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Hey guys, I'm a 16 year old student, and I'm trying to improve my essay writing skills. Don't worry, I won't plagiarize anything on here, I'm just interested to see the different approaches to writing an essay based on the topic 'Power', and may try to incorporate some techniques I see into my future compositions should I find them useful :) thanks in advance! | [WP] 400-500 words, Power | 10 | [
"I've always found this clip from Schindler's List to explain power most eloquently. This could serve as a good springboard for inspiration:\n\nhttp://www.metacafe.com/watch/an-_kaeuY4t2hbbYt/schindlers_list_1993_discussing_fear_and_power/",
" Sometimes, I just wish for an end. This madness. This war. I just want to give up. \nYou see, this war has been raging for 15 years, and all I ever remember is bloodshed. Tears. \nMy whole family is gone, and I have lost every one of my friends. I am alone.\nAll I wish for in this world Is for it to be a peaceful, happy place, Once again. My greatest hope will never come never come true. I just wish that the war, or as the government called it, This revolution, Would end.\n \n ~~~~~~~~~~\n\n Back during the war weapons were precious. Peace was futile. Love was treason. I had had a stone cold heart for years. \n\nThen she appeared. She was a lovely, strong, blonde. I loved, and I lost. \nShe came to our town as just a tiny child, only 4. I was assigned to watch her. \nShe was clingy, afraid half of the time. We never knew her real name, \nBut I called her Birdy.\n \nWe were running low on food in our town. She said she wanted to learn to hunt.\n \nI took her in the woods, Gave her a small bow. She caught on fast.\nI taught her to kill animals and keep her arrow. \n\nWe were the best of friends.\n \n I told her that we should try hunting bigger game. Rabbits \nwere not going to keep our town fed.\n \nWe killed mostly small, 50 pound deer. But one day, we met a \nblack bear.That day, I had my gun with me. We fended it off for about 20 miles, but then the bear got a little too close. I shot. It found a target. Not the one I intended. She was killed, and then I killed the bear. I was sad.\n \nHer funeral was brief. The day she died, I think she was 7.\nShe didn't have a name, So we knew of at least. \nShe was buried with her bow.\n \n Today, I still have no idea who she was, or where \nshe was from. I'm sure the war is over. \n \nThe battle has just began. The battle for justice for \nlost family members. Funerals. The government has no idea what we suffered. They had no hardships or deaths. They were fenced in with supplies. They had \nsafety and plenty of food. They never had loss. \n \nIf one of my family members were alive, I would,\nbe overjoyed. If I knew joy. I had never had a true family\nmy town was great and all, but I wanted to know my family.\n \n ~~~~~~~~~~\n\nI was 6 when the war started, And 25 when it ended. \nI have never known a \"day off\" or a \"holiday\". \nFamily. Something that I longed for.\nI have found my family. I have found strength. I have found peace.\n",
"my first ever. I need help :(\n\n\nI watched my friends approach the truck, their brows drenched in sweat from the blistering sun, the weight of their bags straining against their back. Yet, I was completely helpless. I could do nothing more than watch them march towards the front, not missing a single beat of their shared rhythm. \n\nIt was right in the middle of the day. I had just left my office just to see another truck, or whatever you call it, carry more soldiers into the war. That damned war. I couldn't be forced into the war because of the leg injury I had just a few weeks before the draft started. Because of that broken leg, I couldn't walk when they began the draft, and after, they deemed me too \"physically unfit\" to participate. \n\nI hated it. Now I was being told what to do on the home front. Ration this, ration that, can't fill up my car, can't buy this at the grocery store, donate trash along the road... It was almost nauseating. Those people -- my friends -- were off fighting in the front lines, but I could do nothing more than watch them leave. Every day, I watched another truck come by and take more people off to wherever they went. First it was the grocery store owner living next door to my house, then the paperboy I see every morning when I leave for work... everyone was just disappearing in front of my eyes.\n\nIt was weird to say the least about all of the disappearing people. The people I saw everyday -- my friends -- slowly left their place in my daily routine. It no longer made sense to wake up in the morning and take that extra pocket change to tip the paperboy. I mean, even the dog that barked at me every time I left my apartment stopped its greeting.\n\nEverything just became more quiet in general. You know what the funniest part about all of this is? I learned the names of the people who went on that truck. Every single one of them. I could identify them all by their height, weight, appearance... I doubt any of them even knew me. I mean, I'm just sitting in my office sorting through paperwork, rating people on how \"healthy\" they are. Some restrictions are quite odd. Did you know that someone with only one testes instantly fails?\n",
"It's that thing that happens, and you didn't realize it.\n\n The silence that the teacher gains when the students are too loud, but for some reason, when they see her standing in the front of the class, not talking or moving they slowly gain control back of themselves. It's not just them that settle into place, but the teacher that obtains their attention. \nKnowledge and mystery.\n\nSometimes it's something a little different. When the man pleads \"I love you\" and the woman remains silent. She can't answer back. Knowledge and mystery.\n\nWhen a fat person walks by, and two passing pedestrians snicker. The obese woman walks to her car and cries as she fastens her seatbelt. She never sees them again, and never will, but she does cry frequently.\nIndifference.\n\nInstances of power.",
"I have lived a long life and have ruled the underworld of Mumbai for years. They still call me BhaiSahab, or Mumbai's God Father. Long have I fought this bloody war with other mafias, with the police and with the politicians, and have continued to win. And now that my days are numbered, I sometimes wonder if it was all worth it. \n\n\nAs I grow old, I am haunted by the shadows of all those whom I tortured, mutilated and killed. The rain that falls outside the window looks like bloodbath. My children have failed. My trusted men have all betrayed me. My wife is long gone, leaving me alone. Why did I have to run after power? My empire is falling apart, being pulled by the demons of my past. My power is slowly fading away.\n\n\nWhen I came here from my village in the town of Sultanpur (the land of Sultan), I was 9 years old. I was terrified of this city. I slept on footpaths, ate from garbage and worked in a small tea shop near the railway station. I worked for 5 years before I saw the first glimpse of raw power. He came in a big car, and shot the shop owner 6 times in the head, all in front of a few policemen. No one was questioned, no one was caught and no one was punished. I saw it all, but waited. Two years later, I killed him at night. I cut his head and hung it in his garden. I killed all who opposed me. I killed all who betrayed me. I could see fear in their eyes. For the first time in my life, I was powerful. I was the king.\n\n\nAnd now forty five years later, here I am. Powerless. Lying in this bed, waiting for my death and wondering what is true power. No one will remember me, no one will praise me, no one will fear me. It is all an illusion. There is no true power. Power goes away, and takes away all the hopes, the desires and the will to live. It is all a big burden.\n\n\nNote: I am not a writer, and just giving it a shot :) .. I just realized it was meant to be an essay and not an story.. but now that it is written, why not post it!",
"Power, like many things, is amoral in nature. Merriam-Webster defines amoral as \"lying outside the sphere to which moral judgments apply.\" Thusly, power can be used in nearly any way. Many men and women over the course of human history have attained power and used it for many different things, from inciting war to aiding those in need. While not wrong to strive for, power unarguably has the potential to corrupt. Perhaps Uncle Ben said it best: \"With great power comes great responsibilty.\" Power is a massive, grey force to be directed-and the men and women who choose to direct it taint it either black and white with how they harness it.\n\nNaturally, the darkness power can bring stands strong thoughout human history. Hitler, Castro, Bin Laden, and many other dictators are often considered to be the embodiment of evil on this earth-yet they also undoubtubley had power. Hitler at the outset was a talented speaker, cleverly using propaganda and smooth words to hoist Germany to the top of the European ladder and instill his own radical views upon many. Castro held a seat of great importance in the Western Hemisphere during the Cuban missile crisis and was a thorn in the side of many because of his military might and nuclear threat. Bin Laden used his power to opress and hurt many in the Middle East, leading to the death of many innocents while brewing conflicts with nations all across the world. Certainly these figures had power, but they made choices, and held fast to beliefs that did not better their fellow man-but as a whole led to destruction and death. \n\n***\n(That's only 272 words^ and I haven't written anything in forever (and I'm probably going to come back and finish it) but yeah, there's an approach you could take. I think my stance was more of power through history, and how those who HAD power used it. You could also go into how does one attain power, or even go in a literal direction and talk about electricity. Anywho, gotta go to class now. Like I said, I'm gonna edit/finish this when I get home. God Bless, and GLHF in your future writing adventures.)"
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THE REWARD: I present you with various pictures of babies laughing.
edit: the real [reason](http://i.imgur.com/vk5au.jpg) for this prompt | [WP] THE CHALLENGE: Any situation where the word "Bubbles" (in reference to soap bubbles, not a proper noun) can be said with anger or resentment. | 29 | [
"\"This is it!\" I exclaim. \"This is the moment we've all been waiting for!\" I dash up the steps to the podium and grip the microphone with intensity. \n\n\"I know you've all come here to see something incredible. When Orange Technology rolled out the first uPod, fans were ecstatic to see what we would come up next. With the uPod Gigafruit we raised the bar. Then with the Gigafruit XL we raised it again. Well, now I am proud to announce the most exciting technological breakthrough yet: The uPod Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition!\"\n\nThe curtain behind me retreated to reveal a giant banner with a larger-than-life Gigafruit model with lots of upbeat adjectives written around it. The pageantry was exquisite as pages brought the demonstration model down the aisle, ensconced in glass. I set it up on the demonstration table and paused to let the crowd bask in the moment of anticipation. \n\n\"The Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition has all the amazing features of the Gigafruit XL: bluetooth, mp3s, 3G, 4G, OMFG, LAN lines, and snaggletooth. Plus, we've added in a whole new functionality. Check this out!\" I press a button on the side of the Gigafruit.\n\nDozens of tiny bubbles stream out of the audio jack and float lazily toward the ceiling. One man in the back yells out, angrily, \"BUBBLES?!\"\n\nThe audience is silent. I grin.\n\nThen they erupt in applause. \n\n\"That's right, the uPod Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition! Only $899.99!\" ",
"\"Bubbles.\" The word was barely audible, but the tone was undeniably angry.\n\n\"Pardon?\" Feigned innocence seemed like the best tactic.\n\n\"There are bubbles all over the laundry room floor.\" This was said through clenched teeth and was only just a hair louder than before.\n\n\"Oh that,\" I replied nonchalantly, \"I was trying a new formula. It works well, but it suds a bit overzealously. I'll clean it up when the cycle's over.\" His eye twitched, but he said no more on it. I got up from my desk and walked past him as the end-of-cycle buzzer sounded, kissing him on the cheek in apology.\n\n\"Why do I put up with your experiments?\" He asked softly, just as I reached the threshold to the laundry room, his anger dissipated.\n\n\"Because you love me... and the sex isn't bad either.\" I answered with a knowing smile.",
"\"What're you staring at?\" she asks him. She's wearing his shirt, unbuttoned, and the panties he'd peeled off her last night. The sun is coming in through the kitchen window and alighting across the soft features of her young face, showing the full ten years distance between them, making her seem like a child. Her lips are soft and wet. She holds two mugs as she approaches him.\n\nHe turns away from the sink and locks wild eyes upon her. A cigarette is burning to a stub between his calloused fingers and the hangover of the cocktail of drugs he'd taken the night before is visible in his greasy, wiry hair. Two years of this lifestyle has chiseled in deep wrinkles across his leathery skin and chiseled away something more.\n\n\"Did you put soap in here?\" he spits, pointing at the sink with two fingers and the cigarette crushed between them. A foam of white has begun to rise from the water, creeping upwards to meet with the spouting faucet.\n\n\"Yeah,\" she says. \"Why?\"\n\n\"This is for fucking *rinsing*,\" he says. \"This is for *rinsing* and *that*--\" he shoves his fingers in the direction of the dishwasher \"--*that* fucking thing is for *washing*.\"\n\n\"I was just going to do them by hand,\" she says. She's frightened now. She should be.\n\nThe man clenches the cigarette between his teeth, slams off the faucet, and begins to fish dishes out of the hot, soapy water. He curses as he does so, brow chiseled in fury. Then, as the girl watches him in the morning light, the fury begins to fade, to transform, to soften his features and dull him until he looks too like a child, only weaker and sorry and scared.\n\n\"Fucking bubbles,\" he says, lifting his hands out of the water and snapping them outwards to fling off clumps of white suds, but his voice is thin, wet, terrified, and the hesitated way he reaches into the sink makes her think he's afraid of what he'll find.\n\n----\n\nIt's 3 AM and he's drinking a glass of whisky in the corner. A small blue cloth is clutched in his right hand, so soft and bright amongst the haze of cigarette smoke and darkness filling the kitchen, lit only by the blinking of *12:00* across the microwave. It seems almost comical to see the man clinging to the cloth. He seems a child, lost without his parents, desperate for the protection of his blanket. A sun is embroidered in the corner of the cloth, the name PAUL in childish lettering beside it. The man would cry if he could.\n\nHe picks up the glass and drowns the pain. Drowns it all away.",
"The virus had spread.\n\nMillions dead around the world, stomped down like a bug under a heavy-sole boot. The United States shut down the borders weeks ago. Big men in suits broadcasted over the airways, droning on and on about safety plans and regulations. Guidelines on quarantine. Families need to stock up on food and all that shit. Fuck em I say; what have they ever done for us?\n\nLiz sat next to me on the couch. She had been quiet while the Tee-Vee played. Occasionally, she would bite her lip, or move a greasy strand of hair out of her face, but she never said a word. In her lap sat our two-year-old daughter, Jess. Her eyes were shallow and dull, and her stomach was distended with hunger. Spittle flecked her mouth, giving her the image of a dog with a bad case of rabies. She had a fever, the warmth radiating off of her in waves.\n\nJess gurgled. I looked down at her. The speckles of saliva had turned into tiny bubbles, the mass seeping down her face. Liz barely even reacted--she just sniffed and shrugged a shoulder. Why bother, I guess. The virus was here, and our time was up.\n\n I took a long drag from my cigarette, and grunted, \"Bubbles.\"",
"[Not quite what youre asking for, but ive been writing poetry so ha] \n\n\nShe is still.\n\nAs Empty\n\nAs time\n\nAs bubbles\n\nShe cracks\n\nHer skin\n\nAnd nothing\n\nE x p l o d e s \n\nInto\n\nNowhere. \n\n ",
"I was slipping on a pool of my own blood when the man punched me in the jaw again. I hit the ground and stayed down this time, collecting my senses and trying to be smart and live to walk away for another day. I rolled onto my side and coughed. \"And that's the last fucking time you mess with me, dickshit!\" He yelled in his high pitched, campy voice, then put a boot in my gut. I coughed and hissed. \"Fuck-\" \nTen years. Ten years since that goddamn day in 2002. I've been looking for him, casing hardware stores and trying to find this fucker where he's weakest- Hit him where it hurts. Revenge consumed me, consumed my marriage and consumed my job. Even took my goddamn dog. I had to scrape by from unemployment to odd job to demeaning job. It was last Thursday when I found him.\n\nI strolled up to the store opening with a frown on my face, having to resort to driving in my work outfit and vehicle to settle the score once and for all. Stepping out, people turned to stare at me, staring at my hot dog costume and the scowl on my face. I pointed a cartoon-gloved mascot hand at the man on the other side of the crowd, which parted to get me a clear look at him. \n\nA man stood there, standing in a ridiculous bar of soap costume. He gasped. Recognition. \"You recognize me?\" I ask. He frowns. \"Of course.\" He snaps back. \"Then you know why I've come.\" \"Look, I'm sorry-\" He stated, going to pull his mask off. \"No. Keep it on. I've waited ten years for this and I'm coming back for blood, you son of a bitch.\"\n\nHe took this as an affront and peered through the wide, cheery grin of his costume. \"So be it, asshole! You know what? You want another repeat from last time?\" We began to circle one another. \"I just wanted to buy some soap, prick! You didn't have to beat me up to an inch of my life!\" \"You know what? I just went off on you, and I told you I WAS SORRY, GOSH!\" \"You can't just apologize for that! You-\" \"Made you look like a bitch in front of that wife of yours, right?\" I stare, frozen. I roar, charging forward, hitting the man in the cheekbone with a right hook. He stumbles to the side, then goes for a jab.\n\n\nMASCOT FIGHT.\n\nI'm hit in the face with a jab, but try to hammer my fist into his chest. He's protected by padding, but he's knocked back. I go for a grab, trying to pound my fist into his face, but he shoves me back. The crowd is staring in awe and shock- Policemen present are unsure of what to do. I walk forward and try to throw another punch- But he catches my wrist and tries to swing at me- But his costume restricts his reach. This fight is mine- I think. I shove him into the side of a car. \n\nHe grabs a hot coffee from the roof and turns, hitting the cup into my face. I scream in pain, clutching my face. He opens the door of the car, panting, and shoves my head between the seat and the door- And begins slamming it on my head, which is protected by the costume. A yapping dog in the passenger seat- I grab it and throw it at the bastard. He stumbles back setting the dog down. I go for a groin kick- But I hit a soap costume. I'm still somewhat blinded at this point-\nAnd I fumble around, trying to grab for him. He goes for another jab. I'm hit in the face. I raise my arms, but I'm hit again and spit out a tooth. I cough violently and try to run, running into the store through a closed glass door. Workers flee. The bastard is after me, just as winded as I am. I rub my eyes and stop to pause, trying to lull him into a sense of security. He approaches, but I grab him and throw him into a row of shopping carts. He hits the ground. I go for a series of jabs, hitting him in his smug-ass face, or at least I try. The costume is very restrictive. He shoves me away with a foot and I try to find a weapon. He comes at me with a shopping cart, screaming at the top of his lungs. I'm hit and tumble into the cart- And he keeps pushing eventually ramming into the side of a washing machine. I tumble out, hitting the ground with a hard slam. \"Aaah- Aaah.\" I whine, a sharp pain shooting across the side of my face. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. \"Should- Should have just moved on with your life.\" \"No- No-\" \"Shu- Shut up.\" He swats at me. I grab him by the arm and try to pull myself up. He begins to guide me down an aisle, past fleeing workers, and we find ourselves in the toilet aisle.\n\n\"I-\" He pauses, taking a deep breath. \"Wait, you're in a costume, I can't just smash your face into one of these.\" He mumbles. I hit him in the face with a plank of wood. He stumbles and falls, landing on his back. \"HAHA! TURTLE PROBLEM!\" I point at him, grinning a broken grin. \"Fuck- FUCK!\" I wander off, then run back and jump, arcing my elbow and grabbing my wrist. I drive my elbow into his chest. He exhales sharply, having the wind knocked out of him. We both sit there for a while, afterwards. \"I.. I don't know what I'm gonna do with my life. I waited ten years to beat your ass and now it ain't done shit.\" I mumble, looking at the fluorescent lights above us. He sighs. \"Violence begets further violence.\" \"Ain't that the truth.\" \"Sorry for wrecking your life, man.\" \"Sorry for.. all this.\" I wave my hand. \"Ain't nothin'\" He mumbles. \n\nI stand up and wander off, wandering back with a bottle of water and a hand behind my back. I extend an arm- He pulls himself up to a stand. \"So, uh. Bygones be bygones?\" \"Uh, yeah. Hold on.\" I splash soap into his eyes. He yells. \"Agh! Bitch!\" Swinging his arms wildly, I pour the water on his face. \"BUBBLES! NO!\" \"BUBBLES, YES!!\" I yell at him, my mad laughter echoing through the hardware store. I prance away at the fastest speed my legs can take me- And I find a barricade of cops at the front door. Shaking my head, I continue my mad laughter. \"KNOW WHAT? I ROLLED UP IN A GODDAMN HOTDOG SUIT TO DO THIS SHIT! I'M GOING ALL OUT, BITCHES! TAKE ME TO JAIL! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!\" I flip a shopping cart. They quietly escort me away with little difficulty afterwards. \n\n\nI serve ten years, and now, I'm an ex-con with peace on the mind. As I wander out of the prison gates a free man, my opponent stands on the other end of the street, clenching his fists. \"Ten years. You know why I'm here?\" \"Yeah.\" \"..We're gonna settle this like men this time. South Bridge.\" I squint, stroking the mustache I've cultivated over the ten year prison sentence. I've been waiting- Ten years for a chance of freedom and living a normal life. My opponent stares at me from the other side of a bridge, the rising sun in the distance. I squint, my headband flowing in the wind.\n\nTO BE CONTINUED- IMMEDIATELY\n\nHe sprinted at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. A jump- And he turns, throwing at me a hurricane kick of unerring swiftness. I block with my forearm and axe-kick, raising my leg up to strike him in the chin with my ankle. He stumbles back, and I rip my tanktop away, clenching my fists. I charge forward- And he goes on the defensive.\nTen years of training with the finest prison martial artists and stabbers have turned my at one-point hot-dog impeded combat ability with that of a unrefined but much more effective fighting style. As he prepares for my attack- I front flip, pivoting my foot in his face. On impact, I scream a loud Kiai, and he stumbles back, falling off the side of the high bridge, screaming \"You ain't shit!\" at the top of his lungs before he hits the brackish waters below. \n\nI stare off into the rising sun, finally at peace.\nA van arrived, with the back doors opening. My wife stepped out. \"Now that you've settled on your multiple decade quest for revenge, I've decided to take you back!\" I laugh with joy, hugging my wife. The driver's side door opened and my father stepped out. \"Son! I've decided that I should have never left and I've brought you over thirty birthday cakes and presents to make up for my absence!\"\n\nA border collie jumped out of the back of the van. \"Baxter! You've returned as well!\" The dog looks at me and barks in a sequence. I nod in understanding, having appreciated the tale of his life's story, ignoring the fact he'd be a twenty six year old dog by now. We all laughed and lived out the rest of our lives in peace and tranquility.\n\nTen years later, he attacked me when I was walking home from the market with some kind of bladed gauntlet that he'd designed, crafted and honed a deliberate fighting style for my assassination. Luckily, I was fifty years old at the time and had mastered the skills of Karate, and the battle was short and I was yet again victorious. Surely, he will not attack me again in ten year's time after this, a most assuredly final conflict.\n\nTHE END.\n\n",
"Robert Jenkins was a man of routine. From the perspective of those around him, it seemed that he did things exactly the same every day. None of his neighbors knew where he worked, only that he always returned home at exactly 5:41. He wore the same exact outfit every day: a generic bargain bin suit with a cheap pair of leather shoes. He would go check his mailbox, water his plants, inspect his car, and then go inside, not to be seen until morning. It’s likely that Robert was just an eccentric hermit of a man, but some people made up stories about him. Some spread rumors that Robert was a spy, while others said he was a serial killer. It was really just a cruel game of “let’s make fun of the loner,” but Mike didn’t realize that. Mike was a 12 year old straight out of Stand By Me. Being quite the prankster, Mike had always delighted in messing with Mr. Jenkins. He egged, TP-ed, and even forked Jenkins’ property, but Jenkins never figured out he was the culprit. \n\nToday, Mike decided to be a little more creative. He filled a bucket with water and soap and mixed it up until the muscles in his arms were burning. Looking down at his watch, Mike knew it was time. He emerged from his hiding spot in the bushes and brought the bucket with him. Mike skimmed all of the suds off the water, and shoveled the frothy, whipped cream textured mixture into the mailbox. He checked his watch again, 5:40. Mike went back into the bushes already cackling in his mind at what he had done. When Mr. Jenkins pulled up, Mike watched him slowly get out of his car, he watched his shoes as they hopped one by one, closer to the mailbox. Mike was too far back in the bush, so he couldn't see Jenkins’ face. Mike only heard two sounds: there was the creaking of the mailbox opening, and then a shout. **“FUCKING BUBBLES!”**",
"“Have you ever seen such a gorgeous wedding?”\n\nRachel smiled tightly in response. In fact, she had or, more accurately, she would. Her own wedding was in a month and she had been planning it for over a year. She was so excited about her upcoming nuptials that she had shared all the details with her co-worker Mindy which, she could now see, had been a mistake. Apparently Mindy had decided that she liked Rachel’s wedding so much that she had taken it for her own. Rachel looked around the ballroom with disdain. The colors, the menu, the bridesmaid dresses, the band, the ice sculpture, the cake, the favors. All stolen! There was only one thing missing. \n\n“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!”\n\nRachel turned towards the ballroom’s entrance. Her eyes narrowed. Mindy and her now husband were making their grand entrance. Hands clasped together, they made their way through a family and friends, surrounded by a sea of...\n\n“Bubbles!” Rachel hissed, cocking back her arm, champagne glass in hand. ",
"\"Tha.... That's cheating!\" bellowed Jimmy, clutching his eyes while sobbing. \n\n\"You're supposed to use a water gun... Not your bubble blowing gun thingy,\" said Sara. \"Look! Jimmy is crying now, good job!\" she sarcastically continued. \n\n\"I'll never play with you or your bubbles again! I hate you! I hate you and these stupid bubbles!\" wailed young Jimmy, who would never play with bubbles again.",
"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEuNk4JMsUM\n\n",
"soap bubble popped in my eye!\n\nedit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage",
"I didn't even feel the small tremors in my arms anymore. Somewhere after eight cups of coffee, your brain just says \"fuck all\" to its self-regulation and gives up on telling you what your body is up to. Which was probably a good thing, since I could see by the reflective glass on the far end of the lab that I was a pitiable sight. But while the drug-and-caffeine concoction was doing no great deeds for my looks, they kept me alert enough to notice not only my face in a small square across the room, but the development of the mixture that sat in a small petri dish in front of me.\n\nThe table looked like something out of a science documentary from the '70s - exactly the sort that got me interested in this type of work in the first place - with its offensively inoffensive shade of yellow that barely gave contrast to the liquids. Its waxy surface was host to a concoction of items I'd assembled through the wee hours of the night while most of the University staff slept. And the payoff was minutes away if I'd gotten my numbers right.\n\nI opened up my journal and began to scrawl a few notes: \n\n*4:01 a.m. mixed 12mg XK with 8mg CL in static environment regulated at 21C. Mix has been stable for ten minutes with no sign of reaction.*\n\nI was going to win a fucking nobel prize. And even then, only because they wouldn't be able to think of something bigger and better-suited to the discovery. Or perhaps the drugs were helping me to mask the slow realization that somewhere in the past year of work, I'd forgotten to carry a one. Or perhaps worse, some hapless intern had ineffectively sealed one of three thousand different rare compounds. If it was the latter, I would find and utterly ruin the fucker. I looked down at the slight foam around the crust of the dish. There was no denying what was sitting plainly in front of me.\n\n\"Bubbles,\" I said as I stood, kicking the stool over as I rose.",
"\"Of all the things you could have done,\" began the enraged landlady, \"you decided to go with bubbles.\"\n\n\"Well, Mrs Donovan, I technically filled the downstairs flat with foam-\"\n\n\"BUBBLES.\"",
"I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard.\n\nI look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small.\n\nReaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, \"*Bubbles.\"*",
"\"I like this brand better.\" she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest. \n\nHe pulled it away and checked the price tag. \"Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?\"\n\n\"While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes.\" The spirit is gone from her voice.\n\nHe snorts derisively. \"Bubbles.\"",
"\"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever.\"",
"He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. \"This is bullshit,\" he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.\n \n \"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process,\" the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.\n\n \"No! You stop there,\" shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. \n\n\"I have come here for three weeks with no results,\" Mr. Romney fumed. \"I demand that you fix me! This problem,\" he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, \"has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!\" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.\n\n \"I understand . . .\" started the doctor, but he was interrupted. \n\n\"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, \" his voice was raising in pitch now. \"And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?\" he questioned accusingly. \"Every time I fart bubbles come out!\" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, \"Bubbles!\" "
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Write a short story and include as many of these words (at least 6... bonus points if you use more) as possible: raven, dreadful, sacred, robust, ascend, phrenology, monument, saga, voluptuous, vein, crimson, ribbons, and insidious.
The winner will be determined by me, regardless of vote count (though that may play a small factor in my points scale.) You have until Thursday October 11th at 11:59PST to submit a small story. I will determine the winner then and you will get a month of Reddit gold. Happy writing! (Credit to my wife for this prompt idea.)
Just reply to this with your story!
---
Two winners chosen. One by me (philsmith24457) one by my wife who came up with the prompt BigGUNSfowler. Thanks to all who entered. :) | [WP] 1 month Reddit gold writing contest! | 38 | [
"There was little to do but ascend the cracked stone steps to the monument. An aged carving at the bottom has never been deciphered (the meaning lost in time), scratched deeply into the corroded green surface. Wind blew over the short grass. A robust day had been obscured by overcast, and the place was quiet. Ribbons of sliver fish schooled by a dock edge. They nibbled at the rotten supports, scattering every time a raven flew overhead. Besides those scared creatures there was nothing alive on the island. The waves lapped on the rocks, indifferent. Water had eaten at the ground. It had started to eat a corrosive vein into the body of the island. Compacted ground would only last a few hundred years more. Whatever saga had once played here was forgotten. Perhaps the ground was sacred or hallowed or had once been a dwelling. The thing had aged dreadfully, collapsing in to itself. A few crimson flowers forced the way between cracks in hardened material. This opened the way for more hungry, devastating plants. Ropes of vines wrapped around upright spires and chocked lesser flora. The meek did not inherent the earth. If studied from affair the island would seem a robust haven obscured by plant matter. With an optimistic eye the scene appears voluptuous. It is full of life, besides the odd structure. Oddly it is green, but not plant green. The green it is has a sharp metal taste. Soon the shape takes focus. Without a breeze the metal ripples. an insidious feeling creeps onto the smudged scene.\nIf phrenology was used, they would have found this woman quite clever, with her torch and crown. She looked out to sea.\n",
"Fast-Forward\n\nI sit on the couch, sharing a shot of whiskey with our favorite mad man, Don Draper, admiring Christina Hendricks's voluptuous body and crimson lips—a sight nearly as tempting as the needle I left lying on the table near the obituary section of last weeks newspaper. I stare deeply at my veins, which decorate my skin like bloody, battered ribbons, when a Mazda commercial interrupts me. \n\nI grab the remote and slam the fast-forward button, making the characters in the dreadful commercial melt into a blur of food and beer and life insurance. The needle catches my eye again, and while the commercials lurch forward, my mind lurches back— back to the time in college when you used to shoot up after school and recite “The Raven” to me, trying to drag out the words as long as possible, while I sank into the furniture and chuckled for hours. Or was it days? \n\nDammit! I fast-forwarded right through my favorite part—the one where the guy loses his foot, and Joan gets her dress all bloody. I skate back to the end of the commercials and zone out during an online college ad. \n\nAgain you force your way into my mind. Did I really know you for two years? It felt like a week. I guess that needle is an insidious thing—a slow-acting weapon of phrenology, cutting holes in my life like the plot of poorly written saga. I think of when we ducked class and spent a whole weekend buried in the floor of your apartment, not even bothering to make the ascent up to the couch.\n\nIt can't have been two years. I rush to the table and grab the newspaper and compare the date next to your name with my phone's calendar, which screams the truth at me. \n\nAnother commercial sneaks it's way onto the screen while I'm preoccupied. When I notice, I reach for the remote, but stop my thumb over the button when I see your face in the paper. I blow a sigh and vaguely wonder what sort of monument they'll leave over your new home.\n\n“To the man who sunk so far into the ground, he never came up,” I suggest to no one.\n\nI think for a minute, put the remote down, and let the commercials play.",
"Beautiful crimson ribbons ascended her thigh. Her veins pumped their dreadful saga and greased the robust white bathroom tiles. A foot print preserved so brilliantly in the congealed mess was a monument to this sacred ritual. She watched the raven emblem of the shoe slowly filling with blood, it seeped in and drowned the messenger of death. Only then could she breathe again, not that the image of him was gone. ",
"This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities. \n\nHe untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this. \n\n\"You are more man than I can ever be,\" he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare. \n\nKnock.\n\nKnock knock knock.\n\n\"Doctor, is it over yet?\"\n\nShe stands up, and mutters, \"Let's create our own saga.\"\n",
"Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings.\n\nWhen I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea.\n\nShe's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods. \n\nThough that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left. \n\nShe was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing.\n\nI don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped.\n\nShe told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl.\n\nThe website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to \"sacrifice upon the altar of bone\".\n\nWe tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing. \n\nThen I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular. \n\nGeraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks.\n\nGeraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person.\n\nI didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin.\n\n\"I've already tried bleeding for it,\" she said. \"It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die.\"\n\n\"Your father?\"\n\nGeraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home.\n\nWe never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill. \n",
"The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue. \n\n\"Mike!\" I shouted. \"Are you okay?\"\n\n\"Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out.\" He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't.\n\nAt that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could.\n\n\"Three! Two! One! Pull!\" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters.\n\n\"Three! Two! One! Pull!\" Another 20 centimeters.\n\n\"Three! Two! ......\" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling \"No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!\" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march.\n\nWhile I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me.\n\nI initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end.",
"\"Open your presents *now*\" she whispered\n\nAs I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here. \n\nWhen I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature \"I'm fine, nothing wrong here\" smile. \n\n\"Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!\" \n\nAs the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone \"Mess this up for me and you will pay\". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me. \n\nAs the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry. \n\nIt went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was \"Murder\". Murder ? I had to find out more.\n\nFrom that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind. \n\nI brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me. \n\nA few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said \"He will do it\".\n\nToo bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day. \n\nShe died 4 hours later. \n\nWhen the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read:\n\nDear Denise,\n\nYou're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry. \n\nLove, your sister, and best friend,\nFlora.\n\nI couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora.\n\n I love you mom.",
"Is there a word limit?",
"It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there.\n\nLeaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted.\n\nReaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio.\n\nShe went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way.\n\nNearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated.\n\nWhy would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much.\n\nTaking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real.\n\nShe finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her. \n\nThe next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists.",
"Those Were The Days\n\nThere was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.\n\nThe sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.\n\nNow, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.\n\n Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.\n",
"Crimson ribbons of sacred blood \nsplurt from a once robust vein \nas I commence my insidious plan: \nto ascend my mastery of phrenology. \n \nI am a raven, \nunraveling this voluptuous monument to mankind's saga, \none dreadful bite at a time.\n",
"The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons.",
"As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”\n\nHe closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.\n\n“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.\n\nHe did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”\n\n“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”\n\n“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. \n\nThe sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. \n\n“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”\n\nThe next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.\n\n“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” \n\nHe wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” \n\nShe finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”\n\n“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”\n\n“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”\n\n“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”\n\n“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.\n\nHe waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” \n\nVictoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”\n\n“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”\n\n“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.\n\n“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”\n\nShe was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” \n\n“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.\n\n“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”\n\nVictoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. \n\nHe fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. \n\nNo one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”",
"An insidious moon rose in infinitesimal increments over the small country town of Hedgefield, Virginia. It was a particularly humid night in this still, quaint community, the kind where condensation formed on your pores after being outside for only a few minutes.\n\nI wiped sweat from my brow and continued to ascend up a grassy hill within a wide enclosed area of surrounding forest. A raven flew down and perched itself high in one of the trees in front of me, silhouetted against the stadium lights from the local Friday night high school football game next to the field.\n\nMy intention was to meet up with Jay, my weed dealer, but he was late, or more specifically I was late, but he was even more late. Text after text and I realized he wasn't going to show up, so I began to make my way back to the street. Then, there was a shout from behind me, and I saw him running over.\n\n\"Hey man, sorry I'm late, all I got's an eighth for you, that cool?\" He asked in his smooth southern drawl.\n\n\"Fine.\" I replied. I handed him the money and we parted ways. \n\nAfter the exchange was over, I went to light up a joint in my beat up truck. Once I got a little high, I decided I would drive home. I could handle it, I thought, no big idea.\n\nWhat I didn't realize was that this was no ordinary weed. Jay had laced it with something - I was sure of it. My body just didn't feel right, I felt abnormally slow and like I was about to pass out. Nevertheless, I drove on in a delirious daze.\n\nLuckily, the gas gauge started blinking and I pulled over the car. I had almost forgotten by this point that my dealer had just given me laced marijuana, but after contemplating it for about a minute I realized that yes, that did happen.\n\nI called him and he didn't pick up the phone so I left a message.\n\n\"Heeeyyy, mann. What's gooinggg onnn?.. Listen bro.. that stufff you gave meee.. I'm feeeling a little funnnny.\" I said to him in a mangled, drawn out voice, and then I collapsed in my seat.\n\nAt an indistinct point later, I jolted back awake. I couldn't tell how much time had gone by, but it was still night and there was still an occasional car driving down the street. A dreadful realization came over my now mostly sober mind. Jay had tried to kill me.\n\nThere was no way he could be negligent enough to accidentally slip me something that hardcore, I knew him better than that. The question then became, why did he do it? I tried to think back to anything I could have done to upset him.\n\nThat's when it hit me and made my skin crawl. He wasn't trying to murder me, he was just trying to put me to sleep for a while. I remembered taking Ambien a few times for sleep troubles and having a similar experience each time.\n\nLike many, the answer to that question simply spiraled into more questions. What could he have gained from knocking me out for a few hours? My first thought went to the semi-automatic rifle I had stashed in the flatbed of my truck. He had asked me about it every time we had seen each other for weeks and the questions had started to get strange.\n\nI got out and looked to see that it was gone. This was when I really started to panic. Besides my obvious concern for who he might be planning to kill, this gun was not registered. I could get years in prison for it.\n\nBack into the truck I ran and sped off. Fuck, I thought, I still need gas. I made the pit stop in what had to be record time and parked back onto the side of the road to formulate a strategy. The first person I thought to call was a buddy, Rob.\n\nHe and Jay went way back and my best bet of finding Jay's location was through him.\n\n\"Hey, man, it's me,\" I hadn't bothered to check the time but he informed me it was almost 12 AM and he had been sleeping. \"I know, I know, I'm sorry but this is an emergency. Listen, Jay stole my gun. He snuck me some sleeping pills and took it and I.. I don't know what he's planning to do with it but that gun is illegal and I could go down hard for it, so do you know anything about where he could be going? Check his Facebook, Twitter, all that shit.\"\n\n\"Jesus Christ, man. Slow down,\" He answered calmly. \"Give me a second to get on the web here.\"\n\nHe scoured Jay's digital footprint for any signs of his plan and then remembered something, \"You know, he did have a rough breakup with his girlfriend about.. I don't know.. four days ago. He wouldn't hang out with anyone after it happened. There's also a couple pretty dark Twitter posts from earlier today and yesterday. One says.. love is a lie. People are predetermined to hate each other and push each other down so that only the strongest of the species will survive. #naturalselection.\"\n\n\"Please tell me you know where she lives.\" I responded, my foot tapping uncontrollably with adrenaline.\n\nHe did another quick Google search, \"Kayla Martin. She lives on 23 Lakewood Avenue, 30 minutes from school.\"\n\nA chill went through my veins and my stomach curled up as the reality truly set in. The only positive was that the rifle in my flatbed was not my only gun, I also hid a pistol in the dashboard. This one was registered to me.\n\nAlthough it pained me to wait, I had to briefly consider how I would explain it to cops if I shot him. I'll just say I was driving by and heard strange noises, I thought. But what if I was too late? What if the cops were already there? I could be walking into a trap.\n\nDespite all these disastrous scenarios playing out in my head, I ultimately realized that if I did nothing, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life.\n\nI sped off into the night, trying to keep a delicate balance between dangerous speeds and rambunctious teenage driving.\n\nRob guided my path over the phone like a clairvoyant, telling me the fastest route to take. Finally, I pulled up to the street Kayla's house was on, which was in the heart of upper middle class suburbia.\n\nHer house was somewhat isolated from the others because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac and the area behind it was completely covered by trees.\n\nI knew Jay, being the clever woodsman he is, would know how to navigate them with ease, so I looped around, pushing through the brush in hopes of catching him from behind.\n\nThese robust forests were difficult to navigate because the trees were so tall and densely packed, leaving no walking room that wasn't covered with thorns or branches. This made it impossible to not make any noise, which was why I had the false epiphany that maybe Jay wasn't here at all.\n\nThen, I saw him. He was lying down and cowering behind some thickets with a pair of binoculars, trying to look through Kayla's window which had the light on.\n\nI drew my pistol and crept slowly behind him, then made my presence known by speaking in a near whisper, \"Don't move.\"\n\nHe was startled and hesitated at first but then dropped the binoculars and put his hands up, rolling over with an expression of shock at seeing me aiming down the barrel at him.\n\n\"You? I fucking tranquilized you.\" I said nothing back, \"Look, you gotta let me go. I can't do this, man, I thought I could but I can't. When I got here, I just.. I love her. I'm so glad it was you and not a fucking cop.\"\n\nHe trembled with fright but his words seemed sincere enough, \"How do I know if I let you go you won't do this again? How am I ever supposed to trust you again?\"\n\nThere was a long silence and he stood himself up. He shook his head, \"You're not.\" Jay then turned the rifle up towards his chin and pulled the trigger; a crimson pool gradually pouring out from his mutilated head."
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But make it a curse instead of a blessing. | [WP] Give your protagonist the one talent you've always wished you had | 20 | [
"Finally, he beat that fucking water level. Everyone hated water levels. Why the hell did the guys who made the game even put them in?\nIt felt as if he hadn't left his couch in days. It was only the first week of summer vacation, and he was heading to high school in a few months. Everyone kept saying that these were the 'best days of his life,' but every day was so utterly predictable. He wanted something to break the monotony, something completely new and fresh. The closest he could get to that was the next level in Super Mario World.\nHis phone buzzed on his knee, and he looked down. Full of excitement, he picked it up and viewed the text message:\n\n\"Hey come out with us tonight its gonna be a rager!\"\n\nHe read the text, and waited a few seconds. There was no way. He wouldn't get his hopes up. Could this be... the opportunity he was looking for? He pushed the hopes away.. No. Every time, this type of thing gets ruined. He glanced at his phone again.\n\nIt was only natural. His heart started racing. He was looking forward to it. The mystery of it all. This party... who will be there? Will there be girls there? He began to wonder, getting giddy with the uncertainty of it all.\n\nSuddenly, he felt a slight twang in his right temple. \"Fuck,\" he uttered. \"Fuck fuck fuck. No.\" The pinching sensation increased, spreading to his other temple. It was as if there was a vice-grip on his head. The pressure was unbearable.\n\nEverything went black, and he was at the party. Everything was moving so quickly, and he could see it all - he was *there*. The arrival.. seeing his friends... having shots... beer pong... talking to a girl... more shots... long conversations about high school... kissing the girl... falling asleep.\n\nHe snapped back to reality, in his room. All he could do was sit there, staring forward. The mystery was gone. So much for an exciting, unpredictable night. He let out a sigh, and tossed his phone aside.\nPressing the start button, the next level stopped. He promptly was killed by a koopa.\n\nAt least he couldn't see that.",
"Jason had finally completed his memory elixir. Years of work and effort condensed into a single, murky injection. Soon every thought, every emotion, every experience he ever had would be immediately available to him. A smile crept up his face as he imagined the possibilities. The hundreds of books he could memorize at a glance, the infinite unending pleasures he could experience, the new creations he could make with the knowledge of the entire world in his grasp.\n\nThe needle. He had always hated needles, and this one was particularly large due to the viscosity of the solution. Furthermore, the solution had to be injected directly into the neck to allow for a quick dispersion into the brain. Jason sat for a long while, staring at the needle and steeling himself for what was to come.\n\nTentatively, he swabbed at the artery on the side of his neck with a sterilizing swab and placed the tip of the needle against the spot where he needed to inject. Bad idea, the prick of the needle sent a wave of panic and he quickly jerked the syringe back. 'Okay,' he thought, 'One quick go at it. Just jump in the pool, yeah?'\n\nTrying not to give himself any more time to think about his actions he quickly jabbed the needle upward into his neck. He missed the swabbed portion by a hair, but still managed to hit the artery. His eyes widened in shock and the fingers of his left hand dug convulsively into the chair arm as he felt the solution pumped up his neck and into his head. The pain was excruciating.\n\nThe pain. It could hardly be imagined and it didn't stop nor subside. Jason felt as if an unending sword were being thrust into his neck, a never-ending stab that overwhelmed his senses and sent him crashing to the floor in a convulsion of pain and anguish.\n\nA small corner of his mind had the fleeting thought, 'Ah, I don't think I can forget this...' shortly before his pain-driven descent into madness.",
"\"Holy shit, I'm not sure....\" \n\"Just try, it will be fine.\" \n\"Ow, ow, ow, stop. I'm tired, let's just go to sleep.\" "
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It can be a house, a castle, a city, a tree, another planet. Convince me to move there. | [WP] Describe home, and make me want to live there. | 9 | [
"Vines coated every vertical flat surface they could find, nestling into nooks, niches and crannies so tightly it seemed as though engineers had meticulously designed them that way. When the vines had found a proper grip, they reproduced frivolously until loaded fully with various types of fruits and berries. The vines that had made the four main walls home grew raspberries as sweet as candy, providing a consistent source of food for a type of bee no one had ever seen before. The bees, like all of the other insects and animals there, fit perfectly into the unique ecosystem the gigantic garden provided. Everything alive was content.\n\nAnd within the center of it all was a small mountain, so hollowed out, and with so many caves that connected to the center, that it looked more like a tent than a mountain. Flora grew deep within it, all the way to the mountains middle, given life by a system of streams that carried sun-soaked swarms of chlorophyll and oxygenated water to whatever needed it.\n\nCoating the outside of the mountain was a dense jungle, peppered with a type of tree more complex than any previously seen. The Palmfisk Tree looked a bit like a palm tree, except each individual one had multiple trunks and the tops were several times thicker and more full than the average palm tree. And, unlike a palm tree, it required multiple sources of food to survive, and in turn held symbiotic relationships with many different plants, insects and animals. Its fruit was the primary source of food for almost all land and sea creatures, and it only used a small percentage of water it absorbed, fortifying the rest with vitamins and minerals and warming it to exactly 83 degrees F before sending it back out to be used by plant, animal and insect alike. The large number of trees that made up the mountain's jungle ensured the water that flowed through the streams and collected into ponds nad lakes was far warmer than usual, in turn warming the air to a yearly average of 77 degrees F. Thin strips could also be pulled from its long, palm tree-like leaves, and those could be woven together to form a wooly, cloth-like material. That material could be used to craft a hammock, which the Palmfisk tree seemed made to hold. This was very appropriate considering some of the fruit that dropped from the trees was almost unexplainably left to sit and rot by the animals and insects, eventually fermenting into a sweet alcohol that those same creatures would occasionally come back to consume. Having no natural predators in an ecosystem dominated by what's considered prey by normal standards, the creatures consumed alcohol freely and without worry.\n\nThere were also waterfalls and fields of marijuana that, when close enough to the fortified water the Palmfisk tree provided, grew buds soaked with a THC that lacked the negative effects of normal marijuana and that made the buds delicious to eat. Needless to say, animals had evolved to consume the buds, giving all living creatures a general calm and eventually, through years of evolution, eliminating the need for a predator-prey dynamic.\n\nLife was good.",
"Home is where there’s friendly smiles and warm embraces. Home is wherever there is unconditional love and mutual respect towards one another. Home shouldn’t have yelling or hatred, nor anger or spite. Home should wrap it’s arms around you when you’re withered and lonely. Your home wants you to be happy and safe; it wants to protect you from stormy seas and gusty winds. Home just wants you to be happy.\n\n(A/N: Not my best, but I needed to get back into the writing groove)",
"We knew we had veered off course at some point, but Charlie had gotten us back on track, for the most part. Using his compass and a free tourist map from the last visitor center, he was confident that we were either exactly or very close to where we were supposed to be. Our route wasn’t on a map, but it did run vaguely parallel to one of the popular trails snaking their colorful way through most of the area depicted in the Thomassen County Wilderness Association’s Complimentary Trail map. The side of the range we were currently on was lineless and topographically steep, occupying roughly one sixth of the overall area anecdotally referred by the old timers as the Dark Side. Call us crazy, but we wanted more than marked trails and fenced off photo opportunities. We wanted a pure experience, free from other people’s ignorant disrespect toward the sanctity of nature in its purest; untainted, free from their trash and dog shit and noise. We wanted our own paradise, if even for a few days. \n\nThere was a river on the map, and for awhile we took a detour to travel along it. The water was strikingly clear, and the pale yellow light of the early autumn sun glinted off of chips of mica and fool’s gold all the way to the other side. The water was rippling glass slipping over rounded river stones, chattering its water song in a symphony of cheerful babbling. We dipped tired feet into the welcome shock of the cold water, letting it seduce our feet deeper and deeper as we got used to icy, crystalline flow. We spent hours there, playing like children. Our hearts were full and light, we were unburdened and happy. As the sun started sinking, Charlie stretched out on a huge sun warmed boulder, sucking every last bit of the perfect day’s heat from the rock, and I skipped stones and softly whistled nonsense. He called for me and we watched the sun sneak over the horizon, gaining speed with each second, and it saturated the sky with electric shades of red, purple, orange… \n\nI wiped a tear from my unblinking eye, and reached for Charlie’s hand. Our place. Our peace. We stood motionless until the last hint of the sunset faded and the first stars slowly started to dance in the deep, velvety blue of the twilight sky. We unlocked our hands and made camp silently. We were so touched by the peace of this magical place that we didn’t disturb the silence until miles down our path the next day. \n\nI often joke with friends when I tell people of my camping plans, “I’m going to church”, I’ll say. In many ways, the union I feel with nature is unmatched by anything else in my life. I feel at home many places, and this magical, untouched spot will always stand out as one most beautiful and pure.\n \n",
"A small girl runs through an old forest her long red hair flys in her face as she goes. She slides to a halt, looks around and grabs hold of a branch stuck onto a withered oak tree. She breathes deeply, and turns the branch until a quiet click is heard.\n\nThe tree's trunk began to rumble, and a door-sized piece of bark slid down to reveal a bright, cylinder shaped room. The girl hesitantly, not without stealing one last glance behind her, moved into the room and pushed on a knot in the wall. The door flew up into it's original position and the young girl looked down at her feet. The floor began to drop and she grinned, looking up once more to assure herself the door had closed behind her. The platform creaked and groaned as it moved into place. She walked off into a large room, with a floor made of jammed together stones and walls made of wood panels. A curious looking fireplace jutted out of the farthest wall. She sat down at a large table in the centre of the room, put her hands together and waited. A huge, metal clock ticked in the corner. Rather quickly, a pretty woman walked into the room through a circular door, spotted the girl, and grinned,\n\n\"I didn't know you were coming over today kiddo, where's your mum?\" the woman inquired. The little girl twiddled her thumbs and said,\n\n\"Oh I don't know, probably shopping.\" the lady laughed and ran her hand through her hair.\n\n\"Séreméla, does your mother even know you're here?\" Silence filled the room, the lady stared at Séreméla with a knowing look and then sighed, taking some boxes out of the cupboard.\n\n\"I guess you're here for some makíril? It is close to your birthday after all.\" the woman declared, pulling little stone platters off of shelves. \n\nA loud creak was heard, and the girls looked towards the elevator, which had long since retreated into the tree trunk. Now it slid down again, to reveal the tapping shoes of someone anxious to get down. The girl slouched in her chair and sighed, and the woman walked over\n\n\"Eámanë how are you? Want some makíril?\" she gabbed, starting into a long-winded conversation.\n\n\"Uruviel, is Séreméla here?\" cutting off the woman and stepping into the large room.\n\n\"Oh! There you are!\" Eámanë rushed over and hugged Séreméla, who promptly began to pout,\n\n\"Mom! I can walk to Auntie's by myself!\" she whined\n\n\"Maybe in a few years honey.\" She told Séreméla, tucking the girl's long red hair behind her pointed ear.\n\n(As this was my first try at a writing prompt and I haven't wrote in a long time, I got a bit off topic, but I hope it's still okay if I post it. Even if it's not very good, I put a lot of time into it! Also I had trouble with the tab button, so there's no indent.) ",
"Only a few steps away from a bustling intellectual center, my home is an island of green-streaked solitude in a sea of congestion and concrete. Recessed from the street, it hides its face behind a curtain of trees, but behind this shy exterior is a home densely packed with childish and fervent energy. \n\nRipples of laughter and music can be heard at almost times of the day and night. No sun-soaked afternoon nap between classes would be complete without the delicate swirl of the piano floating through the air. And if the noise should ever cease, the scent of fresh-baked cakes and cookies is quick to fill the sensory void.\n\nIndeed, the kitchen is the throbbing heart of the house. It steams with vegetables, crackles with meat, and is always buzzing with time-pressed students who convene between its counters to divvy up the common foods and spices, disparage those who don’t wash their dishes, and marvel at the sudden disappearance of the cereal bowls.\n\nWhen we manage to snatch a few moments between study sessions, we gravitate to the arms-deep stacks of board games, art supplies, and musical instruments that define the recreational space of the dining room. And should all these pursuits fall to sustain us, there are the eternal quests of winning the affection of the two black cats that roam our home like two friendly but elusive and unpredictable ghosts; ingesting a seemingly endless supply of movies, video games, and television channels; and desperately trying to connect to the notoriously volatile wireless network.\n\nWhen I moved here I knew no one. It was frightening—when most college students are holing up in apartments, I went in the opposite direction. In a world that can be so brutally anonymous and tacitly cruel, I wanted to believe that people can work and live together in harmony, that people haven’t abandoned the goal of pursuing the common good. I’m glad to say that I have been presently surprised. Yes, everyone evades the duty of cleaning the microwave, and yes people will eat your food if you leave it too long unattended. And the internet thing is pretty annoying. \n\nBut even knowing all those things, even knowing that my legs would be mutilated by fleas when our former hippie landlord forgot to give the cats their flea medicine, I wouldn't have chosen any other way. Because living here, I have learned that people are all like our house. We have our quirks, our flaws, there are parts of even the toughest and most honest of us that we hide from strangers on the street. But somehow, despite our divergent interests and differing temperaments, we make it work. And when we pass around a fresh-baked chocolate pecan pie—ten people and two forks—I really do feel like I am a part of a kind of family, a misfit family of strangers who happened to find each other in the fog of life and decided to embark together on a very interesting adventure.\n",
"This is the place I grew like a flower,\n\nSprouting and budding hour by hour.\n\n I followed the sun and drank so much water, \n\nEven when Summer days got hotter and hotter.\n\n\nThere are mountains to visit and rivers to live by, \n\nThere are fields and valleys and a wonderful, blue sky. \n\nAbove all the rest, all nature below, \n\nThe people are the best that you'll ever know.",
"I still try to visit home occasionally, though these moments grow distant as time moves on. I doubt I could convince anyone to move there, home is no castle, or in the midst of a fantastic city. Home is just an ordinary house among ordinary houses, littering an ordinary street. \n\n\nI wish I could take you back home, back to that place in time when that house was truly home. That place, I could convince anyone to live in that place.\n\n\nChildren laughing. Long summer nights, without a care in the world. Water, crystal blue, refreshing to the touch. Falling reds and oranges, nature's sign of change. Rolling blankets of fresh snow, warm fire and cocoa. Budding yellows and greens. The sun's welcomed return. \n\n\nThe son's welcomed return.\n\n\nI still try to visit home occasionally, that ordinary house in a line of ordinary houses, littering that ordinary street. There’s less laughter there now. The summers seem hot, the water tinted with a green hue. The trees fall, another duty. The snow looks dirty.\n\n\nHome becomes more ordinary every time I return. I fear for the day I return home, and only find a house.\n\n\nI can’t convince you to live there. I can only hope your home was as beautiful as mine.",
"I spent my early childhood in an isolated house of unremembered number, Lake in the Woods Road. It was a lonely place, really, but to my little girl's imagination it was my wonderful world. We had a wooden gazebo, and a pink brick walkway of all things in the front yard; we had a fishpond, an old barn that my brother found snakes in sometimes, a pasture we kept horses in on and off, and woods all around. I had three siblings much older than me, but whenever I needed company, I had the outdoors and my imaginary friends to explore it with.\n\nThe cultivated woodsy area behind the house I inexplicably called \"the West Wing.\" My mom had dug an artesian well there when everyone thought Y2K would happen. Up the hill, beside the house, was the area all my imaginary friends lived in, with a charming little iron gate and a birdbath and the gazebo with its bench swings. The barn was quite literally falling apart, always dark and shaky and dusty: I wasn't allowed to enter on my own. The pasture across the street was my favorite; for a while we had a few horses, though I was too young to ride them. My sisters would take me out to give them sugarcubes and pet their soft noses. My little girl eyes thought that the pasture, though the barrier of my known world, extended forever -- like when you just knew there was something over the hill outside the castle in Super Mario 64, but it would never let you climb up to see.\n\nMy favorite times were summer nights when my mom and I would walk up the hill to the neighbor's field and lay down in the open trailer that was always sitting in the middle of it and stargaze. Our street was isolated like our house, set on a country road far away from any city lights. Since I moved away from that house 10 years ago, I've never seen the stars like I did then.\n\nOn summer days, my sisters would take me on adventures down the street. We had four dogs and three cats then, and some of them would always come along to protect their young mistresses. We would find another neighbor's field, far down the road it seemed, and just romp around and soak in the Alabama sun. The grass was always verdant and the air always golden.\n\nI did stay inside sometimes. Our house was made entirely of wood, and the walls inside were unfinished planks; I couldn't tell you how many splinters I got from trailing my hands on them as I walked. We had tacky blue couches (with removable cushions to easily build pillow caves) and rose-patterned curtains and a wardrobe in the foyer that I was sure had Narnia somewhere in it. I read a lot, mostly in my room on my bunkbed, next to the window that looked out on the little fenced yard where we kept the dogs.\n\nMy other favorite pastime was playing video games with my brother. Our favorites for each system we had were ATV Offroad Fury and Donkey Kong 64 -- we played Mortal Kombat as well, but I wasn't really supposed to. This was the same brother who found snakes in the barn sometimes; he would take an axe and cut their heads off, then show us girls the beheaded, twitching remnants to gross us out. Fourteen years my senior, he was at times my enemy and at others my hero. Our video game names were Ace (him) and Ace-hole (me -- I didn't get it until much later).\n\nAll good things end. We got behind on our rent and were asked to leave our house; my brother passed away in an accident. I grew up. If I were to go back to that house, I would probably find that I remember a lot of things more glorious and beautiful than they really were. But I cherish the innocence I had in that house, before I knew the world was dark and sad.\n\n*Good heavens this is a wall of text and it's my first post on this subreddit and is it even completely on topic?! Sorry y'all.*"
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Include the following words in your story: lackadaisical, rhythmically, sinister, perturbed. | [WP] Your character finds a stack of videotapes in her new house. The tapes document the previous owner, a very peculiar man, doing some weird things in the basement.. | 8 | [
"\"Why did I ever buy this house?\" Sue said looking up and down the ramshackle abode. She had just moved back to her old home town and gotten a new job as the assistant director of marketing for a software company. She loved the idea of moving back home at first, spending more time with her parents and old friends. Not having to spend the first six months just learning where everything was, it sounded like a good idea. Her best friend from high school, Peter, also still lived in town but he was a realtor now. He was the one who convinced her to buy this old lot. \n\n“Listen Sue, this place has potential. You could fix it up and make it shine again. Did you know that comparable in this neighborhood sold for nearly double in the last 5 years? This place is up and coming. A lot of people are commuting from the city just like you and buying around here.” Peter said with that charming smile he perpetually wore.\n“I don’t know Peter, I’m not much of a fixer upper. Maybe I should look at a condo or something.” She said as she poked her head around the interior of the house. \n \n“Come on Sue, have ever steered you wrong? Besides that one time in the summer of ’98 when I told you pink hair was totally in.” they both laughed at the memory and Sue ended up buying the house for way under the asking. The old owner had been an old man who passed away a few months ago and his children just wanted to be rid of the house. Peter had convinced Sue that she could hire people to fix most of the damage and that it was almost all cosmetic anyways. The guest bedroom was even serviceable and she could live in the house during the renovation. Never one to turn down a challenge Susan decided to go for it, three weeks later she had moved in and here she stood on a hot Saturday afternoon broom in one hand and rag in the other bandanna wrapped tightly around her red curls. \n\nThe cleaning went pretty well in the beginning, it was just a matter of throwing out some old newspapers and broken furniture the big stuff she would leave for the contractors. The guest bedroom really was serviceable with a relatively new mattress and box spring. A new set of sheets and it was good to go. There was an old dresser in the guest room with pictures of an old man with a small smiling boy. Sue took these and placed them in a box to send to the old owners. She was sure they would want pictures of their dad and she didn’t have any use for them. There was a surprising amount of memorabilia and knick knacks to rummage through that kept Sue busy for most of the afternoon. As she was cleaning the second floor hall she noticed an old rope dangling from the ceiling. Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled down on the rope. There was a creak and groan as the ceiling opened up and a retractable ladder came down beckoning Sue into the attic above. Sue looked into the dark maw and put on a resolute face beginning her climb into the dark attic above. \n\nAs she poked her head into the attic space she was pleasantly surprised. The attic was rather spacious with exposed rafters and a dusty wooden floor, but no dark corners or creepy crawlies as she feared. There was a pine scent that permeated the room like old car fresheners. She stood up in the space and noted the heat, it had been a particularly hot day but the attic seemed to explode with heat. She walked over to a window at the far end of the attic and opened it as far as it would go. A breeze rolled in and she surveyed the area. There was a small pile of boxes on the other end of the attic and several sheets covering piles of what she assumed were more boxes. A rectangular box caught her eye on top of one of the sheets and she went to investigate. She noticed it was not as dusty as the sheet it was laying on and saw it had a small latch and lock. She turned the box over and noticed a small key taped to the bottom. Unlocking the box there were a series of 4 VHS tapes inside. She decided to take them down to the living room to have a look. \n\nSue had found an old VCR in the back of one of the closets the other day and decided to hook it up to the old TV and give it a try. The first tape was labeled “Perturbed” an interesting title she thought and slid the tape into the VCR. At first nothing played. She fast forwarded and realized the tape was actually playing something. It was completely dark wherever the camera man was. Suddenly the camera lifted and it appeared to be looking out of a window into her own front yard at night. She looked around suddenly as though someone was watching her but the room was empty. On the video the camera zoomed in to a group of boys at the sidewalk in front of the house standing near a light pole. They were pointing at the house and talking but there was no sound, she doubted the cameraman would have been able to hear them at that distance anyways. A young man in a hooded sweatshirt seemed to laugh and point towards the house. Another boy took something out of his pocket and threw it towards the house. The camera moved as you could hear the sound of glass breaking from somewhere in the background. The camera man carried it down the stairs of the attic and down to the first floor. The front window had a large hole in it and the boys at the front yard were gone. Sue could see a grizzled hand reach down and pick up a large stone and the video cut out. \n\nShe quickly put the second film in titled “lackadaisical” and it immediately started in the woods. As the camera moved you could see the back of a house, but this wasn’t her house. She saw the same grizzled hand clutching the rock from the previous film. The camera seemed to focus on the rock for several minutes as the hand moved it back and forth as though deciding what to do. There was a sigh and the rock fell to the ground. There was a shuffling sound as the camera moved back into the woods and cut off.\n\n“Lackadaisical indeed” Sue thought as she put the next tape into the VCR, this one labeled “Rhythmically”.\n\nThe next tape began at night again, this time it seemed outside of the house in a bush. The sound of a group of people talking could be heard and the camera peered between leaves to reveal the same group of children standing under the lamp post. This time they were laughing and talking to each other. One child was telling the other to go into the house and grab something. He didn’t want to do it and voiced his concern over the “old guy” who lived there. They were mocking him calling him chicken and he reluctantly left for the house. As the kid approached the house the camera zoomed in on him opening the door and slowly entering the house. It then panned back to his two friends with their back turned to the bush watching and laughing. Then the camera moved slowly out from behind the bush and just the tip of a metal object could be seen at the side of the screen. “What the hell is this?” Sue thought but her attention was focused on the screen. She could see the camera approach and the kids were making so much noise with their jeering and talking they didn’t hear the cameraman approach. Suddenly the camera shook violently and there was a sickening thud. Sue could barely make out one kid turn around and what looked like the other on the ground when there was another thud. Then more thuds. Like when you hit a piece of meat with a rolling pin over and over again. Smack… smack… smack.. the camera then looked up at the entrance to the house and the camera began to move up the walkway. \n“Dear God… what is this…” Sue reached over to shut off the TV and eject the tape. Suddenly a there was a sharp pain in her head and she collapsed. \n\nSeveral hours passed and Sue began to stir. She could taste blood in her mouth and a throbbing pain in her head. She tried to reach up but suddenly she realized she was bound to a chair. She looked around and the sun had set and the room was pitch black. She smelled pine and dust and realized she was back in the attic. How the hell did she get here? She thought, she started to struggle against the bonds and the TV came on once again. The last tape… what was the name on the last tape? She couldn’t remember a hand caressed her face and she tried to scream but her all she heard were muffled cries. Then the video began to play. It was the kid who went into the house. He was bound to a chair in the attic staring at Sue his eyes wild with fear. His friends were next to him sitting in chairs but they were not bound, there was no need they were dead. A voice in the background asked, “Do you think me sinister?” the boy looked past the camera and shook his head no. Sue watched as the cameraman approached the child and removed his gag. He looked into the camera with his head next to the boys and said, “Smile”. Suddenly she recognized the man and the boy. They were from the picture in the spare bedroom. The old man took a knife and ran it lightly over the boys cheek smiling all the while. The boy tried to scream and he covered his nose and mouth while he ran his knife across the boys neck. A faint line of blood appeared and then a gushing torrent. Sue thrashed her head around and tried to see the old man behind her. The light from the TV had illuminated the attic, the cloth had been removed from the stacks of what she believed were boxes. They revealed grim skeletons sitting on chairs their clothes had rotted and the scent of pine was thick. She could see several car air fresheners hanging about their necks. She felt something lowered over her head and placed around her neck, she knew what it was. She closed her eyes and cried and waited for the end.\n\n\n*sorry I kind of cut the end short, normally I would have dragged it out but I need to finish this and go home. ",
"\"Nasty?\" The man said. You recognized him, but only barely, probably from an article years ago rather than a real-life meeting. You continue to watch the videos, brought on by a grim determination. Which child was this? The third? The sixth? They ran together, and your plate of steak sat cold and uneaten in your lap.\n\n\"N-A-S-T-Y.\" The small boy said, dark eyes aglow in rich olive skin.\n\n\"Very good! Chocolate or strawberry?\"\n\n\"Strawberry!\" The little boy said, holding out his hand expectantly.\n\nThe man swatted it, not enough to damage but more than enough to sting. \"First?\"\n\nThe little boy sighed, tousling his thick hair. \"S-T-R-A-W-B-E-R-R-Y.\"\n\n\"Good!\" The man said. He adjusted the binoculars around his neck by a force of habit so strong the motion seemed to be performed rhythmically.\n \nHe handed the boy a small strawberry wafer. The boy stared at it, seemingly perturbed by its ridges. \"Will this one make me fall asleep again?\"\n\n\"No,\" the man said with a smile. \"Just eat it- we're almost there!\"\n\nThe little boy chewed his wafer, testing it first on his tongue for a few seconds. There were dark shadows in the boys eyes. A child this age should be concerned with lackadaisical things like assembling a gang of neighborhood children for pick-up basketball, you thought. His body said 'seven,' but his eyes said 'forever.' \n\n\"One more word now,\" the man chided. \"Then we can let you use the phone.\"\n\nThe boys eyes widened, as a smile smile secreted its way onto his face.\n\n\"Demise.\" The man said.\n\n\"Y-O-U-R-S\" The boy spelled, a sinister grin on his face. He pulled out of his pocket something small, metallic, and sharp. His eyes flashed dark and the blade flashed silver and blue, the blood a red torrent leaving from the man's throat.\n\nWith a sickening lurch of your stomach, you look at your steak knife, a blue gem set into its silver heft. \n\nBleach. You need all the bleach. All the bleach that ever was and ever will be. Perhaps on the basements' poured concrete floor. Perhaps in your eyes, perhaps down your throat."
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Write a fantastic political summit- Ala Dungeons and Dragons/Lord of the Rings. It could be a peace summit ending a war, a call to arms against a common foe or you name it.
| [WP] Fantasy Politics | 9 | [
"Brothers and sisters, hundreds of years ago, the land upon which we all now stand was sterile with the salt of corruption and greed. The people, elf and human and dwarf and khobold, and all the rest, were so comfortable in the fruits of love and innocence that had evolved through hundreds of thousands of years together on this planet, that they'd resigned themselves to an apathy so poisonous it made the whole world ill. We'd become so innocent with truth that lies could be easily disguised, and a so-called elite stepped up heralding a 'cure' that we allowed to be injected into our bodies, that quelled the symptoms but exasperated the cause. Those 'elite' then became even more disconnected from the masses until they were no longer afraid to hide their arrogance, and our weakened immune system gave way to their destructive methodologies until they'd spread all the way to the brain. Racism, hate, greed, envy, fear. Users of magic were burned, dragons were hunted to near extinction, and nymphs were enslaved and forced to wield nature in destructive ways. Ancient texts that held our history, and that held the laws developed by all of those years of evolution, were destroyed.\n\nThen one day, twenty four short years ago, the masses rose, hand-in-hand, to force accountability upon those pigs until their blood washed that salt away to allow for a fertile soil upon which to grow a sustainable future for all that deserve it. We brought blades across the throats of those purveyors of filth until none stood, then we redistributed the spoils to rich and poor and baker and blacksmith and mage and magistrate alike. And after that we gave proof to the adage that the pen indeed exists to be mightier than the sword, as we brought pen to parchment, using reason and logic to undo everything those pigs stood for.\n\nI stand here humbled by the presence of the army of intellect and good intentions that surrounds me. We, chosen in good faith and reason, by the masses of people who we live to protect and provide for, are perched upon the gates of Utopia. All around are people clamoring for entry, only simple locks in their way. I ask each of you now, if critical thinking and positive intentions will you to do so, to unlock those gates with your signatures penned upon the parchment in front of you. I realize the weight of that text, and that it carries the last bit of filth we have left from those pigs, but I implore you to allow their own terrible ways to undo them. There is no other way that I see. This execution will be the last in our history and afterward we will again abolish death as a means of punishment. But we need this because, as the last, it will carry the most weight, for completely eliminating their pig leader ensures that the legacy of hate, discrimination and oppression he presided over will die with him. Sign the paper in front of you so we can bring finality to our world, and so we can finally begin anew, as we should have twenty four years ago to this day.\n\nThank you.",
"And so doing the council of the lower Behr-in-Thuring stands\n\n**RESOLVED** that the impositions of the King Hrugmander are declared NULL and VOID within the counties of Behr-in-Thuring below the Caldesei River as a result of his malfeasance and his unwillingness to adhere to the duties and restrictions that he must consent to as our king. As such, all assembled now in this council do forswear our duties to our unlawful liege and declare WAR against the tyrant with the purposes of full separation of Behr-in-Thuring from the lands of Greater Thuring.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a militia force be assembled of no less than 4,000 able-bodied men from the jurisdiction of each lord assembled in the body of this council so as to defend the claims and interests elucidated in this document.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the dwarves of Ul-Before-The-Mountain should forge and supply these forces to the greatest extent of their abilities in return for the continued safety of their king.\n\n**RESOLVED** so as to press into military service such ships as is possible to defend the port cities of Marrustad and Toblerone from the contemptous vassal of our forsworn king, the Dread Pirate Blackadder. \n\n**RESOLVED** that the Alchemical Society of Marrustad should be supplied with such reagents and coin as is necessary to find an solution to the blight of the Creeping Death that now plagues this land.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a company of witch-hunters should be chartered for the purposes of rooting out and destroying any masters or apprentices of the arcane that continue to owe their allegiances to the selfsame forsworn Lord of our previous declarations.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the lands of the conspirator against this council, the High Lord Tiber, should be appropriated and divided amongst the lords whose domain borders his.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a tax should be levied of two alum motes, fourteen shekels, eight lucre, or twelve dinar upon the common man within the dominion of each lord assembled in order to pay for the provisions listed within this declaration.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the private grain supplies of Geminer, Lochland, Marrustad, Grand Malcun, and Toblerone be confiscated in order to provide the army assembled by the second declaration of this document the victuals it needs to properly prosecute the war against the Tyrant-King Hrugmander, with promise of full repayment with annuities following the conclusion of the war.\n\nMay the betrayer be informed of our resolve and our intent. This council shall not bear the indignations of service below the Tyrant for any greater period of time, or may the histories mark us cowards and traitors to each other, to our people, and to ourselves.",
"Greensleeves\n\nThe Caucus of the Wizards was a rare and wondrous event and it was only by the accident of his squiring to Faeldon the Aelf, first of seven in the honor guard of Magus Shrib, that Derpin was begrudgingly allowed to serve his master as a Page. Watcher Solomon, foremost among sorcerous practitioners, and Keeper of the Stone called the convocation with a summons that read: *They have voted to break the stone*.\n\nThus Magus Shrib stirred from his dark and dusty lands, called forth his best Rangers, and trekked to the Dome, the great marble hall of wizards shining on the land from the center of a dense and fetid swamp. The journey had been filled with doubt and remonstration—Faeldon believed the boy not ready—but the inscrutable Shrib had seen in the lad things unquestioning and pliant, twin seeds of potential and portents of great deeds. As he walked through Wishing-on-the-Bog, the hard scrabble town around the Dome where one either prospered in service to wizards or survived their inattention, the boy was mesmerized. For the first time Derpin the Outsider felt at home.\n\nInside the dome many magical greats arrived: Manx of the North, ever dressed as the dour pauper, Reggmen the Bearded Numeromancer, Friejeck the Splendid, Champion of the Hand, and other such great personages that Derpin grew mute of mouth and weak in the knees in the presence of such prestige. Herein were the best and brightest, those of the longest beards, finest robes, and pointiest of hats. Men with power over demons who had turned excrement into gold and purchased great power. In this hallowed ground stood such towering figures that their names outshone their deeds and none would be accountable to the latter. \n\nA brazier was lighted and filled with magical powders so that it sparked and whistled with great ferocity and billowous smoke. The room was filled with trumpets’ blare and from several inconspicuous colombiers white doves and other lesser pigeon fowl were released. So was Watcher Solomon introduced to the Caucus. After the coughing subsided and unintended fires extinguished and the less fortunate columbids collected and disposed of, the Watcher spoke:\n\n*The Stone grows weak. Throughout the land the power of magic is doubted and the title Wizard reviled. Not one fortnight ago, five hundred lay gentry gathered and after much contention and violence agreed that some wizards are good, many wizards are bad, but that no wizard should have power to manage the Stone which sustains the land. So it falls to you, preeminent among wizards, to solve the crisis or initiate the splintering and dissolve this chamber. The House of Lords has given us two moons time to decide. Speak your hearts, make steel your minds, and let us settle the fate of our great country.*\n\nA quiet filled the chamber as each wizard examined his conscience and considered what great and selfless spellcraft might yet save them. Surely the great and complicated system of doling out the power of the Stone to some and not to others by byzantine traditions and arbitrary preference had taxed its magic and spread its bounty thin. It glowed green and indifferent in the center of the chamber. Derpin found himself lost in the facets of its cut, in some lattices seeing a great and happy land and in others seeing want and waste and destruction. It called to him, but he could not hear what it said. Perhaps it was calling to everyone at that moment. After a short reverie, a wizard from the hinterlands arose and began the august proceedings.\n\n*The Stone is not weak,* Sanctorem the Sanctimonious declared, *What has grown weak is men’s hearts. If we expel the swarthy leeches from the south countries and purge ourselves of the bum-obsessed libertines that dominate our epic poetry, prosperity will return to the land as we will surely return to the good graces of the Hand. Also, we must take strong action against vile slander and subversive humor, and make it so the Goggler cannot promote libel above the truth when it might damage the prestige of a wizard.* This latter sentiment was met with general approval as no one savored any slander against a wizard, though oft they maligned their fellows. In turn, another wizard stood and spoke.\n\n*Something must be done to save the serf. He needs seed paid for by the public coffer and lands kept fallow so that he might manage his soil by rotation. No serfs: no food.* A powerfully popular invocation. Another stood up and argued that the laborers making mechanical dragons should be protected. Others called for more floating golems to secure borders and hunt enemies in foreign kingdoms. Men from the guilds advised the council. Bladesmiths demanded a sword in every home to lower crime and alchemists insisted on recipe protection to secure their trade while tar miners assured that their extract burned the cleanest lamps and nature minded Aelves proposed that trees were people. All demanded some portion of the treasury.\n\nFor four and fifty days they debated. No cantrip, however small, was passed without bitter fight. Under a banner that read **Swords Don’t Kill Knights—Dastards Do** Biddings the Gaff suggested short broad bladed daggers as alternative to military style claymores. Objective Polrond evangelized the Book of Indifference as true wizardly government. Ghost Reegan analogized the Stone’s power to champagne in a tower of cups—fill the biggest at the top first until it trickles down to the thimble fills below. Every wizard sought to cut the tithe in his own domain while protecting his entitlements, offering to eliminate the privileges in another wizard’s hold to offset the bursar’s loss. The nefarious practices of money lenders were frequently lambasted with no consensus as to whether they were a result of too little or too much wizardry. The pork provisioned was weighed a hundred times and counted a thousand ways and the only thing understood about it was that it was somehow bad and someone was taking unscrupulous advantage.\n\nFor four and fifty days they argued. For four and fifty days cobble broke, roads were overgrown, bridges faltered, fruits rotted on the vine. For four and fifty days they drank milk and honey and ate beef while the commoner supplemented his watery porridge with chaff and dirt and bitter grasses. For four and fifty days they cavorted with bacchanalian glee—taking whores and wine with lavish abandon. For four and fifty days the scriveners transcribed their performance, recording statements and impressions to be read to dull and loutish commoners in the temple and the square in the cant and interest and omission of those who would lead him, so that illiterate could feel informed and ignorant aware.\n\nFor four and fifty days Derpin ran his master’s messages. His hands grew waxy with their charge as did moon wax and wane through the considerations of its own synod, traversing the sidereal path towards dragon’s mouth once and again without consensus among the Caucus. As the second lunation approached its apogee wise Solomon returned to the chamber with the smashing stick.\n\n*Speak, wizards and let us know our fate.*\n\n*The Stone’s power should be apportioned equally to all and magic returned according to one’s ability!* cried Manx.\n\n*You cannot manage the magic of the Stone through wizardry, only through faith in the Hand might we be saved!* declared Friejeck\n\n*We have the keys to manage this crisis,* Reggmen intoned nasally, *Through history and the specific use of magic we can save—*\n\nMagus Shrib motioned towards Derpin. He scrawled a hasty note that read *four hundred head sheep, keep the swarthy, purge the libertines, break the stone.* His councilor, the frog faced Rovsputin, nodded. The wax sealed the note and Derpin was charged with delivering it to Magus Sanctorem. The reply from the Sanctimonious was furiously scribbled and near indecipherable, yet clear as day: *five hundred sheep, no swarthys! no libertines! stone broken.* Magus Shrib looked at Rovsputin and shrugged: *I’ve done all I can.*\n\nAs the speeches and posturing died down Watcher Solomon called for a vote. Wizards cast their marbles. After an anxious wait Wall, Guard of the Points, announced the decision:\n\n“Ayes thirty two, nays thirty three,” and with the unstated admission that thirty four wizards had failed to summon the will to compromise, the lunatic moment arrived. Spellcraft had failed. Solomon raised the smashing stick and brought it down against his charge. The Stone glowed brightly for a time until its fissures became apparent and the light within seeped through the cracks in a dancing requiem of green arcs and crepuscular rays. Then the light was gone forever. The Stone shattered into a hundred shards of differing sizes, reminiscent of the stone with a faint glow but nothing like the monolith that had sustained a United Confederacy of Wizards. The shards were rewarded to individual wizards according to their influence, and each returned with a glittering splinter to their holds. They stripped off the green sleeves of their office and turned them in for gold. They title of wizard was abandoned in favor of king, and domains became walled fiefs. A convocation of the Caucus was never called again.\n\nDerpin stayed in service to the Royal Shrib until pursing a position in the guild sector. As a guild broker he made a fortune parlaying his influence among former wizards into opportunity for artisans to monopolize markets. The kingdoms withered. Fields were barren, roads lost to weeds. Serfs became slaves and freemen supplicants to the generosity of their capricious lords. The land was conquered by mediocrity and avarice. It was forever consigned a footnote to history while other kingdoms gained their ascendancy in its stead. \n\nDerpin the Insider died without regret on his Squire’s estate. Eventually it was divided and sold to pay for debauchery and then debts, and then his legacy was scattered to the wind and lost. Another way was never considered.",
"As Dad was flipping through the channels, Andy shouted, \"Whoa! Halt, halt, Dad!. Go back, back to 323\". On Channel 323, it was a usual Fox News, or Faux News as Andy liked to call it, story going on about how 'it is the end of the world' and 'all out hopes now rest on these kids'. \n\n\"It is their usual drivel, Andy\", his dad snorted.\n\n\"No dad, look, he's interviewing Cooper. Anderson Cooper\"\n\n\"What? Now why would Cooper agree to that?\"\n\n\"Turn up the volume dad, seems like something serious\".\n\n\"... you think any changes will occur as a result of these developments, Mr. Cooper?\"\n\n\"No, Wolf. I don't think so. You see, Voldemort has spent much time amassing his powers and forces and I don't think he is going to back down now. The UNMC's resolutions and its handling of the matter leaves a lot to be desired.\"\n\n\"Mr. Cooper, I'm sure you would say that. After all, you have repeatedly sympathized with these silly kids who oppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named\".\n\n\"Wolf, Voldemort is a disaster and you know that. How you justify it to your viewers is beyond me. Probably why you have Salazaar as your patron.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your time Mr. Cooper. This Wolf Blitzer, bringing you this breaking news. A group of kids at the Hogwarts School of Magic have decided to oppose Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Authorities are saying that the situation is under control, but the United Nations' Magic Committee, the UNMC, is saying that both sides must be heard. It is these type of terrorist-friendly elements that have caused this situation where, today, muggle kids and a group of deviant so-called-teachers have dared to oppose the Leader of All Wizards.\n\nMore at 7 tonight.\"\n\n",
"Sworn Testimony of One Andren Brentree, Spymaster of the Crown Regent, Before an Assembly of the Several Nobles of the Lands that Lay Between the Rivers\n\n**Closed Session: Contents Sealed**\n\nFollowing the incident I have made several attempts to contact the magistrate's desk. It is apparent that Marisdell has little concern for the scribblings of provincials, so I have appeared before this assembly to make my concerns known. Vocally. \n\nThe overrun of the bastion at Arkshire should be regarded by this council as nothing less than a provocation to war. Though perhaps these esteemed gentlemen regard Marisdell to be the soul and center of the world, there are [calls of indignant members], surprisingly enough, other locations of strategic importance.\n\nThe diversion of shipping traffic from Arkshire to Ravenport will by my estimate space provision of foodstuffs, salt, cut ice, and redwood timber to the capital by some three weeks, as opposed to the lavish three-day delay now benefitting the King's Own [murmured complaints].\n\nI understand the sensitive nature of publicly acknowledging the attack. As for operational particulars, I only ask to be given reign in Torenn. My assets in the capital have all fallen out of contact. When our outfit reaches them it will be a trivial matter to identify pro-war elements. I believe this information could be critical in the event that the Crown does wish to publicly blame our neighbors for the attack.\n\nAs always, we can move to eliminate these elements if the need arises.\n",
"The following is an excerpt from the minutes of The High Council of the Orcish Syndicates of Aarondur:\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: Our orcs are starving? Why are we even talking about this? We shall take what we need from the lands of men.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: That’s the problem, we’ve conquered them all.\n\nCouncilor Lub: What do you mean conquered them all? There’s still Ledden in the North.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: Our spies say the land is barren and the people are in famine. In the spring it will fall easily\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: You mean to say there are no lands left for us to expand?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: I already said it.\n\nCouncilor Lub: We never planned for this. We’ve been too ambitious in our campaigns. What can we do?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: We don’t have a choice. We have to farm.\n\nCouncilor Arob: ORCS!? FARM!? You must be joking. That’s ridiculous! Our men will never agree\n\nCouncilor Yukha: There aren’t any other options. All the land is ours. We will have a few prisoners begin the farms and teach orcs to maintain them.\n\nCouncilor Lub: We are a land of warriors. Do you really mean for us to farm oats and barley?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: And radishes and turnips. I hate it, but our people are starving and they could revolt. \n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: It will never work. We can’t even digest most vegetables.\n\nCouncil Yukha: What do you suggest? Should we kill our own and feed them to the rest?\n\nCouncilor Lub: That’s perfect. We can start with Kilug and his subjects. They’ve been threatening to revolt for years. We can destroy some settlements below the Mungus River and say it was them.\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: That’s it. Then we will have war and food and there won’t be any more of this farming nonsense.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: That can’t work. Besides, we’ll just be delayin-\n\nCouncilor Lub: I call a vote on the motion to raid said settlements and declare war on Kilug. All in favor?\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: Aye. \n\nCouncilor Arob: Aye.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: Nay. Do you even real-\n\nCouncilor Lub: And I vote Aye. The motion passes three to one.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: At least they’ve learned parliamentary procedure….\n",
"\"The Treefolk will be convening soon. I trust you'll be on your best behavior, Ryean.\"\n\n\n\"Of course. I don't know if the Treefolk will though. They seem kind of…seedy.\"\n\n\n\"Ryean, please. Do you know how awful it will be if you just pun throughout the meeting? I don't know why his Sporejesty appointed you ambassador, but we need this deal to go through.\" Doughbert clapped Ryean on the back, wincing at the squelching sound that ensued.\n\n\n\"Don't worry,\" Ryean said, \"Leaf it to me.\"\n\n\n\"If you aren't going to take this seriously, you need to select an alternate. Someone who actually cares about what will happen to the Yeastlings.\" Doughbert wheedled. \"I can think of…a few people off the top of my head.\"\n\n\n\"I know it seems like I won't give a crap, but it's not breaded in that direction, I promise. It might sound like acorn-y statement, but it's true.\" Ryean's ocuspores glinted with amusement.\n\n\nDoughbert looked downcast. His skin began to bubble more rapidly. \"Please. Just tell the treefolk that they cannot be the sole pollinators of the grove. We just want to spore the four corners- the inside is all for them.\"\n\n\nRyean nodded. \"For this time, I am serious. I will not let you down. This meeting will make or bake us…\" Noting Doughbert's downright stormy expression, Ryean hastily added, \"That just slipped in. I am sorry.\"\n\n\nRyean walked into the ring of trees, and saw the Treefolk he was to speak to was of an unfamiliar shape. He had several five-pointed large green leaves, and a single greenish bud on the top.\n\n\n\"Woaaaaaaah man,\" the Treefolk said, drawing out the syllables so slowly it would seem he was uncoiling a spool of molasses. He sounded about the same age as Ryean. \n\n\nWhy was he appointed ambassador? Doughbert wondered, watching from the side. I guess neither side really cared. Maybe they even wanted this meeting to fail. Maybe war was the inevitable conclusion. Maybe they couldn't live side by side.\n\n\n\"I think there could be a great friendship budding here?\" Ryean said tentatively. The treefolk laughed, and they approached each other eagerly.\n\n\n\"Well…\" The treefolk said, inhaling deeply, \"Stone the crows…\" The treefolk seized the Yeastling in an abrupt but close hug.\n\n\nRyean immediately laughed, and his skin began to bubble languidly, inhaling the musky odor of his companion.\n\n\n\"I think,\" both said almost at the same time, \"We will get along.\"",
"Coming to you live from Ernestave, we apologise for inconveniencing your regularly scheduled program to bring you breaking news from the Wise Circle. \n \nAs we are being told, while filling in the details as best as we can, WC Thinker number 4 has signed the 4th article of existence into being just moments ago. \n \nThe declarations have not been made public at this time. Although, our own Investigative Private Special Tactics Team suggests the alarm is fully justified.\n \nWhispers from the watch crowd are suggesting that it was a rash decision to be made so soon after the paradox was only brought to council one week ago. \n \nWe are now receiving word that our own professional thoughtsman has released a statement. \"Ill advised\"\n \nI've just been told a press conference will be held in just one hour from now by WC Thinker number 1 to discuss the decision made by WC Thinker number 4 earlier today. Until then we have been informed that no other official statements will be released. \n \nUntil further notice, all media will now be returned to its regularly scheduling."
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Write the steamiest story you can think of. All characters must be over 18. It can include any amount of people or any gender you want. The rest is yours have fun
**EDIT** although I like the steam stories that is not what I ment what I ment was sexy stories | [WP] Steamy Story | 6 | [
"the door barely closes before it starts. Her speed combined with intoxication with the drinks makes things much more surprising then they really are. Her hands both grip him like a vice and she nearly headbutts him. Actually she does headbutt him as shes a little unsteady because of her drinks and the speed of her ascent to eye level with the much taller man. But its okay; doesn’t hurt that much-doesn’t hurt at all and he just goes with it. Her tongue brushes his and he can taste the minty-burn of her parting shot that doesn’t mix well with the last vestiges of beer from his last swig. Nasty nasty nasty; shes damned nasty with the things she’s doing as one hand has shifted much lower on his personage.\n\nShe breaks their embrace and shoves him backwards into his bedroom where he pushes off unchosen clothes from earlier evening’s preparation braces himself with both arms –readying himself for the Iowan cyclone about to come crashing right into his bodily temple. With a blink her eyes gain a tenacious hellacious –hell even sagacious- quality that gives him the distinct notion that his top layer of skin might be removed in the process of being undressed. Without breaking her stare she shuts the door behind her and klicks the puritan lock inonemotion. \nCartoony like Tex Avery, all he can do is give one inspired *gulp* and be ready for the coming destruction the domination the violation of his “personal bubble”\n\nUh oh she’s begun her final approach on this freshly minted airline pilot while in a clean configuration its going to be a fast one. Gracefully shes pulled off her coat and tosses it on a chair –what a pass; she still hasn’t broken eye contact- and begins the countdown of the buttons on her silky black dress shirt. That gets thrown aside too and now he’s left with the slender tanned skin of this wonderous beauty’s upper torso with tight bluejeans over her even more wonderous as-\n\nAssonance, rather her particular gift of it- got them to this situation where the words she spoke sing-song-ily about something or somesuch and it resonated on a deep and fundamental level in the basement of his feelings. Her legs sandwiched his on the edge of the bed and shes trying to impart deep and fundamental knowledge about interpersonal relationships to the stubby shaved hairs and roughened skin on his shaven face. \n It’s marvelous.\n\nHubba-hubba huuuuuomygod this is nice whoa whoa whyshestopping???\n\n“This your first time or something?” she flicks her hair to the side \n\n“I wouldn’t go that fa-“ her lips lock back onto his as she begins to unhook the top half of her particulars. Another throw AND SHE’S ON FIYAH! Three fo’ three on the evening! Oh baby what a performance by Amy…. Amy…. Amy bah whatever this is incredible-\n\nRight, and back to the part where this dude’s internal monologue isn’t Gus Johnson so shes half naked and it’s awesome. Maybe around two hours ago they were strangers and now there a little less than that and about to be a lot less than that obviously. He’s still clothed and thus exists a problem. “Really ‘bro’?” Okay that’s not going to abide bros are douchefucks with popped collars or reflective teeshirts- whatever that’s fine. He rises to his feet and removes his jeans which she’d already unzipped in her opening act along with his boxers. His shirt and undershirt remain. \n\nThat was intentional. \n\n“Going for some yin and yang thing here?” Then he realizes they’ve got the opposite articles of clothes off. Again, intentional; he doesn’t want her to see his Mongolian birthmark that runs from an armpit and towards his chest. \n\n“I’ve got a tattoo, uh, that’s embarrassing.”\n\n“Really?” Amy asks. “Of what?”\n\n“Uhh” lie lie lie lieeeee “Eric Cartman.”\n\n“You’re joking…” well that’d definitely be a better option right about now and she pulls off my shirt and without consciously thinking about it surfaces the memory of times when Mom would undress him. Yep, going to need unpack that one with a therapist sometime soon. And then she sees that ugly blue mark of a genetic abnormality. Not good. “Where’s the tat?” she asks. \n\nHe denies.\n\n“You didn’t want me to see that, did you?”\n\nHe concedes.\n\nIt’s quiet and this lady of non American background has stilled. Uh oh. \n“So.. I think you’re at a bit of a disadvantage,” she looks him up and down “and a little cold.” Gawddamnit. \n\n “I think I can solve that problem,” She slides off the most tastefully scandalous underwear he can imagine though he’s not an expert in what’s fashionable in women’s delicates. \n\nBut then there it is, that thing he thinks beats his concept that a full Moon in a clear black sky as the most beautiful thing in nature: the unprotected feminine physique.\n\nDamn. Fucking damn this girl’s body is ROCKING. \n\nHe doesn’t feel so drunk any more just sitting there but as their skin collides and he falls backwards onto his bed and crawls towards the pillows with his elbows and she does the same on her knees following him.\n\nDid I mention that not only did she have great assonance but also she’s astutely\n\n“Assertive,” Amy says after breaking a kiss.\n\n“excuse me?”\n\n“That’s the word I was looking for, when you asked to describe myself. Hope you don’t mind.”\n\n“Not at all.”\nas•ser•tive [uh-sur-tiv] \nadjective\n1. confidently aggressive or self-assured; positive: aggressive; dogmatic: \n2. having a distinctive or pronounced taste or aroma.\n\nAnd that she was. She was definitely assertive right from the beginning; that short moment where he was certain he’d achieved the feeling of a merger with the entire universe of energy; through that amazing middle of a constant, throbbing, generous exchange. Giving and receiving again –again –again and again. Breaths were traded back and forth and the air sparked with invisible electricity as these two young adults engage in the most ancient activity involving the sharing of the essences of life. \n",
"Checking out your past submission history...nope.\n\nI'm not going to let you exploit this subreddit for your masturbation fuel.\n\nNow I'm all steamed up.",
"\"You give up your body, I give up my freedom, and we both give up money. That's a raw deal,\" Niel said as he rubbed my back.\n\n\"You aren't doing a very good job of being strong for me,\" I said, my voice even and calm. My icy voice was the coldest thing in the room, as wisps of heated mist curled rounds my wrists, my shackles tinged with lavender.\n\n\"And in exchange, all we get is shit. Not even just tough times, although we'll have those too. Literal steaming, stinking SHIT.\" His hands ground into my shoulder, kneading as would a quietly desperate cat.\n\n\"I didn't ask the condom to break.\" I wouldn't let my voice choke up. \"We only have five minutes. Too much time in the sauna won't help anything.\"\n\nI looked into his eyes, and I saw a silent plead to stay in the sauna just a little bit more. \"Would it be the worst thing in the world if...\" He trailed off, and seemed to think for a second.\n\nHe punched himself in the shoulder. He didn't wake up. \n\n\"I was going to be a god one day.\" He said, running his fingers through his cascading golden hair. His blue eyes flickering with emotions, steam curling all around him like a malevolent aural fog, he sure looked like one.\n\n\"I need to go,\" I begged. \"I shouldn't stay in here too long. The...\" His hands gripped tighter on my shoulders.",
"His fingertips slid down my spine and he whispered kisses down my neck as lace dropped to my feet. I clutched for the air and tufts of satin sheets. \n \nI felt remarkably alive, I felt everything. I felt his love for me.",
"I'll bite.\n\nThe flame in my body flickered at his touch. His lips met mine, and I melted for him. Slowly, gently, he stoked the flames. He took his time, carefully turning over coals, roughly shoving logs around, gently pushing others into place. He worked long and hard to build the biggest fire possible, slowly adding larger and larger lengths of wood. Finally, he pulled out a container, it wasn't the biggest, but it certainly wasn't small either. Finally, slowly, forcefully, he opened himself, and finally added his secret ingredient to the inferno. It was a pure embodiment of passion, dedication, and lust. In seconds the flame exploded, there where fireworks, bright colors, explosive sounds. In that moment, everything fell together, there was nothing but beauty and the throes of passion to contend with as I felt the fire consume me. \n\nBliss.",
"We needed electricity. We had water, a heat source, and a turbine.\n\n... and I've been beaten to it.",
"After all this buildup, he could no longer take it.\n\nThey called him James Dean. It was a joke based on JD, the company owning the power plant. Every steam pipe was personified by the workers, and given a J.D. based nickname. James Dean was given the best, of course, the mantle of a ladies' man. He was ever reliable, never a burst or a tear, the workers' favorite.\n\nBut their confidence, over time, led to neglect, and James Dean hadn't had any maintenance in far too long. His hard shaft was ready to explode.\n\nAnd when it came, it came hard.\n\nJennifer Jameson from PR was taking one of the maintenance tunnels as a shortcut when it happened. James Dean burst, and his hot contents splashed all over her face. The spray hit her with the force and volume of a fire-hose, and knocked her off her feet. She screamed as it clung to her and burned her cheeks.\n\nShe was sent to the hospital with third degree burns covering her entire face, and a portion of her neck.\n\n\"Alright, listen up men,\" Peter North, maintenance team supervisor said. \"James Dean has been good to us. He never got clogged, he never got rusty, and he certainly never went flaccid. But we've put him through too much, and he isn't young like he used to be. He used to be able to come through for us on command, but from now on we'll have to split his loads up between him and Davenport.\"\n\n\"What!? NO!\" Brandon Manilow said. \"John Davenport can't match James Dean! He just can't!\"\n\nNorth frowned as he looked over Brandon. \"Sorry, kid. I feel like Dean just doesn't have it in him anymore.\"\n\n\"Hell yeah he doesn't have it in him,\" said Leo Ford, resident wise-ass. \"He's spraying it all over the wall.\"\n\n\"Shut up, Ford,\" North said, frowning, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, Leo had a point. They were talking about what they *should* do in the future, but Dean was bursting all over the place. The problem was no one could get close to him, if they did he'd explode all over them, too.\n\nThen, it came to him. *of course.*\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" North said. \"Bring out your toys. I need clamps, screws, tools, and *especially* costumes. I need the stuff you use only in the *nastiest* situations, because what we are neck deep in is straight up *nasty.*\"\n\nSo they suited up, they brought out their special, nasty toolboxes and got to special nasty business.\n\n\"You ready, Manilow?\" North asked, when they finally stood in front of the pipes.\n\n\"Ready as I'll get,\" Manilow said, nervously running his hands up and down himself.\n\n\"You ready Ford?\" North asked.\n\n\"Always in the mood,\" Ford said.\n\nThey all nodded, and the three men approached the hard, spilling pipe.\n\n\"Son of a bitch!\" Ford cried as he was hit by the hot, sticky expulsion. \"I can feel it through my suit! Shit!\" He tried to move forward, but he couldn't see, and all he could do was cover himself. It did no good, his hands were blown out of the way, and it coated his entire body.\n\nManilow was knocked off of his feet by the force and volume. The fluid sent him sliding into the wall. He was knocked into another shaft, which entered him. (It was a broken pipe they'd never gotten around to fixing) He cried out.\n\n\"Manilow!\" North yelled.\n\n\"Go on, Chief,\" Manilow said. \"This is just too hard for me to swallow...but you...you can do it. *Go!*\"\n\nThe Chief turned, and with his determination unswayed, moved toward the violently erupting James Dean. He pulled out his tool and went to work. The pipe sprayed in his face, but he handled it diligently. Dexterously, yet firm. His body was burning hot, but in the moment he ignored it and dutifully tended to Dean.\n\nFinally, the violent hurricane of steam let up. Finally, the pipe was patched.\n\n---\n\nLater on, in the hospital, Dean and Ford were visiting Manilow.\n\n\"...They said it was a challenge,\" Manilow said. \"It was pretty deep in there, and it was hard to pull out.\"\n\n\"Christ,\" said Ford.\n\n\"Hey, it's alright,\" Manilow said, with a smile. \"I'm okay. And med insurance covered it, so I'm just resting easy.\"\n\n\"Well, I think we learned something, today, guys,\" North said.\n\n\"What's that?\" the other two asked in unison.\n\n\"Between what happened to James Dean and Manilow getting impaled, we clearly haven't been doing as good of a job as we should be. In the future: let's take extra care to protect our pipes, alright?\"\n\nThe other two nodded in agreement."
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Please include this phrase: "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things."
*Reddit gold to the submission that most strongly hits me in the feels.*
Ready? Set? GO!
-----
EDIT: I couldn't decide, so I awarded gold to *two* of our writers. /u/voxanimus and /u/PoliticalMilkman both win a month of reddit gold! | [FF] I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. (250 words + GOLD) | 35 | [
"I stopped by John's house on my way home from school today. He dropped out a couple years ago when his mom died. John and I were a strange pair: I came from a loving, well-to-do family; he from a broken home marred by addiction and abuse, yet we were best friends.\n\nI made my way into John's room, which contained nothing but his bed, guitar, and needles.\n\n\"H-hey John. Long time no see,\" I spoke through a fake smile. He responded with the most mournful guitar playing I had ever heard--a melancholic melody reflecting his own wasted greatness. After an abrupt stop, he lifted his head and spoke to me in a whisper.\n\n\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all... things.\" From under his dirty bed he pulled out a fairly large container holding white pills. He poured a large handful of them and gazed intently at me.\n\nThis was a new low for John. We pushed through it all before, his troubles with the law, his troubles with drugs. But losing him forever? Losing the boy I had grown up with for so long? What I would miss the most was his music. In a cruel world that had given John nothing but misery, music was where he found solace, in his melodic plucking that vibrated my heartstrings.\n\nThe prospect of life without John was simply too much for me. I gazed back at him as I poured a handful, and then we both swallowed the pills. And then John smiled. And I smiled back.",
"\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things,\" the young man, marred by dust and sweat and brutal truths, said to his companion as he took her hand. The verdant green eyes that stared back at him housed the conflict of joy pitted against sadness all enchained within acceptance.\n\nIn what felt like another world, a wall showered its masonry into the room as a beam the size of a tree toppled into it. The ceiling had caved in, the adjoining room broke its way into theirs, and the flames that had scoured their way through the town reached the last sanctuary of these two lovers. Here, now, though, all these two knew was each other: the coolness of their hands in each other's; the way their faces were framed by the light; the warmth of their breath as they leaned in for a final kiss.\n\n*\"Cut!\"* the director bellowed from the side of the stage. \"That's great! Let's clean up and then we can call it a day.\"",
"You picked me. I was content in the water with my friends and the pale pink faces that occasionally pressed themselves up against the glass to watch me. There was the castle and the little man who couldn't breathe. There was the smooth green bottom with stones spotted with white. Still, something was missing. I dreamed of endless water and rocks any color but green. \n\nYou came and pressed your face against the glass. You pointed and I was lifted up higher than I can ever remember going. I can only think of the terror after. Of swimming and hitting a wall over and over again. You kept talking to me, though I couldn't understand what you said.\n\nI slept. Even when you spoke I slept. Then came the new home with the smaller castle and the little man who couldn't breathe. Then came the food so much food. I never had to share. I ate and I ate and I ate.\n\nWhen my belly was full and you tapped the glass to make me move I was glad you were with me. In the end. I was glad to swim in different water and have a place of my own.",
"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. When we met, you were one of the first few not to leave in disgust. Where others looked with contempt you viewed with hope. When I grew, you were the one of the few who wasn't fearful of both my safety and my 'peers' that I socialized with. When we grew apart, you were the only one to care, and cry. When I was labeled a failure, you were the one to testify. When I presented my partner, you were the one who was happy instead of shocked. When the harlot died and took my offspring with her in the emergency room you were the one who did not look upon me with fury when I was monotone and collected. When they said juvenile sociopath you said misunderstood. When I became a recluse you were the only one who did not rejoice. Out of my entire family, you were the one not remorseful over my existence. Dearest mother. Was it pride? Denial? Arrogance even? Is mother's love truly your ally, not your toxin? You called it love, yet I saw sentimentality. I admit, I never truly loved you. I loved the food given, not the affection. I loved the materials and housing, not the provider. You just want your little bastard boy to be a bright understandable happy man? Then for once in your life do something right, and help me finish tying this noose.",
" \"What are you doing here!?\" Johnny demanded. \n\n\"The same thing as you, Johnny.\" Replied Jake as he closed the door to his car, \"I'm here to see things through to the end.\" Johnny felt some resentment in seeing his longtime friend showing up here on the hill before the bombs dropped.\n\n“Idiot” Johnny smiled and shook his head, “You should be with the others in Naptown where it’s safe. There’s nothing to see here but the fiery end of birthplace…..our home.”\n\n“You think you’re the only one who is worthy enough to go with our tiny hamlet?” Jake climbed the hill to be on the same ground as his companion. Johnny started to understand and was at ease that his friend did show up. “You’re not the only one, Johnny. Every citizen of Sanctum fought tooth and bone to avoid this. I was right there next to you as we made our stand! And I’ll be damned if some brat as yourself will be the only one that see’s their cradle of dreams go up in flames!” \n\nJohnny couldn't help but feel the emotions behind each word of his dear friend and how they two were one and the same to this struggle. The humdrum of the fighter planes grew louder. The sound of inevitable death shouted beyond the hills.\n\n“Jake. Even though they drop the bombs and burn us to bits.” Johnny smiled, “ I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"\n",
"A tear rolled down my cheek as a weak smile crossed my lips. \n\nMy father laid before me in his hospital bed. The former marine. The former body builder. The former larger than life, barrel chested, gregarious man’s man looked up at me with glassy eyes. Dad had finally conceded to the disease he had battled for the past few years.\n\nHis once tree trunk arms had dwindled to twigs. Tan skin was now pale and sallow. Dad’s face was sunken and, for the first time I could remember, his eyes showed doubt and... *fear*. He was about to die and he knew it. He tried to speak but the oxygen mask muffled his words. Leaning over, I slid the mask down and put my ear to his mouth.\n\n“Thank you for coming,” Dad wheezed, “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” I looked at him as he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” Nodding, I replaced the mask.\n\n“I love you, Dad. The past is the past and I am here for you,” I lied. Maybe I was weak or maybe I was being compassionate in comforting him. But it worked as he visibly relaxed.\n\nI squeezed his hand.\n\nAs much as I still wanted to scream and punch the man for what he had done to me as a child, I could not because now he was helpless and defenseless and alone. And that was the difference between Dad and me.",
"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\nI know you're not actually here, but it feels like you are. It feels like you should be. Then again, maybe you shouldn't. \nI'm not really sure why I'm ending it. It just feels like something’s missing, or there’s something too much. Something out of place, or something just the way it should be. Does that make sense? I'm sorry. \nI've been saying that a lot lately. “I’m sorry”. People don’t think I mean it when I say it, but I really do. People don’t trust me, and people don’t see what I see, or feel what I feel. I really am sincere though. I just feel guilty about everything, you know? Guilty about what I did to you, what I'm doing to you, and what I'm doing to myself. \nAnd I truly am sorry. I didn't want it to turn out like this. I guess some things are out of our control. \nThank you for everything. Thank you for being there, even when I wasn't entirely. Thank you for putting up with me, for taking me back. Thank you for all the tears you've shed and the laughs you've laughed, for me and with me. Thank you for the memories, and thank you for the memories yet to come. \nMaybe in the next life things will turn out better for me. And for you. You deserve as much. \nI'm so sorry. I really am.",
"I’m sorry I got so old, on ya’, Jack. The arthritis made me too slow to get out and play with you much the way we did when you were just a boy, but my god, did we have fun in those days. Every last one of these aches, every cataract, was earned living the best life a boy could give me, and a better life than I could’ve asked for myself. Naw, Jack, don’t feel bad- I know you’re not tryin’ to hurt me. Buck up, buddy. You gave me sunshine, new-cut grass, squirrels to terrorize. We played catch for hours, back then, just you ‘n’ me. I wouldn’t trade any second of it for anythin’. \n\n\nAnd lookit you! You’re bigger now, and there will be others you’ll love. It won’t be the same, naw; I won’t lie to you there. But it’ll be love, and it’ll be good. You were a good boy to me, Jack, and you’ll be good to them, too. Try not to let yourself be too lonely, okay?\n\n\nI get what you’re doing- you don’t think I wouldn’t understand the way it’s harder to breathe? And you know I’d never’ve asked you to stay with me through this, not when I can smell the tears you wouldn’t let me lick off your face… but now that I’m here on this cold steel table… I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Jack, I can die knowing I was a good dog. \n",
"I knew it was going to be you. \n\nYou promised her velvet for her birthday, but with such an ambiguous malice that even I did not notice. I'm amazed at how planned out your impulses are.\n\nI knew it was going to come to this.\n\nRibbons on the porcelain; you've always had a thing for aesthetics. Although this lacks your typical symmetry I can still call it art. There's no music in this piece.\n\nI wish I could say that you've ruined me, but I know my worth. You were both the greatest and worst thing to ever happen to me. Ambivalence be damned.\n\nRegardless, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. There was never a destiny, only a retreat. \n\nIt is sufficiently cold now, afloat in this river. I always knew you'd be the one to push me in.... i...",
"“Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder.\n\n“Which knee?”\n\nA short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.”\n\n“Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back.\n\n“Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.”\n\n“Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…”\n\n“Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted.\n\n“Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.”\n\nJoe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!”\n\nI gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.”\n\n“Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it.\n\nI looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek.\n\n“Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.”\n\nWe huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home.\n\n\nA little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.\n",
"I was still awake pacing my heartbeat to the tempo of her breathing as she dreams. At times I forget what it once was like to sleep peacefully at night, but I know that she knows and if I can remember in the morning I’ll ask her. She’ll laugh quietly and say, “oh Dave,” but never really answer me because she likes to dream during the day as well. Dream that things have not become what they are. Dream that she didn’t have to learn stick shift to drive me to hospitals, that our kids weren’t across the world, that our neighbors weren’t too curious about the bushes growing over the line into their yard, and that the words the doctors used were words that didn’t really exist and none of this was real, just a temporary nightmare. \n \nWe sit beside each other in green clothed chairs in a quiet room at the end of a hallway people walk down but never up, because this is a place people go to but never come from. “Dave hunny?” I place the magazine in my hands in my lap and look at her, “yes darling?” \n \n“Where did I go wrong?” The sort of question asked with vulnerability like that of a nineteen year old bride reciting vows once and for all. \n \n“Oh. Love. You never went wrong.” I slip my hand onto hers to maybe rewind time. “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”\n",
"*I'm late, I don't care! First time posting.*\n\n\nBefore them lay devastation. The land burnt and charred, the air filled with remains of smoke and ash. From atop the desolate hill they could see all. The city had fallen, numerous lives were taken. This was the final battle of every battle the human race has waged. This was a battle they were not destined to win. Fate, a higher being, or the earth itself had long since laid this prophecy. Humans were too much like a plague. Like a rapid spreading forest fire, waiting to burn itself out. This was the final inkling of that fire. Their eyes rise to look at the bloody horizon. She reaches out and laces her fingers with his, both their hands caked in dirt and ash. \n\n\n Turning her head, she looks at him one last time, her eyes searching. In this final moment she saw things in him she never seen before, such as the specks of gold in his blue eyes, or the faint scar on his light bronze skin. He too looked back at her and drank in those beautiful angelic features of hers. Her long almost white blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. Her bright green eyes captivated him, even now. His heart ached to be thinking this was their goodbye. Pulling her to him, her body molding against his perfectly as it always has, he kisses her. The kiss was full of intensity, emotions, things he could never say and never will. A bright light cracked through the smoke, and slowly it became blinding. Leaning towards her he holds her tight and whispers into her ear. *\"I’m glad you're here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"* Those final words faded away as they both vanished into oblivion.\n",
"Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows.\n\nTo me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog?\n\nSo I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that.\n\nMs Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop.\n\nNow Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone.\n\n\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things,\" I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag.\n\n**EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n",
"In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now.\n\nI turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return.\n\nA distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time.\n\nI shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\n\n\n\n",
"\"I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't change things,\" she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well.\n\n\"Not at all. I still want to die.\" We're silent for a few minutes. \"We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did.\"\n\n\"I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways.\"\n\n\"There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me.\"\n\nShe glares. \"I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?\" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying.\n\n\"Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love.\"\n\nShe sniffles, the only sound she makes. \"I just..I never wanted you to die.\"\n\nI scoff harshly. \"Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me.\n\nShe was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died.",
"He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. \n\nIt was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.\n\n“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.\n\nHe reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.\n\nHer light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. \n\nHer mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.\n\nHe pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.\n\nHe leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”\n\nShe looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.\n\n“This isn’t the end.” \n",
"Thank you. \n\nYou’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay.\n\nWhen I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed.\n\nI know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. \n\nAnd even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.",
"Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity.\n\n\nEight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. \n\n\nEight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt.\n\n\nYes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. \n\n\nEight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.\n",
"My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to.\n\nHis lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. \"You never were much help in the hard moments\" he said. \"Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it.\" He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. \"I'm glad you came.\"\n\nI looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. \"Dad, you knew I'd be here.\" I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. \"I wish I wasn't.\" I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man.\n\nHe continued to smile, \"I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things.\" His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward.\n\n I kissed his cheek and croaked out, \"I love you, too.\" With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. \"I love you, too.\"",
"A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.\n\nI used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.\n\nI don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?\n\nMaybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.\n\nI'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast."
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You see something incredible while walking down the street. The strange part is, nobody else seems to see it!
What the hell is going on here?
-----
*150 words precisely! Have fun!* | [FF] Tunnel Vision (150 words precisely) | 12 | [
"It wan’t something he’d planned – but for Matt, being alone on ‘Lovebahn’ was something new. Again, it wasn’t something he’d planned, but his girlfriends had always avoided it – all 2 of them. But, now, at 10 am, the street was changed. Harsh sunlight glinting off the shiny benches and shopfronts; Matt again noticed something again he hadn’t planned for – the smooching couple. It wasn’t odd enough that they were here on a school day, it was odder that they were almost translucent. He could see the shop behind and the bench beneath them. Hastily, entering the nearest shop, he avoided the shopkeeper’s jovial welcome and asked him if he could see them.\n\n“What? You see Joe & Sam kissing there? No one can see them but someone who is going to be lucky in love. Means you’re gonna find your love – today”.\n\n\nAnd that was when he bumped into Rachel.\n\n",
"Twinkling shards of shattered glass scatter themselves upon the pavement at my feet. I stop jogging and take a second look. The small, glittering pebbles appear to be automobile glass. A piercing scream brings my attention to the center of the street. There lies an SUV, upside down, mangled to oblivion. Without pausing to wonder how it got there I dash for the driver side door. Shoppers and dog-walkers begin to form a crowd, several take pictures with their phones. I approach the vehicle where I find a confused man hanging by his seatbelt. Empty beer cans lie on the roof above his head. The onlookers shift and I move to see what they see. A bloody, torn body lies under the truck. I shout at the crowd to help me, but nobody moves. Only one person notices me, a tall man in black. The others ignore him as well.",
"Sarah had read about Shadow People but never seen them for herself. From what she recalled, they came in pairs and were little more than illusions brought on by tired minds. And though she had imagined them as indistinct blobs or smudges of grey, when she first saw the shape in the corner of her left eye she was surprised by its refined, human form and the startling reality of it. It made everyone else's ignorance all the more impressive. Nobody in the park took note of the figure, despite its definition or the fact that it aligned perfectly with the ground, appeared to really be standing there – a convincing forced perspective. Then something was moving in her right eye, something dark. Then there was pain, the cold feel of metal through flesh. And only then did she remember they came in pairs. That they didn't like to be seen. "
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Content can be anything. I am willing to change the prompt if people want slightly different guidelines for this.
Also, I assume that many of you will know what an onomatopoeia is, but for those who don't, it is a word that sounds like what it is describing (examples include boom, hiss, pow, moo, woof, etc.) | [FF] At least four onomatopoeias, in 150 words or less | 8 | [
"The sails whuffled gently in the lackluster wind, very nearly in time with the lub dub of my heart. The doldrums I had been warned about; that I had snerked at, had engulfed me. There I sat with the pontoons gently thunking against the hull of my ship with a hypnotic rhythm. Slowly, I raised the binoculars to my eyes, hoping against hope to see another ship on the horizon. Suddenly, an infernal squawk filled the calm sea air, seemingly audible for miles. \"Seafarer 1, come in. Come in Seafarer 1\". My heard thumped against my breat, was this rescue? Was I saved?",
"ta-ta-ta-tap. ta-ta-ta-tap. Her wine glass in her left hand greets her mouth for a drink, and her right hand keeps running marathons on the table. A beep of a car door being remotely locked causes her to jump. She is in a daze, he hasn't communicated in over three - ding - hours. The message reads 'Thomas just rolled himself over this morning!' and it isn't from her spouse, but her sister. Ever since she heard the slam of the door, she was frozen. He couldn't understand why her sister could have Thomas, and Jenna and David, and she couldn't even make one.",
"Slam. A shiver runs up my spine and my heart thumps in my ears; It's the car door, and I know it's going to be awful by the way her footsteps are furiously crunching the gravel as she storms up the driveway. I wish I could hide, but that'll just make her angrier. I've tried it before, even escaped for a few hours hoping she would calm down but all it did was put her anger on simmer until I was close enough for her to hurl it at. I hear her stabbing her keys in the door and mumbling curses under her breath.The door smacks open with a terrifying whoosh and she's headed for me. I hear her growl my name and I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable and praying its over soon.",
"I think I thought it'd be a big ol' boom! Sitting here in Asia, out of fucking no where (well, of course somewhere. I didn't stumble, unpaid, onto the plane or anything). But then I hear the same stupid click of heels on the marble—I guess that's an exception, sidewalks being marble instead of concrete—and the same fucking fashion and needless coyness and the slight bow 'cause we're all uncomfortable everywhere. The girls do giggle more than laugh, and the boys do, too. They definitely have thinner hair. The zoom of the mopeds is insanely loud, which is a difference from the American bubble I blew up in—the the cars were louder—but these are absolute trifles. Maybe I lack the integrity to have culture shock. I just...I wish I got the hiccup in the way of thinking that I was looking for. I just wish I got that boom."
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