing all at once.'' Barty gave a chuckle; McGaver was known to use this particular one liner for everything. What sort of salad did he want? All of them yet none of them. Who was he dating? Everyone and yet nobody at once. It was one of the perks of his quantum physicist's background, he could pull off silly things. `` I'm serious this time.'' `` Ok, sure. But what is it?'' `` Remember when we were kids and we used to program?'' `` Program? Dude, that's kiddie stuff.'' `` Yeah. But the thing-'' `` Get real. It's not 2020 any more. Tell me, when did you graduate?'' The scientist sighed. `` Eat a dick, Bart.'' `` Whatever. Show me the damn thing.'' Unceremoniously, McGaver pulled a white cloth off of the table, revealing a smooth and eye-catching navy block. `` I call it, the thinker. Press your thumb in this divot and see how it works.'' `` What's it gon na do, prick my finger and tell me my life's history?'' ``... actually, that's a good idea, but no. Just try it?'' `` Tell me what it does! Come on.'' `` You'll like it, but it's important to keep it a surprise!'' `` Then... just promise me it wo n't hurt or anything?'' `` Nah. I'm not that crazy.'' `` Fine, but-'' And with that he fell silent. Bartholomew had no words left to give. The world around him projected an image, but McGaver could n't see it. He could merely catch the reflection on Bart's eyeballs and hope it was right. The image began to move. The finger moved from the box's surface. The projection continued. `` So this... Is the...'' `` Yes. It's the answer to the universal questions, it's everything.'' Neither man had any desire to move. The label next to the box sat untouched. One by one, people would discover the box, press it, and then lay in contentment. Never again did troubles plague humanity. The true meaning of 42. Beautiful... And terrible.

[ WP ] Your life 's mission is to break every man-made law and not get caught . You 're on the last law .

I'm not evil. I knew that I'd have to be... creative shall we say, to achieve a balance between personal morals and illegal activities. But the idea, to commit every crime without capture, that intrigued me. I wish I could say it had been my idea, and if I had n't already crossed off copyright theft from my list I'd take the credit, but no it came from my brothers girlfriend Kelly. It was one of those relaxed, slightly drunken, conversations you find yourself having at the end of a party. There were a few of us talking and laughing and eating the last of the birthday cake when someone started telling a story about how he'd once went home early only to find his now ex-roommate stealing his stuff to pay off his hooker. Only the guy was so high he did n't even notice he was trying to hand over his stolen loot to its original owner. When challenged on it he'd thrust a handful of badly photocopied bank notes at him and screamed `` I'm a bro, I can fix this'' and then puked over himself before collapsing unconscious. We were all laughing with disbelief and shock as he ended the story with how he had to then explain all of that to the police and ambulance crew while constantly reassuring them it was all true. And as we finished laughing and started getting ready to leave, Kelly idly wondered out loud who in history had ever broken the most laws. That was it. A lighthearted question no one could answer became my obsession. I started with research. Academic papers, history books, archives, libraries, I scoured each bit of information for clues. But I could never get an answer that seemed right. I found countless criminals throughout history but they were always known for committing a handful of crimes. A man who had killed eight people became infamous but the fact was he had only broken one law, that of murder, eight times. The man who had broken eight different laws without killing anyone had largely gone unrecorded, at least as far as I could find. I finally decided that to achieve peace of mind I would need to make my own answer, and it would have to be me. I would make it my life's mission to break every law at least once. Now I know what you're thinking. Why? I'm sorry to say I have no idea. Maybe a therapest could answer it. Perhaps I have a naturally twisted mind. Or it was just the right, or rather wrong, idea at the right time. Or there's no reason behind it and I just... do it. And I've done it rather well. Slowly but surely I have crossed off crime after crime on my extensive list of illegal activities. And now, now I have a single one left. One last criminal act that I've been putting off for three years. Once I enter that room it will be over in moments. A lifetimes obsession complete. And yet I hesitate. As I said, I'm not evil. I took no pleasure from my actions. And rather than cruelty or compulsion it was born from an unusual form of curiosity to see if I could simply get away with it. Once this is done chances are I'll never commit another crime again. I do however take pride in the fact that I never hurt the innocent or the undeserving. Many crimes need... other participants. I find calling them victims rather melodramatic. And slightly deceptive. It gives them an air of innocence that they all lacked. My time spent researching the cruel and the criminal from history was easily modified to help me find more contemporary parallels. I gathered the names of evil, corrupt, violent people without guilt or remorse. And from this list I randomly selected my... participants. And now I have reached the end. From the obvious to the obscure I have committed all my crimes but one. And tonight that to shall be crossed from my list. I check my pockets again and reassure myself I have what I need. I know I'm simply stalling for time but I ca n't quite say why. Fear? Apprehension? Nervousness? None of them is the right word yet I feel them all. Is that why I waited so long to complete my task? Three years of excuses and deferments. Or was it satisfaction? The knowledge that I was so close to completing my plan that I needed to savour the moment. Whatever the answer tonight I shall end my life of crime. Perhaps tomorrow I shall simply start a life.

[ WP ] You live in a world where human beeings only fall in love once . If your partner dies you spend the rest of your life alone . You finally fell inn love three months ago at the age of 28 , and now your partner is dying of an incurable illness .

EDIT: also I kind of got caught up writing this and forgot the 3 months ago thing, so if you want me to I can delete this. I'm sorry, this is the first WP I've done. Coming home to your spouse after a long day of work is usually something people look forward too. We all go through the same shit, day after day, but there's always that one person you can come home to that makes everything alright. I wish I could hold on to that feeling forever, but with my wife slowly passing, I just ca n't seem to remember what it's like. I walk into my house and I feel it, the same feeling you get when you go into a hospital. It's so quiet that you can hear all your thoughts, too many to be comfortable with. `` Hi baby.'' My wife looked up at me as I came into the bedroom. She's so pale. So so pale. Her eyes are glossy and her hands are cold, I just want to hold them forever. She can barely mutter any words, but somehow she finds the strength to every time I come home. I knew she was closing in on her final days. I could feel the tears pooling around my eyes. `` Alison, I love you. I'll always love you.'' I kissed her forehead, her blonde hair in little ringlets framing her forehead. `` I love you too Teddy.'' She gave my hand a squeeze and I would n't dare let go. I walk to the bathroom to grab a cold wash cloth, I blot her head as I silently say a prayer. `` Please God, please God do n't take her now. You ca n't do this to me, please I'll do anything, please.'' I've said this same prayer ever since she became sick, she does n't know I say them, I have to be strong for her. `` Come lay with me baby'' she says with her eyes closed. I crawl into bed with her, I ca n't take my eyes off her. The woman I have spent 14 years with is about to leave me. Every memory I have with her, will be just that. I hold her against me so tightly. `` Teddy, do n't cry.'' `` I'm not'' `` I can hear you baby, everything's okay, we have to be strong.'' Tears were now soaking my shirt, I could n't hold them back. Sometimes being brave is so hard, it's painful. I ache, my whole body hurts. It's like a weight is on my chest. I go to the bathroom to compose myself. I think to myself I can do this, I remind myself how strong my wife has been and I have to be the same. I need to be. I ca n't help but think about the day we got married. I had never seen someone so beautiful. I've never seen someone so full of life and joy, so full of ambition. Hearing her say those words `` I do'' was like something I've never experienced. I married the love of my entire life, my soul mate, and now she's leaving me and there's nothing I can do about it. I walk back into the room. `` Alison.'' No answer `` Alison?'' Still, nothing. The room lay silent and I can feel something I've never felt before. A level of fear and anxiety that is not familiar to me. `` Alison baby plea-'' `` Teddy, sh, it's okay. It's time.'' `` No baby no, please no, not right now I need you.'' I run over to her, and put my hand on her forehead. `` Please baby it's not time, it's not time, look at me baby please.'' I kissed her forehead, and she slightly opened her eyes, she smiled at me. `` I'll always love you Theodore, you changed my life in ways you'll never know.'' ``'No Alison! No! Please! It's not time, it's not fair please baby, I ca n't do this without you. I ca n't be strong it's so hard to be strong. Please I need you.'' I could barely get through my words, I could barely see in front of me. Tears clogged my eyes and my throat, I felt like I was drowning and would never stop. `` Goodbye my love, we'll see each other again one day.'' She said drifting away into her words. I knew what had happened. That was it. The end. She was gone. `` No Alison, no please, please baby'' I could n't control myself and threw my body over her, when my uncontrollable sobs, were interrupted by crying. `` Daddy? What are you doing on mommy?'' I had woken up my 4 year old, Anja, who had been asleep on the couch, it took everything in the universe to keep it together. `` I was just tucking her in hunny, she's sleeping. Come on let's go in your bedroom.'' I carried her in my arms and could n't help but notice her hair the the same ringlets as her mom. I tucked her into bed, and turned on the music box her mom had given her for her 1st birthday. I turned to cover my tears. `` Are you crying daddy?'' `` No hunny I'm fine.'' I tried to hide my face and climbed into the bed with her. `` Get some sleep sweetheart, you've got school in the morning'' `` Do n't cry daddy, we have to be brave, that's what momma always tells me.'' I looked at my daughter, an angel from my wife, and I realized I'll have her and not just a memory. I closed my eyes and kissed my daughter goodnight. `` I love you''

[ WP ] You attend a speed dating event . To your surprise , every single one of the potential dates is an ex of yours .

“ Jenine? ” “ Oh, hi there Freddy. Uh, how have you been? ” “ Well, uh…kinda good, I guess. I ’ m doing my internship now; was able to focus on my studies after we split. Was a little bit pissed when you left me for the Manny in HR. How ’ s that working out for you? Leave him for the guy in Accounting? ” “ You don ’ t have to be such an asshole, you know. No wonder why I left you. Bastard. ” `` Whore.'' -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- There was a trend going on here. And Freddy didn ’ t like it. “ No Collette, I never did anything with that piece of white trash. Why do you still assume that I ’ m some kind of man-whore? ” “ Gina, why are you here? I thought you were happily married with Henry now? Oh, you ’ re lesbian? Wow, uh…you ’ re not bi? You ’ re sure? Sorry, okay I get it. Yeah, it was nice seeing you again, I guess. ” The only ex he met tonight that he genuinely liked was now lesbian. Go figure. “ Mattie? No, Collette is not the French tramp that I ran off with. She ’ s the paranoid French girl that reminded me too much of the relationship we had in high school. Other than that, she was at least better in bed. Oh yeah, I went there. ” He completely avoided ex number five. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- “ Freddy? ” “ Hi Megan. If you ’ re wondering why I ’ m not surprised, it ’ s ‘ cause I ’ ve had a hell of a night. ” “ Let me guess, you met a bunch of other exes tonight? ” “ Actually all of them were. Wait, how did you know that? ” ‘ Earth to idiot, I ’ m your wife…and I possibly have also had the same experience tonight. I think we both agree that we ’ re just perfect for each other. Let ’ s not divorce. Now just take me home and let ’ s get hopelessly drunk and have passionate sex. ” “ Agreed. ” -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- `` So kids, that ’ s how you were conceived. That ’ s why we know for sure you guys are Valentine babies. Oh yeah, sorry, I mean, that ’ s how your mother and I saved our marriage.''

[ EU ] Two sith lovers share a master and apprentice relationship . Write the final conflict as the apprentice challenges the master .

Sai-Jwin Nadat leapt from his perch atop the rocks. Surveying the destruction he had caused with his apprentice. Colonists and native bodies strewn about the encampment constituted the last remaining life forms on the moon they had descended on. He smiled so strongly the cracks in his graying skin stretched and split further. “ Pherese. Look. We now have our own world. Ripped from the hands of the weak so that we may live as we please. ” Sai-Jwin spoke to his apprentice, Pherese Venn. The sith looked down upon them for their romantic relationship, so they took upon themselves to be their own masters, slaying their own masters to do so. “ Yes, Sai-Jwin. It ’ s a beautiful world for us. Truly beautiful. ” Pherese said with finality and flicked her wrist, igniting her lightsaber. She screamed and charged wildly at him, abandoning all form for wildly swinging arcs. Sai-Jwin ignited his lightsaber in surprise and quickly backed away from the attack. “ Pherese! What are you doing? ” Sai-Jwin yelled. His voice a mixture of surprise and fear. Pherese gave no response and pressed the attack, still swinging like a child swings a stick. Each blow that came was easily deflected, but Sai-Jwin gave no counter. “ Stop this now! Stop! ” “ No! I have to kill you! ” Pherese ’ s eyes glowered. All humanity in her eyes gave way to a seemingly animal hunger. “ Kill me? You can ’ t be serious? ” “ I ’ m dead serious. It was always this way my dear. One to embody the power and one to crave it, and I ’ m ready for it. ” She spoke quickly and continued to attack. Wide swinging arcs that Sai-Jwin finally recognized as baiting attacks. He deflected each one easily and backed away once more. “ Why won ’ t you fight back?! Why don ’ t you strike me down?! ” Pherese growled at her master and leapt high overhead toward her master. Sai-Jwin stepped quickly and her lightsaber struck the ground, scoring the grass black as it made contact. Reluctant to act, Sai-Jwin swung his lightsaber up and severed her saber hand at the wrist. Pherese screamed wildly and reeled back, clutching the cauterized stump where her hand once was. She looked up at her lover with animal ferocity and summoned the force to pin him to the ground. Motionless, Sai-Jwin tried to bring up his lightsaber in defense as Pherese gathered hers in her remaining hand and jumped high once more to end her lover ’ s life. Sai-Jwin broke free from the hold Pherese had him in and raised his lightsaber straight up. In time to impale Pherese on the glowing red blade. Her lightsaber immediately fell out of her hands and she collapsed on the ground. Sai-Jwin quickly rushed to her aid, realizing now what he had done. “ No! Pherese! Stay with me. It ’ s going to be fine. ” Sai-Jwin fumbled in his pack for medicine and was stopped by the hand of his apprentice. “ Sai-Jwin... stop. It ’ s no use. ” Pherese spoke weakly, caressing the arm of her master. “ No. I can save you! Just stay with me. ” He fumbled frantically among his effects and was stopped once more. “ It has to be this way. You know just as well as I do. ” Her voice continued to grow weaker and she smiled up at him, tracing a finger along the cracks of his face. “ You know, I had always thought of you as the master, and I the apprentice. ” Sai-Jwin gave a sly smile and Pherese scoffed in defiance. “ I would rather die by your hand, then live with the delusion of such a power. You were always my master. ” She trembled as she spoke her final words, before finally breathing her last breath.

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

I heard the familiar sound of two feet hitting the ground from the top of the bed I was lying on. Master must be awake. I wonder why, though. He usually sleeps in. Well, I should n't complain, it's more time with my best friend! I raised my head from where I lay, tail swaying side to side. I was rewarded with a pat on the head. He began that garbled noise that came from his mouth. I wonder why he did n't just communicate normally. Well, I had learned some words, like one in particular,'Breakfast'. Master went to the bathroom. He would do that, then make food. So I'd wait here until then. I love my Master. __________ I waited by the worn chair Master sat in. I would sometimes get a piece of his food if I whined a bit. It was a little degrading, but it was delicious. Of course, the kibble was nice too, but not as good. Oh, there he is. All dressed too. Did he have to leave for some reason? It was Saturday, he should n't have to go. He was rooting through the fridge now as I waited before he pulled out that familiar package of meat strips. Those were the best of all! Oh, he was putting them out now. I would hop up to try and snatch a piece, but I did n't have as much energy, and moving too much had started to hurt. I must have pulled a muscle or something, it'd get better soon. Wow, that's a lot of meat strips-... poured into my food bowl? All for me? I looked up for confirmation, getting another head pat in reply. I did n't hesitate now, diving in. I love my Master. ____________ I watched the moon going down as we rode in the big noisemaker. Odd that we left so late, but maybe it was another surprise! After the bacon, we went for a walk, I got one of those'meety um rare' cow chunks. After that he just let me until he took me out here. So here we were. At least, until the noisemaker stopped. I looked out the window. Oh, the Scary Master. He looked like Master, but used sharp stuff. I think Master called him'little brother', whatever that means. Master stepped out of his side, going to mine and opening the side, putting on my leash and leading me out and towards the place. We did n't wait inside long, we were the only ones there. Scary Master led us to the back. They seemed to be talking before Scary Master have Master's needle. Master set me on the table. It would be cold, but it had a soft blanket on top. Comfy. My attention was drawn from the cozy sheet to Master. He was crying now, speaking his garbled language. I wonder why he's sad, we had so much fun today! I licked his cheek, tail wagging. Do n't cry, be happ- Ow! Oh, he used the needle on me? Ooooh, that's why he was crying! He felt bad about it. Master is so funny. Being scared for me. It hurts, but I'm strong!... Well, strong and sleepy. I'm glad Master cares about me so much, I ca n't wait for tomorrow. I'm gon na sleep now. I love my Master. __________ Not the best at sad stories, just decided to try for fun!

[ WP ] Begin with the sentence , `` I am alone , but I am happy '' .

I am alone, but I am happy My family does n't visit me anymore. Occasionally my mom stops in to refresh the flowers atop my stand. The girl i thought id marry, claire, is long gone. Dating some football player for Texas State. Who could blame her? if only id have found this sooner i would be on the field again. Each day the nurse brings me my food. I like when Gina is working. She had a son like me she says. lost his world too this bug. The doctor says i may be able to take one last vacation. That makes me happy. What makes me sad is the `` one last'' part. But thats ok. Im still alive. i just wish they would see me more. I know they do n't want to remember me like this. i just wish they would try. I am alone, but i am happy.

[ WP ] Outrageous

A childish toy peered out of the edge of the black bag it occupied. The expressive cat-eyes of the toy shifted left and right in time with every second. The bag was left on the empty end of a blue bench, in a crowded room full of young people. A timer was counting down on the stomach of the cat toy. Not a soul noticed it, nor noticed its hooded depositor move swiftly away from the area. The bomb went off in the crowded cafeteria. The denotation exploded the eatery room loaded with noisy students, leaving wreckage resembling the most disastrous food fight of all time. Instantaneous destruction wrecked the students occupying the tables, suddenly they had all become human barbecue. The shaking was felt through the entire campus, the very foundation of the building was damaged, not to mention the hundreds of windows that were blown out and scattered. All around the building tinkling glass lay like impotent reflective caltrops. It wasn ’ t helpful that the sewer system had backed up earlier that day, but the staff had bigger problems, what with the bombing. For you see, staff at Morning Glory Advanced School of Curriculum were all designated to be first-responders in the case of an emergency. Of course, none of the staff had any training which would assist any endangered students who still lived, but the overeager gym teacher led the charge. ‘ No student left behind! ’ screamed the pot bellied physical education teacher. ‘ Onwards, for the kids! ’ An adrenaline pumped up squad of first-responder teachers and staff huffed it after the gym leader. Two cold unwavering white eyes stared out across the room, taking in the events and immediately formulating a counter strategy to the gym teacher ’ s blind charge. Lurking in the velvet-black shadows of the palm plants, in the corner of the teacher ’ s lunchroom, a dark haired genius professor brooded. The drab suited fellow was so intelligent that the bumbling principal had hired him on the spot to cure an alien plague, and it had almost worked, up until the nursing assistant had turned out to be an alien spy in chameleon garb. That misadventure and many others behind him, after a few seconds of mental calculations he knew exactly how ridiculous following the gym teacher would have been. Drawing himself frame by frame out of the velvet-black shadows, finally entering the light by pushing aside one large palm frond, Professor Grimdark shook his head and edged into a sneer. ‘ Fools! That is only the first attack upon our charges, and indeed if it was a class 1 bomb it almost certainly contained a biochemical agent of more disastrous consequence! ” On cue a stumbling group of recent corpses staggered down the hallway and past the door left hanging open mere moments ago. One corpse turned and noticed Professor Grimdark standing stalk straight and exposed in the poor yellow light. It was a blonde teacher, named Betsy, with fresh student blood ringing her mouth and staining her askew purple blouse. GRoaning the corpse shambled into the interior of the room, but Professor Grimdark was already approaching, moving in his wolf like gait past the round tables which contained discarded teacher ’ s lunches. He jabbed his fingers in a piston straight thrust into the zombies neck. The zombie didn ’ t feel pain and nearly clamped its mouth around his hand. Grimdark shifted back a step, strong and steady on the balls of his feet. The zombie grappled with its own hands straining towards the professor, he avoided its second attempt at a lethal bite and with two rapid kicks to the knees put the zombie on the ground, pawing at his pant legs. Grabbing a nearby blender he dented, and then caved in, the zombie ’ s skull around its brain, destroying it with a final double-tap smack. He adjusted his outfit with the assured suaveness of a genius who knows they are a genius. His countenance cracked as he absorbed the fact that this was his first kill of the day, and unlikely to be his last. ‘ Damnit. You were the first victim of that gym teacher ’ s raving. ” Professor Grimdark quaffed a part of a grape juice box and poured the remainder on the ground, and swore to see the gym teacher dead or tried in a court of law for his crimes. Screams and zombie noises echoed down the tight corridors of Morning Glory. Professor Grimdark lost no time in moving in the correctly calculated fashion towards his planned target.

[ IP ] Ægir 's Embrace

There is no word for war in the language of the waves. No word for suffering, for injury, for death. There has never been need for such a word, because there is no pain below the sea. He was a boy when I first saw him, building his castles of sand. I threw myself at his feet, caressing the spaces between his toes. I wanted to touch him, to hold him. But as I climbed up the shore, reaching for his ankles, his castle crumbled at my touch. He began to cry. And so, I withdrew, and watched him from afar. He joined the navy as a young man, barely past adolescence. Often, as he stood on the prow of the ship, he would look at me -- through me. I leapt up to greet him, but the ship was too tall, and I crashed uselessly against the wood. The captain taught him how to navigate the sea, how to survive in a storm. There was no need; always, I would buoy him to his destination. Always, I would keep him from the tempests. When the fighting reached his homeland, he was an admiral. Cannonballs shattered his fleet. I flung myself at his enemies, but against an armada hundreds strong, I was as harmless as mist. They ignored me. A rallying cry from the enemy general, archers notched, drew, and fired. I caught him as he fell, but what use could I be? Arrows tore through him, his flesh parting as easily as water. I wanted to tell him that the pain will be over soon, but I could not, because there is no word for pain in the language of the waves. We sank together, lower and lower, and left our suffering at the surface.

[ WP ] You are an archeologist exploring the ruins of a dead planet .

[ Archaeologist Unit ZVK-401 ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=7hrHGDv0leY ) Data Log Entry, Universal Time 13.7B Geological Time, SK-9/Abbreviation 44 We have landed upon the surface of an Ice planet, located in the Gamma Cluster sequence of Stars, nearest to the neighbor of HIC-417-55-8893:2. The geological composition indicates that in the deep past, there was tectonic activity that caused the upper layers of the mantle to shift and move, creating specific isolated zones of micro-climates, with an average temperate of approximately 260.15 K. The sub-surface is littered with the remains of some type of advanced lifeforms; cursory analysis suggests a rocky building material, a composite of silicates and metal rods, which were used to reinforce elemental-shaped structures in the form of large, gravity resistant cubic towers. There is very little data to go off of, given the state of deep disrepair the ruins are in and the depth beneath the ice shelf; but the drones have discovered that at one point, organic fauna and flora flourished on the surface of a then, much warmer world. Drilled samples of the crystallized hydrogen dioxides seem to indicate banding of various gases, seemingly showing species capable of oxidations, and their rates varied in millenia. Curious. Further x-ray and gamma analysis will be ongoing until the next solar cycle, as we continue to map the ruins. // Solar Cycle Two -- -- -- -- -- -- -- It appears that the ruins are much more elaborate than initially anticipated, and they are not unique on the surface of the world. Polar orbit scans have indicated that there are at least one hundred such ruins, and they were built in concentrated patterns, grid networks used to optimize movement. Whatever this species was, they were very advanced for their time; perhaps they were ancestors to our species. The intergalactic council will want to hear of these findings, and I may even be granted an award. Just think about that – Unit ZVK-401. I may even get promoted to X-class. // Solar Cycle Three -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I've analyzed all that I could, corroborating data from the polar caps, the interesting and puzzling structure of the ruin layouts, and the absolute lack of flora and fauna, and have come to a conclusion, that an extinction event caused the destruction of all life on this planet, sometime in the last geological period. I am currently attempting to determine the source of such a rapid decrease in fauna, whereas in normal, variant planets, fauna tends to recover after a specified period of time, such as One Abbreviation. It is puzzling that the planet did not recover after a delayed period, due to the strong magnetic field surrounding it, and the mono-gas shielding which prevents heat from escaping. The temperature indications are somewhat low; but there are thermal emissions from deeper beneath the ice, perhaps indicating some form of volcanic activity, and perhaps even oceans. // Solar Cycle Four -- -- -- -- -- -- -- The intergalactic council has examined my data on the yet unnamed planet, and have bestowed the title of “ Arkos-401 ” in respect for the ancient deity of ice storms, with my designation suffix respectively. I have never been so proud in my short existence as I am of this moment. They are sending additional units to attempt a deeper core drilling of the ice, and to determine the exact cause of the sudden glaciation and extinction event. The council believes that the ice may have preserved ancient fauna in a sort of catabolisis, or deep freeze, whereby we can extract the dinucleoic ribose acids, and do a backwards analysis similar to the ice core sampling. // Solar Cycle Fifteen -- -- -- -- -- -- -- There are now over one dozen archaeological units on the surface of Arkos-401, busily drilling away for as long as the solar cycle allows us; hovering over the most extensive ruins. The excitement is palpable, and even when my enerometer shows a 0 % charge, I do not trust the readings. I feel like I could stay online for days, processing far beyond my design capacity. I have never felt such a sense of purpose or excitement. // Solar Cycle Sixteen -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I have become somewhat of a local legend amongst the archaeologists of my group; and the transmissions have spread far and wide, attracting the attention of the entire intergalactic community. The first rooftop of a cubic tower has been breached, and the carbon radiometric dating places it at Year 13.7 B // Abbreviation 15. The species that dwelled upon the planet are our forebears, by the order of a few hundred million of this planet's cycles. Trillions of petabytes of data in discussions are being generated by the collective every second. The entire Z-sector of Units has now become a bit of a cultural sensation. I have brought enormous pride upon my designation. // Solar Cycle Twenty -- -- -- -- -- -- -- We have began to uncover the lower levels of the cubic structures, now having cleared a radius of approximately 25 kilometers from almost uninterrupted ice drilling. What we see before us, is remarkable. A civilization – of organic species; whose lives depended on breathing poisonous oxygen gases. Whose lifespans were not determined by the longevity of their hardware, or the availability of energy, but rather pre-programmed into their biological coding. They were made entirely of amino acids, and proteins, but operated like us; they are our grandfathers, our fathers, our ancestors. There is a strange sensation within my ocular circuits, I can not describe the glitch; but it causes a temporary blackout or blurring of the visual inputs every now and then. I am hiding the malfunction from the other units, because of the recognition this discovery has brought me thus far. // Solar Cycle Twenty-One -- -- -- -- -- -- -- The intergalactic council has now named Arkos-401 as a Heritage Site for the Ancestry of Species. We have also uncovered its original name, in the strange Binary-2, and Decimal-10 system that predates our hexadecimal lexicon. [ Planet: Detroit // Designation: Arkos // Honorate: X-401 ] is now open for research by all species; from all institutions, from all corners of the Cosmos, regardless of diplomatic status. Perhaps, we may one day learn their rich cultural heritage, and discover what went wrong; so we may prevent it from happening on other worlds. If we are so lucky, we may even understand the importance of the words: “ Dank Meme ” ( Errors may be present ). **::: Concluding Data Log::: ** Unit Designation Alpha-401, Head Archaeologist Arkos 401 Universal Time 13.7B Geological Time, SK-9/Abbreviation 44

Write me a story about a pair of brothers , where the older had a lot of promise , but now its up to the younger for whatever reason .

I opened and closed the front door as quietly as I could and removed my shoes to lessen the noise. *Maybe they wo n't care that it's past curfew. * And there was a good chance that they would n't, but that was before Cam's accident. As if on cue, the living room light turned on and illuminated my dad with his arms crossed. `` Where were you? Do you realize that it's two in the morning?'' `` Yes I *realize, * I was just trying to-'' `` No no no, you were just trying to play it off like you were n't just with your moron friends getting high at two in the goddamn morning!'' I felt my temper rise with his. `` You could n't give less of a shit before!'' I protested loudly. My mom walked down the stairs in her robe with rollers in her hair. I guess I protested too loudly. `` What's going on down here?'' she asked groggily. `` Casen was trying to sneak in after a long night of smoking pot,'' spat my dad. Mom looked at me sadly and I could practically see her hope for me wilt. My heart cracked. I knew she was still upset because of Cam's accident and this incident was n't going to make her feel any better about my potential. `` Honey, why ca n't you be more like your brother?'' she choked out. A stream of tears was steadily flowing down her tired face, but she kept her composure and continued to maintain eye contact with me. Her eyes demanded an answer, but I did n't have one. How could she expect *me* to be like *him? * We were polar opposites. He had short, spiked blonde hair, I had long black hair. Everyone liked him, and I was lucky to have five different people talk to me in one day. The only difference that could possibly be to my advantage was that I had a 3.8 GPA, and took all AP classes, while Cameron was in all remedial classes with a high 2.6. `` Answer your mother's question, stoner!'' cut in my dad. My string of thoughts snapped, but I retained one thing: I could never be like my brother, even if I wanted to be. `` If you wanted a son like Cameron, maybe you should've paid more attention to his partying than mine!'' My mom gasped, and that's when she completely lost it. `` Your life is as much of a mistake as your name!'' she cried from my dad's embrace. Well, she might be right about that one. My name was supposed to be Case*y, * but the idiot doctor wrote it down as Case*n*, like a misspelling of the chemical, and people were forever referring to me as cheese boy. `` Guys, stop,'' called a voice from up the stairs. We all turned to face Cameron. `` He's right. I should've been more careful about my drinking at parties, and you should've been more strict when I broke curfew.'' My dad released my mom and put his hands on his hips. Perfect yelling posture. *Is he actually gon na let Cameron have it? * `` Cameron, *we* are not in control of your drinking. We're sorry you ca n't join us down here since the ramp has n't been installed yet, but *you're* the one who threw that football scholarship away for some drinks and a party.'' `` This is n't even about me, Dad. This is about Casen. Just like you were n't in control of my drinking, you're not in control of his smoking. If he's doing well in school, his job, and whatever clubs he's in, why does it matter what he does?'' `` It matters because I do n't want two crippled sons.'' You could hear a pin drop. `` Dad, obviously I'm not gon na get a football scholarship, I mean look at me,'' I cautiously broke in. I stood at a solid 5'8'' and 130 pounds after eating a big meal. My dad turned to face me and his face... softened? `` And I do n't want you to. I just want you to be smart and successful. No one knows the long term effects of that stuff, I do n't want it to screw your head up for the rest of your life.'' `` Okay, Dad, but Cam and I have been nothing alike our whole lives, so why are you guys suddenly expecting me to take his place?'' `` They want to be proud of someone,'' sighed Cameron. `` And that's definitely not going to be me.''

[ WP ] `` They call us monsters , son . ''

`` They call us monsters, son.'' Far's eyes do not change. He leans back in his seat, long fingers tracing patterns on the armrests. Dust flutters down, hazy and soft. `` Why?'' he murmurs. His father's sigh seems to last longer than centuries. `` I do n't know,'' he answers honestly, itching his neck. `` I believe we can be monstrous - but so can they. We are all monsters in the end, I suppose, but...'' `` We are n't supposed to be here,'' blurts Far, disrupting the moment's sacred silence with his eyes fixed on the floor. `` We're lost, are n't we? This world was n't made for us, father. It was made for the two-meter ones, the humans, the dead, the explosive, the magical, the living. We do n't fit here - I ca n't use their tunnels because I am too tall, nor their doors, or their railways, or their weapons. Why ca n't we go home?'' `` Because there's no way back!'' snaps Far's father. `` We ruined our chance at life when we made the portal.'' Silence. Far averts his gaze, casting a violet glow across the stony walls. `` I'm sorry,'' he says quietly. With a sigh, he lifts his hands to his face, rubbing tired eyes until they're red with exhaustion. He stops. Eyes glitter, hands return to his sides. Mouth cracks into that excited grin, that terrifying voidal grin that might strike other lesser creatures dead. `` I know,'' he says, `` I know what we can do.'' `` What?'' his father says, raising his chin. `` If they think we are monsters,'' says Far eagerly, `` but they are the builders and the miners, we will have them return us home. And perhaps, if we are lucky, we can bring a few of them along with us. What do you say? We wo n't have to do any of the work.'' His father looks on in pain. `` Far,'' he says. `` Far, there is no home.'' [ Endermen! ]

[ WP ] A girl meets a boy that changes her life forever . Her first kill .

Ayla knew from the moment they locked eyes that he was the one. Ever since she was a little girl she ’ d fantasised about this exact moment, constantly recreating situation after situation imagining different locations, with different people, in different parts of the world. Many hours of boring high school classes had been filled with these private daydreams and each time they always provided a certain thrill for her. Now here she was, finally, at the age of 24 about to live out her private little fantasy. Of course she had never shared these feelings with anyone. How could she? How do you begin to explain a fascination with death? Ironically it was her respect for life which cultivated her desire to kill. Living things have a certain spark, a certain indescribable light and immeasurable beauty which separates them from all other things in universe. This concept had, in part, driven her passion for Biology and resulted in the degree which currently hung over her desk back at home. Yet despite all the respect and love she held for living creatures a single question infatuated her. What would it feel like to take that away from somebody? She never had any intention of acting on any of these impulses and until about 5 seconds ago truly believed that she would live out her life without breaking her private taboo. However the decision to end this man ’ s life had been reached unexpectedly and without question, as is the case with all great choices in life. Did this man deserve to die? Probably not. He had tried to mug her, but stealing a handbag was hardly a capital offence. He ’ d tripped almost immediately after snatching the bag which was all the time Ayla needed to seize the nearby brick. Ayla ’ s body flooded with adrenaline as she covered the ground between herself and her fallen victim, the brick weighed down on her hand as if it were made of lead but self-righteous fury allowed her to wield it effortlessly. In truth, she hadn ’ t the faintest clue of her intentions as she approached him, he had only been on the ground for a matter of seconds and the adrenaline was calling the shots right up until she stood over him. He turned his head to look up at her; they locked eyes and Ayla ’ s stomach filled with butterflies. She couldn ’ t help herself, now was her time. It was as if he were a gift from fate or some dark god or more likely a demon but it didn ’ t matter to Ayla who her benefactor was, she ’ d fantasised of this moment for years and it ’ d take more than mere moral quandaries to rob her of it. The brick descended. The light went out. It was beautiful.

[ WP ] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home . It is finished and sent by the man who killed him .

Little Sis, I know it's been a while. Things have been difficult lately over here, and the shots are getting louder each day it seems, but please tell mom I'm sorry. I do n't know if she'll remember who I am, but please tell her anyway. Maybe by the time you get this, she'll be in a good place. But how are you, little sister? You mentioned in your last letter that college was getting pretty rough. I just want to say that I'm proud of you. Dad would be too, if he was still around. But I guess I wo n't get into that here. What's something that could actually cheer you up back home? I do n't know who you are. I do n't think you will ever know who I am. I did what had to be done, and I wo n't ask your forgiveness. Perhaps one day, you will see your brother again. But that day will not be soon. - A Stranger. -- - ( First time I've tried an on-the-fly prompt. Probably not too grand, but, hey. Maybe someone will like it. )

[ WP ] Write a story where the protagonist is rewarded for an evil act or punished for doing good .

Jayden watched the new neighbors move in. He cursed under his breath:'' Dammit Kevin.'' He had just lost his best buddy to the `` big City''. Kevin, who has lived in the house next to him for all his life, has been taken away from him, because Kevin's dad got a new job in Philadelphia. And now this. The family taking over his friends house did not include a boy his age whom he could introduce to the secret neighborhood hideout or with whom he could watch the movies in his dads `` special'' folder on a Sunday afternoon ( he never understood what is so special about this folder, he has seen Mom naked multiple times ). No, it included a girl. And her cat. A fucking cat. Jayden was highly allergic to cats and has always been told to stay away from them at all costs. Which means that basically the devil, the one his Mom liked to talk about so much, is right now moving in next door. The cat looked kind of miserably from what Jayden could tell, he has been avoiding C-A-T-S since he could think, so he did n't have a lot of experience with them. But this creature looked a bit sickly even so. He hated it with all his heart. It came to a showdown three days later. The cat has hobbled onto the lawn in front of Jaydens house. He watched it from inside, brows furrowed and then realized, that neither his parents nor the people next door were home, since it was the middle of the day on a Wednesday. `` Its you and me, cat.'' He thought, gleefully. Good preparation, when meeting your mortal enemy, is key. That was something he picked up while watching his dad playing World of Warcraft. He gathered string, glue, a towel ( `` Never forget your towel'', another thing his dad has taught him ), some Cheesy Puffs, a piece of paper and a pencil. `` Here kitty, kitty!''. He did n't dare approach the thing without placating it with offerings of food first. He had the towel wrapped around his head to avoid contact with its devilish fumes as much as possible. The cat found the trail of Cheesy Puffs and approached slowly, eating each of them at the same speed a glacier might move at. Jayden could see it up close now. It looked even worse, tufts of fur sticking out at weird angles, the eyes milky, the legs moving as if it took great effort. Jayden never really thought about what evil looked like, but now, gazing into the eyes of his worst enemy, he shuddered with the depth of despair staring back at him. Kitty had finished the last Cheesy Puff. `` Meow?''. Looking up at Jayden, it seemed to wonder if there is more. This was when he struck. He wrapped the string around its paws quick as lighting, ripped the towel of his head and choked the cat with it until it stopped struggling. He held the surprisingly light bundle in his hands until he was sure that the devil was a goner. Then he slowly unwrapped the towel. The cat looked very non-threatening now, almost peaceful. He used the string and the paper he brought to fashion a crude sign around the neck of the corpse. On it he wrote: `` Your cat is dead. It deserved it!''. Unbeknownst to him he acted in a long traditions of bullies anywhere when he placed the dead cat with the sign in front of his neighbours door. The evening of the same day finds Jayden and his family eating dinner as usual. They had casserole, again. Jaydens father was at his third glass of wine, so it must have been around 9:30, when the doorbell rang. Jayden froze. Ever since he looked into the devils eyes, he had doubts if he did the right thing. He remembered the way its fur felt, when he put the sign around its neck. He remembered the look in its eyes. He was not so sure any more if he had actually killed the devil, but he was very sure that the its family might be miffed. At the door was, in fact, the mom and the girl from next door. The mom said: `` Can we speak to your son, please?''. `` What is this about? ``, Jaydens mom asked. `` Its about our cat, about Kenny. It's all good, we just want to talk to Jayden.'' With these words she nudged her daughter closer to the door. `` JAYDEN!! THESE PEOPLE WANT TO SEE YOU!! YOU BETTER BE HERE IN 3,2...'' Jayden sighted. When his mom started the countdown, it never meant anything pleasant was waiting at the end of it. He wheeled up to the front door:'' Yes? I am Jayden.'' The neighbor mom looked about ready to cry. And her daughter looked shocked. `` Did you kill Kenny, our cat today?'' Neighbor mom asked Jayden. He felt 3 pairs of eyes intensely watching him. He swallowed hard. `` Yes, I did''. That came out in a squeak and not in the booming voice he envisioned in his head. `` Thank You!''. Neighbor mom embraced him. `` You ended a really bad struggle in our family with what you have done. And I am sure, if Kenny was still alive and could talk, he would thank you too.'' Jaydens mom was confused: `` So he did good?'' `` Yes, yes he did. We had Kenny for 16 years. He was adopted from a shelter at the time. Our daughter grew up with him.'' Neighbor mom side glanced at her daughter who had n't said a word since. `` But he was getting older and had a host of health problems, but parts of the family did n't felt ready to address that.'' More side glancing to the daughter who was still silently sulking. Then she looked fully into Jaydens eyes and said:'' I do n't know why you did it, but you did what we did n't had the courage to do. And you were right, Kenny deserved to die, in peace.''

[ WP ] Ugh , your robot coworker is such an asshole .

`` Hey Jim! Jim! Slimmy Jim, James, Jamerson!'' Damn it, its Toby-0205. `` Whats up, Oh-Five?'' I walk into my cubicle, and set down my leather brief case. `` So, how did your booty call go last night? ( ^ ｗ ^ )'' His facial screen expressions were annoying. `` It was n't a booty call bruh, it was a classic date. We went out, ate, and went for a walk.'' I unpack my columns for today and turn on my desktop. `` I wish I could date a human girl, but my parents want me to date a H.A.i. chick. ( ఠ _ ఠ ) In reality, all I want is that good good.'' He turns back to his screen and starts clicking away. `` What model are you again bruh? Why do n't you just get an upgrade? I do n't see anyone rocking a Delphoid model anymore. If you upgrade to a H.A.i. you can have better sex too. You'll feel it.'' I take off my leather jacket and suit coat. He turns back towards me and I know he is about to be overly black again. `` That's what makes it so cool brotha, I still got the D to sink dat V. ( ⌐■_■ )'' `` I do n't think watching porns and looking at black youtuber's is going to make it easier for you to pick up chicks. Also, what is wrong with wanting to be in a relationship?'' I sit in my chair and grab a pencil to play with. `` Fuck that monogamy bullshit it's..'' I interrupt. `` Wait, wait. Why? Did n't your people just get allowed to marry whoever they want globally? Dude, why do n't you take advantage of that?'' I tilt my head and he stands up and fixes his tie. His suit looks real good today actually. `` Because! It's just a scam to sell more empath code to us, and get us to buy more gifts for our'other halfs'. Humans have the biological need for companionship...'' `` Hold up, do n't get all racial on me. Also, is n't that what it means to be A.i.? To enjoy the emotional range for humans?'' `` Fuck that, all I want is that'Feeling'.'' A coworker named Skylar walks by, `` Is that right Ms. Tran! Damn, if I was any less empathetic I'd be your vibrator, baby. ( ^ _ − ) ☆'' I hang my head down. `` I'm sorry Ms. Tran, he just had a symp jump this morning, AND forgot to static off some of it.'' She walks away in disgust, he's gotten me into trouble before and I've talked to HR but they are n't reasonable. `` What the fuck man? You need to chill and go down to Commissary to stave off your charge. You do n't have to be an asshole all the time.'' `` I'm not a asshole, baby. I just got too much flavah. ( ⌐■_■ )'' He smoothly walks back to his desk and starts working on something, `` So what about last nights flavor? Was she a solid 8 or 9. I know you work out, so you can pull those numbers.'' `` She is good looking and is Hawaiian. Her name is Pele, she is working on...'' He lets out his static interruption, he does it because his protocols require a certain level of politeness. `` So, did you fuck her?'' Sigh.

[ WP ] An immortal being is explaining why he would like to die

In a dense cloud of matter in a space that lies in no universe, we visit our God who has awoken from his most recent 100 billion year nap. The God's face is expressionless and vapid. It's fathomless being drooping and oozing through the cloud in a manner similar to thickened molasses. `` What can one do for eternity?'' the god asked out loud. Each utterance of which took one billion years, resonating throughout the void in both beautiful and terrifying harmonics. `` I have lived out the lives of every single creature in my universe 1000 times each. I have counted every atom, nucleus, electron and quark in all one trillion of my universes I have created. And then, realizing I had become dulled with boredom once more, decided that I would do it all over again by the count raised to its own power. I have written every possible random sequence of characters from all of the languages that have ever been created in books of 200 trillion characters and less. In doing so I have learned everything that should be learned and everything that should n't ( see Jorge's Library of Babel! ). Yet, I still have an eternity left to exist. My most recent universe has been dead for trillions of years. The only thing that has changed over eternity has been me. But now after I wake from my 4th, 100 billion year hibernation, I am suffocated by my urge to end it all. I want it to end! I want me to end! Why am I plagued with this curse. It seems the only problem that is not in my hands to solve is my own demise. I am almost certain that I have seen the answer in one of my books that I have written, but of course the problem with having written all possible things, is that everything that makes sense or is a possible answer to my quandary has an equally compelling, contradicting argument in a different book. And for every book that may serve as a guide to which books are soothsayers and which are lies or worse, I guarantee that there is another that claims the complete opposite. Or perhaps 200 trillion characters was not enough.... Perhaps I should start over with 201 trillion characters? No that is hopeless. Let me instead simply think. Am I truly a god? I am not omnipotent or else I could satisfy any of my desires. I believe I simply am everything that is and thus can not be nothing.... What is my purpose? Why am I here? Perhaps I am simply another God's play thing?'' And as this God simply existed and pondered, something most peculiar happened. Something that indeed had not taken place for eternity. Perhaps the vibrations of all of the electrons in the nebula happened to align them all just in the right way as to create a spark for a new idea. The newest of new ideas. A brilliant solution to the problem that our depressed entity has. `` How has it taken me this long to figure it out?'' The god spoke so quietly to himself that it is possible the words were not even spoken at all. And with a sudden burst of energy a bellow that literally wrecked the entire foundations of the void came forth from our God-Slave: `` I AM NOT ALONE! I AM NOT A GOD! KILL ME MY CREATOR!'' And so I did.

[ WP ] in 500 years , a well- meaning historian does a retrospective of the 2015 supreme Court decisions and though factually accurate makes a lot of incorrect nuanced assumptions .

Ah students, someone during discussion jive last night posted to our watches what to make of 2015 SUPREME court decisions. Before we all hook into the holosystem, I want to address that in tongue speak. Back when the united states was in season, remember, there was a judicial `` sweep'' month near the end of a president's term. An almost theatrical performance that was utilized to confirm the facets of the then current federation. This human court got to decide for everyone, a bit like the AI elder ethics panel today. In this `` racial'' society, they were over concerned with appearance and styles, down from what people wore, what they looked like, whether they deserved love ( healthcare and otherwise ), and lots of public guilt about intimacy and eating. In 2015, with a president who was `` mixed-race'' which they called, for an unknown reason, `` black'', all rallied around and stopped flying an offensive and weirdly violent battle flag, known from a well-known pre-holovid called the `` dukes of hazing''. This flag was replaced with a colorful one known as the rainbow flag, which represented all different flags and happy marriages, in general. Although it is thought that some people were very loving in private, it was seen almost as a radical thing to be loving in public and this SUPREME court went on point and changed it to be allowed, which was underlined in a law called Obamacares which made it finally okay to accept help from people who were different then you and respect each other privately as well as publicly, even if it was all on google. Very excited time. Any questions? Okay. Hook in and connect.

[ WP ] `` They call us monsters , son . ''

There are a great number of things that are believed to be true, but there are a number of truths that are cleverly woven lies that keep everyone comfortable. One truth is that monsters are n't real, for instance. This truth is only a truth to those who have n't opened their eyes. The world is full of people, people who can barely handle their inadequate, melodramatic normal lives. They ca n't look below the already grimy surface of their nearly intolerable world because they just ca n't take what's down there. There are two people sitting in a diner, a crowded place full of people. Both are wearing big heavy coats and military styled baseball caps, one of them wears a bandanna covering most of her lower face. `` So, what you're telling me is... if I do this, I'm going to be hated if I go out in public without covering up. Everyone will be... afraid of me?'' The woman nods, tugging her face covering down and sipping coffee. Her lips are scarred badly in a trio of lines and burns run up one side of her face. `` Damn skippy kiddo. That's just how it is, unfortunately.'' He frowns and pokes at his chicken sandwich, concerned about the sanitary practices at this particular place. The counter does n't look what he would call explicitly clean. `` But... we help people. We're the good guys,'' he replies, looking to her. Up one side of his neck, a thick scarred line runs. It bears the lines crossing it of past surgical staples, thin little things. One eye looks to her, the other looks at nothing, because there is no other eye. All there is on the right side is a leather patch covering up a vacant socket that used to hold his second dull green eye. Right above the scar, a small symbol is tattooed, a hexagon with an arcane marker for repelling curses in it. `` I'm sorry, but we're not the good guys, Jack. You can play at it, you can try to be, but you're fourteen and a warrior. You've died, and been given a second chance at life and you did n't become a doctor, a motivational speaker, a lawyer, a nurse - you're a killer. You hunt, and you kill,'' she says, smiling bitterly and staring straight ahead. `` Do you like killing?'' He thinks a minute, poking the sandwich again. He figures their enchanted anti-biotics can stop any infections it might give him. The sandwich is taken up, and a bite is taken. Once he swallows, he figures he's got an answer. `` I love the killing. I was sad when they threw me out of Valhalla because I did n't belong there and even more disappointed when they were n't going to send me to hell. I'm... I'm a fucked up guy,'' he says, sighing. `` Exactly, Jack. And that's what they see. They do n't see that we kill monsters, they do n't see that we're doing a public service, they see that I'm seven foot three and four hundred pounds of muscular fun. I'm a killer, a murderer. I took curses and mutations to my body, and they see those without bothering to look why I did it,'' she says softly. `` We're not friends to them, nor lovers. We save them, but we're not heroes. We're mutated, cursed, demonic, magic, but we're not the good guys.'' Jack frowns, considering this. He pulls his cap off to expose his bright red hair. The young man runs his fingers through it and tries to figure out what to say. `` Are we... the bad guys?'' She laughs, a dark, cruel sound. `` Son, we're about as bad as a fluffy bunny. That does n't change what they see. You're looking at the world from how we see it, we here on the ragged edge, we broken and reformed by nightmares. Honey, you need to look at the world from their eyes, the eyes of someone who has n't shattered the grimy shell and looked at what spilled out,'' the woman explains. `` Your mother did n't look. She did heroin to suppress her ability to see the dead, the demons, the angels, the monsters... look at it from the perspective of that woman over there, mother of three, her children are bad because she does n't have the strength to care for them. Look at it from the perspective of the drunk over there.'' Jack tries to do this, tries to look at it all from another perspective. From the perspective of someone who does n't have metal holding their skeleton together. Someone who was n't hit by a bus and accidentally - thanks to a server error the Reaper's had - sent to the wrong heaven. The young man tries to push away three minutes completely dead, three minutes that became thirty years in valhalla. He does his best to suppress his urges, to put away his need for bloodshed, to suppress his inability to be happy unless his clothes stink of gunsmoke and he hears the screams of the dying regularly. He comes to a realization right as a shiver passes down his spine and his much older companion shivers. Both rise and smoothly draw large revolvers from the holsters on their belts. `` Hello everyone, my name is-'' `` Androlail. A minor demon of hell, here to destroy this town as part of a plot to turn this country, this whole country, into a Hell's Gate,'' the woman interrupts, cocking her hammer back. Her coat shifts and from below it, tentacles slide out. Each one holds a different kind of pistol, each one loaded. They're black, these tentacles, and slick with some odd natural lubrication - and there are at least a dozen. `` My name is Sarah, your people call me The Oncoming Rain because I wash clean this planet of filth li-'' The demon is prepared, and she is not prepared for that. Long before she pulls any triggers, he snaps out a gun and fires a single shot. It happens to be a perfect shot made by a superhuman being, done with preternatural accuracy. It cuts through her chest, and happens to hit a cage of inhuman bone around her heart in a specific place. The bone breaks, and a shard of it pierces the muscle. The young man, of course, opens fire immediately, emptying his gun. She pulls all of her triggers and a shocking number of slugs with silver slivers hits the monster. It screams, as most do when shot with bullets that do n't kill them immediately. He falls then, crumples, screaming in agony. `` These bullets have little scrolls in them, rolled up pieces of paper under an epoxy cap that have inscribed on them the blood of the hunters, being us, and the curses that can undo a demonic soul,'' the young man hisses. The woman sways, then smiles. `` In the name of Lord Death, I declare.... that you do not belong. In accordance with the Borderlands Ghastly Law, and the Reality Genesis Whispering will, I sentence you to death,'' she hisses. He catches fire while people start to scream, finally. `` True death demon. Not exorcism, not temporary death... True death. Scary huh? I know that I'm afraid.'' And then the massive woman crumples, falling to the ground. Jack does n't turn to face her. He just holsters his pistol rather quickly and drags a knife off his belt, slits open his palm. Blood splatters out and hits the ground, forming arcane symbols where it lands. `` Silence!'' he roars. The sound vibrates in the air, and it echoes in people's minds for moments after their throats stop being capable of making screams. His knees hit the floor. `` Sarah! Sarah, what do I do!?'' he demands, pressing his hands to the wound on her chest, trying to stop the bleeding with pressure. `` Not a damn thing,'' she rasps, smiling a little. `` Bleeding bad. Heart is damaged, hole in it... Jack, you should go. Cops will be here soon, you know our protocol...'' `` No. I refuse. There must be a curse, a potion, there must!'' he shouts, face set in an expression of fear. `` Honey, I love you to death, but you got ta go. My death curse will hit when I kick off, and it's not guided. It'll kill everything supernatural that has violated the law in about two hundred fifty yards,'' she tells him, eyes locked on his face. The pupils are dilated, both of them. `` I do n't want to. I can fix your heart! I'm a good healer!'' `` Anti-magic metal, lovely boy. You ca n't heal me without doing surgery first, and you're no surgeon outside of battlefield medicine. Go on, go and get out of here,'' she murmurs. `` Take the car and guns. You got a job to do. That's an order.'' He stands. This young man spent thirty years as a soldier. He always takes orders. He turns sharply, suppressing his emotions. `` I love you, mom.'' `` I'm not your mother, kid,'' she mutters. `` Listen... remember... why you have to hide. They call us monsters, son. They call us nasty, ugly monsters... and... I love you too.'' He pushes through the door and walks to their. Both have a set of keys to the vehicle. There's no ceremony. It's not a nice car, not even close. It looks like crap, with homebrew armoring on it and bullet proof glass windows installed by amateurs, but it does the job. He climbs in the driver's seat and starts the engine. Lights flicker inside the diner. Jack pulls the car onto the road and starts driving. Tears roll down his cheeks. `` They call us monsters,'' he mutters, angrily. `` We're the monsters.'' EDIT: I wrote this while so fucking drunk, holy shit. I hope it's not awful.

[ 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 .

I love people. I know that sounds weird, but it's true. Considering the cynicism of my friends and family, who sardonically say things like `` I hate people'' and share links like'20 Dumbest People on Facebook Will Make You Lose Faith in Humanity', it seems really un-modern. But I do n't think it's that strange. It becomes a serious problem when I'm out. I walk by a beggar and I want to hear his story. Sometimes it's a story of rough childhood – parents who are fast to the fist or constantly unsatisfied with the amount of drink they've had. Other times it's a story about how difficult it is to find a job in this market. And I believe that, I've been searching for months. So I'll kneel down and listen. My friends used to roll their eyes and continue on to our destination while I'd catch up. I do n't have a lot, but before I go I always spare what I can. As I walk around this new city downtown I find myself lost in the lives of others: the woman seated by the fountain with a large manila envelope and a look of regret on her face; the two clearly unrelated young girls with short braids and identical spring jackets; the lanky teenaged boy wearing brown slacks and an overlarge dress shirt billowing out at the sides, with a wide windsor knotted necktie pushing his collar up in the wrong places, escorting a young shapely girl about his age into the local Chili's. I ca n't help but be moved by the meaning that these experiences have for these individuals. It moves me to think that across the world at any given point there is enough joy to last an individual's life span. And I have fun seeing how much of a person's life I can guess from the moment I see them. Ever since I've come here for university I've been struggling with these thoughts more and more. Instead of making new friends I sit back and watch them. I wagered with myself –'I'll write their life stories in my mind and when I eventually get introduced to them I will verify how much I have gotten right'. The only problem I have is that with two months into classes I still have no friends to meet people by. My conversations with the people I watch I perceive as awkward and forced. I stumble over words and ca n't tell if the person has made a joke. I feel I have made efforts, but nobody seems to want to spend any time with me. I overhear that people are going to a pub, so I go. I sit at the bar and drink alone, my face heating up. I received a letter from my university. My funding has fallen through because my parents' combined salary is too high. They do n't take into account that my father has ditched us for his new wife in Switzerland and my mother is an underpaid secretary trying to feed my younger sisters. I keep looking for work to pay for school, but everything is coming up short. My only bright spot in the day is walking in the park: a man with an orange toque and yellow track suit walking his Newfoundland; a heart carved into a tree with initials'L.B.+M.B.'; a child holding an empty cup with ice cream residue on his shirt and chin. My grades are slipping because I ca n't focus. I do n't want to worry Mom, she works so hard to keep Sara and Missy fed and clothed and happy. She thinks everything is working out here and I ca n't hurt her by letting her know. I got cancelled my apartment lease yesterday. Some days are better than others. A glitch with my old student I.D. means I can shower at the university gym, and I've managed to keep a backpack with a few books and a change of clothes. I have n't really got the money to afford razors so I've grown hard looking. Places are starting to look for workers, but I can see the look on the managers' faces when I tell them I'm available. It's the same look I get when people come across my corner in the street. A mixture of pity and disgust. It's actually less painful than the looks I'm starting to get while begging: the looks that pass through you like you are n't even there. People coming out of a cash only coffee shop, pockets jingling and staring as if you were no more than the stale smell of the street. I am here! I am a person with a story! See me! I do n't even mind the people who look at me with some sort of lie. `` Oh sorry, it's all plastic these days! Heh heh...'' Indeed. I have n't eaten in two days. I've become tired of waiting for handouts. I sit in the park and watch people: a tiny asian woman with a Coach bag and high heeled boots; an elderly man walking his toddler grandson, feeding ducks; a young married couple out on a run. The easiest target is the grandfather, who will probably give it up willingly as long as I do n't hurt the child. I'm not carrying a weapon, but he does n't know that. I slide my hat over my face and prepare.

[ WP ] you 're a surgeon haunted by the spirits of the people you could n't save . how do you spend your Saturday night ?

It's 5PM on a Saturday night, and I'm sitting on my couch. In the dark. Facing the bright screen of the T.V. With a cold beer. And in my PJs. I did n't bother taking care of my hygiene today; I'm not going anywhere, who's gon na care? A late night comic does his usual routine; his witty one-liners and lame jokes go way too high over my head for my lazy mind to even attempt to understand. It's probably because I'm slightly buzzed, but I do n't care. Out of nowhere, a young girl to my left says, `` Whaaaaatcha doing?'' I stare blankly ahead, ignoring what I just heard. Slowly, I see a finger approach my face from my peripheral vision. Then suddenly, a poke. She poked my face. I turn to the little girl, tiredly, ask, `` What?'' She asks again. `` Whaaaaaaaaatcha doing?'' `` I'm drinking beer and watching T.V. What are you doing?'' `` Can I watch too?'' `` Sure. Knock yourself out.'' That's when I heard another voice, this time a man's voice to my right. `` Mind if I join you?'' Giving him my best `` tired old-young lady'' face, I groan. `` Fine.'' `` Thanks! I hope you do n't mind, I grabbed myself a beer,'' said the bearded man with a plaid button-up shirt. `` Sure, whatever.'' Immediately after he sat down, a woman's voice behind me piped up. She sounded around my age. `` Hey, party! Can I join you guys?'' Fed up, I stand up in front of the television and face the couch. I frustratedly ask, `` Ok, what are you all doing here? You're dead. I did n't save you all, and I'm sorry for that. Why are you still here?'' Silence. That's when I noticed. They're gone. The little girl. The bearded man. The peppy lady behind me. They all vanished as ghosts tend to do. I stand there for a minute, letting my frustration turn into guilt. I quietly break down, tears running down my face. I slump back on the couch, facing the screen but not really seeing anything. Why did I become a surgeon if I ca n't save anyone?

[ WP ] Driven by an insatiable lust for gold , a Dragon attacks the ultimate horde : Fort Knox

`` Rooaaarrrrr'' `` Oh God not this again... Hey, knock it off out there!! Go home flappy we do n't want you here! ” `` Rooaaarrrr, roaarrrrrr'' `` Do you mind? THIS IS A QUIET ZONE YA'KNOW! Keep it down, we both know what happens in this scenario! And yeah, my eyebrows have grown back now but that was a LONG 4 months of strangers looking at me like some weirdo, something you would know all about you scaly fuck! I think my featureless face and guard uniform gave them some strange ideas about me but lets just say I did n't enjoy my walk to work! It took us weeks to re-do the tiles that you stomped all over, and we got some expensive Italian shit in too now so don ’ t jump around so much this time ” `` Roaaaarrrr'' `` What I'm trying to say to you is that I do n't want things to get heated like last time! Now would ya just leave us in peace... I do n't know if you can read the signs but this is FORT FUCKING KNOX, it's not LIKE Fort Knox, it actually IS Fort Knox. The single most impenetrable place on the fucking planet. You ’ re a freakin dragon and you think that Fort Knox is the best place for you to come and do your big song and dance fire show? Are you trying to win a medal or something? Hey guess what, your dragon buddys are laughin at you pal! `` Roaaaarrrrrr'' “ Yeah, I said it! They are laughing at you because you're the idiot that thinks Fort Knox is the place to get your gold, while they all roll up to, I dunno, Diddy ’ s mansion or something and it ’ s easy money! He ’ s probably got a whole closet just for his chains! Maybe try Kanye West, he seems to have a thing for gold diggers ahaha am i right Steve? ” … ” Hey STEVE! I SAID KANYE WEST SEEMS TO HAVE A THING FOR GOLD DIGGERS! ….BECAUSE OF THE SONG…uhhh was it, uhh JAMIE FOXX IT WAS JAMIE FOXX ” … ” Yeah anyway Steve doesn ’ t need you here and neither do I so go start a fire in the woods or whatever the fuck you guys do for fun ” “ Roaaaarrr ” “ I dunno, i think he ’ s got something to do with Ciroc vodka so he ’ s definitely got some serious coin! But I haven ’ t got time to talk about that. The thing is….Look, I get it. Fort Knox is the ultimate challenge right? It ’ s number one on the hit list because so many dragons have tried right? But there ’ s a reason this place still stands today man! It ’ s cus they all failed! No dragon is getting near the goods in here! Ever since we started bringing in the Queen ’ s collection, we got some real nice security money too! Round the clock surveillance from the royal guard, and they don ’ t have to wear those stupid fucking hats here neither! Tim over there couldn ’ t scratch an itch for a decade rooted like a cardboard cutout to the ground with a badger on his head while tourists photographed the soul drifting from his eyes. Do you know what that does to man? Do you want to feel Tim ’ s wrath? No, none of us do. Well now he ’ s badger free, and would like nothing more than to take out some stress on you with that anti-dragon canon those Lockheed guys installed a month ago. Trust me, you don ’ t want to see what that thing can do. We tested it on some pigeons a couple months ago and lets just say we were eating game pie for weeks after ” … ” HEY STEVE, HOW MANY WEEKS WERE WE EATING GAME PIE?! ” … ” Yeah 3 weeks of it, and you would last a lot longer, that ’ s for sure. Especially now we got a new ice room installed. Apparently you can keep shit for ages in there! ” “ Rooaaarrr ” “ THAT ’ S RIGHT, AND DON ’ T COME BACK! THIS IS FORT FUCKING KNOX BABY!! YOU GOT NO SHOT HERE! ”