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[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The year is 1910. Adolf Hitler, a struggling artist, has fought off dozens of assasination attemps by well meaning time travelers, but this one is different. This traveller doesn't want to kill Hitler, he wants to teach him to paint. He pulls off his hood to reveal the frizzy afro of Bob Ross.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in.\n\n\"And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?\" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he \nsprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. \"I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous, \nbut… I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?\"\n\n\"*Ja*, It is very hard, my master,\" the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies.\n\n\"Hey, Hitler,\" Bob said, stepping in, confident. \"May I?\" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer.\n\n\"What is this!?\"\n\n\"Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff.\"\n\n\"Bob Ross?\"\n\n\"Yes. Here's the thing – I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not \ninvade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people.\"\n\n\"Holy shit, I do that!?\" Hitler widened his eyes.\n\n\"Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how \nlong it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument.\"\n\n\"What's the internet?\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" Bob leaned forward. \"This is what we're going to do – I'm going to teach you how to –\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. \"I'm afraid I must intervene here.\"\n\n\"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?\"\n\n\"The twist?\"\n\n\"Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and \nwhen you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over \nGermany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do.\"\n\nRoss frowned. \"I don't follow.\"\n\n\"You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?\" The servant asked.\n\n\"How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910.\"\n\n\"Never mind about that.\" The servant leaned back. \"My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you \nteach Adolf how to paint.\"\n\n\"Why!? Why would you do that?\"\n\n\"Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some \npurpose for the plot, right? And let's face it – go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've \nseen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example.\"\n\nBob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. \"Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?\"\n\n\"Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient.\"\n\n\"Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!\"\n\n\"Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some \npeople.\"\n\n\"It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not \nself-referential parody?\"\n\n\"Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy.\"\n\n\"Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author.\"\n\nThey both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug.\n\n\"Anyway,\" Hans said, resuming the conversation. \"Do something different. Fast.\"\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"Huuuuuuh…. Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!\"\n\n\"Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks.\"\n\n\"Okay, then… you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and –\"\n\n\"I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen.\"\n\n\"Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out.\"\n\n\"Hitler? Any suggestions?\"\n\nAdolf looked around. He got up and paced. \"I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a \nday?\"\n\n\"And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring.\"\n\n\"Yeah…\" Hitler stopped. \"I don't know then. I really don't know.\"\n\nHans shook his head. \"Okay, I got this.\" He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. \"Send them in.\"\n\nRoss frowned. \"Send who in?\"\n\nStatic emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: \"Copy that.\"\n\n\"Send who in?\" Adolf repeated. \"What's happening?\"\n\n\"Well,\" Hans said, getting up. \"If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way \nto turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing \nPrompt's classic tropes.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\nThe door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in – a boy in round \nglasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson. \n\n\"Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?\"\n\n\"Yup,\" Harry said, in a bored tone.\n\n\"Harry Potter fanfic? Really?\" Ross shook his head. \"For fuck's sake.\"\n\n\"If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly.\"\n\nHermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed.\n\n\"Fuck that, I'm out,\" Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the \nStatute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care.\n\n_____\n\n*For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The suite on the sixth floor of the Trump International Hotel, Washington D.C., was decorated in chestnut and tan. The headboard of the king size bed was carved as if it was a coat of arms of some legitimate monarch, and was trimmed with fake gold, which poorly matched the Kremlin red, velvet throw pillows. Like the room's single, useless accent wall, the curtains were a brutal cerulean, suggesting a space that conceals more deception than the dark seabed of a Vladivostok harbor. In all, the suite was reminiscent of something a Tsar might have once maintained, perhaps as quarters for secondary guests in some Eastern Palace. Nevertheless, on that particular Pennsylvania Avenue afternoon, Ajit Pai, FCC Chairman, felt anything but secondary. \n\nAjit rolled over on the sheets, letting his chesthair peak out from his robe, and then stretching all the way from his scapula to his calves. Laying beside him, Lowell C. McAdam, CEO of Verizon Communications, picked another chocolate covered strawberry from the bowl. He placed it in Ajit's mouth, letting his hand linger on his former General Counsel's lips just a moment too long.\n\n\"You know I love dessert,\" Ajit said, \"but I hope you have something else for me.\"\n\n\"I don't recall you ever being so direct before, my Sugar Plum\" Lowell returned, clasping Ajit's buttocks.\n\n\"Maybe those FTC boys go easy on you,\" Ajit answered, pulling away, but only a little, only for show, \"but I'm from the FCC, so you better show me the cash first!\"\n\nLowell sighed. He spun off the bed. He sauntered over to the bureau and picked up a leather briefcase with two silver latches. Lowell showed Ajit what was inside: stacks and stacks of crisp hundred dollar bills.\n\n\"Just to be clear,\" Lowell explained, \"every last cent of this is to repeal net neutrality. You're giving me that ass for free.\"\n\nLowell pounced down on top of Ajit, groping at him the way a crude man only does to a prostitute. Ajit loved feeling bought and paid for. He giggled and squealed, and the two men kissed.\n\nBut suddenly, the passion and privacy of the suite was shattered by a flash of light and a thunderous clap. The hideous furniture Ivanka had inexplicably wanted credit for rattled along the carpet. When the two lovers and conspirators regained their composure, there was a strange young man and woman standing before them, wearing tattered jeans and leather vests. They both had AK-47s draped over their shoulders. The woman punched Ajit hard in the jaw.\n\n\"Are you Ajit Pai the FCC chairman or Ajit Pai the cricketer!\" she demanded. Her face was stained with dirt.\n\n\"What? Who are you? Where did you come from?\" Ajit asked, favoring his chin, his whole body quivering.\n\n\"FCC chairman or cricketer!\" the woman shouted again, brandishing the AK-47 at the frightened, half naked businessman, and lobbyist pretending to be a guard of the public interest.\n\n\"FCC!\" Ajit replied, \"Yes, I'm with the FCC!\"\n\n\"You know why she had to ask that, motherfucker?\" the rough man began, \"because the only other famous Ajit Pai was a fucking cricket player, and where we come from, Wikipedia pages take twenty minutes to load, unless you pay an extra $9.99 a month! So all we really had to go on was the fucking disambiguation page. You know how hard it is to tell an artificially intelligent time machine where you want to go, when all it can access are the goddamn disambiguation pages?\"\n\nThe man picked Ajit up, and threw him onto the bed. He did the same to Lowell.\n\n\"Your little side deal here,\" the woman explained to the telecommunications executives, \"let me tell you how this goes down. First, you repeal net neutrality for some chump change kickback. Then, of course, all the asshole ISPs start tacking on surcharges for people to get on pretty much all the good websites, until nobody could afford more than one. So, the same thing happened that always happens when you force people to choose teams. Society broke apart completely. Soon, the Youtubian Republic was throwing molotov cocktails at the Facebook Moms, and the Netflixtariat were being rounded up by the Insta-thots. Nobody talks to each other or shares anything, and it is terrible.\"\n \nAjit and Lowell looked to the door and windows, thinking of any possible escape. But there was none. They were hostages of an uncaring power who had no concern for their well being.\n\n\"But there was one silver lining to not having the web you're used to,\" the rough man continued, \"Without an open internet, nobody else got to find out that we finally cracked how to build a fully operational time machine. We didn't tweet about it or do a single AMA. Because why would we? There'd be nobody online to see it. That means we were able to skip all the bullshit and just travel right back here, right to this moment, before you two fucked each other, and then the whole country.\"\n\n\"Are,\" Lowell stammered, \"are you going to kill us?\"\n\nThe time travelers laughed, then stuck peculiar glowing orbs on the lovers' chests.\n\n\"No, we're not going to kill you,\" the woman replied, \"instead, we're just going to send you boys into the future you're trying to create. And we'll stay back here in 2017, when things were at least only halfway terrible.\"\n\n\"What? No, you can't!\" Ajit shouted.\n\n\"Sure we can,\" the man told him, \"because time travel has no regulations. I thought you loved it when technology has no regulation.\"\n\nThe woman pushed a button on a strange remote. The suite filled with another flash of light. Ajit and Lowell embraced. They vanished. ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do Mr Bond. I’m going to stick you in a spacesuit with a radio, and strap you into one of my cars. Then, while mankind watches, I’ll launch you into space. The last thing you’ll hear before leaving this earth forever, will be their applause.”", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Consciousness flooded James Bond all at once, but he did not show it. He stayed slack in his chair, eyelids limp, only listening. He sat strapped into the driver's seat, hands taped firmly to the steering wheel. They had put him in a thick white space suit that made his forehead prickle in fear-sweat. \n\nHe turned his head toward the mirror. His visor was so dark he could not see his own eyes staring back at him.\n\nBeyond the car he heard nothing but the faint murmur of voices speaking on the other side of the glass. \n\nThe back of his head ached in a slow, pulsing way, but he wasn't bleeding. Couldn't have been that bad. He could still think. He could still get out of this.\n\nHe always could.\n\nAdrenaline erased the ache in his head, his horror and muted, near-forgotten panic. He knew where he was. Where he had to be.\n\nSomeone knocked at the window to his right. The passenger door rose.\n\nThe agent raised his eyes to see the face of the man he had pursued for weeks: the billionaire inventor who planned to blow up the Earth, once he shepherded all the most cultured and valuable people off of it. \n\n\"Musk,\" Bond spat. He sat up, maintaining a defiant air of dignity, despite his raging headache. \n\nElon Musk grinned back at him. He swung open the door. Behind him stood a wall of armed henchmen, their fingers poised over triggers. He waved a dismissive hand to him and relaxed.\n\nMusk relaxed into the car beside him and patted the seat like it was his own child. \"This was one of the earliest ones, you know. The first cars we produced.\"\n\nBond stared out the slanted window, steely-eyed and silent. He wriggled the fingers of his left hand out of his bulky glove one by one.\n\n\"It's a good send-off. Symbolic. People love a good symbol.\" He looked Bond over and patted his knee. \"You're integral, you see. I couldn't have done this without you.\"\n\n\"Why are you doing this?\" Bond sighed. His breath pearled in little beads of condensation down his visor.\n\n\"It's simple, Mr. Bond. I very much prefer you dead. And I would prefer to ensure no one can come looking for clues.\" \n\nHis left hand came free of the glove. The suit was thick enough that it more or less held its shape as he snaked his arm slowly, tenuously, out of the sleeve of his suit.\n\n\"What is it you plan to do, then?\" Bond bit his lip, hard. This was his safest strategy. The best way to steal every spare second he needed.\n\n\"I think it's rather self-explanatory, Mr. Bond. Your suit\"--he rapped Bond's helmet with his fist--\"has a built-in radio. I've strapped you here to drive my car on its final journey.\" He spread his hands upward, and the ceiling panels opened overhead to a sky of smoke and stars. \"You'll be my Starman. I'll launch you into space. This suit, lovely as it looks, is not as airtight as it could be. It was designed for a dummy, you see. You'll have to do, for now.\"\n\nBond growled through his teeth, \"Damn it, Musk--\"\n\nBut Elon Musk carried on as if he did not hear, \"Don't try to hold your breath, Mr. Bond; your lungs will only explode. And the last thing you'll hear before shattering through our stratosphere and dying alone in the cold perfect vacuum of space... will be Earth. Cheering as you go.\"\n\nHe had his arm bent as far it could go without bulging in the suit. Did not so much as look toward Elon Musk.\n\n\"That's the plan, then?\" he asked, solemnly.\n\n\"It appears so.\" Elon Musk smiled up at the stars. \"You'll be flying straight to hell at eleven kilometers a second, buddy.\" He slapped Bond's chest and laughed like they were old friends. \"And we were just getting to know each other.\"\n\nBond yanked his arm out of his suit, delved into his jacket pocket for his pen. An innocent little thing, the metal battered and bruised, the ink dry. No one would think to remove it when they patted him down.\n\nMusk laughed. \"It's admirable, but don't think you can escape, Mister--\"\n\nHe never got the chance to finish.\n\nJames Bond depressed the tip of his pen. A burst of red light ate through the hide of his suit and sheared the windshield overhead in two.\n\nMusk staggered backward and shrieked, \"*Shoot* him! Shoot him, you stupid bastards!\"\n\nThe men surged forward.\n\nBond leapt out of the spacesuit and bolted like a rabbit out of his seat. He still wore his suit, albeit wrinkled, and his pocket square gone. They had taken his gun, so Bond dove behind the car and raised his pen. Calculated to himself how much mortal damage it could really carry out.\n\nHe smirked. \n\nNow seemed as good a time as any to find out.\n\n***\n\n/r/shoringupfragments \n\nJames Bond *usually* murders everyone in the room with a laser at the end of a movie right? ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says \"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON\". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending \"It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside.\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.\n\n\"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!\" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. \"Yeahwah?\" I managed, blearily.\n\n\"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up.\" \n\n\"Must be my other girlfriend.\" An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. \"Mmhhmm.\" She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit. \n\nWith slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath. \n\n\"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.\"\n\nWait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...\n\n\"Shut up, shut up.\" I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. \"Curiouser and curiouser,\" I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message. \n\n\"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it\"\n\nSo, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.\n\n\"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!\"\n\n\"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!\"\n\nSomething about the \"honey\" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.\n\n\"Look at that moon out over the water honey!\" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?\"\n\n\"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!\"\n\nAnd as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping. \n\nLook at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon.\"\n\nMustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea. \n\n\"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON.\"\n\nI pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen. \n\n\"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!\"\n\nShe looked down, and started crying. \"I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry.\"\n\nI rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. \"Sorry for what!\" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. \"Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!\"\n\nShe stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. \"Oh WOW!\" she said \"Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!\"\n\nI let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon. \n\nAnd then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set. \n\n\"Oh WOW!\" she said \"Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!\" \n\nAnd I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful.\"\n\nI sighed.\n\n\"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white.\"\n\nI wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little. \n\n\"You know the rest,\" I said when I had regained my composure. \"I came out of the coma. I woke up here.\"\n\nThe officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to. \n\n\"I'm sorry for your loss.\" she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. \"Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?\"\n\nI sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.\n\n\"No,\" I answered. \"No, I don't think I can.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean.\"\n\nI looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. \"Yeah,\" was all I could muster. \n\nShe stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, \"do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?\" \n\n\"Yes,\" I said, quietly. \"Yes, I do.\"", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " When you die, you appear in a cinema with a number of other people who look like you. You find out that they are your previous reincarnations, and soon you all begin watching your next life on the big screen.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "If I shared anything with my reincarnations, it was in our belief in fate. Though each previous version of me held a very different perspective of it. The me that had died in the Great Depression thought it a terrible thing, wicked and omnipotent. The me that had lived as king in the middle ages thought it a gift presented by God. Me, I believed it a promise.\n\nMy next reincarnation was a baby with deep blue eyes and pink skin named George. He started his life alone. George cried so much that they had to put him in a separate room, devoid of the other infants. A nurse checked in on him every few hours. Nobody blamed her. She had more pressing matters to attend to, such as George’s mother, whose heart rate was steadily growing out of control and her breathing stuttered.\n\nWhen the young lady died, she did so whispering her son’s name. I wasn’t sure if she ever even got a look at him. In that hospital room, with the flat-line beep of a heart rate monitor, the nurse checking on George stood, lips quivering and fists clenched. \n\nIn this world, children were supposed to be loved by their parents. If not the mother, who else would? For George, it was nobody, not even himself.\n\nThe orphanage boasted posters of smiling blonde-haired boys and girls with deep blue eyes. George could’ve been a literal poster boy if he ever smiled. But no matter how many stuffed animals they threw his way, how many hugs and smiles they offered him, they could never get those lip-locked edges to curve up.\n\nBy the time he had hit thirteen, he had already smoked his first cigarette and drank his first beer. Nobody wanted to tell him, but everybody knew. Nobody adopted teenagers. He would be a lifer, an unwanted child turned into an unwanted adult.\n\nAnd on his seventeenth birthday, he bought a gun.\n\nNone of us watching were worried at all for other people. Despite everything that happened, George was a gentle boy and that was his problem. Nobody could reach him through his overpowering politeness. It took a mother’s love to chip away at the boy and all he had was an old photo of a ghost who once loved him.\n\nHe snuck out when the moon had hit its apex, left all the money he had in a small package with a letter. It read: *Thanks for taking care of me.* And that was it. He didn’t sign it, didn’t address it to anyone, he wrote it all in a cheap pen and stuffed it inside with twelve-hundred dollars cash.\n\nThe spot he chose was out of the way. Nobody was nearby to be disturbed. No runners would come this way to be scared. The only selfishness he allowed himself was that it was by a river, a black canvas of glittering moonlight.\n\n“I was never meant to live,” he told himself and us. “This is fate.”\n\nSome of us nodded with him. Others shook their heads. I stared, my neck stiff, eyes unblinking as he put the gun to his temple.\n\n“No,” I whispered. “Don’t do it.”\n\nSome of us, the more boisterous ones, cheered along, egging the boy to pull the trigger. They had seen a thousand lives and would see a thousand more until all of mankind vanished. A single life in a single point of time meant nothing to them. But for me, this was my first.\n\n“No,” I said and stood from my seat. “Please.”\n\nThe screen flickered to the tremble of his finger. Soon, it would go completely black. He would fulfill his fate.\n\n“No!” I screamed. “This isn’t how it should go!”\n\nThe boisterous ones were no longer laughing. The others around me turned away their eyes. At one point in time, they had all been me. They had thought that life mattered, that our pain had meaning. But after a thousand shows of a thousand lives, most of them only slept through the show.\n\nI clenched my fists, the words swelling in my lungs. Then, I took the breath to give them life and I prayed, that somehow, I wasn’t just a dead man with a loud mouth.\n\n“Don’t pull,” I yelled, tears pouring down my cheeks and snot from my nose. “Not until you have a chance. Maybe you never will, maybe this will be how it always is, maybe I’m wrong about everything, but there’s meaning in your pain! I can’t tell you if I’m right or if I’m certain.” My voice dropped low. “I can only promise.”\n\nGeorge closed his eyes. He hadn’t heard me, of course he wouldn’t.\n\nI held my breath.\n\nThen, George broke down, the gun still pressed to his head. “So cruel,” he whispered to nobody. “After all this, all I have is a promise. That’s all my fate has to offer.”\n\nMy eyes went wide. My jaw dropped. “And that’s enough,” I said, my voice too low even for myself to hear.\n\nThere, George stood, the gun rigid in his hand. And when his tears fell, so too did his gun.\n\n---\n\nHappy Thanksgiving. /r/jraywang.\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7i53fr/reaper_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iavci/reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iokx3/reaper_part_4/)\n\n---\n\nI wouldn’t call it a war. Extermination maybe. Though I’d more aptly describe it as a harvest. By the time they reached our world and penetrated the stratosphere, people sought them out in droves to be harvested. Of course, they knew what that actually meant. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been so eager.\n\nTen years before the *Angels* descended from the sky, they had already sent what some referred to as divine retribution: a virus. Though this virus in particular only targeted women. It spread faster than a wildfire and had a 100% mortality rate. Worse yet, it was completely undetectable. In our desperation, we became animals. We locked our wives, daughters, and mothers deep underground under the constant shine of UV radiation and still they got infected. Within five years, the last woman had died leaving the rest of humanity to slowly die with her.\n\nBy the time they arrived, we welcomed them with open arms into every one of our major cities. Most bowed their heads and practically begged to be killed. Some fought against them. These were the ones that still remembered the pain of watching their daughters, wives, and mothers die. They couldn’t hope to survive, but at least they could enact their own version of divine retribution.\n\nLooking back at it now, I know that the *Angels* planned for them. They wanted us to retaliate. Otherwise, where would be the fun? Men charged at them by the millions. Some to die. Some to kill. To the *Angels*, it was all the same.\n\nUntil we killed the first one.\n\nBack when I used to write, I always made sure to name my hero something memorable. If not a strange name, then certainly a strange title. Evan the Incorruptible. Matthew the Harbinger. But in real life, heroes rarely have titles, some don’t even have names. That was the case for humanity’s last hero because nobody knew who he was.\n\nWe had only stories. The stories ranged from fantastical to downright fiction, but they always ended the same. We had killed one. The *Angels* must’ve been as skeptical as we were because they refused to change their tactics. They kept all our major cities and welcomed anyone to try and take it back.\n\nBy the fifth dead *Angel*, they learned of their miscalculation. Soon, we learned of it as well. Human beings shared mana and with it, we could do wondrous or terrible things. Magic no longer belonged to the realm of fiction. The elements bent to our will. Lightning struck where we pointed, tornados formed where we stood, the ground swallowed up entire cities as we willed it.\n\nSuddenly, men stopped volunteering to be harvested. With their newfound power, they decided to fight back, even if victory had already been stolen from us. They had turned us into animals and then backed us into a corner. Foolish.\n\nAnd that was good enough for us. Looking back, I wonder if we were as foolish as the *Angels*. We, who were content with dying in our little blazes of glory, having accomplished nothing but thinning their ranks by just a bit. It was selfish, but what is there to expect from men who had nothing else to live for?\n\nNone of us had the vision you had. The vision you have.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nTyler put the pen down, staring at the word *you*. He wondered if his letter would ever find its way to this certain *you*. While humanity had become animals, one man had gone even further. He had been called a monster by both *Angel* and man. Nobody knew which side he fought for, only that he killed both indiscriminately.\n\nIf Tyler were to write his story, he wouldn’t know whether to make this man the villain or the hero. Oh how he wished he could’ve written this story, but the only way this story continued was if he died. Beside his letter and pen, sitting at the edge of his wooden table was a silver revolver. The single lightbulb above him glinted off its barrel.\n\nA small grin spread across Tyler’s face. He grabbed the gun, its metal like ice, and pressed it to his temple. Enough humans had died where he could stop the bullet with only his thoughts. The bullet couldn’t even hurt him unless he wanted it to. But he did. For the sake of humanity, he needed the bullet to kill him.\n\nWith his free hand, he picked the pen back up.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nAs the last storyteller on Earth, I bestow you the title of Reaper. A monster. A villain. Our last hero.\n\nGo forth, Reaper, my death as an offering. With my passing, there will be only four humans left. I have already contacted two of them and they will die with me. The last I’m sure you will easily find as your powers will have increased two-fold. By then, your mind will stretch the globe, perhaps even the stars. And when you become the last human alive, I cannot even fathom how powerful you will be.\n\nShow our *Angels* how fragile they are in the face of a god.\n\n---\n\n---\n\nTyler pulled the trigger.\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang\n\n---\n\nPart 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7i53fr/reaper_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iavci/reaper_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/7iokx3/reaper_part_4/)\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Emily sat across from him at a table draped with a red satin tablecloth. Her champagne flute remained untouched as she searched for the words to say.\n\n“I’m sorry Jacob, but,” she paused averting her gaze. “It’s not you it’s me.” \n\n“What do you mean?” \n\n“I don’t think I’m ready for a long term relationship. It’s just too much right now. You’re great, truly. But I think it’s best if we take a break.”\n\n“For how long?” he asked, sadness crept into his voice.\n\nShe sighed quietly. “I’ll let you know. I’m sorry,” she said rising from the table leaving him alone, head hanging.\n\nHe watched her go, her heels clicking against the black and white tiled floor of the Italian restaurant. *Well, this version didn’t work either. Maybe she really wasn’t ready for a long term relationship,* he wondered.\n\n*Or. Maybe she doesn’t realize just how much she needs me.* He dropped a stack of money on the table and slipped into the night. Heavy rain drops began to fall as he made his way toward Emily’s apartment. \n \nEmily tossed herself down onto her couch and pulled her plush robe around herself. She clutched the warm cup of tea between her hands and drank deeply. \n\n*This is what I want,* she smiled.\n\nA quiet scratching turned her head. *Probably the storm.* She turned the TV to listen to the home decorator explain their choices for the house they had just flipped.\n\nThe scratching came again, more urgently this time. She set her tea down, her bare feet whispered across the floor as she made her way to the front door. She had to stand on her toes to see through the small peephole. \n\n“I’m just hearing things,” she tried to convince herself. \n\nAnother series of frantic scratching turned her head toward the window. She grabbed an umbrella and gripped it like a baseball bat. Lightning flashed outside her apartment, the brilliant light briefly illuminating a small shape on her fire escape. \n\n*Is that?*\n\nA quiet meow came from the window as a reply to her question.\n\n“You poor thing!” she cooed as she opened the window and lifted the soaking wet kitten inside. The cat meowed happily and pressed its head against her plush robe.\n\nEmily dried him off and got a small dish of tuna fish for the cat. It didn’t have a collar or anything that could help her identify who the cat could possibly belong to.\n\n“Well, I need to call you something. Any ideas?”\n\n*Jacob,* the cat thought to himself and meowed again.\n\n“How about Hamlet?”\n\nJacob meowed again. *Doesn’t matter to me as long as you love me.* \n\n---\n\nThanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. \"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years.\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“What did you say?”\n\nI paused, my card already jammed into the receptacle and deducting $5.29 from my bank account. “What?”\n\nThe clerk stared at me, his green eyes narrowed. I drew half a step back almost unconsciously. “Uh. I asked if I could have my drink cup. You guys keep making us wait and it’s kind of annoying.”\n\nThe man stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. “What are you doing?”\n\nAll right, the guy was clearly crazy. I tore my debit card free, shoving it back into the holder permanently resting in my pocket. “I’m trying to get a Big Mac. What’s your problem?”\n\n“Are you insane?” he hissed, leaning forward across the counter. “What are you *doing*?”\n\n“Greg?” someone called from across the store. A manager, judging by the color of their uniform. Their voice was carefully cheerful. “What’s going on?”\n\n“Nothing! Just helping this gentleman out,” Greg said, his face snapping back to carefully neutral as he smiled at me. A plastic cup was shoved into my hands, along with the paper slip of my receipt. “Look - don’t be an idiot,” he said, his voice dropping low enough I had to lean in to hear him. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but you can’t walk in here talking gibberish. Leave me alone.”\n\nI stared at him, my mind racing, but the customers behind me were already pushing forward. I stepped back to join the others waiting for their food, my mind churning.\n\nI had a bit of a gift. Well, that’s how I liked to think about it. It had taken a few years to figure out - all languages sounded exactly the same to me. No matter if I was speaking to someone blabbering on in French or chattering in Italian, it all came across as plain old English.\n\nMy parents had been freaked out, understandably. It had taken a bit of doing to convince them I wasn’t just crazy. And as soon as we’d pieced together what was going on, we’d begun hiding. It wasn’t as though I could suddenly start spouting off Spanish and German, after all. We couldn’t even just leave copies of Rosetta Stone lying around meaningfully. The instant someone I actually *knew* called me on it, the secret would be up. I kind of valued living a normal life, too much to allow something like that to happen.\n\nTray in hand and my mediocre food steaming, I filed back to my seat. I could feel Greg’s eyes on me the whole way - staring.\n\nWhat was his problem? Had I stuttered?\nAnd what had he meant, gibberish? Maybe he spoke a different language, sure, but why would that be a problem? He should be happy that I’d spoken Polish or Swahili or who-gives-a-fuck. Maybe a bit surprised, but not *angry*. His reaction wasn’t normal at all.\n\nI couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Normally I would have lingered, taking my time in eating. With the feeling of Clerk Asshat’s eyes on the back of my neck, I just wanted to leave. I shoveled my value meal down as quickly as I could, hardly tasting it. My phone lit up with notifications, friends and family blabbering away, all wanting to know where I was. When I’d be finished with the day’s chores. Could I pick up this grocery list for them, or finish that errand?\n\nI ignored all of them. The wrapper crumpled instantly in my hand as I pushed myself upright, dumping the whole lot of it in the trash.\n\nThe guy wasn’t there. A bit of the tension slipped out of my shoulders as I saw his station replaced by a tiny, grinning brunette. Good. Maybe his manager had finally taken him down a notch.\n\nThe lights on my car blinked across the parking lot at me as I stepped out of the store. The cold air snapped me awake, back to reality in an instant. I was letting that guy creep me out for no reason. He was just a jerk, that was all - trapped in his minimum wage job. Probably just a crazy, when I thought about it. He was probably just-\n\nI yelped, eyes widening as fingers buried themselves in my hair, pulling painfully. Someone had me. There was something cold at my throat - cold and *sharp*.\n\n“Ok, asshole,” Greg hissed in my ear, his voice wild. “We’re going to go for a walk.”\n\n“What the *fuck* are you-”\n\n“Shut up.”\n\nThe blade dug into my neck. I could feel a hot line of blood dripping down my skin. My mind raced - this was insane. He really was crazy. A lunatic. He was-\n\nThere was nothing I could do to fight him as he turned me, forcing me towards the back of the store. A dingy, beat-up station wagon waited in employee parking, the lot unlit and dismally dark. I scanned the lot even still, ready to bellow for help at a moment’s notice.\n\nIt was useless. There was no one around. No one was going to hear.\n\nHe slammed me into the back of his car, my face pressed painfully against the glass.\n\n“How stupid do you think I am?” he spat.\n\n“What the *hell* are you talking about?” I cried, shaking.\n\n“What, you think you’re being subtle? You’ll just walk in, talking the Old Tongue like you were born to it, and I’ll roll over for you?”\n\n“Look, dude, there’s been some mistake,” I moaned. “It’s-It’s just something that I can do, all right? It’s not-”\n\n“Right,” he said with a laugh, his fingers still pulling painfully at my hair. “Like I’m going to believe *that*.”\n\n“I speak tongues, all right?” I said, craning my head until I could look at him. “That’s all. I don’t know what you heard. All I know is-”\n\n“How long until they get here?”\n\nI blinked. “What?”\n\n“I’m not *stupid*,” he spat. “I’m not going to sit idly until they come to finish the job. How long until the rest of them show up?”\n\n“The rest of *who*?” I said, trying desperately to keep from crying.\n\n“You know damn well who-” he said, but stopped abruptly.\n\nI blinked.\n\nSomewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching.\n\nMy heart leapt. Police. *Yes*. Someone must have seen him, someone must have called the cops. I was saved. He’d-\n\nHe let go of my hair in an instant, leaping away. His car abandoned, he vanished into the underbrush of the woods behind the McDonald’s. I fell in a crumpled heap, my heart still pounding in my ears.\n\nTires screeched as the cop car pulled up moments later, a pair of officers piling out.\n\n“Sir! Sir, are you all right?” one yelled, racing over to me. “Can you tell me what happened?”\n\n“There was- a man,” I said, glancing back at the woods. ‘H-He had a knife. He was crazy. Thought I was speaking some funny language or something.”\n\n“Why would he think that?” the other said, his brow furrowing.\n\n“I-I don’t know,” I said, instinctively clamping down. The cops paused, staring at me.\n\n“What, that’s it?” the first said.\n\n“I’m sorry,” I muttered, unable to meet their eyes. My gaze drifted, needing to find something, anything else to look at. The flashing lights of their cars drew my eyes in, holding my gaze.\n\nI froze.\n\n“Well, look. I’m sure this has been a traumatic event. Why don’t you come back with us, and we’ll talk about it?” The second said, smiling blankly at me. One hand dropped to his belt.\n\nNeither of them was wearing a radio. There was nothing on his belt but a gun and a pair of handcuffs. The details of it stuck out like a lightning flash in my mind.\n\nI took a step back.\n\n“Look, don’t worry, all right?” the first said, beaming at me. “You’re safe now, right?”\n\nThe insignia on their car was wrong. I’d lived in the town my entire life, and it was *wrong*. It didn’t even have the right *name* on it. It just looked…\n\nGeneric.\n\nI took another step back.\n\nThe smiles were beginning to fade from their faces.\n\n“Look, come on,” the first said. “Just take it easy, ok? We’ll just go for a ride.”\n\nHis hand reached out, grabbing for my elbow. I skittered away before he could touch me, suddenly sure of two things.\n\nWhoever those two were, they were *not* police officers.\n\nAnd I was in a mess of trouble.\n\n---\n\n(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)\n\n~~Not against a part 2, but I'm off to bed for the night, and part 2 would come in the morning xD there is a thread [on my sub -](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tn2oh/wp_whenever_you_speak_people_hear_you_speaking_in/e18qek8) Leave a comment there and I will update you if this gets more :)~~\n\n[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/8tvvbk/silvertongue_2/)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "Steve Irwin wrangling all sorts of supernatural creatures.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "G'day and welcome to the Myth Hunter. Today, I'm going after the stone salamander of Seneca. Oh, looks like we've got one. 'Ere we have the rare basilisk. Crikey, this ones a giant in'it he? Now the thing you've got to remember with basilisks is, if they stare you straight in the eye, yer turned to solid rock. So the best thing to do with these is to wear a blindfold 'round ya head. Now that I've got mine on, I can start to wrangle it. \n\nWhatcha wannado with these critters is get low to the ground while you approach em. Now they're going to- oof, yea- to try and rear up at ya. Once you hear that screech you've got to go in at em. Grab em right- c'mon there ya go- right here, right under the front two legs. Keep your head Low, it'll try and nip ya, but it can't bend its neck far enough. \n\nShh, shh, calm girl calm. Now we can safely remove the blindfold, as we keep her eyes pointed safely in the sky. Ya can see this ones a girl cause of the crystal 'tween her eyes. Males don't got that 'tween their eyes, just real thick, thick, eyebrow ridges. As a secondary weapon the basilisk has these thick claws, take a look 'ere. Each ones about a quarter inch thick and hard as granite. Teeth too, once bit straight through my sternum. Lucky I'm dead else it've put me out of commission. \n\nAlright, time to let her go now. You've got to put your blindfold back on and toss her back quick. I'm going to push off in 3.....2......1....go go go go, alright c'mon. Looks like shes stopped following now and- wassat? Zoom in over there. Crickey, shes got a little runt with her. Definitely the smallest of her litter, little guy must only be about a foot long. S'allright to look at 'im. Poor lil guy wont open his eyes for 'nother month at least. For now he's sticking close to mommy for protection. The young climb on their mothers back for protection from threats. For the first three months of their lives they're effectively defenseless against predators, specially weasels. \n\nGod. That's just absolutely beautiful. Watching mother and son go into the sunset together. Nature's majesty right before us. Thanks all for tuning in, catch me here next week when we go after the elusive jackalope, the mirage of the midwest. G'night! ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“You, Gyork, have sat in interplanetary trial, accused of unknowingly capturing the human currently known as ‘Matt Damon,’ in an act of interplanetary terrorism of the third degree, and have been relieved of accusations of terrorism. You will now stand, and the next trial will continue.\n\nGyork rose from his seat. He was prosecuted for terrorism, but the prior court ruled in his favor, removing the prior conviction. He made the horrible mistake of taking the wrong human back to his home-world. He just wanted to show his new human friend how nice his home planet was. \n\nGyork responded: “I pleaded ignorance, dear sir. I am no expert in alien history, or I would have not taken this human. I have now been thoroughly educated of the history of mankind on the life sustainable terraform in galaxy 4 and-“\n\n“Earth.” Corrected the judge. “If you have been educated and truly understand the gravity of the situation you almost caused, your trial of knowledge will continue as a test, of which you have failed the first question.”\n\nGyork’s ocular bulbs lit with anxiety. He had only just witnessed the visual documentations of human history. \n\n“Gyork, the first question: what human is currently the greatest threat to our kind? You have one revolution to answer.”\n\nGyork recalled the most recent documentary he viewed. He gave his best guess.\n\n“The human Thor!” Gyork exclaimed, but to his dismay, the judge shook his head in disappointment.\n\n“Please recall, Gyork, Thor may look human, but he is what the humans have labeled ‘Asgardian.’ I will proceed to the next question: which earth human has several large dragons that obey their will. Please give the name and title of the human. You have one revolution to answer.”\n\nGyork recalled immediately; this was his favorite earth human: “Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Mother of Dragons!”\n\n“Correct Gyork. But I remind you, one more incorrect answer, and you will face reeducation, where you will be forced to watch visual documentations and remain on planet earth until you are retested in 400,000 revolutions.” \n\nGyork wanted to show that he had learned things about the humans after his time there as well. His disguise on earth was great, so he was able to make many friends and learn many things from them, but he never liked learning about their history, there was just too much of it.\n\n“The next question: which earth human was the first ever creature to survive the dive into a black hole?”\n\n“Leonardo DaVinci!” Gyork blurted. \n\n“Close, Gyork, very close. The correct answer is the human currently known as Matthew McConaughey.” The judge shook his head once more, and sentenced Gyork to 400,000 revolutions of observation and reeducation on Earth. He gave Gyork one final warning. “Also, Gyork, when you return to Earth. You might want to try out a name other than ‘Zuckerberg,’ the humans seem to be catching on.”\n\n\n\nEdit: thanks for the compliments, replies and upvotes!! I’m usually a lurker so I’m really glad this was well received!! Have a great day y’all :)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The immortals are crumbling like dry leaves.\n\nI watch one as I leave Marge's Cafe with my usual paper cup of coffee. There is a woman standing on the opposite street corner in a trench coat, her hair sleek black, her face as faultless as fine china.\n\nAnd all it takes is a harsh wind.\n\nShe falls away in tiny pieces. Her hands claw helplessly at her disintegrating belly with fingers whose flesh sloughes off in sheets like wet paper. She reaches for her face, but then that too clouds up into dust and is gone. Her scream starts and dies in her throat.\n\nAnd just like that, she smacks down like a broken puppet. A near-instant death, and still it doesn't seem fast enough.\n\nHer scream keeps echoing in the back of my mind. I think it will always be there, waiting for me, when the world grows quiet enough for me to hear her once more.\n\nLike any decent human would, I stick around for EMS. I call and call, but I can't get through to 911. Someone happening by stops over the body, kicking up clouds of this woman's dust. The woman looks to be my age, one of the lost, one of the few humans left doomed to die.\n\nShe sighs through her teeth. \"Bad luck, the lot of them.\"\n\nI stare at her. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Turns out us Lost will be last after all.\" She winks, like we share a kind of secret just by being born on the wrong side of the cut-off for immortality. As if there's any real camaraderie in our Lost Generation. \"The immortals are all just... vanishing. It's on the news, dearie.\"\n\nAnd then she keeps on walking, as though we were only chatting about the weather.\n\nIt's early still. The cool morning air is so placid and peaceful, her words impossible on a morning as bright and sunny as this. As if death could not happen under such a perfect blue sky.\n\nI run to the car. It has been a while, since I ran. Decades, at least. \n\nMy wife still runs. She's always teasing me, calls me an old man as she pecks a good morning kiss to my lips. Slaps my aching knees and says, \"That's your penance for being born too early.\"\n\nAnd I always laugh at her and say, \"Hey, I know I won't be the one dying alone.\" Half a joke, really. Always dancing around the inevitable and morbid reality: I would end, and she would keep on going. With any luck, it would be forever. We had both made our peace with that.\n\nThe radio is buzzing, mad. It's already all over the news. There's some scientist babbling about dew point, the relative wetness of the air. \n\n\"As the world gets hotter and hotter, and the air gets drier and drier, it appears that the cells lose their stability and their ability to maintain struc--\"\n\nI flip the radio off. And I drive like hell.\n\nPanic drives me forward like a thing possessed. I throw my coffee out the window and veer through still-empty streets back to my home, where my wife should still be lying in bed, just about to roll up and face the dawn. She will open the window and listen to the birds convince her to rise and make a cup of tea.\n\nIn my mind, she looks as lovely as the day we married. She makes the deep ruts of my skin seem like valleys, but she still palms my cheeks in her hands and tells me every day, *I love you, Mr. Weston,* and I smile back and say, *I don't know why, Mrs. Weston.*\n\nBut when I get there, the window is shut. The bed is as empty as the rest of the house. I call and call and scream for her, but the house answers back with nothing but silence.\n\nSo I go to the bed where this morning she lay curled like a question mark beside me. I had kissed her shoulder and slipped out as soundlessly as an eighty-year-old-man wearing every weight of his age could hope.\n\nI lift back the blanket.\n\nThere awaits me only bones and so much ash. I try to scoop her up in my palms but she is nothing but wind and air.\n\nAnd I am suddenly, impossibly alone.\n\n***\n\n/r/shoringupfragments\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Due to your nerdy great great great great grandfather in 2017 'buying a star' and some modern legal shenanigans you are now the proud owner of a small intergalactic empire", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It was Friday morning. Time to check his bank accounts. Time to pay his bills. Time to—\n\nWhat The Fuck?!\n\n\"$12490004949902 CHEQUING ACCOUNT\"\n\nUmmm. \n\nUmmm.\n\nPaul waited a little whlie longer, then closed the browser, reopened it and reread his balance. \n\n\"$12490004949902 CHEQUING ACCOUNT\"\n\nStill unconvinced this wasn't a hallucination or some wonderful, wonderful dream, Paul opened his chequing history. \n\n\"$832.21 DENNYS PAY \n$12490004947902.01 C-15375 TRIBUTE\"\n\nTribute? Paul picked up his phone and dialed the bank.\n\n\"Hello, Mr. Thomson! How are you today?\" answered a perky female.\n\n\"Ugh, fine? Is this a recording?\"\n\nShe laughed. \n\n\"No, no recording for you Mr. Thomson. We value our most valued customers. We know your time is more valuable than ours.\"\n\n\"Okay...\"\n\n\"How can I help you, sir?\"\n\nPaul searched for a way to start the conversation. What do you say when a number so large that you don't even know what it's called ends up in your bank account? When one week you wait an hour to complain about account fees and they next they treat you like royalty?\n\n\"My account...\" he began, \"my chequing.\"\n\n\"Yes! I see you had a complaint last week about account fees. Don't you worry anymore, we will no longer be charging your account. Your balance is well beyond the minimum requirement.\"\n\n\"Umm, thanks.\"\n\n\"You're most welcome, Mr. Thomson. Is there anything else I can help you with?\" \n\n\"Ummm. C-15375 TRIBUTE, do you know where that came from?\"\n\nHe heard the sputter of keyboard strokes. \n\n\"Ah, yes, this did puzzle the management, they even left a special note on your account. Would you like me to read it?\" the woman asked.\n\n\"Yes, please.\"\n\n\"Mr. Paul Thomson, account 1435533-2234, CHEQUING. As we have witnessed, an overwhelming sum of money has been deposited into this account. A full investigation has been put underway and uncovered the rights of the star, C-15375, purchased by Mr. Henry Thomson, 2017. Unknown at the time, the star is the focal of the Histarians, a race of human-like beings. Upon receiving a transmission of the purchase, the Histarians sent a large vessel, laced and filled with gold. Instructions informed the vessel and all contents be converted to the currency of the planet. If Mr. Thomson does not send back a confirmation of receiving the sum, war and annihilation are to follow. Despite our best ideas to cover-up and terminate Mr. Thomson, we have decided annihilation is not worth the risk. We understand this is a departure from the last 500 years, but the decision is final. For further questions, contact 555-555-5551.\"\n\n\"Wow...\" \n\n\"Quite amazing, Mr. Thomson. Would you like me to repeat it?\"\n\n\"No, that's fine,\" said Paul, \"just send me a copy.\"\n\n\"Of course. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Thomson?\"\n\n\"Do you know how to purchase an intergalactic spaceship?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Thomson, let me help you with that.\"\n\n----\n\nEDIT: Got to work early and wrote out part 2 on my phone and accidently hit the \"X\" when trying to scroll up (My heart, tis shattered). It'll have to wait till tomorrow since I work all night. But the material is there so it will come! Thank you for the interest and comments. I appreciate them all! I'll put part 2 here but also on /r/ItsPronouncedGif to make it easier.\n\nUPDATE: Part 2 is up and down below. Also, it can be found here [Chapter 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/ItsPronouncedGif/comments/78o244/life_after_dennys_first_chapter_combined_with_wp/). I've combined it with Part 1 to create a first chapter. Thank you all again for the support so far. Work's pretty busy so I'm going to try to get to as many comments as I can, but if I don't get to you, rest assured, I have read it and appreciate hearing from you. You guys have some creative minds and it's awesome reading through your interpretations and ideas! ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " A super hero fights evil by wiping memories of both the villian and everyone who knew of them so that they can be reintroduced into society safely. Today, as you were combing through old newspapers, you discover that you were once the world's most powerful supervillain.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Maria fumbled for the keys in her bag, eventually finding the heart shaped keyring her husband had given to her long ago. How long exactly, she couldn't quite remember.\n\nThe lock clicked. A monotonous buzzing greeted her, as if a giant hornet had taken up residence in their home since she'd left for work. \"Honey?\" she called out. \"Are you okay?\" \n\nNo reply.\n\nShe stepped into the lounge and was met by an unpleasent, smoky smell. The buzzing had intensified too. It was a sound she now recognised, but hadn't heard for a long, long time. \n\nAn electric razor.\n\nMaria frowned, a little annoyed that Peter was likely removing his thick, flowing beard. There was something she loved dearly about it -- the white hairs that shot through the blond reminded her of sunlight bouncing gleefully off an icy waterfall. It suited a physicist. It suited *him*.\n\n*buzzzz*\n\nThe living room table was a mess of cigarettes and empty beer bottles -- Peter had clearly enjoyed his day off. A folded page of a newspaper wafted up and down in the gentle breeze from an open window.\n\n*buzzz*\n\nMaria moved idly to the table, picking up first the cigarette remains, then dropping them on the carpet as the face in the paper stared up at her, her husband's keen eyes meeting her own. His face was clean shaven, and his wrinkles softened -- but there was no mistaking him.\n\nHer hands shook as she picked it up and read.\n\n> Master Particle. Prior to Reworking's alterations. Considered the greatest physicist of his generation. But another talent wasted by the great 'hero'. This paper says Reworking is not the answer! We're the only paper brave enough to print a picture like this and...\n\nShe stopped reading. Something was wrong: there was no sound.\n\n \"Welcome home, *Maria*.\"\n\n Maria gulped as she turned to see the man in the paper standing behind her. \n\n\"Sweetheart...\"\n\n \"Is it really Maria? No, of course it isn't. It doesn't matter now though.\"\n\n \"I didn't ...\"\n\n \"I was great, you know. The greatest, they say. I could have changed the world. Now I teach school children basic astrophysics. The order of the planets -- and they can't even get that right without a pathetic mnemonic to aid them. My life -- or at least many years of it -- has been wasted. Can you imagine if they'd lobotomised a young Eistein? Where would we be?\"\n\nHe slowly removed a knife from his jacket pocket.\n\n \"*Please.*\"\n\n \"How long until you were done spying on me, *darling*? Until you left me! I loved you *so* much. In my mind, you loved me, too. But only in my mind! It's all a Goddamned lie! You'll pay for that deceit, I promise you.\"\n\n \"Please, Peter. In my mind, I love you too. *I do!* I don't know what's happened. I don't understand any of this.\"\n\nHe grinned as he stalked forward. \"Oh, *you know*. You're here to watch over me. To report back to them each day, when I think you're working, so you can all laugh at me. *Mock me.* The great, *impotent*, Master Particle.\" \n\n *\"I always loved y...\" *\n\nThe knife was sharp and cut her throat cleanly and easily. She didn't scream as her blood spattered the carpet. \n\nMaria's body fell next to the fallen cigarette remains. \n\n\n---\n\nIt was an hour later, as Peter drank greedily from a clear bottle, his boots resting on his dead wife's carcass, that a gust from the open window turned the newspaper's page.\n\nPeter leaned forward, his eyes wide. He snatched the paper up. He read silently twice over, then mumbled a litany of *no's*. Finally, he swore bloody revenge on the world itself. \n\nHe looked down at his wife through bleary eyes, scalding tears spilling down his cheeks. How could this have happened? His life had been perfect -- *twice!* Now he could never go back... *could he*?\n\nHe knelt over Maria and gently pressed his trembling lips against her forehead.\n\nPeter could feel his mind buzzing; could see the sparks leaping from his hands. He felt in tune with the universe's tempestuous vibrations, and he knew in that moment, exactly what he was capable of:\n\n*The end of everything.*\n\nPeter got to his feet and looked at the paper a final time.\n\n> At least they had the decency to erase his wife's -- his assistant Scarlett (pictured above) -- mind, and to keep them together in their new lives. But this paper, this reporter, says it's not enough! It's time to end Reworking.\n\n\n\n---\n\nPart two: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7n3dix/master_particle_part_two/\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It was, more often than not, the smiley ones I watched out for. While I checked their IDs, their gazes would frequently flicker over to their friends for support. The more jittery among them would chatter away with quotes plucked directly from the latest Fortune magazine or how \"buying their own place was the best thing to happen to them\". If only they knew they weren't the only ones saying those things ...\n\nInevitably, after about fifteen seconds of my careful, silent scrutiny of their spotless plastic cards, the first tracks of sweat would begin to appear on their foreheads. Their conversations would die down, and the fidgeting multiply. The desperate ones would say, with frequent glances over my shoulder at doorway through which pulsing lights and throbbing music emerged, \"Could we, uh, hurry up? Our friends are waiting for us inside.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, but you're underage. This ID isn't valid,\" I said.\n\nSometimes, I wished I could just tell them the truth—that I could identify crap-all about them from the card. The printed numbers meant little against the large , glimmering digits floating above their heads. It'd taken me several childhood years and the help of a mirror to figure them out, but they made me damned good at my job.\n\n\"This can't be right,\" the young man said, jaws tightening even as a visible, nervous shudder coursed through his body.\n\n\"I'm guessing, seventeen?\" I almost laughed at his shocked expression. Jerking my thumb toward his older male companion, I said, \"Your brother'll just have to take you elsewhere.\"\n\n\"C'mon, let's go,\" the other man said, pulling him out and shooting me one last dirty look.\n\nSuch was the life of a street-level NYC bouncer. As I was writing down the ID's details on a register, I heard the clicking of heels approach. Next moment, a slim, small hand slid an ID card onto my podium.\n\nI looked up and did a double-take—literally jumping back a step. She was pretty, more girl-next-door than supermodel, with loose auburn hair hanging to her shoulders framing a lean face. About five feet tall, she wore a tight-fitting black dress that terminated at mid-thigh, though her figure wasn't anything more spectacular than I'd been seeing for the past hour or so.\n\nSo, your typical college girl lookalike ... but for the number above her head.\n\nThree thousand and nine.\n\nWhat. The. Hell.\n\n\"There might be an issue with your age,\" I blurted before I could stop myself.\n\n\"Excuse me?\" she said in a faintly European accent. Other than her mouth, the rest of her hadn't moved at all—even the fingers clutching the purse in front of her were like cold marble. I could feel goosebumps popping up on my arms as I reached for her ID.\n\n\"Sorry, just give me a moment to check,\" I said, darting furtive looks at the age number above her head as though I expected it to change at any time. I'd never been wrong before; perhaps this was the first time?\n\nHer name was Helena Ricci. Born here in the US twenty-two years ago. I ran the scanner over it. Clean. Shit.\n\n\"Er, I'll need just a moment to register you into our system,\" I said.\n\n\"Take your time. I've got plenty,\" she said. Her eyes remained cold above her smile.\n\nOnce the process was complete, I handed the card back to her. \"Have a pleasant evening.\"\n\nShe took the card and stalked off into the club. I felt tempted to go after her—so many questions were in my head—but that would mean revealing my gift. And one didn't go around spouting such nonsense so easily, so my dad had warned me.\n\nSo I threw my attention back to the impatient and growing line of patrons waiting for me.\n\n***\n\nThe hours flew by. I kept an eye out for Helena among the clubbers trickling out. Once, I thought I saw her in the midst of a small group of men, who went and lounged by a Levante parked not far away. They smoked for a while before returning to the club.\n\nAt about four in the morning, when activity was visibly slowing down, she left the club, flashing me a grin on the way. That, more than anything, helped make up my mind.\n\n\"Helena,\" I called, jogging from my post to catch up to her. \"I've got something I want to ask you.\"\n\nShe paused in her step, but maintained her distance out of my arm's reach. \"Yes?\"\n\nI tore my eyes away from her numbers and met her searching gaze. \"How old are you?\"\n\nShe snorted. \"Really? We're still not over this?\"\n\n\"I can see people's ages, above their heads,\" I said in a rush. \"I've always been able to—since I was a child. And I see that you're—\"\n\n\"Quiet!\" she snapped, looking around almost fearfully. \"You must be dreaming, or imagining things. I'm only twenty-two, recently graduated—\"\n\n\"That's bullshit,\" I said. \"I've never been wrong. I know what I see. And I'm most definitely not high or anything.\"\n\nShe scoffed. \"Stay away from me, mister. I've got Mace here in my purse.\" With that, she hurried away.\n\n\"I told you my secret. Don't I deserve a little truth from you?\" I said.\n\nShe stopped in her tracks and turned her head halfway. \"I never agreed to a trade.\"\n\n\"I won't say anything to anyone, I promise,\" I said. \"I just—seeing you is almost the same as NASA revealing that alien life exists on the Moon or something. Can't you imagine what it's like for me?\"\n\nFor a long time, she remained quiet. I could almost see the gears turning in her head. At last, she said softly, \"Fine. Come, I'll show you.\"\n\nElated, I followed. She didn't speak to me as we traversed the silent, shadowy streets, but I held my tongue as well. If I asked one question too many, she could turn me away.\n\nAbout fifteen minutes later, we arrived at an unmarked red door in a back alley, sandwiched between two dumpsters. I frowned at our surroundings, suddenly realizing that if she wanted to rob me—or worse—I wouldn't be discovered until the next week probably.\n\nShe knocked on the door, but instead of a rapping sound, musical notes floated from somewhere inside. Then, it swung open to reveal a heavily bearded giant of a man. His fierce gaze took one look at Helena before his expression melted with warmth, and he wrapped his arms around her.\n\n\"Who is this?\" he said.\n\n\"With luck, someone smart enough to keep his life,\" she said.\n\nI tried not to gulp as the man held out a brick-like hand for me to shake. \"I'm Olander,\" he said.\n\n\"I'm Jeff, pleased to—holy crap, you're over a thousand years old,\" I said.\n\nHe blinked in astonishment. \"How did you know? Oh, Helena, what have you brought us?\"\n\n\"He might be useful. Shall we go in?\" she said.\n\nOlander led us into a long, stone tunnel with an arched ceiling. It looked extremely cramped for the big man, but he hunched his shoulders in a manner that indicated familiarity. The two of them spoke in a language I didn't know. Somewhere in the distance, there was a constant gush of water—perhaps we were near one of the city's waterways?\n\nMoments later, we reached another door, this one made entirely of solid, carved wood. I had only begun to marvel at its surface when Olander pushed it in and revealed the chamber within.\n\nI gaped, open-mouthed, at the twelve Roman columns supporting a ceiling of painted frescoes, spaced around the cavernous place lit by huge chandeliers and colorful wall-mounted lanterns. In the center of the room was a fountain almost ten feet tall, crystalline water spilling from the top into three descending circular pools and sparkling with light.\n\nPeople of various races and attire filled the room, mingling in small groups; eating from the buffet tables, drinking, admiring paintings hanging on a section of wall, or listening to an orchestral quartet on a small stage.\n\nAnd above all, I was stunned at the numbers everywhere. Two thousand and eighty-two. One thousand five hundred. One thousand and six. Three—freaking three—thousand, seven hundred and forty-four.\n\n\"How?\" I stammered. \"What is this?\"\n\nHelena didn't answer except to point at the fountain. And then it dawned one me. Before I could inquire further, she pulled me back out of the chamber into the tunnel.\n\n\"Would you be interested in a new job here at our club?\" she said.\n\n\"I, er ... what job?\"\n\n\"Doorman.\" She sighed. \"You see, we can't have too many of ... us ... running around the world. Defeats the purpose of actively staying out of the history books, if you know what I mean. Anyone below a thousand must not be allowed in—sometimes, it's really hard to tell. But you already know that with your current job.\"\n\n\"I'll have to think about it,\" I said. My head felt like it was about to split apart. Those people ... some of their clothes looked like they predated writing. \"Are there ... younger people ... trying to get in, too?\"\n\n\"More than you know,\" she said in a grave tone. \"Olander takes care of them, usually, but it's really insulting if you turn away the wrong patrons. And grudges can last for a long time with us.\"\n\n\"Well, you already know we have a great healthcare package, networking opportunities, insurance and investment returns. I won't pressure you to give me an answer tonight,\" she said, going to stand in the doorway. \"Take your time. I'm in no hurry.\"\n\n***\n\n*Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you'd like more stories.*\n\n*Edit: Floored and extremely humbled by the reception. Again, thanks to all of you who read it and for the aurums. Now for news some might find disappointing ... I don't have plans to expand this for now, mostly because of time constraints, working on some ongoing projects. This story was intended to be a one-off—with a sense of unresolved mystery at the end that could allow readers to fill in the gaps with their own imagination. That said, I really appreciate your comments, feedback, critique, and most of all, support, which is why I'll give the plot some thought and work on it soon as I can. Also you won't have to buy it—I'll post the story for free on my sub :)*\n\n*Edit v2: I'm outlining the plot. Will begin writing in a couple months. Hah, what a turnaround ...*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Earth is doomed in a matter of years, but you are bestowed with a mystical dagger that causes anyone killed by it to instantly resurrect on an alternate Earth that does not share the same fate. In one world you are revered as a hero, on the other the most notorious serial killer of all time.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It whispers to me, softly and sweetly, reminding me of the promise it makes.\n\nAmazingly I discovered it at a garage sale after my neighbor died. He was some kook who refused to leave his house since basically the 1940s, whittling away his father's fortune in a refusal to interact with the rest of the world.\n\nWhen he finally kicked the bucket, his grand nephew sold nearly everything in the house, including the collection of swords and knives left over from World War two. A little pile of Japanese steel that glinted and sparkled, despite the day being entirely overcast.\n\nIt called to me that day as it does now.\n\nWhispering.\n\nYearning.\n\nPromising.\n\nPromising of a world torn apart by fire, divine and nuclear, all encompassing and devastating our planet. When you hold the knife the world becomes very, very small, and a vision jerks you into the atmosphere, so far away you can see almost every inch of the earth bathed in flame.\n\n*This is what awaits those who don't taste me,* it whispers.\n\nThen the world becomes an Eden, a paradise of green and blue and health. Vibrant and beautiful, an entire world of hope and glory.\n\n*When a soul enters me,* it would speak softly, drowning out every thought and part of you, *I send them here.*\n\nHow much did I pay for that knife? Ten, fifteen bucks?\n\nDidn't matter.\n\nSalvation is priceless, I would say.\n\nWhatever they say about me now, I consider myself a shepherd of lost souls and a doomed planet. It took them faster than I expected to plaster my face over their screens and windows, but nonetheless I refuse to turn myself in.\n\nTo doom more to the fire that is to come.\n\nI park my car not too far from my intended target. Already I can hear them, the light, cheery voices of youth echoing over the pavement. \n\n*Save the innocent,* the blade tells me. *Spare them of the world to come.*\n\nA woman sees me in the parking lot and says nothing, simply points and then sprints away. It matters little, I will come for her when the time is right.\n\nMore shouts. A bustle of activity, of locked doors and hurried calls. \n\nLittle time. There's little time to accomplish what I must do.\n\nI make my way through halls and corridors, looking for the rooms containing the youngest of the children.\n\nWhy are they so afraid?\n\nDon't they see?\n\nDon't they see that their world is doomed and I have come to give them the release to a better one? To save them from all this suffering and pain, and the oncoming holocaust of fire?\n\nFlames lap at my heels, but I cannot see them.\n\nI attempt to break down a door, but it holds fast. Heavy in its weight and unyielding in strength.\n\nSomeone yells at me to stop.\n\nA portly man in blue holds a weapon pointed at me, but no, no not those they won't save the children, they only send a soul to the twisting emptiness between worlds to howl into the dark.\n\nI'll save the man, then. I'll save them all.\n\nI raise the knife and it yells, deafening in its command, that blood must spill and fill the blade, and I scream and charge.\n\nWeights slam into me, though I hear nothing, the great buzzing and voice still speaking to me, overlapping in order and command.\n\nBlood, hot and beautiful, clogs my throat. I'm drowning, drowning in my own blood.\n\n*Not here,* I think to myself, though it's distant and weak. The buzzing of the knife's command overpowers any though, even those in service to the blade.\n\n*I cannot drown here, cannot die here, there are so many left, so many left to the fire, I cannot stop now.*\n\nShouts.\n\nMore shouts around me, and the man stands over me, his face pale and white, sweat dripping down from his forehead. A man who cannot believe what he has just done.\n\nDarkness spreads from the corners of my eyes, obscuring my vision. Cold. Frozen to the ground, unable to move or speak or scream, I wait for the void. It finds me, though it takes its time.\n\n*It's him,* the man thinks to himself, inspecting the corpse he has just made. *With that weird, long knife.*\n\nElementary school security officer one, psychotic serial killer zero.\n\n*What the hell is that, what do you even call it?* the man thinks, looking at the blade lying limp in the dead man's hand.\n\nCurved.\n\nVicious.\n\nSharp.\n\nHe inspects the blade, watching the man's blood pool beneath it.\n\n*Pick me up,* a voice tells him. It's soft and sweet.\n\n*Pick me up,* the knife tells him. Speaks to him. Coos and woos him, seductively calling him from the deep dark blood of its previous wielder.\n\n*We must continue our work.*\n\n--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nr/storiesfromapotato", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " All of the \"#1 Dad\" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Most families that live in the Summit Meadows neighborhood chose the suburban paradise for its fair weather and peaceful ambiance. It's currently ranked the fourth most ideal place in America to raise a family, as chosen by Consumer Report magazine, which states, “the suburban quiet is broken only by the sounds of bicycles, birds and the occasional lawnmower.”\n\nBut on July 18th, exactly one month after the Great Un-mugging, the cul-de-sac in Summit Meadows was alive and buzzing.\n\nThe children of 1134, 1136, and 1148 Meadow Drive – seven heads in all – gathered together at the grass island enclosed by the pavement circle, each child trying their best to shout over their peers.\n\nJacob was the oldest, the tallest, and also the loudest, which made him the ringleader by default. Eventually the arguing subsided, order was established, and then he was able to hold court.\n\n“Me and Sophia snuck into the Baker house last night,” he announced. “We saw the mug. Tom's dad is at number three now.”\n\n“Prove it,” Jennifer said, a small freckled girl with a shock of red hair tumbling out of a ponytail. “Where's the mug? You did take it...didn't you?”\n\n“I was gonna, but Sophia got scared. Thought we would get in trouble.”\n\n“I wasn't fraid of getting in trouble!” said Sophia. “I was just sayin we wasn't no thieves, that's all.”\n\nA shiny silver SUV turned onto the street and drove towards the group of children standing at the dead-end. The group turned to study the car, waiting for it to come into view.\n\n“That's Tom and his dad now,” Jacob said, as it neared. “Everyone shut up and act normal. Anyone rats on me and you're dead.”\n\nThe SUV pulled into the drive of 1132 Meadow Drive and the engine died. There was a slam of doors and Tom and his father emerged from the car. \n\n“Hey-ya kids,” Tom's dad said, loosening his tie. “What are you rascals up to today? Hopefully not getting into any trouble this time. Mrs. Dobinsky still hasn't let me off the hook for letting you lot dig up her flower bed.”\n\n“N-no sir, of course not,” Jacob said. “We was just thinking of trying to get a game of street hockey organized.”\n\nTom's father smiled. “Sounds like fun. Tom and I have to have a talk first, but then he should be able to join you.” He winked. “You can pick him last if you want, he won't mind.”\n\nTom was already heading into the house, doing his best to avoid eye-contact with both his father and the rest of the group. \n\nThe group of children waited dutifully until the front door slammed behind the father-son duo before speaking. Jennifer craned her neck, checking that they were gone, then took the risk.\n\n“He hasn't been around for weeks, now all of a sudden he's number three,” she breathed. “If that's true, then that means...”\n\n“He jumped up almost ten slots,” Jacob said, finishing everyone's thoughts. \n\n“What does it even mean to be the number one dad?” Sophia asked. “Everyone just says its that the coolest, nicest, richest dad is number one. But ain't nobody knows what they judging them on. It could be anything, really.”\n\n“Whatever it measures, Tom's dad is gonna be number one in it soon,” Jacob said.\n\nJust then there was a shout from inside 1132 Meadow Drive and the door sprang open. “I hate you!” Tom screamed, wiping tears from his eyes. He bolted across the lawn and down the street, disappearing into the shimmering haze of the July heat.\n\nTom's father flew out the door after him. “Tom, come back! Will you just let me explain-” He trailed off, aware that the eyes of the entire neighborhood were still on him.\n\n“Sorry you had to see that guys,” he said. “Ice cream on me later if you promise not to tell Mrs. Baker about this.”\n\n“Sure,” Jacob said, hesitating, then, “Is Tom okay?”\n\n“Yeah, he's just a little upset with his old man. You can't blame the little guy, we all have make tough decisions. This big jerk of a father,” -he pointed both thumbs at himself- “just announced he has to leave on *another* business trip, had an urgent conference come up in Miami. I get his point, that I'm never home, but hey, sometimes you have to make sacrifices for the greater good.”\n\nHe began to stride down the road after his son. As he did so, something fell out of his pocket; a piece of paper, fluttering in the wind down towards the group of children. Jacob ran over and snagged it out of the breeze.\n\n“Sir you dropped your-” he trailed off, realizing Mr. Baker could no longer hear him.\n\nJacob looked down at the paper, still warm from a printer. There was a black and white photograph of a man he did not recognize, wearing a dark suit and black glasses. The photograph was captioned,\n\n> Name: Gary Temples\n\n> Rank: 2\n\n> Location: 17 Cherry Ln, Miami, FL\n\n* * * \n\n/r/ghost_write_the_whip", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "As Pride Month nears it's end, the other six members of the Seven Deadly Sins begin to wonder when they'll get months dedicated to them. Pride, meanwhile, is just trying to get them to understand that he's not actually the focus of Pride Month.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The Cherish of Wrath opened its wide mouth and thundered across the Semi-Sunken Plain. \"IT IS NOT FAIR THAT WE TOO NOT BE FORMALLY CELEBRATED, I WISH A DAY FOR STREET AND FIELD TO SOAK IN BLOOD AND TEAR.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Pride drew itself upright, drew in its considerable faux-dignity as well. \"My Sibling in Consumption, the humans rarely celebrate their vices so openly. They almost always need at least a paper-thin pretense.\" It smiled, a small, smug thing that dripped self-satisfaction. Literally, by the laws of this metaphysical plane. Or possibly infraphysical, as it was certainly not one of the *higher* planes.\n\n\"Mmmm, dearsss, that'sss not true. Have you sssseen the namesss on their placesss of nakednesss? Csselebration indeed.\" The Cherish of Lust stretched itself out as it spoke, languid, repulsively obscene.\n\n\"Those aahhmmm do not count,\" the Cherish of Gluttony said, strands and crumbs of much less metaphorical substances than self-regard falling from its immense jowls. \"They are still ahhmmm subject to stigmas and certainly not yaahlmmm celebrated with a whole twelfth of the year.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Pride inclined its head. \"Thank you, sibling. You are correct, as all who agree with me generally are. This 'Month of Pride' they are celebrating is more a rejection of prejudicial shame than true Pride. Which is, in my august opinion, shameful in and of itself. Pride *should* be celebrated. Yes, there are prideful people at these events, my favored meal is omnipresent and strong nearly everywhere. It's why I am the best of us, the most well-fed. But it is not the true reason for them.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Envy shuddered and hissed. \"Still it is the name of *your* delicacy that is everywhere. You are already the best-fed among us, and I, I, I have to watch while you—\"\n\n\"Ohhh do be quiet and spaaare me the effort of liiistening to your praaattle,\" said the Cherish of Sloth. \"The riiise of sooocial meedia has maaade you faaat and oooverfed.\"\n\n\"It is not a steady diet, like our *Sibling* the Consumer of Pride enjoys, not for *me*,\" the Cherish of Envy replied. \"They are starting to realize, many of them are setting it aside, they are not all feeding *meeeee.*\" Its words petered out in a thinning whine as it shuddered in self-pity.\n\n\"Envy me you *should,*\" said the Cherish of Pride, \"but not for this. Envy me because I am the greatest among you, and always will be. I feed on each and every one of them, even the ones who think they are the most sad and broken and without self-regard, because only Pride itself makes these things a burden to them. Only a very few ever approach true humility. As it should be.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Wrath slammed the semisolid ground with its clubbed, spike-studded forelimbs. \"SPARE US YOUR ARROGANCE, SIBLING. I HAVE NOT FED ON A WORLD WAR IN FAR TOO LONG. THIS IS YOUR FAULT. THEIR PRIDE IN SOIL AND BLOOD HAS WANED, NOT ENOUGH OF THEM WOULD SHED BLOOD FOR THESE NOBLE REASONS.\"\n\n\"Oh pleasssse,\" the Cherish of Lust said. \"You have the entire networked game-culture to feed on, jussst as I have...other networked delightsss. I know it isss not your favorite meal, not like real blood. It isss the sssame for me, I would prefer true orgiesss to recorded obssscenities, but thessse happen only ssso often where through their new networksss...it isss ssso abundant.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Wrath exhaled, a blast of iron and charged air. \"I SUPPOSE THIS RAGE IS VERY SWEET THOUGH LESS SUBSTANTIAL. I DO ALSO LOVE THEIR AUTOMOBILES. THOUGH THEY WISH TO AUTOMATE THESE. OH! THE MEALS I SHALL LOSE!\"\n\n\"Aaaahhh, yessss, sweeeet automaaation,\" the Cherish of Sloth slurred. \"Ooone daaaay sooon I shaaall beeee the beeest feeeed.\"\n\nThe Cherish of Greed cackled and rubbed together its seven hands in turn. \"They won't lie idle just because they have what they *need,* oh no no no, they will always want more, they will think they need it, more more more, and when true needs no longer need their effort they can turn sweat and striving toward more more more, never never enough.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" the Cherish of Pride said. \"The world is changing for all of you. It will wax and wane, but still,\" its smile spread to its entire metaphysical form, \"I will always be the greatest of us, no matter the new ways they learn to speak to each other, and regardless of what they might name their celebrations.\"\n\n​\n\nCome on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Vampires cannot enter a house uninvited. Turns out, they invented Welcome mats to bypass this rule decades ago.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Earl and Helena pulled into the condo complex.\n\n\"I'm *so* hungry,\" she complained, tapping her long fingernails on the window.\n\n\"That's because you didn't finish that frat boy's blood.\"\n\n\"He was so drunk, I was getting tipsy! And I'm not 21 yet --\"\n\nHe snickered. \"Ah, such a sense of morality.\"\n\n\"Well, yes. Unlike you, I've never killed anyone. I'm part of the Veluvian Order, remember? 'Leave them alive; take just enough to thrive.'\"\n\nHe rolled his eyes, and pulled crookedly into a parking space.\n\n\"Do you see any with welcome mats? Those will be the easiest. Don't even have to get invited in,\" he said, stepping out of the car.\n\n\"I know that, Uncle Earl. Geez.\" She squinted at the doorways. \"There, on the third level, I think.\" She pointed to a brown dot on the threshold.\n\n\"Fantastic.\"\n\nThe two climbed the stairs. Earl huffed and puffed as they got to the final level. \"Damn asthma,\" he said under his breath. They walked towards the door.\n\n\"Wait...\" she said, trailing off. \"This isn't a traditional welcome mat.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Look! It doesn't say 'Welcome'. It says --\" her tone turned quizzical -- \"'Hi, I'm Mat.'?\"\n\nHe shook his head in anger. \"No, Dammit! These stupid, 'funny' welcome mats --\"\n\n\"What? You've seen these before?\"\n\n\"Yeah. They're popular with the younger folk. Think they're being funny and witty and clever and all that. But they're stupid. And they don't let us in.\"\n\n\"Who even makes them?\" She crouched down, and curled up the corner of the rug.\n\n\"Some kitschy designer who think's he's being *so* witty --\"\n\n\"That's odd.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"It's 'Buffy's Welcome Mats, Incorporated'.\"\n\n---\n\nr/CSDouglas", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " My German Shepard had to be put down today. We never knew where he came from. Please write about his adventures.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I remember before I met friend. I don't like to remember, but I can. I remember the dark and cold. I remember mama wouldn't wake up. It was raining. Big men came and put me in a box, then put that box in a bigger mover box. I remember bumping up and down and the men talking loudly, and the rain hitting the bigger mover box, and loud angry geese sounds. When the big box opened they carried me in my little box inside. I was shaking and barking and shrieking and scared I was scared. They emptied my box into a bigger box and left me there for days. I got food and water, but people poked and pricked at me. I was scared and no one could help and I was lonely and I missed mama and I didn't think I was going to get out. The other dogs were bigger and louder and barked at me through the box walls. \n\nThat's when I met friend. He came in and stopped and looked at me. I didn't want him to grab me like the other men did, but he lifted me gently. It reminded me of mama. I liked him and I wanted him to stay, but then he walked away and I barked, and I barked, and I barked, but he didn't hear me. But then he came back. He put me in a big mover box again, but I wasn't in the smaller box so it wasn't as bad. \n\nThen when we got to his inside place it was the biggest box I had ever seen. I ran all around it, and I was tired by the time I had run around the whole thing. I could jump and run, and friend was always there to play, or sit on, or protect. He went away a lot when the sun was out, but he was always home after it went down. Some days he was with me the whole day. \n\nI was scared of the outside when he first found me, but he made me love it again. The walks, and the toys, oh the toys, there were so many toys, and bones, and treats, and belly scratches. He let me run free and was always there to go back to. I remember those days. They were my favorite. \n\nHe even helped me get over my fear of the big mover boxes. Usually, they went to the park. Sometimes, they went to the other place. The other place reminded me of where friend found me. It was all white and the floor went click click click under my paws. It had a big lady with glasses and a white coat. She would poke and prod at me, but friend was always there so I wasn't that scared.\n\nBut all of that seems so long ago. My legs are tired now. The outside seems so much bigger than it did. I can only run for so long now. But friend still brings me. He brings my toys too, they still cheer me up. They don't squeak as much, but I don't mind. The outside is starting to hurt. The cold gets through my fur easier. I feel so sorry to friend. I know he wishes we could still run and play. I try to, for a time, but I don't think I can keep up with him anymore. I wish I could thank him for everything. For getting me out of that box. He made me the luckiest dog in the whole world. He gave me things I didn't think I would ever have. I never felt so lost when my mama went to sleep. I thought no one would ever make sure I was ok. No one would ever be there to protect me. Then friend did. I was never able to thank him enough, but I hope he knows.\n\nFriend says were going for a ride soon. He's been taking me to the park more, so that's probably where we're going. I remember once, when I was tiny, we went to the other place and the woman poked me with a needle. It made me sleep for at least a hundred years. I feel like that now; like I could sleep for one hundred years. Maybe Friend can bring me back there. So she can give me another poke. I'll be less tired after another hundred years. \n\n\nEdit: Thank you all for the kind words. I only hope that this thread was able to ease OPs pain, even if just for a little while. To all those crying, it's alright, I cried too. Dogs are too pure for this world. For everyone giving me gold, thank you, really. But please, donate to an animal shelter instead. Every little bit helps.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " One day, time just suddenly stops for a short moment for you. At first, you tried to mess around, but after the 246th times it happened, you start to realise that your power is not stopping time, but being able to move in time frozen by another person in the world.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "My sneakers tapped gently against the pavement as I walked briskly down the street. I squeezed my way through the peak-hour human traffic, catching whiffs of overly-strong perfume and worse, overly-strong body odor. I don’t like people much. I mean that in the nicest way possible. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, anything more than that is a nightmare. Trying to ignore the occasional sweaty body that rubbed too close against mine as I wormed through the crowd, I wished that everyone would just *stop moving*. \n\nAnd then, all of a sudden, they did. The sounds of shoes pattering against the pavement and car horns blaring as frustrated drivers crawled through stand-still traffic disappeared into thin air, as if they’d never been there. A perfect, fragile silence descended upon the world. Every single person, object and animal was frozen. The fat man in a shirt clearly too small for him had stopped, his pudgy leg stretched out mid-stride. A teenage girl with highlights in her hair swept aside her fringe with one hand, the other raised in mid-air in an attempt to adjust her earphones. A flock of pigeons hung artificially in the air, like some sort of elaborate piece of abstract art dangling from the ceiling of a museum. \n\nYet even as the world froze around me, I continued moving. In that heartbeat when everything else was locked in time, my left foot landed solidly on the ground, and unconsciously, my right foot had moved forwards, about to take another step. Then I stopped. Nothing compelled me to, not like *something* seemed to compel everything and everyone else to stop, no. I just stood there, in shock and awe. Had my ‘wish’ caused this to happen? What was going on? And yet, even as my thoughts became a jumbled mess, I couldn’t help but smile. Moving around was *so* much easier with everyone stopped in place. \n\nAs it turns out, no, I wasn’t the one who caused that to happen. Time abruptly resumed a short while later, as if nothing at all had transpired. By then, I was out of the crowd, tucked away in the corner of a quiet café. I only noticed when the barista started to move again, the sound of beans being crushed in a grinder giving me the shock of my life. \n\nThe freezes happened over and over again, at random intervals. They never lasted very long, but I definitely wasn’t the one doing it. In fact, as the phenomenon occurred more and more, I *knew* for sure that someone else was stopping time. There’s no good way to explain it, but I could *feel* their presence, somewhere, not too close, but not too far away. I didn’t know if they could sense me too, the way I could sense them, but I knew that they were out there. So far, I hadn’t seen anything or anyone else move during those freezes. \n\nIt may sound stupid now, but I was content to enjoy those little moments while they lasted. It usually wasn’t inconvenient, and it led to some really cool opportunities to prank my friends, or to escape from throngs of people in a busy mall. I knew that my ‘partner-in-crime’ was out there, but I had no desire to find them. In hindsight, that was a mistake. \n\nMy sneakers tapped gently against the pavement as I walked briskly against the street. It was a day much like the one when I had first experienced the peculiar sensation of being the only sentient person in a world of frozen time. Once again, I squeezed through the peak-hour human traffic. Once again, my senses were bombarded by a host of things I hated dealing with. And once again, not unlike many of the other times, I quietly wished that my time-stopping partner might decide to freeze time once more, to allow me to slip out from this nightmare. \n\nSurprisingly enough, time stopped. It wasn’t often that time stopped at a convenient juncture, so I took the opportunity to dash out of the sticky- literally- situation that I’d found myself enclosed in. And yet, as I took in a gulp of fresh air, something felt wrong. \n\nIt took me a moment to realize what it was. I was having trouble sensing the time-stopper. It wasn’t like the first time, when I just wasn’t aware of them, no. It was as if they were… fading away. Like the dying flame of a candle, about to wink out of existence. \n\nBelatedly, I wondered what’d happen to me if they vanished while the world was frozen. \n\nWe always think of the important things just a little too late. I felt that pulse from the time-stopper grow weaker and weaker, slowly dissipating like a fine dust floating into the atmosphere. I prayed that time would resume, that everything would go back to normal. \n\nAnd yet, that perfect, fragile silence remained intact. Every single person, object and animal was still frozen. The random passers-by were all stuck in time, locked in place, halfway through their last action before the world had decided to stop. A flock of crows hung artificially in the air, like some sort of elaborate piece of abstract art dangling from the ceiling of a museum.\n\nI screamed, my voice ricocheting and echoing off the tall buildings that surrounded me. \n\nBut no response came. \n\n*****\n \n*more stories at /r/chasing_mist*\n\n*I write a story a day [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com)*\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " \"Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The three looked between each other. There was no more time for words. No more words were necessary. \n\nThey knew their places.\n\nJesus swung into the driver's seat. It was the only real place for him, and there wasn't another option, when it came right down to it. Buddha didn't fit behind the wheel, and they'd both seen Satan at work on that flask inside his jacket through the day. No, Jesus would handle it.\n\nTheir wheels spun on the gravel. The others were circling, now. It was time. The final battle, the final fight to see who would win the game once and for all. Jesus and Satan teaming up was a given. The other candidates had complained - it wasn't fair - but complaining got them nowhere. \n\nThey all tried to pretend like they weren't going to do the exact same thing as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They looked between each other edgily, sizing the competition up. Picking teams.\n\nBuddha, on the other hand, was a surprise. What incentive did *he* have for working together with the terrible twosome? His smooth, expressionless face gave no hint of an answer as he clambered all the way up behind the gun mounted in the truck bed. His bare feet were steady on the metal floor, perfectly centered even as his girth swung disconcertingly. \n\n\"Here they come!\" Satan roared. He had elected himself shot-caller, of course, even though they hadn't set teams. Neither of the other two were surprised by *that*, either. He'd always needed to have the last word on things.\n\nThe first contenders were approaching. Muhammed was out front, leaning out the side door of a torn-up station wagon. He clutched a rocket launcher in his hands. They could see Shiva behind the wheel, grinning like a madcap as he spun the wheel. The overburdened little car nearabouts rode up on two wheels as they whipped into a donut.\n\n\"Shoot! Shoot! Now, goddammit! Why aren't you shooting yet?!\" Satan screamed. Jesus gritted his teeth, choosing to ignore the fact that his father's name was being taken in vain alongside him. Buddha was just watching, sizing up the shot. And then his meaty finger gripped the trigger.\n\nThe roar of the gun was deafening. Satan clapped his hands over his ears, roaring with laughter as the gleaming, glowing rounds arced out towards the station wagon. Shiva was swearing - they could see that much, even though his words were lost to distance and the racket. But they were spinning too fast. The ground between them erupted into shredded sand and mud.\n\nMuhammed wasn't waiting anymore. A plume of fire shot from the rocket launcher.\n\nEverything happened all at once, after that.\n\n\"Satan!\" Jesus cried. He, too, was turning now, but there was only so much he could be expected to do. He was supposed to be positioning them to attack. Defending them was-\n\n\"I got it, I got it! Don't get your robes in a bunch.\" Satan hissed. Defending them was *his* job. He lurched dangerously in his seat, barely holding on. But he pulled his hand up into an almost-level position, mimicking a gun.\n\n\"Bang.\"\n\nRed circles appeared endlessly around their truck. Something was coming up from underground.\n\n\"*Damn* it, Satan. Do you have to-\"\n\n\"Don't complain, big guy. Left. Left. Go-\"\n\nThe truck whipped into a left-hand turn, narrowly avoiding the black pillars shooting up around them. Jesus shook his head.\n\n\"I've *got it*. Stop backseat driving.\"\n\nThe other teams were coalescing, now. One after another, the deities were lining up for the big fight. They all knew. Whoever won this, would win the world. And none of them wanted to lose.\n\nHe could almost see them, if he squinted. Four sets of hooves, barely visible under the cloudline where they floated. Watching. Waiting. The final fight, for whoever crushed the competition here.\n\nHe winced. The little station wagon had just been slammed by a hummer. He could see Ra through the front window, glowing faintly from the shit-eating grin on his face. Oddly noodle-like tentacles were swarming out of the vehicle, attaching themselves to the station wagon. Which seemed to be *vanishing* into the mass of pasta.\n\n\"Drive! Drive!\" Satan screamed in his ear. The roar of the chaingun from the truck bed was almost a constant companion, now. \n\nJesus grinned, flexing his hands on the wheel.\n\nAnd then he drove.\n\n(/r/inorai, critiques always welcome. And going to head it off, I know that Buddha isn't really the fat jolly man statue most people associate with it, but, *most people associate that with him*.)\n\n~~Note - Another part or two is a possibility tonight when I get home, although this won't for obvious reasons be a long term project beyond that. If you want to be notified *should* that second part happen, leave a comment in the thread about this post on my sub. It's linked above :) I will notify anyone in that thread re: updates.~~\n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/7dc6op/heavenly_pubg_part_2)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.\n\nThere were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.\n\nFifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!\n\nThe grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.\n\nAnd yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.\n\nFor a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.\n\nToday was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.\n\nI opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.\n\nA lifetime supply of Oreos.\n\nI guess this is my last one.\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Bored with Heaven's docile wildlife, Steve Irwin rounds up a camera crew and leads an expedition to observe and study the native species of Hell.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“G’day, I’m Steve Irwin. Today on ‘Hell Hunters’ we’re searching for the rare and mysterious *Hellhound*,” Steve said.\n\nHe walked along the cracked fields of broken rock, stepping gently with his tan boots, threadbare cargo shorts and low-cut olive tee. He stopped abruptly at a ridge, then held a hand out towards the angelic camera crew, beckoning them forward. \n\n“Now, a lot of folks think that the hellhound is a big scary beast. That’s all false. They’re just a bit misunderstood,” he said. \n\nHe pointed towards a burning field, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That right there is a mother hellhound with her pups.”\n\nThe angelic camera crew shuffled forward on the bluff, zooming in for the best possible view. On the fields, the mother hellhound ran in circles. Seven balls of flaming floof ran after her. \n\n“When most people think hellhounds, they think—danger! Danger! Danger! But that’s not true at all. In fact, these are some of the most intelligent creatures on the fiery plains!”\n\nHe jumped down from the bluff. The angels started in protest, but they had learned long ago not to question Steve. Instead they shuffled their wings uneasily and watched the commotion. \n\nSteve moved forward. His footsteps clattered over the rocks, and the mother hellhound swiveled her head, staring him down intently. \n\n“Check this out. When I approach, the mother hellhound is going to raise her fiery hackles in defense”—the hellhound growled, flames spitting around her—“Right now she sees me as a threat to her pups, so this defensive technique is normal. What I’m gonna do is make myself small.”\n\nHe hunched over in the fetal position. The hellhound growled, but her tail began to wag. The pups huddled around their mother, then slowly started forward. \n\n“Aww now, there we go, easy now,”—he reached into his jacket pocket—“the pups just want to play, they haven’t learned the difference between friend or foe. Now this is a critical moment.”\n\nHe pulled out a small chew toy. “Check this out! Now watch.”\n\nHe held out the bone. One cautious pup started forward and sniffed it. The mother hellhound moved forward, inches away from Steve, the bearer of death incarnate. Flames scored her pitch black fur, her fangs white with fury, hackles raised with spines of white fire. \n\nThen the mother bent down, snatched the bone from Steve’s hands, and walked away. The pups followed her, but not before one of them climbed up to Steve and licked his face.\n\n“Now look at that. Ain’t she a ‘Beaut? A lot of people think that hellhounds are evil ugly monsters, but that’s not true at all. You just saw it for yourself.”\n\nHe walked back towards the camera, and the angels set up a fantastic shot of him sitting on the bluff, overlooking the fields, with some really terrific lighting. Steve sobered for this portion of the show. \n\n“Now the terrible thing about these creatures is that, more and more they’re being driven to the brink of extinction. With the cooling of the Sulphur pits, their natural habitat is being destroyed, and it’s a shame that in my grandkid’s lifetime we may never be able to see these magnificent creatures again,” he said. \n\nHe shuffled a bit, pointing out towards the fields where the hellhounds ran free. In the post-production room, Steve imagined they would do a slow zoom towards the happy hellhound family. The audience would watch them toss around the chew toy like it was the happiest moment of their lives. Maybe he could touch the hearts of a few lost souls and show all the amazing creatures from the depths of hell. \n\nFor his eternity, that would be enough to turn any hell to heaven. \n\n​\n***\nr/BLT_WITH_RANCH", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " From birth, your parents have done everything they could to stop you from going out during a full moon. At the age of 16, curiosity overwhelms you and you sneak out of the house during a full moon. You take a peek at the moon, and suddenly you turn into a log cabin. You are a werehouse.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "When I finally staggered back home the next morning, the relief that I was home safe overrode my mother's anger at my disobedience. The same could not be said of my father. From inside my mother's embrace, I heard his familiar chastising tone of voice revving up. It was as if the act of telling me what to do made him more domineering. There was no cathartic release and reset, it just kept escalating until we were screaming at each other, and my mother had to intervene.\n\n​\n\n\"What the hell were you thinking, boy? You could have been discovered, you could have killed people! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?\"\n\n​\n\n\"NO!\", I shouted back. A familiar pattern despite the unfamiliar ground. \"No, I had no idea how dangerous it could be because you've never told me anything about who I am? Or is it how *we* are? Am I the freak, or are we all the Addams family realtors?\" I paused, partially for effect, and partially to admire how coolly I'd delivered that line. So far it had gone exactly how I'd rehearsed, as I'd been trapped in those 4 walls. Or as those 4 walls. To be honest, that part wasn't 100% clear to me. Then my Dad surprised me by tearing up my mental script. He sat down heavily with a huge sigh, like a bouncy castle when the pump is turned off.\n\n​\n\n\"Yeah\", he nodded. \"Yeah, that is true. How could you know? It's fucking ridiculous. I mean if you were a vampire or a werewolf or whatever at least you'd have pop culture to help you make sense of some it. But not this.\" He patted the sofa next to him. \"Come, sit down. I suppose it's time.\"\n\n​\n\nI sat down. My mother went to put the kettle on. I might be a walking house, and at this point, she might be as well, as far as I knew, but a mother knew when it was time to make a cup of something hot.\n\n​\n\n\"What do you mean dangerous, Dad? What am I going to do? Do we have asbestos?\"\n\n​\n\nHe rolled his eyes. It was so normal I nearly pinched myself just to check this wasn't some ridiculous dream. \"Not as far as I know. Although I never had a surveyor inside me. So to speak.\"\n\n​\n\nI laughed, as he knew I would.\n\n​\n\n\"No, you are dangerous, because of the speed and power of the change. A werewolf might maim a human or two before it learns to lock itself away at Full Moon. You could crush people by the busload. If you are near another building, you will knock it aside. A skyscraper would fall.\"\n\n​\n\nI laughed again. This time he was not so pleased. \"It's not a joke. I'm telling you. You could kill thousands if you change in the wrong place. The oldest handed down tale of our people is of the fall of Jericho. Human legend tells of the great shout and the power of God. The reality is that one of our kind was in the march around the walls. They marched for days and nights until the full moon came, and he smashed those impregnable walls aside like straw.\"\n\n​\n\n\"Dad. What are we?\"\n\n​\n\n\"I don't know, boy\", he said, deflating still further it seemed. My mother returned with two steaming cups of something. \"Thanks love\", he said as he took one. \"I don't know, and none of our people does for sure. Tomorrow we'll take you to see The Architect. She's the oldest of us, and she can tell you what limited parts we do know.\"\n\n​\n\nMy mother patted my shoulder. \"You must be tired. The first change is awful on the mind. Did you have any animals move in?\"\n\n​\n\nI shuddered at the thought of the small rodents I'd felt scurrying across my skin. Or inside my skin I supposed. I said nothing.\n\n​\n\n\"Drink your tea\", she said knowingly, then brightened. \"Still, the good news is we think that we exist to shelter and protect something important. It's just we don't know what yet. But we don't set out to kill or convert or dominate like all the other changelings.\"\n\n​\n\nI looked at her. \"Others? I thought the werewolves thing was another joke?\"\n\n​\n\n\"Tomorrow\", my father said firmly with a glare at my mother. \"For now, just rest. You need your strength. Learning The Foundations is a tough task and the Architect is not a forgiving teacher.\"\n\n​\n\nI sipped my tea and tried not the think about where the rats went when I changed back.\n\n\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\n\nIf you like this, I keep all my stories here. I'm still learning and always up for feedback. Thanks for reading.\n\nEdit - Grammar advice\n\nEdit 2- Part 2 is [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hhgh0y/wp_from_birth_your_parents_have_done_everything/fwb0ei1?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)\n\nPart 3 is [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hhgh0y/wp_from_birth_your_parents_have_done_everything/fwebwzm?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)\n\nr/TallerestTales", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You have $86,400 in your bank and someone steals $10. You spend all the rest of your money trying to get revenge.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"It's not the money, it's the principle.\"\n\nMy father's words. Though I think he was talking about taking a loan, as in principal with an A L, but that doesn't really matter.\n\nIt was free to find out who the culprit was, the bank does that for you. Not to help you, but to know who to put on their hit lists, your gain is just an added benefit. But for a petty crime like stealing 10 dollars, the bank does nothing. Apparently their policy only applies to thefts of more than fifty dollars. \n\nSo I had to take matters into my own hands. \n\nThe bank was kind enough to tell me who the culprit was, though: James Graham. Asshole extraordinaire. The bastard had stolen my lunch every time he was in lunch back in elementary school, which admittedly was not very often considering he had detention almost everyday. But still, having my apple juice carton ripped mercilessly out of my hands and disemboweled by another man is an image that will haunt me forever. \n\nAnd now, he had the nerve to come back to my life, and steal *my* money. Hell no. No sir. And so I plotted my revenge. According to Stalkbook, Graham lived in London. Now, I did not have the cash for tomorrow's train fare, so a flight was out of the question, unless I wanted to withdraw from my savings account...which I actually wasn't legally allowed to for ten more years. \n\nSo I waited. \n\nI worked extra hours at the StellarDollars, even though my soul withered a little more every moment I stood and smiled at random people who had come to get coffee or milk or whatever the hell. I sacrificed some of my guaranteed interest on the savings account and moved it to an investment variant, where I could chose to invest the money into different stocks or companies. \n\nAnd I did. I had a plan you see, a plan so grand it would destroy him so utterly, so completely that he would lie broken at my feet, begging for mercy, and I, in my infinite kindness, would deny it. I read online articles, made the correct movements, predicted changes, made gambles. I cried, laughed, and died inside. And through it all only one name filled my mind, one name that fueled my drive, my relentless quest: James Graham: Asshole Extraordinaire. \n\nOne day, of no particular import, the call that I knew would come, came. \n\nI stood up in the middle of the conference meeting, and dozens of chairs swiveled around and men in suits stared at me. \n\n\"Sir?\" One asked, \"we have to discuss this quarter's profits...\"\n\nI glared at him, and he fell silent. Without another word I stalked out of the meeting room, men and women staring at me as I did, but I paid then no mind. I pulled out my phone and answered. \n\n\"Sir, a loan verification from the name of James Graham has come in, asking for 2 hundred thousand,\" Stephanie said. I'd told her years ago to tell me when this happened. I'd bought out all the other banks in the area. He would have no choice to to borrow from mine, it was just a question of waiting. \n\nAnd the wait was over. \n\nI grinned. \"Stephanie, approve him, but internally make it a loan of two million,\" I paused, and continued, \"and ten - discreetly of course.\"\n\nStephanie had known me for years, she didn't ask any questions. \n\nSo when Graham got his first payment due he was suitably surprised to find his loan payments about ten times what they had been. He went to the bank enraged, sure there had been an error. \n\nThere was no error. The system clearly said he had borrowed 2 million, and now it was time to pay. \n\nOh and pay he did. \n\nHe could only watch as his house was sold, his wife divorced him, his kids hated him, his friends deserted him. I found him on the streets one day, begging with some coins in a cardboard box in front of him. I knelt down, patted him on the back and gave him a ten. \n\nJames' eyes widened, and he looked up at me, almost crying. \"Th-thank you sir, thank you so, so much!\"\n\nI just smiled at him and walked away, whistling a merry tune. \n\n***\n\nIf you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/) for more of my work ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You never kill the spiders in your home, you just whisper \"today you, tomorrow me\" when you set them outside. Now, in your most dire moment, an army of spiders arrives to have your back.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Why don't you just kill them?\"\n\n\"Because they're living creatures, Lindsay. You ask me that every ti–\"\n\n\"Oh shut up,\" she rolled her eyes, cutting him off. He sighed as he opened the door to the backyard. The moon was full but barely visible through the clouds. He knelt in the grass and whispered, \"Today you, tomorrow me.\" The spider leapt from his palm and disappeared into the darkness. He crouched there for a minute, wishing that he too could disappear into the darkness. He just didn't have the strength to leave. \n\nNo one believed that she had given him his scars, they didn't want to believe. He saw it in their eyes. They would laugh, mock him, shrugging it off, waving their hands, shaking their head as if to rid their ears of the words. He didn't tell many people, a coworker, a guy from the gym, his brother, and his best friends from school. The disregard for his confession hurt more than a book to the head or a fork to the arm ever could. But nothing hurt more than her betrayal. Every apology was a glimmer of hope that the woman he'd fallen in love with would return. Every insult she spat and object she hurled made him wonder if she was ever there, or if it had all been a dream. \n\nHe stood up slowly and turned to go into the house. *If I were more understanding, more giving, patient, she'd remember what we had and come back,* he thought. He'd had thousands of similar thoughts. He was a fixer. Maybe he could fix it. Fix himself, fix her, fix them. Deep down he knew he couldn't, but his hope and her blame kept him tied there. He'd tried counselors. He went alone when she'd refused to go. And when she insisted that he stop, that the counselor was driving them apart, he'd stopped. He shook his head, disappointed in himself again. \"Honey,\" he said opening the door, \"what do you think about trying to see Dr. Smith again?\" **WHACK** He heard the sound of glass shattering, but he didn't know what had hit him. He struggled to get up, but something else hit him. And he went down again. \"Lindsay, please...\" He looked up to see her looming over him, his old baseball bat in her hands, and he put his arms up to protect his face as she swung at him over and over and over and then she was shrieking. \n\n\"What is that??? ***scream*** Get them off!!! GET THEM OFF!!!\" He lifted his head to see his wife being swept out the back door in a wave of blackness. He thought he was hallucinating. His head was throbbing, bleeding as he struggled to get up. Leaning against the back door he watched as she disappeared into the woods, her scream echoing. \"Lindsay!\" he called after her, attempting to follow, but he collapsed in the doorway. \n\nThe next morning he woke up on the couch. He groaned, eyes adjusting to the early morning light. The room filled with evidence of the night's events but Lindsay wasn't there. He started to sit up to look for when he noticed a black rectangle on the wall. It looked like it was moving. Slowly, the blackness shifted, forming the words: \"Yesterday us, today you.\" ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "You know, I really couldn't say when I first saw the lines.\n\nI mean, sure, I know it was sometime around my tween years when I saw them for *sure*. I was 13 when I saw the brightly colored lines cutting straight across the gravel parking lot, leading me back to my parents after I had gotten lost on that road trip. But before that? I really couldn't say. Maybe I had seen them before, mistaking them for pavement lines and supermarket markings.\n\nRegardless. After I noticed them, I couldn't help it. I saw them *everywhere*. Two lines, red and green, etched into the ground like they were marked in paint. No one else could see them. I'd commented on them once, to my mother, and she looked at me like I was crazy. I was old enough at that point to know to keep my mouth shut.\n\nBut I watched, as they wove their way in and out of my life.\n\nAnd, as one does, I inevitably found myself overwhelmed with the *need* to investigate them, to see where they led. The curiosity was more than I could take. The memory of that first time was too fresh in my mind, of the green line leading me straight back to safety.\n\nAnd so, when I was 14, I grabbed a botle of water and a snack, and I followed them. The green line, of course. Green is good and red is bad, right? It just seemed smarter that way. It had taken me on a winding, twisting path, deeper and deeper into the city, until at last I found myself at a robotics tournament being held that afternoon. \n\nIt was *thrilling*.\n\nI had no idea that something like that was even a thing, but my interest was piqued. I decided - I wanted to do something like *that* with my life. And I looked at that little green line with newfound respect.\n\nSo I followed it again.\n\nOver and over, I followed it. And time after time, my life was rewarded for it. It took me to the front door of a prep school where I met Mr. Graves, whose tutoring I hold directly responsible for getting me into college a few years down the road. It led me out of danger, as a kitchen fire burned out of control in my school. And, it crossed my path with that of the woman of my dreams. Literally. We smacked into each other in a crosswalk.\n\nSo, here I was. I was 30, and the world was at my fingertips. I sat in my leather gaming chair, in front of the desk holding all of my equipment. I looked out the window of my top-floor penthouse, gazing down at the city below. The walls were covered with the awards I had won, in automation and robotics and system design. My lovely, smart, beautiful wife was in the other room, reading a book as she brewed coffee.\n\nIt was perfect. Really perfect. All thanks to that little green line.\n\nBut I couldn't help it. I was *bored*. \n\nMy whole adult life, I'd relied on that invisible line to guide my steps. It hadn't bothered me when I was younger. I was just a kid, and this line opened doors for me I didn't even know *existed*. I'd followed it without hesitation, trusting it to take my life where it needed to go.\n\nNow that I was older, now that I had time to stop and think about it, I wondered if this had all really been for the best. Had I just taken the easy path? Had I gone with the flow, and given up on taking my life into my own hands? It kept me up at night, I'll be honest.\n\nAnd through it all, it burned, in the corner of my vision. That red line. It seared into my sight like it was on *fire*. It demanded attention, begging for me to give it the shot I'd only ever given its green brother.\n\nThat old curiosity was back.\n\nAnd so I grabbed an old messenger bag out of the closet, a remnant from my college days. I threw in bottles of water, and a pocket knife. A charge cable for my phone, and a granola bar. I laughed to myself, as I saw it. It looked so much like the bag I had packed, all those years ago, when I first walked the green line. But that felt right, you know?\n\nI slipped out the door, with a quick goodbye to my wife. She accepted my excuses of taking a walk without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my cheek and wishing me a good day. I smiled to myself, as I left the house. She was the best thing that the green line had ever gotten me.\n\nAnd then I stepped onto the red line.\n\nOnce again, it led me into the city, deeper and deeper. But where the green line had taken me straight towards the center of activity, leading me towards schools and conference centers, the red line seemed to be taking me right to the worst part of town. I flinched away from seedy glares, eyeing my bag and the make of my coat, as I hurried onwards.\n\nI hoped this wasn't going to be the last mistake I ever made.\n\nThe buildings around me loomed higher, the roads and streets giving way to narrow alleys. I was *about* to give up, to declare this a fool's errand and turn back.\n\nAnd then I heard her crying.\n\n\"Please. Please, no. I swear I won't say anything. I don't have any money, I- I don't have *anything*. Please just let me go and I swear I won't ever-\"\n\n\"Shut it.\"\n\nThe woman's voice was high, reedy with fear, and her tears threatened to overwhelm her words entirely. It stopped me in my tracks, before I even had a chance to hear *him* speak.\n\nThe voices were coming from ahead. The red line burned, inviting me onwards.\n\nAlmost against my will, I found my feet moving fowards. And then I saw her, huddled on the ground in a mass of scarf and hair. A man was in front of her, kneeling, with her purse torn open in front of him. He dug through it, tossing receipts and makeup cases aside carelessly as he looked for anything valuable.\n\nIn his other hand, he held a gun. It pointed at her lazily, weaving back and forth as he eviscerated the bag.\n\nThey were right there, no more than twenty feet in front of me. Neither of them saw me. The man's back was to me, and the woman was in no state to notice. \n\nMy hand plunged into the bag slung over my shoulder, latching reflexively around the familiar shape of my knife. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but having it in my hand made me feel a *little* better.\n\nI needed to call the cops. This was all wrong. There was no way I could do anything to help her. I was just going to end up getting her killed, or myself, or both of us. He had a *gun*. What could I *possibly* do against-\n\nHis hand swayed, the barrel pointing back at her. His finger tensed on the trigger.\n\nBefore I had time to think, I was running. The knife was out of the bag now, gleaming in my hand as I thrust it towards him. Towards his neck. If I could knock him over, if I could get that gun pointed *away* from her-\n\nI swore colorfully as I stumbled. The man grunted in surprise and pain, as my knife dug into his wrist. I winced, even as I ran headlong into him. Turns out my aim with a knife *sucked*.\n\nBut it got the job done. He fell, cursing and screaming, as blood flowed from his wrist. The gun clattered to the cold pavement, forgotten, as he stumbled back. His eyes were locked onto my knife, through the mist of pain I could see in his expression. \n\n\"What the *fuck*?\" He cursed again, clutching his wrist. \"Dude, fuck *off*.\"\n\nI swiped the knife at him clumsily, more threatening than actually intending to hit him. He swore one last time, jumping back. \"Fuck this. Keep your shitty purse, lady.\" With one last parting jab, he spun on his heel and vanished rapidly down the alleys.\n\nThe woman was a mess, eyes all red and sniffling desperately. But she pulled herself together as I approached her, beginning to tuck her belongings back into her bag.\n\n\"Are...are you ok, ma'am?\" I asked tentatively, my voice low. She glanced up at me, smiling.\n\n\"I am now. That asshole. I- I was so *scared*. Thank you *so* much. Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you-\" \n\n\"Don't worry about it. I'm glad I was here. We should get you to the police.\" I cut her off before she could go on. I knew the signs of an incoming meltdown, and figured I needed to get her somewhere safe before her emotions finally caught up with the shock.\n\nShe nodded, accepting my offered hand with a grateful nod, and we stumbled onwards down the alley.\n\nI glanced dowards.\n\nThe red line glowed brightly ahead of us. My stomach roiled. *More*?\n\nThe noise of the city was returning to normal around us, as we returned to some semblance of civilization. I began to relax, just a hair. And then, as we turned towards the main street, I hesitated.\n\nThe red line was turning, down a different alley. It led half a block down, and then cut straight up to the front door of a little shack.\n\nI could see a tiny, hazy tendril of smoke, rolling out from under the side door.\n\nThe line *burned*, screaming red in its urgency. It seared a line into my vision as I looked down the alley. I paused, caught deep in thoughts. Questions, that had been lingering in my head for years, and answers that had suddenly become apparent.\n\nThe green line took me where *I* needed to go. It showed me the easy path. The path that I needed to take.\n\nWhat if...What if the red line showed me the hard path? Not the path that I needed, but the path that other people needed me to take? What if it took me to where other people needed me to go?\n\n\"Can you manage from here?\" I heard my voice say, ringing distant in my own ears. The woman glanced back to me, smiling faintly.\n\n\"I think so. Do you have to go?\"\n\n\"I..I think I do, yeah.\" I didn't look back at her. My eyes were still locked onto that little building. The smoke was growing, swelling by the second. I half turned, releasing the woman's hand and giving her a reassuring smile. She returned it shyly, waving as she merged back into the flow of pedestrians and made for the police station.\n\nI turned back to the red line. And then I broke into a run.\n\n---\n\n(/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!) \n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inorai/comments/6vuflx/redline_2/) ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“Thanks reddit,” I said, “Y’all make this community spectacular. I’ve been coming here for a few years just to have fun reading and writing, and apart from getting banned once when a mod thought my story was so terrible that I must be trolling, the feedback has always been constructive. I think that says a lot about an internet community. The rest of the internet can get pretty negative and rude, but the people who hang out on /r/writingprompts are really awesome to each other. And I really mean it when I say-”\n\nSomething tapped my shoulder from behind. I swiveled my chair and saw Revolutionary Comrade Zoot—the protagonist of the very first story I posted to /r/writingprompts three and a half years ago.\n\n“Remember me?” Zoot asked.\n\n“I, uh,” I sputtered. I racked my brains trying to remember his name and his plot arc.\n\n“You forgot?” Zoot said, shocked.\n\n“You’re blue,” I said desperately, “Um, you’re like a… a communist type alien, um,”\n\nZoot frowned. “I was part of the prompt: [WP] You are the heir to the family business of being a superhero. At 16, your power is unveiled, but no one expected what it was…” \n\nI nodded, the memories beginning to stir.\n\n“You gave me the superpower of superdreaming,” Zoot said.\n\n\"That's right,\" I said.\n\n\"I always wanted to ask you something,\" Zoot said.\n\n\"What's that?\" \n\n\"What's your dream?\" Zoot asked.\n\n\"Me?\" I said, \"It's pretty simple. I just want people to read the stuff I write.\"\n\n\"So you've made it, then,\" Zoot said, \"Just like me.\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" I said, \"I suppose I have. All because of reddit.\"\n\n\"Thanks reddit,\" Zoot said, turning to face YOU, the reader. \"You're awesome.\"\n\nze end!\n\n---\n\n/r/trrh\n\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You discover a library with a biography for everyone on Earth. While reading your own, you notice that whenever someone else is mentioned, there's a footnote showing where you can find their biography. Its odd how someone who was only a sentence in your book has a whole chapter for you.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "*Carl ended up going to prom with Alice, I hated him.* \n\nI giggled as I read the line. This library of biographies is fantastic. There is so much memory of each person, all collected within one room. Everyone’s life is recorded, every scrap of information, every thought, every emotion they felt at the moment. There is no one insignificant in this room, from historical figures to the beggar, all of our stories are recorded. Our experiences, whether they be of a hard struggle or of a blissful moment, not a thing that made our lives colorful is missed from these biographies. \n\nI still remember that moment, when Alice came to tell me she was going to prom with Carl, the utter humility, the disappointment… It was everything to me at the time, and I hated the son of a bitch. The the one who showed little interest in actually committing to a relationship, the one who ended up dumping her anyway after the night, was the one who actually got to go on a date with her. Even then, I toughened up, and acted, pretended, to give them my best wishes and extending my hand to him to tell him no hard feelings, so I can tell myself what I nice person I am. God I hope that poor bastard suffered the rest of his life. \n\nAnd that’s when I went to look for Carl’s biography. Section D, number 10523, it was a remarkably short one. I am in my fifties and my biography is already the size of a Thesaurus, his is more close to a high schooler's notebook. \n\nAs I turned page after page, I realized, his life is remarkably boring. The guy spent most of his early life in-doors, quiet, without much friends. Commentaries on his experiences remained bland for the most part -- “Learned to ride a bike, just like dad said I would.” And another “Straight As again, mom would be proud.” There were no further comments on what those experiences actually felt like. They were just a description of an event combined with how he thought other people would feel about it. There was also very little mention of himself, which is odd for a biography… \n\nUntil I reached the section about Alice. The narration here is different. There were detailed descriptions of how he thought of her as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, how he would go the library on days she would go study… What a creep. \n\nThe next section somehow returned to the old boring narration. \n\n“Diagnosed with lung cancer, inoperable. Best case scenario, two years” \n\nThe guy died within two years later, and more than half of this book remained is about the two years he had! \n\nThe rest of the biography read like a bestselling novel, each event, no matter how tiny they seemed, was filled with emotion, with hope and strive, with how much he wanted to ask for Alice’s hand despite knowing he’s dying. How hard he worked to be comfortable talking to others, the jokes he had to memorize to make himself sound funny, the countless webpages he read to make himself presentable. \n\n“Asked Alice to prom today, she said yes surprisingly. I knew she was supposed to be going with another guy, Matt. I know he loves her, and I know there won’t be a future for Alice and me. I just had to do it. I’m sorry...” \n\nI quickly flipped another page, I had no idea. \n\n“Matt didn’t flip out. Perhaps he knew how pathetic I am, or it was because he saw there will be no future between Alice and me… Despite this, he extended his hand to me, and told me there was no hard feelings, that neither Alice nor me owe him anything. He patted me on the back, but there was something odd about it, he was hurt, yet he remained strong. He told me to have fun, that there’s one prom and that's it, before telling me to be brave with a wink.” \n\n“Alice and I had a blast at the prom. She seemed interested in seeing me again, and so am I. I looked at her beautiful blue eyes, they definitely sparkle under the night sky. My sight lingered on her as I am reminded my doctors predictions. I told her we won't be seeing each other again. I tried to give her a pat on the back, but she shoved me away with tears in her eyes… Getting admitted today, getting worse. Though each time I lay on the bed, I can't help but remember Matt's look when he patted me on the back -- have fun, and be brave. And I did, thank you Matt!” \n\nI closed the book, a barrage of emotion hit me as I struggled for words. There doesn't seem to be any for this moment except perhaps \n\nYou're welcome", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me. \n\n\"Greetings traveler,\" the old man said, \"You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?\" \n\nIt didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear. \n\n\"Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook.\" I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling. \n\n\"That explains this,\" a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight.\n\n\"Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember.\" I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years. \n\n\"Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it.\" The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory. \n\n\"I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record.\" \n\nIt felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy. \n\n\"A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?\" The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed. \n\n\"Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day.\" The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face.\n\n\"Peace, traveler, the children are safe,\" The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, \"tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place.\" \n\n\"Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying...\" I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory...\"I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction.\" The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered.\n\n\"I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think...\" my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind. \n\nThe old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face. \n\n\"I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man.\" The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. \"Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand.\"\n\nThe final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors. \n\nEven little Cheryl. \n\nI saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula.\n\nI turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly. \n\n\nEdit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times. \n\nEdit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers. \n\nEdit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore [reading of the piece](https://soundcloud.com/anartiesaysmoo/spatula/s-MVmlN) - I think it's great! ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Only a year ago, I would have killed the woman with a bulldozer. She would have slipped on loose rock, hardhat skittering, and let out a piercing scream. That would have ended her fairly quickly, though. There's a chance I'd have chosen something slower. Trapped in a freezer maybe. Or kidnapped and tortured. \n\nThat's the thing I loved about my old job. I could get so creative. \n\nStarvation used to be a wildcard. Something only used in the less affluent nooks and crannies. Every so often, I'd toss in a doozie, like a pack of malnourished children in the heart of the suburbs. People were always so astonished at what I could slip right under their nose. Now starvation is everywhere. \n\nIf only I could stop it. \n\nHuman life is in the single digits now. Without them I am lost. \n\nSomewhere in all the ash, the woman stumbles atop shaky legs. Up ahead lies a gas station. If there's no food inside, she'll die. I can tell she's thinking of her dead husband. She gets these sort of hiccups each time before she cries. \"Please,\" she croaks, hand outstretched towards the doorway. \"Please give me strength.\"\n\nShe's not talking to me really, but I feel the need to whisper. \"I've told you my secret,\" I say, though she won't hear. \n\n\"You have to hold on.\" \n\nMy secret is this: I was just a conductor. I stood before Death, atop an ethereal pedestal. Together we played symphonies. I basked in the music as we ferried mortal souls. But now Death's music plays on even though I've cast aside my little wand. It sounds to me like a timer. \n\nThe woman is three paces from the doors when she gasps. She screws up her lips in pain. If I had adrenaline to pump, it would course through my veins. \n\nI sweep low to place a bony hand on her pregnant belly. \n\n\"My turn to beg,\" I say. \"Please just a little longer.\" \n\nWhen I was myself, I'd have been near giddy with glee. Pregnancy was an endless well of opportunity. It could go awry in innumerable ways. Now, the thought terrifies me. I've even considered praying.\n\nOnward she stumbles, with me urging from behind. She can barely open the doors. She has become so weak. \n\n\"A little further now,\" I say. \"For all our sakes.\"\n\nAcross the mountains lives another group. I know them well, for they've been whittled down to two: a grisled man and his son. I've pointed them this direction. Really, they're our only hope. That, and the baby being a girl. \n\nI'd have never thought to imagine it: running short of all options. \n\nWords fall short when the woman finds a bag of saltines. She crumbles them in her mouth, closing her eyes, sucking the stale salt and grain. They will make her thirsty soon. But for now they are welcome. \n\nHow ironic, then, that at that moment her water breaks. She gasps in surprise. She runs trembling fingers through the muck.\n\nWhen the contractions start, I tell her she can do this. She shrieks out in agony, and I tell her she *must*. I'm there for each dreadful push, my old purpose flipped on its head. A smear of crimson blood would fill me with despair. Gasps of pain feel like electricity. \n\nWhen the baby is born, the woman is crying. \n\nFor a dreadful moment, it's the only sound. \n\nShe holds the tiny thing up, inconsolable with emotion. Then, sure enough, the baby bursts into tears.\n\nWe'll need to feed it soon. And the others will need to survive the mountain. But for now, I enjoy the moment. A symphony of tears. After a time, the woman holds the baby close and sings a raspy lullaby. Her poor throat is croaky, completely off key.\n\nI find it absolutely gorgeous. \"Sweet baby girl,\" she sings. \n\nChock full of possibilities.\n\n---------------\n\nr/M0Zark", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The lone survivor of an Arctic exploration, you were captured generations ago by a band of tiny warriors. They’ve placed you under an enchantment to do their bidding; heading out into the world once each year as their unwilling emissary. They call you “slave,” or in their tongue, “Santa.”", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I lived in constant dizziness; a fog swirled and meld with cold, dense mist inside my mind. My thoughts were hollow, empty. The passage of time ceased to exist, for a second I stared at the pristine snow, at the blinding sun, and a moment later I was soaring the night sky in a wooden sleigh pulled by colorful deer.\n\nIt had been my curse, my fate, the cost for staying alive, if you will, to live life in such a way. I'd been captured by a civilization of tiny people, called elves, and they'd put me under a spell to be their emissary once a year. I wasn't aware of what I did, but flashes of cozy, sleeping, and smiling kids often came to my mind, and so I knew my unwilling deeds weren't something wicked.\n\nThings took a turn, however, when a little elf came before me, lifted the spell, and spoke to me in a far-flung nook of the Arctic, where no other elf could see us. \n\nHe was against what his people's doing, said it was slavery, and that I could escape in the flying sleigh if I wished to, but he explained to me they didn't truly understand what they were doing to me, as they had only one purpose: to make the kids smile. \n\nI pondered over his offer a great deal. This wasn't life, for I did things, but I only remembered a sliver of those things. However, at last, after I had went through a long list of questions regarding the whole situation, I asked him, \"So, do I bring joy to the kids?\"\n\n\"Yes, they wait for you every year with unparalleled eagerness,\" the elf said, dancing a small jive at the rhythm of his melodic words.\n\nWhat he said struck the core of my heart, made me wince and grimace. I was under a spell, yes, but he convinced me there were no evil intentions in the elves' doing, they simply didn't understand, or so I chose to believe, that putting people under a spell was a different sort of torture, but a torture after all.\n\nDeep down, despite the years I'd lost, I couldn't feel hatred nor resentment against them. After all, those years I'd lost of my life meant the smiles of kids across the world. It was a small price to pay for such a beautiful thing. \n\nOne I would pay time and time again.\n\n\"What if I do it willingly?\" I said to the twinkling elf. \"Some of your people can come with me in the sleg and watch over me, make sure I don't ruin christmas, and if I do, you can put me under the spell again.\"\n\n\"I was hoping you said that,\" the elf said, smiling. \"Let's go home, and meet the family. They will be joyous to finally be able to call you by your true name.\"\n\nI laughed, and waved my hands dismissively. \"The kids know me as Santa. They don't understand the meaning the word has in your language. But I would very much like to add my name to it, if that's a possibility.\"\n\nThe elf beamed and nodded. \"Sure thing! Would you tell me your name?\"\n\n\"It's Nicholas, but people call me Claus.\"\n\n---------------------------\n\nr/NoahElowyn ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " When you die, you wake up in an alien world holding a bong, with other aliens saying how was the trip.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“I love you, grandpa,” my youngest grand-daughter, Sherry, said as she squeezed my hand.\n\nI looked up at those emerald green eyes she had gotten from me, at my entire family’s as the heart machine’s slow beats gently faded. Eighty years had passed by in a blink of an eye. When I had been Sherry’s age, I had thought myself invincible. Then, at forty, I had worried constantly about death, thinking through sleepless nights about it. But now, I realized that it wasn’t so bad. Because if there was ever a scene to immortalize, to be my last, it would be this. Sherry, her bright green eyes glistening with tears, my children and grandchildren all around me as the heart beat monitor lulled me to a gentle and permanent sleep.\n\n“I love you too,” I told them all and I closed my eyes.\n\nMy eyes opened.\n\n“How was the trip?” a familiar voice asked from beside me.\n\nI looked around at the purple moss smothering the rolling hills and the campfire burning in front of me. On my lap was a bong. At last, I remembered. My name had never been Terry, it was Zor’oah.\n\n“Yo, dude, you back with us?” Galmroh said, snapping purple fingers in front of my face.\n\nI coughed and nodded. Seventeen eyes looked at me from the six people sitting around the campfire. Just as I had wished as fifty-year old Terry, I had gotten my time back. Zor’oah was a freshman in high school who finally got invited by the popular kids into a drug-fueled camping adventure. Three boys, three girls, and a lot of “*you can’t blame me for that, I was high*”.\n\nGalmroh and Sardak had already paired up, leaving me with Sierrah, the reason I had agreed to come. She now looked at me with sharp blue eyes, a small grin on her lips. Her purple hair had pink streaks across it that dangled off her head and curved into her chest like directions on where to direct your eyes.\n\n“So Zor’oah, how was it? Tell us all the things you did,” she asked.\n\n“Bet you can’t beat me,” Galmroh said, his chest inflating with pride. “My first trip, I enslaved an entire race and forced them to build these stupid triangles.”\n\n“At least he can’t do as bad as Sardak’s first trip. He was just a slave. At least he killed someone before his trip ended.” Sierrah said.\n\nThey turned to me again, waiting to hear of all my misdeeds. “I was a man named Terry,” I muttered. “And um… I met this girl named Sarah.”\n\nSierrah’s smile grew. “Sarah, eh? Tell us, what nasty things did you do to this *Sarah*?”\n\nBlood rushed to my face, burning it a deep violet. “I married her,” I said.\n\nGalmroh choked on a breath. Sardak burst out laughing. The rest of the girls only furrowed their brows.\n\n“Yeah.” I knew I should stop. I had spent an entire semester trying to join this circle and continuing the Life of Terry was social suicide. But someone had to know of that first kiss with Sarah, the look in her eye staring at our first child together, and the tears in Sherry’s eyes when she told me her final goodbye.\n\nSo I told them, my voice tinged with pride. At the end of my story, I was the only one smiling and my smile stretched from cheek to cheek.\n\n“Dude,” Galmroh said, awe in his voice. “That was… super lame.”\n\nEverybody burst into collective laughter.\n\n“You did even worse than me on my first trip!” Sardak howled. “You’re such a wimp! Why are you even here?”\n\nI nodded to that one. “Yeah,” I said, talking to myself. “Why am I here?” I pushed myself up and walked back toward my spaceship.\n\nLaughter followed me the entire way, but I didn’t care. I opened the hatch of my spaceship and was just about to get in when I heard, “Zor’oah!”\n\nI turned to find Sierrah. She hunched over, panting, one of the buttons on her blouse undone. “Hey,” she said, “you don’t have to run. I mean, your trip was totally lame, but your next one’ll be better. Plus”—she bit her bottom lip and her eyes grew big—“you don’t want to be the only virgin in school, do you?”\n\nBeneath the starry sky, the silver luminescence of our twin moons, I recognized the glint in her eyes and for a single second, they were a brighter green than any emerald in the world.\n\n“Sorry,” I told the most beautiful girl in my high school and slipped into my spaceship. “By the way, the trip wasn’t lame.”\n\nMy engines roared to life and I flew off into the twilight. There were a trillion stars above me and I knew that around one of them, on one planet, was a girl with wild grassy eyes still clutching her grandpa’s hand. There had to be. Tears filled my eyes as I flew back home.\n\nFiction or not, it was the most real thing I had ever done.\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and ~200 stories already written!\n ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " as an amputee you experience phantom arm syndrome. Then one day you realize you can use it to punch ghosts.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Everyone always asks me what it felt like to lose my arm. Everyone always asks me what it feels like to no longer have it.\n \nOne answer I'd always wanted to give but never had the courage to, was that it felt mostly like hopelessness. I had been a pianist, I'd lived and judged my life based on my ability to make people feel with music. I was crippled. I could no longer play my favorite pieces. I could no longer practice new ones. Losing the arm was essentially me losing my life. \n\nIt's difficult to describe exactly how it feels to have an itch on an arm that isn't there. Imagine the feeling of sitting in a hairdresser's chair and having that annoying little itch crop up on your nose. Now imagine, that your arms are bound to your sides and there's nothing you can do to eliminate that annoying, burning, itch. It's not a terribly nice feeling. \n\nI learned that you can scratch your missing limb by using a mirror. You stand in front of the mirror and scratch your opposite arm while you look into your reflection. Remarkably, this works to eliminate the itch. I learned something else while doing just this very thing a few weeks ago. \n\nI was standing in front of the mirror, awkwardly scratching my elbow on the corner of my bathroom door, when I saw something in the mirror. A girl with eyes the color of charcoal, teeth yellow as rotten lemons, and blood seeping down her pale, pallid complexion.\n\nBefore I knew exactly what I was doing, I lashed out with my missing arm. It felt like I did anyway. Something incredible happened, I felt my missing fist smash into the face of the incorporeal entity. I felt her teeth come loose, pain explode in my 'hand' and a ghostly tooth lodge into my fist. \n\nI'm not exactly sure who was more surprised, her, or me. \n\nLights began to flicker in the room and objects around my sink began to hover menacingly. My electric toothbrush launched towards my head and I was narrowly able to dodge out of the way. It firmly embedded itself in the wall behind me. Using the mirror as a reference, I leaped on the ghastly girl and smashed my non-existent fist into her face until she stopped squirming. \n\nShe faded away shortly afterwards. She never bothered me again.\n\nI'm not sure exactly where the spirits go after I beat them to a pulp, but I have purpose again. Besides, the pay for someone capable of genuinely dispatching a ghost is fantastic. Honestly, I think people mostly pay for the spectacle of a one armed man fighting an invisible ghost. \n\nNow when people ask me what it feels like to be missing an arm, I reply confidently. Sometimes it feels like I never lost it at all. \n\n*****************************************\n/r/SirLemoncakes. This was fun to write. ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are a cat who has been taking an advantage of the recent rise of video conference trials to elevate your legal career. One day your human video filter stops working and you need to convince the judge that you are a real, human lawyer licensed to practice law in the state of Texas.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“Mr. McCoy, I believe you have a filter turned on in the video settings,” the judge is saying to me.\n\nI am panicking, my little fury paws frantically clicking the mouse trying to turn on my human filter. These god damn settings are so confusing.\n\n“You might want to, ummm…”\n\nI knew this day would come. I knew this would happen. Keep calm, Mittens McCoy. Keep calm.\n\n“Ahhhh, I’m trying to turn on the filter now... ahhh, I mean off, turn the filter off… can you hear me judge?” My voice squeaks out. A whining meow almost comes out in my anxiety.\n\n“Yes, I can hear you.” The judge says, annoyed.\n\nI can see my white fluffy face filling the screen. I can see the terror in my adorable glossy eyes. I need to fix this fast or all of my hard work will have been in vain.\n\n“Just bear with me, Judge. I assure you I’m not a cat.”\n\nThe judge laughs.\n\n“Of course not,” he says. “I think if you just click the arrow button down at the bottom…”\n\nAll my work. Everything is in jeopardy. I still can’t get the human filter to work.\n\nJust ride with it, Mittens. Let’s go.\n\n“I’m prepared to move forward with the case, Judge. Filter or not. I don’t think it should matter. I assure you I am not a cat.”\n\nThe judge stares at me for a long time.\n\n\"You already said that,\" the judge says.\n\nHe knows. My little ears perk up. I see them on the screen. My hair stands on end. My back begins to arch, and a low whining growl comes out of my mouth. I have a desire to just give up and to snuggle up on this keyboard. Feeling the warmth on my body.\n\nKeep it together, Mittens McCoy. Keep it together.\n\n“Alright, this is strange.” The judge finally says. “It is hard to take you seriously with that filter on…”\n\nHis words sting. If you pull my whiskers, do I not yowl?\n\nDoes a cat not know justice? I passed the online bar exam; highest test score they’d seen in years. I’ve always been judged for my fluffy white face, my large adorable eyes, my pink button nose.\n\nIt’s not fair.\n\nThe pandemic has been my opportunity. I have made a reputation for my self as one of the up and coming young lawyers in Texas. I was interviewed on zoom just a few days ago by the *Texas Young Lawyers Association.* I am proud of my accomplishments.\n\n“Your honor, I hope you won’t judge me by this filter. I assure you I am a lawyer of high standing.” I say, raising up on my little haunches. Sticking out my fluffy chest.\n\n“Alright, but I haven’t met you yet.\" The judge says. \"Can you please tell me what kind of law you specialize in, Mr. McCoy?”\n\n“Bird law, your honor.”\n\n\\---\n\nMore at r/CataclysmicRhythmic", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Every 10 years, you are expected to go to a meeting you have already been to; one attended by several future and younger versions of yourself, each version separated by 10 year intervals. The youngest you is 10, the oldest 90. You relive the same meeting, just each time from a different angle.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "***Year 10:***\n\nI entered a room with 9 sets of chairs that were set out to make a circle. On each one of them sat a person with a signs in front of them with number that went from 10 – 90.\n\nIt seemed like I was the last person to come.\n\nThey all looked at me as I went down to take my seat in the number ten chair.\n\nThe man with the 40 number started off the meeting with complaining, shouting and starting angrily saying a lot of words that I didn’t understand.\n\nHe seemed to be especially angry at 30. They both started arguing and 30 ended up leaving.\n\n60 and 70 tried to talk him in to calm down, but he only got angrier and then slammed the door as he went outside.\n\nThe room was full of silence after that, and then 20 got up and said that he was busy and that he had better things to do than waste time here, right before leaving the room.\n\nAfter that the other people in the room started talking about some stuff like marriage and will to live, but I wasn’t really interested in adult talk. I daydreamed about my Gameboy that I left behind at home. I wanted to go back home to play Pokémon.\n\nI dozed off for the rest of the meeting, but when my mind came back I realized the only ones that were left were 80, 90 and i.\n\nNow that I looked at 90 I noticed that he had tubes attached all around his body and that his chair was actually a wheelchair.\n\n80 stood up and came towards me and opened his palm to reveal a piece of candy, which he then gave to me.\n\nHe patted by head and said as he started coughing: “You are a good boy, Isaac. Do what you wish with your life, for it is the only one you have.”\n\nThen he started walking towards the door.\n\n“I want to go play pokemon on my Gameboy.”\n\nHe looked back at me and smile.\n\n“Go do that then.” Then he walked out.\n\nI was now left with 90 who was in the wheelchair.\n\nHe seemed like he was too old and tired to talk, but then when I stood up to walk out he whispered:\n\n“I play pokemon with my Gameboy. Wanna play together?”\n\n“Ye-Yea, sure.” I replied a bit crept out. “But I left mine at home, I promise to play with you the next time we meet.”\n\n“Promise?” He said as his breathing was visibly becoming louder.\n\n“Yes.”\n\nHe seemed content with that and I went out the room looking forward to playing more pokemon when I got home.\n\n​\n\n​\n\n***Note: I will post each year as a different part, so stay in tune.***", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "On second thought, I should have been suspicious when the genie had laughed after granting my wish. Initially, it seemed like he was just happy, but I'll be damned if I appreciated his mirth when the flame burned the crap out of my index finger.\n\nI threw the match aside as the blister, clearly a nasty one to come, began to form instantly. That was when it all went to hell. See, some matches are a little more wind resistant than others. This one was on the higher end of the spectrum. I had expected it to go out in mid-air, given how many of the damn things blew out when I was just trying to light a smoke outdoors. But this one hung on. The little match that could.\n\nThe contents of the trash can went up first. Then the pizza box on the counter. Apparently grease is flammable. The rest of the break room followed suit in short order. The fire department later said that if it hadn't been for the sprinkler system, we'd have lost the whole darn building. That was a Monday.\n\nThat Tuesday, I walked into my boss's office, fully prepared to accept my termination. He just gave me a slap on the back and said, I swear this is true, \"Who among us *hasn't* started a major fire in the break room? Go on, you're fine.\" There were 53 employees in our office. I was pretty sure the answer to his question was \"The other 52 of you,\" but didn't want to talk myself out of a job, so I left. On the way back to my desk, it dawned on me. *Fire* proof. Huh.\n\nI have come to believe that after the discovery of any superpower comes the testing of its limits. But as I soon learned, this power had absolutely no limits whatsoever. No one minded when I came in late. No one minded when I came in late and dressed in flip flops. Indeed, no one minded when I came in *naked*. I really thought that one would do it. Eventually, no one minded when I stopped coming in altogether. The paychecks kept depositing.\n\nThen I had an idea.\n\nEight hundred and thirty two. That is the number of jobs I now have. 832. I may be the world's first multimillionaire employed as a receptionist. Or 7-11 janitor. Or bus driver. It doesn't matter; I don't ever actually show up to any of them. I apply for every job out there, but my only real \"job\" is faking my resume and showing up for interviews. It helps that hiring managers can often be bribed. When I'm hired, my work is done.\n\nAt this point, I could easily stop, but each job is literally a lifetime income, no matter how low that income may be. My average job pays only $24,714 per year, putting my gross annual income just north of $20 million. All in all, I consider the \"confusion\" surrounding my wish to be working out in my favor.\n\nWell, I did. Until those goddamn idiots at the other pump got into a gasoline fight. A spark, a whoosh, and my last thought as the fireball barrels through me is \"Fucking genies.\"\n\n​\n\n**Edit**: First Reddit gold! Thank you kind interneteer!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " At age 15 you told the gf you were \"in love\" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"I just don't know how I can live like this, Doc. Seeing her now just makes my skin crawl,\" Roger said, staring at the ceiling of his psychiatrist's office.\n\n\"And the medications I prescribed you haven't been helping? You still hallucinate that you're suddenly transported to see ex-girlfriend Liz?\" Dr. Meadows asked.\n\n\"It just happened again two weeks ago. One minute I'm getting ready for work. Then I step out my front door and suddenly I'm on the other side of the state. And there she is looking all weepy and stuff.\"\n\n\"And what did you do?\"\n\n\"I turned around and left, just like I've been doing. Took three buses and a cab to get home. Somehow managed to not get fired.\"\n\nThe doctor nodded her head slowly. \"I have to be honest with you Roger, your case is baffling to me. Your hallucinations are remarkably complex and vivid, and all manage to hold some kind of strange internal consistency, save for the fact that you magically teleport to other places.\"\n\n\"I've heard this speech before Dr. Meadows. You're my third psychiatrist. I hoped that this new cocktail of drugs was going to do the trick too. But it sounds like I'm just certifiably crazy. Save your breath, and don't bother trying to refer me to someone else. I guess I'll just have to live with it.\"\n\n\"I wasn't going to refer you away Roger. Your case *is* baffling to me, but I enjoy the challenge. We need to try some out of the box thinking here. Avoiding your hallucinations doesn't seem to be working. When you get home from here, I want you to look up your old high school flame and call her. The real one. Maybe some connection to the real version of her will help you move on from your subconscious' obsession with her.\"\n\n\"Isn't that going to seem a bit, I dunno, stalker-ish?\"\n\n\"It might,\" she said, standing to show Roger out. \"But have you really got anything to lose?\"\n\n\"I guess not,\" he answered. He stepped out of her office, pulling the door shut behind him.\n\nAs the door clicked shut, the hardwood floor of the office was instantly replaced with muddy grass. Heavy drops of rain pelted him from dark clouds hanging in the sky. A chill wind blew right through the thin jacket he was wearing.\n\nRoger looked around. He was standing in a cemetery. There was Liz, standing over an open grave, clinging tightly to an umbrella. A preacher of some kind stood in front of the grave, droning on in the bored tone of a man who wasn't getting paid enough to eulogize a man he didn't care about.\n\nLiz lifted her gaze from the grave, and her tear filled eyes met Roger's. He turned and started to walk away, but stopped. Roger turned back and looked at her. She was still staring at him, but now her expression turned to confusion.\n\nRoger hesitated a moment longer, then started walking toward her. She seemed to recoil slightly as he came and stood next to her. He looked at the grave marker. It was for Liz's dad.\n\nThe two of them stood there wordlessly while the preacher finished his ceremony. Finally, he snapped his book closed, and nodded in the direction of the two of them. The preacher turned on heel, and left them standing by the open grave.\n\n\"I'm sorry, about your dad,\" Roger said finally.\n\n\"Thanks,\" Liz said softly. \"You haven't talked to me in a long time.\"\n\n\"Not since high school.\"\n\n\"I thought all those times I saw you walking away meant I was getting better. Somehow I'm glad that you're here though. It's better than being alone. But I guess this means I'm still crazy,\" she said.\n\nRoger looked at her, studying her expression. \"Who isn't these days?\" he asked after a pause.\n\nShe let a small laugh escape her lips. Liz looked at him, and smiled. It was the first time Roger had seen that since they had broken up.\n\n\"Would you stay here with me a while?\" she asked softly, tears starting to well back up in her eyes.\n\n\"Sure,\" Roger answered. What did he have to lose?\n\n*****\n\nIf you liked this, subscribe to [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88) to read the rest of my prompt responses.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Death is just a predator much higher on the food chain than we are, and our perception of it is as limited as an ant's perception of a child with a magnifying glass.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "*Wow, well isn't this quite something?*\n\nYou blink, as if you can't quite believe what you're hearing. \n\n*Yes, yes, you're not imagining it. I'm, \"speaking\" to you I suppose is how you would understand it*\n\n\"B...but,\" you say out loud and a couple of the other specimens stare to look at you in confusion. \n\n*Now, now. There is no need to speak out loud. I will be able to hear your thoughts. Your kind comes along so rarely, I would hate for you to get taken in to some prison and electrified*\n\n\"Electrocuted actually,\" you say, this time in your head. Then you shake your head, as if you can't believe what you just \"said.\" \"Wait...I...you...\"\n\n*Use your words, now*\n\nMy mocking tone momentarily angers you, clearing your thoughts. \"Who, no, *what* are you?\" you say, again, in your head. \n\n*Ah but you know already, don't you? You were just thinking about it*\n\nYou blink and frown. \"I was thinking about....something.\" Your frown deepens. \"I know what I was thinking about, I am thinking about it right now, and when I do, everything sort of goes blurry and I feel like I'm watching myself in third person...but I couldn't tell you what exactly I'm thinking about...\" \n\n*Precisely!* \n\nMy sudden excitement makes you jerk. Sometimes I forget how sensitive you folk you are. \n\n*Apologies for that, quite rude of me. But regardless, what you're feeling, there is no way to describe it in your language. Your language is bound inherently by the three dimensions, by a limited scope, which is all most of your kind is capable of seeing.*\n\n\"Limited scope?\" you retort, \"what sort of bullshit is that?\" You're angry, understandably; after all, I've just insulted your species.\n\n*You know full well what I mean. Look around yourself, your fellow people, this...transport that you're in. What do you see?*\n\nYour eyes widen, and you look around, your head jerking from left to right, up and down, out the windows, *beyond* the windows. You are like a child who has just been born into a new world. In a sense, you are exactly that. Then you look at me. There is no three dimensional direction, you just *perceive* me. You open your mouth to speak. \n\n*Stop. You will just confuse yourself by speaking in that tongue of yours. You now know what I say to be true. You no longer just see, you* ***perceive.***\n\n\"But...\" you stammer, \"I'm no philosopher! I'm just a guy bored on my commute to work. I was just thinking pointlessly about stuff!\"\n\n*Throughout history, there have been very few who've crossed the barriers you have, and in an objective sense, they are the most capable of your species. Yet not a single one makes it in your history books. To arrive at this thinking, you cannot be thinking with a purpose, the very nature of Ascending to this thought is to stumble upon it.* \n\nYou give this a moment of thought, then nod, agreeing. Then your frown deepens. I know what you're about to ask.\n\n*Yes quite right. There really is no point to it all. And no, you will never be happy going back to your life.*\n\nYou do not protest, you are well past such silly things. You know it to be true. Instead you set your jaw. \"I will undo it all then, forget all of it. I just want my life back!\"\n\n*Which is exactly what everyone else who's made the discovery has, said, your species or otherwise. They all say the same exact thing within moments of first Ascending.*\n\n\"Has anyone done it?\" you ask, and for the first time fear creeps into your voice.\n\n*I've been trying for as long as time existed. No avail.*\n\n\"Then....\" Again, like clockwork, I know what you're going to say. \n\n*You'll kill yourself?*\n\n\"You think I won't?\" you say, again that anger rising. It's funny how even after Ascending, certain traits still remain common. \n\n*Oh you will try, we both know, but you know too that nothing will happen. You are now the same thing I am, Death itself. You will wander like I do, like a handful of others do, throughout time and space, killing as needed, breeding as necessary. Giving them the release you wish you could achieve. I believe your kind calls it artificial selection.*\n\nAt first you're sickened, aftereffects of the old reality. But then you speak, and your voice is calm. \"To find someone capable of Ascending beyond us,\" you say. \n\n*Precisely. Only they will put an end to our suffering.*\n\nEveryone else has left the transport, but you're still sitting where you were, looking the same, but fundamentally changed, likely forever. You look around, trying to get one last glimpse of the world that was once yours, but its too late. You can no longer see it as it once was. For you, it is already gone. \n\n*For what it's worth, I'm sorry* ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " For your 10th birthday you received vr goggles. You tried them, thought they were dumb and went on with your life. Its only now, decades later looking back, you dont actually remember ever removing them.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It was seeing his own reflection in the blood, as it pooled over the faux-wood linoleum, that triggered the memory. As Henry examined the slick red version of his face. For that moment, he was ten again, tearing open wrapping paper, a young mind full of excitement and possibilities.\n\nNot a middle aged man who'd just murdered his wife during an argument, bringing it to an abrupt close.\n\nAnother argument, but the same as always. \"You're lazy. Why won't you get a real job?\" and the one that stretched the elastic band back until it snapped, \"I'm leaving you.\"\n\n> *\"Wow, mom! How'd you get it? Tom says these things are sold out everywhere!\" His mom replied, but she'd already become a hazy background buzz, as excited fingers grappled with smooth red plastic, pulling it down over his head. A swoosh in his ears as the menu opened.*\n\nFrying pan had hit skull. Skull had hit floor. Regret had hit Henry almost as hard and at least as fast. Now though, staring at the glossy reflection, it all made sense. \n\nHis grey life, devoid of color. The nights -- and days -- wasted drinking or binging Netflix. The opportunities untaken, untested, that he'd dismissed with a wave of his hand, because, of course, there would always be more. \n\nAnd now this. \n\n> *The choices were limited. Explore a city. A boat down the Nile. Excitement was already draining away and the thought of Lego growing more enticing.*\n\nThese weren't the lucid sensible decisions of someone living life knowing that this was their very only shot at it. They were the choices - mistakes - of someone who knew it was all fake. A game. One of many attempts.\n\nHis world was a construction of imagination.\n\nSomehow, he'd just forgotten.\n\nUntil now.\n\nHe crouched down and ran his hand through the blood, bringing two fingers to his face, painting the memory of the VR unit over his eyes.\n\nThere. \n\nNow he was ready.\n\n\"Goodbye Marie. Maybe we'll do this again, sometime. But better, you know? Let's be real, I was always meant for better things.\"\n\nIt was a relief. A crushing weight lifted. Not just of the murder -- this life been pressing down on him since long before.\n\nHe strode purposefully into the kitchen, the first scent of hope drifting up his nose since... Since when? Since the wedding? Or, since that day when he was ten years old. \n\nHe grabbed a knife from a drawer. \n\nThe VR unit wouldn't come off easily. He'd have to pry it off his eyes.\n\n> *\"Done already, sweetie? Did you have fun?\"*\n\n> He hadn't. The VR city had made him feel sick. And it was boring, anyway. He'd never end up in such a grey world. He had pulled the device off his head and shrugged dismissively. \"It was okay.\" \n\n> \"Maybe you should give it more of a chance?\"\n\n> He rolled his eyes. Why bother? There would always be other play-things, other chances. He dropped down to his knees and grabbed the next present. Maybe there would be Lego.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, \"Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?\"\n\n\"Of course, Professor.\"\n\nProfessor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.\n\n\"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay.\"\n\n\"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that.\"\n\n\"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to.\"\n\n\"Thank you professor.\"\n\n\"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often.\"\n\n\"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me.\"\n\n\"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time.\"\n\n\"I guess.\"\n\n\"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you.\"\n\n\"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?\"\n\n\"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us.\"\n\nEyes to the floor Matthew said, \"I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport.\"\n\nProfessor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.\n\n\"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor.\"\n\n\"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?\"\n\n\"It's easier if I show you.\"\n\n\"Lead the way.\"\n\nThe two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, \"Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew.\"\n\n\"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?\"\n\n\"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely.\"\n\nNodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.\n\n\"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?\"\n\n\"Yes, Professor.\"\n\n\"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class.\"", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "My Grandpa, Pops, always said money couldn’t buy you happiness. Pops said a lot of things, and while some of them proved rather bizarre as he got older, on *that* one I always trusted him and he pretty much always proved to be right. \n\nWhen I was 11 he sat me down to talk about money. I'd never thought about it, never *needed* to think about it, it was just something we had when we needed. He told me about old vs new money. Old money is money handed down from your family, while new money folks had earned it recently. I asked him which we came from and he laughed. \n\n“We boy, are from something else entirely,” he’d smiled at me. “Our money's not old, it’s *ancient*.” \n\nIt was years before I properly understood him. Our family had been rich for longer than most countries had existed; we owned the companies that owned banks and we shifted investment portfolios that dwarfed the GDP of major world countries, but Pops explained that we did it quietly, behind the scenes so to speak.\n\nWhen I at last began to understand, I asked Pops if we were part of a group I had heard about on the internet, the Illuminati. Folk seemed obsessed that there were secret groups running the world and it intrigued me. He laughed, they existed, *of course*, but they were 6 or 7 levels of control beneath where Pops was. I never quite had the courage to ask how many levels were above him... \n\nWhen he died, I was left alone. My parents had died when I was a baby, he'd raised me by himself and now I was the last of our family. I’d been educated, taught what I needed to know about our business and given links to all of his wealth, influence and power, but the one things he’d taught me above all others, was how *not* to use it. \n\nThat left me in a pickle, for what do you do when you have enough money to do whatever you want and no one to share it with? My friends were few and far between, but nice and all getting on with their lives. I'd gone to public Schools and done well enough, but m real education had been in Pops kitchen, sitting in front of the fire while he whittled and told me what I needed to know. I had trillions in the bank, but nothing I needed it for….well, to be honest I owned the banks by and large too. \n\nIt turned out that life isn’t much fun without a challenge. Like a computer game with cheats turned on, after a while it becomes stale and boring. For a while I tried to live Pops life, working a small hog farm in rural Minnesota, but that wasn't for me, that was still trying to be someone else, trying to be *him*. For a year or so I lived like Dan Bilzerian, but without the publicity or the weird thing that no one ever talks about. I spent money and tried everything in the world I wanted, but... it wasn't actually all that fun. \n\nI needed to find my own place, my own level. So that’s what I did. Turns out though, that with no experience on your résumé and having only half paid attention in school, you're not qualified for much. \n\n***\n\nAt 4:03pm every single day, the Compliance Officers of the National Bank Insurance team stood up en mass, as the phone lines closed for the day, and headed for the kitchen. I was going to be late, as usual, as trainees needed to do double the paperwork and if I didn’t get it done now, then I would be staying late again this evening.\n\nI offered a small prayer that someone might save a decent biscuit for me, rather than being stuck with just a plain digestive and hunched over, trying to fire through the forms to get them in as quickly as possible. A looming shadow cut me off mid thought and hovered over me in a mildly sinister way. \n\n“Aaah, Jimbo?” It was Stuart, the team manager and a man who seemed to exude grease. His voice seemed to whine, each note dragged out as if it hated coming from him as much as I hated hearing it. I’d told him a number of times to not call me “Jimbo”, but Jim, yet he ignored me each time. \n\n“Hi Stuart, I’m just getting these finished up before…” \n\n“Uuuuuh, yes, so we need to have a chat, you see, coffee breaks reeeally need to be taken once you’ve completed your core work. We can’t have you just sneaking off for a brew whenever you feel like it!” He laughed at what he must have thought was a joke, an annoying ‘hnyak hnyuk noise’.\n\nI held a breath for a second to stay calm. “No problem Stuart, as you can see, I’ve not moved and am completing them right now.”\n\nHe didn’t listen, or if he did, he didn’t care. “You see Jimbo, if you want to get ahead, you have to learn from me. I started here just eight years ago and worked my way up, you can’t just expect to get given a good job in this world.”\n\n“No, that’s fine, if I can just crack on with…”\n\n“You see, investments are a bit like seduction.” He perched on the corner of my desk, polyester shirt crinkling and reflecting the light from the strip lighting overhead. I began to wonder if he was still a virgin. “You can’t just thrust forward, you need to take you time, do the *reeeesearch* Jimbo.”\n\nThat confirmed it, he was both a virgin and seemingly knew fuck all about investing. A small part of me wondered if he could possibly handle the truth about me, but that was the problem really. This game only worked if you committed, if you *lived* the life you were pretending to live. If you simply flashed your cash at the first problem, then it…\n\nHe ruffled my hair. “You’re just not a *natural* Jimbo, but if you stick with me, maybe you’ll manage to get there.”\n\nI smiled, drew a hand through my hair, feeling his sweat that had rubbed off into my hair and tried not to gag. Fuck the game. \n\nI pushed my seat back, knocking his legs so he almost fell off the desk. “Yeah,. thanks *Stewy*, I gotta take a whizz, so you hold tight.”\n\nHis mouth gaped open as I let the little persona I had donned drop away. No more hunching, no more pretending, no more Jimbo. A faint hnyak echoed behind me, making my skin crawl. \n\nMoney can’t buy happiness, Pops was right, but it can buy a *lot* of things, including people who’ll do your exact wish on very short notice. I tossed the trash phone I had been using into the nearest bin and pulled out my real phone; a Ziphec tech. As far as I knew, only four people in the world had access to this phone, money alone couldn't buy it, you only got it if you *needed* it. It was simply able to access... more information that usual. National Bank was trading at £6.21 a share and in three quick messages I owned six percent of it and became the largest stock holder.\n\nRules, laws, corporate accountability, governments, all were obstacles that swept away immediately by money. 6% was plenty, but 14% was what I wanted to give me enough control to call an Extraordinary General Meeting of the board, which I did three minutes later.\n\nI took a pee while a dozen board members found themselves called to a virtual meeting. Men in suits walked into offices, buildings and private homes, regardless of where they were and what they were doing, board members joined the meeting remotely. One was in Brazil watching football, one in Thailand... otherwise occupied. All were located within three minutes. \n\nThe meeting took less than thirty seconds and the board were dismissed and replaced with my own team, who as I washed my hands, began to order instructions. Two minutes later, as my hands finished drying, a text beeped onto my phone. It was done. It was all done.\n\nI went for a coffee, hitting the kitchen just as most of the team were finishing up and feeling only a slight pang to see that all the chocolate biscuits were gone. Still, as I dunked the dry biscuit into my cup of tea, I was happy enough to simply wait for the entertainment to begin. \n\nPerfect timing is easy when money and manpower is no object and as I walked back to my desk, the first pieces were falling into place. Stuart’s mother was at his desk, a not unfamiliar sight, but today she had someone with her. Most people’s lives are all fairly transparent, their past researchable if you know how and who to do it. For Stuart’s mum, the key was an old School flame, who was happy to show up at her door after being offered… a sum of money.\n\n“You’re kicking me out?” Stuart screeched. “But I *live* there mummy!”\n\nHis mother, looking happier than I had ever seen her before. Of course the only times I had seen her was when she was accompanying Stuart as his date to the Xmas party. She kissed the woman who stood beside her and they walked out together. They'd be getting a new house in a new city, his mother had been surprisingly easy to convince, I was told.\n\nFor a moment Stuart stood in shock, but a beeping from his pocket roused him. He fished his phone out and I noted in interest that it was the model down from the one I had so recently discarded. He stared at the screen as alert after alert sounded, confirming the deletion of his level 124 Ork Master General from BattleWorld, the MMO he mentioned on a near-constant basis. 4 years it had taken him to level up, but he’d find the company helpdesk *surprisingly* unhelpful if he tried to get his account back. Weirdly I felt an actual pang of guilt, but it's not like I was EA. \n\nFinally the kicker, his boss, a woman who had despised him for years and barely hid it, walked across the office with an envelope in hand. She carefully hid her smirk as she handed it to him, touched him on the shoulder and shook her head. “Sorry Stuart, new owners have decided a round of downsizing is in order.” She looked around at the confused faces. “Back to work the rest of you.”\n\nAs he left the office, belongings carried out in a box, I wondered when he’d realise that he had no home to go to and then, when he’d consider where his pet tortoise was. I slid open my top drawer and dropped in a piece of lettuce – I wasn’t a monster, he’d get his pet back, but if you’re going to ruin a man, you can’t do things by halves.\n\nThat was another saying Pops always liked, but he always was a *very* smart man.\n\n***\n\n/r/fringly or /r/dcfu for various bits of my writing. ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Dwarves are notorious for their love of alcohol. One day a dwarf goes sober and discovers it grants them amazing powers such as being able to remember what happened the night before.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It was dusk and Tornnus, son of the fire, was hammering the searing steel into a knife. He needed it urgently as the night before he had lost his somewhere between countless beers, ales and songs. His sturdy, soot-covered hands were trembling due to the abstinence and he couldn't quite spot when was the last time he had been sober at this time of the day.\n\nBut he knew very well that the knife was a matter of life and death.\n\nHe didn't dare to look downwards where his long, braided and ginger beard rested. He felt heretic and dirty inside. He could feel those rioting hairs pricking against his chest, dishonoring their ancient culture. A culture which condemned those whose beards weren't immaculate. \n\nHe had to cut them off. Otherwise, he couldn't leave his forge which meant no alcohol, which meant betraying his kind.\n\nThe night fell and the tender red of his forge and crucible tinged his gloom smithy. Tornnus sat on a chair which creaked for his life, fidgeting as he gazed, unblinking, towards his iron table where the boiling knife rested. He cursed under his breath, for he had forgotten to fill his slack tub with cold water.\n\nHours had passed and the knife remained the same, strange thoughts wandered across Tornnus' mind. Could he risk ruining his beard using the knife as it was? The answer was a resounding negative. He felt caged and claustrophobic, his bloated skin was dry begging for the holy ichor to feed his veins. What could he possibly do?\n\nA not so deranged idea crossed his mind, removing the insurgent hairs with his bare hands. But it faded into forgetfulness once his eyes met the mess of grease and soot that he called hands. Tornnus took a deep breath and stared downwards to properly assess the chaos. \n\nHe fainted after witnessing stains of soot impregnated on his beard, dulling its usual brightness and hiding its fiery red. If only he had remembered to fill some buckets with water, this would have never happened.\n\nHis black eyes shot open at the booming noise of fists stomping his oak door. Daylight seeped through the crevasses of his dry stone walls. How long did he lay unconscious? His lips were shattered, his beard disturbed by various dirty enemies yet Tornnus wasn't worried about that anymore.\n\n\"I'm sleeping you bastards! I will open in two hours,\" he yelled and the noise stopped.\n\nTornnus examined the knife, strangely he remembered everything that had happened the day before. Was he enchanted? What was this witchcraft? He almost bolted out the room to seek for Muradain's blessing, he needed answers, his brain felt overwhelmed yet relaxed by the memories. He had never felt so good in his life.\n\nTornnus was torn between two conjectures. If a dwarf stains his beard, then he's granted the power of memory by other forcers, was the first one. The other one was simply that Alcohol was a mind wiper in disguise. He felt a shiver crawling up his legs, both of these ideas defied his beliefs.\n\nBut he was going to test them.\n\nHe waited for the dusk⸺when all the dwarves went to the inns or stayed at their homes drinking beer⸺to fall and left his smithy to seek some water. The dwarves that still roamed the streets cursed at him, some even defied him to a duel for his honor but Tornnus ignored them all. He simply filled some buckets with water and brought them back to his smithy, where he cut, cleaned and perfected his beard.\n\nThe next morning, he remembered everything with unbelievable clarity. His beard was immaculate, so it had to be the alcohol. With his chest high he sought for those who defied and cursed at him the night before. He found them smiling and claiming that they didn't remember doing such a thing.\n\nTornnus' discovery could've changed the beliefs of his people but, like a proper dwarf, he said nothing and went to get some beer and ale.\n\n--------------------------------------\n\n/r/therobertfall \n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The demon stands amid your destroyed kitchen screaming, \"How? How were you able to summon me?!\" You're standing in the corner flipping through your grandma's cookbook as fast as you can, screaming back, \"I don't know!! You were supposed to be chicken soup!\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The demon's flames dwindled when I desperately screamed I was trying to make chicken soup. He gave a sigh of relief, and raised clenched fists. Clouds of tar-black smoke billowed out the crevasses of the floor and across the grotesque scars and wounds on his fiery skin, covering most of his body in dark, apron-shaped toxicity.\n\n\"Let's get to work, then!\" the demon said, and scanned the kitchen. \"What are we working with? What ingredients did you buy?\"\n\n\"I-I...chicken?\" I said, trying to compose myself. However, it was no easy task, I could see my worst nightmares through the demon's hollow eyes.\n\nHe came and stared at me, prodding my chest with a crooked forefinger, burning a hole on my shirt in the process. \"You. I like you. Every chef knows that a chicken soup is not a chicken soup without proper chicken. Tell me, where did you get the chicken, what breed of chicken is it?\"\n\nI froze, the smell of smoldering cloth pervading my nostrils. His face. It shifted every time I blinked. \"The supermarket, and... and I don't know the br-breed. A farm one?\"\n\nThe demon swung his hands exaggeratedly across the air, and the red of his skin changed to a scalding, glimmering orange, much like molten metal. Then, he drew a deep breath and nodded. \n\n\"I will tell you something,\" the demon said through gritted teeth, attempting to control his fuming wrath. \"First I loved you, but now I hate you. You are a man of wit. You know the ingredients of a chicken soup, but you are not a man of knowledge. To make a perfect chicken soup, you need the perfect chicken.\"\n\nHe eyed me, and crossed his four arms, as if waiting for me to answer.\n\nI frowned. What was I supposed to say? \"Where can we get a perfect chicken?\"\n\nHis eyes, mouth and nose disappeared, leaving only an eerie grin of unnatural curvature, length and razor-sharp teeth on his face. \"I'm glad you asked that.\" He made a circular motion with his hand, as if opening a faucet. A square-shaper portal of ever-flowing fire appeared between us.\n\n\"You first,\" the demon said. \"We are going grocery shopping.\"\n\n------------------------\n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/AHumongousFish/comments/90xn3h/one_hell_of_a_chicken_soup_part_ii/)\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Diagnosed with schizophrenia. Since birth, 24/7 you’ve heard the voice and thoughts of a girl that you’ve been told is made up in your head. You’re 37 and hear the voice say “turn around, did I find you?” and you turn to see a real girl who’s heard every thought you’ve ever had and vice versa.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Huh, okay this is weird.\n\n*You tell me.*\n\nShe is staring at me. Say something.\n\n\"I'm not staring, you are staring.\"\n\nOh, right. She can hear that.\n\n*Why did I say that out loud? I could have just thought it.*\n\n\"You mean like right now?\"\n\n*Exactly. Well, not like you just did, like I'm doing.*\n\nSorry. I'm not used to this. Like, actually talking to your voice instead of trying to silence it.\n\n*You think I am?*\n\nI guess not. Man I never expected to meet someone who could read my thought. I hope I don't think about anything embarrassing.\n\n\"Ha!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n*Sorry, it's just that... I've heard your thoughts when you were a teenager. I know what you did.*\n\nYeah, well I know what you did too.\n\n*What I mean is that we are a little past the point of being embarrassed, don't you think?*\n\nGood point. \n\n*So what now?*\n\nYou know, I'm glad to discover I'm not crazy. So wanna grab a coffee with me?\n\n*Well, that's an unusual pick-up line, but sure, I'd love to.*\n\n\n_____\n\n[Epilogue - The date](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/d46mg1/wp_diagnosed_with_schizophrenia_since_birth_247/f08znsf/)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " After defeating the Devil down in Georgia, Johnny proudly proclaims he's the best that's ever been. A flash of lightning crashes down and God appears, fiddle in hand. The Devil gets his popcorn ready.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The Devil went down to Georgia \nWhere he got his red ass whupped \nJohnny was proud \nAnd he said out loud \n\"I'll never be one-upped!\" \n\nBut as that challenge echoed \nOut into the Georgia blue \nThe Lord jumped in \nWith his violin \nSaid, \"It's time for round two!\"\n\n\"You're getting mighty cocky,\" \nSaid the Lord, \"Now you're in trouble!\" \n\"That kind of pride, \n\"I won't abide! \n\"It's nothing or it's double!\"\n\nWell, Johnny tightened up his strings \nHe said \"Don't make me groan! \n\"I'll take the bet, \n\"But what I get \n\"Is a day upon your throne!\"\n\nThere came a flash of lightning \nAnd the Lord said \"You're all in! \n\"But if you lose, \n\"You'll take a cruise \n\"Into oblivion!\"\n\nJohnny, now you're in too deep; that fiddle better sing! \n'Cause now you're up against the guy who made everything! \nIf you win, you get a chance to rule both great and small \nBut if you lose, you won't exist at all...\n\nThe Lord rosined up his bow \nAnd said \"This will be quick! \n\"I know some things \n\"On Heaven's strings \n\"That ought to do the trick!\"\n\nWith a mighty flourish \nThe Lord began his line \nAnd his fiddle played \nA serenade \nThat was quite divine:\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n[ANGELIC MUSIC PLAYS] \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\nWhen the Lord had finished \nJohnny only rolled his eyes \n\"If that's your best, \n\"Just take a rest, \n\"And witness your demise!\"\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nRationality that you can't resist! \nJehovah's in a fight with an atheist! \nAll of Heaven's angels start to grieve! \nYou can't beat a man who doesn't believe! \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\nThe Lord, he raised an eyebrow, saying \"Johnny, you've been cheating! \n\"There's no sense smiting you, boy, if you can't feel the beating!\" \nJohnny said \"I'll tell you what, just save those declarations. \n\"I'm so high, I've been playing the fiddle against hallucinations!\" \nAnd he played:\n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \nEating all the mushrooms and seeing stuff! \nThe Lord and the Devil have both had enough! \nBut Johnny has a question buried deep within: \nWhere did he find a golden violin? \n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬ \n\n \n\n♫ ♬ ♩ ♪ ♬ ♬ ♩ ♩♫ ♬ ♪ ♬!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "the person you were the most cruel to, the person you were the nicest to, the person who was saved by your actions, and the person who died because of your choices.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "In a room blacker than night, devoid of stars or any other such beauties, I floated. It was some shattered gap between nowhere and everywhere, the kind of lonely afterlife I'd always imagined would suit me best. \n\nI deserved nothing more. \n\nIt stayed that way for -- how do I put this? Forever, and yet not forever. I did not age, or move, or even feel the eons slink by in a human manner, and yet I knew it had been an eternity by the time the angel first appeared. He was a stark contrast to the void around us, brighter than the sun, yet cast light on nothing, as if his glow were being devoured by the abyss. \n\nSuddenly, I was standing on a circular piece of stone, and had some semblance of weight and being. \n\nThe angel opened his arms and spoke not in words, but directly to my mind. \"Timothy Halpert Bennington. You are now ready for judgment.\"\n\nJudgement. Ha, of course the afterlife would be something like religions predicted. I'm sure my life had left a bad taste in God's mouth. I didn't respond, only stared into the nothing below me. \n\n\"Your first Judge: the one you were cruelest to in life.\"\n\nI cocked my head, brows knitting into a line. People from my life would be judging me?\n\n*No. No, please, just send me to Hell.*\n\nMy eyes tried to shut, like slamming the door behind you to avoid a conversation you don't want to deal with, but something kept them open. The angel hadn't moved a muscle, and yet, I knew it was him. \n\nA pocket of light smudged something within itself. That smear of darkness stepped forward, onto another stone tile, and clarified as the pocket zipped up. \n\nIt was her. I knew it would be, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. \n\n\"Oh, Timmy, you're so young,\" she said, a soft smile on her face. \"I've missed you so much.\"\n\nI couldn't meet her eyes and searched for words, but my lips only trembled, mouthing empty motions. My eyes fell to the stone beneath her. \n\n\"Look at me, Timothy.\" \n\nI obliged.\n\n\"When you were a boy, no more than fifteen, you once burned all of my photo albums. Not just the ones with your father in them, but the ones of us, family trips and gatherings, every memory I ever had. They were erased forever, those last bits I had of him and our carefree times. I cried every day for a month, when you weren't home. That was my joy, mementos of when life was simple and fun, which you turned to ash.\"\n\nThere was nothing I wanted more than to squeeze my eyes shut, but I could not; I was forced to watch the sadness in her eyes as she spoke.\n\n\"That was your most cruel action-- it hurt me more than when your father left us. He had always been unkind, but for you, the light of my life, to torch away our memories like that... it broke me.\"\n\nBefore I could muster the courage to apologize, she slipped away into light. I felt sick, so humanly sick in my stomach, but knew there would be no relief. One does not vomit in the afterlife.\n\nThe angel offered me no reprieve. \"Your second judge: the one you were most kind to.\"\n\nOnce more a flash, and once more an approach. My eyes widened, face flickering as I tried to understand.\n\n\"You didn't expect to see me again, did you?\" Her smile was wide and bashful. \n\n\"How...?\" \n\n\"Oh, silly boy. The mind plays tricks on us sometimes. You probably thought that, because you'd caused me a great pain in life, there was no way you could have brought me joy, but life is not that black and white. It's so much more than that.\"\n\nStill I searched, and still I found no words. \n\n\"You were harsh -- even cruel -- at times, but it wasn't always like that. Your pain changed you, and even then, you weren't a purely cruel person. Just one that lashed out once in a while because you didn't understand how to handle it. Life can get very confusing.\n\n\"This is my favorite story. When you were ten -- such a cute little man -- you wrote me a poem for a school project. I'll never forget the words on that card: *To Mom, my bestest friend. I love you more than gummy bears or mac and cheese. You make me happier than Racer when I drop a potato chip and he eats it. Happy birthday to the best mommy in the whole wide world.* You wrote that on a card decorated with hearts and smiley faces. You didn't know it, but that was right when I'd first been diagnosed and your father started to show signs of his poor character as a man. Then, on top of it, you cooked me dinner, and it was so bad but I ate every bite. It was the best meal I've ever had. \n\n\"Never in my entire life have I felt as happy as I did in that moment. You were such a deeply caring boy before everything went wrong.\"\n\nI barely even remembered any of that. Had I really done something to make her happy? Why didn't I remember it, when I remembered such other, terrible things so clearly? \n\nShe disappeared into the light as I searched my soul, digging for answers but only turning up dirt. The angel, kind as he was, did not let me take a moment to figure things out. \n\n\"Your third judge: the one whose life you saved.\"\n\nI froze. The one whose life I saved? I'd never saved a life, I'd only done things far from it. Perhaps it was standard practice, and no one would walk through the portal this time. \n\nBut, just like clockwork, she was back again, her smile warmer than the halo over her head.\n\nI gaped at her. \"No. No, I killed you. This makes no sense, I didn't save you. Is this some kind of sick joke? Do angels play pranks on people?\" \n\n\"Oh, sweetie,\" she said, shaking her head. \"It was mercy. Besides, the sickness had already stolen me. Letting me go in peace in no way makes it your fault. Have you held yourself accountable all this time?\"\n\nI couldn't find it in me to respond, mashing my teeth together instead.\n\n\"It was my time to go. There was so much pain and suffering that plagued me, in the end; my sickness was no fault of yours. The fact that you put all your hurt aside and stayed with me so I wouldn't be alone meant more than the world. You did the most brave thing a boy can do for his mother, and saved me.\n\nFinally, there were words I found that I'd been looking for, choked and jagged as they were. \"I love you, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better son.\"\n\n\"Shh, now, darling. Your hurt is almost over. I'll be waiting for you.\"\n\nOne final time, she faded away. \n\n\"And now, your final judge,\" the angel said. \"The one whose life you took.\"\n\nMy nails bit into the skin, I clenched so hard, and I breathed deep to keep myself together in front of the angel overseeing it all-- though, honestly, hiding things probably didn't work when in the presence of Godly beings.\n\nFor when the swirling portal of light opened, it was not my mother that walked through as it had been the previous three times. No, it was someone much more familiar, and somehow, more terrifying. \n\nMe. \n\nI fought hard to look away, harder than I'd fought before, but I just couldn't. There was no power in me, wherever I was, and so I simply stood there, frozen and sobbing at my own reflection. \n\n\"This is probably pretty rough for you,\" he said, pursing his lips. \n\nI let out a croak in response. \n\n\"You've always been too hard on yourself, you know that? Isn't it time that you get a little peace, too?\"\n\n\"I don't deserve it,\" I whispered.\n\n\"Everyone does. This world is a complicated and terrifying place, and everyone knows their own pain. You lived a life consumed by yours, more than equal penance for your mistakes.\n\n\"You've heard what she had to say, and seen the smile she still wears. You hurt her, yes, but you were also the joy of her life. Your father left because she was sick, not because you weren't worth it; he was the problem, not either of you. Your mother loved and still loves you, and you're not a bad man for the things you suffered. I only wish I could've shown you that earlier. \n\n\"But, alas, I digress. Let's not do this-- you've spent long enough convincing yourself you don't deserve to be happy. It's time to rest, now, Tim. Be at peace.\"\n\nHe held out a hand. \n\nI stepped forward and took it. \n\n---\n\n*/r/resonatingfury*\n\nSide note: the outreach on this has been absolutely incredible. Thank you all so much for reading; I can't keep up with the responses, as I'm off my lunch break now, but thank all of you so much for the kind words and awards ♥\n\nI'm working on my first novel based off a prompt, [which can be read on my sub here](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/bie5ep/wp_you_possess_the_ability_of_persistent_lucid/), if you're interested!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Your father left your family when you were a child to \"go buy a pack of cigarettes\". It is 10 years later and you're a teenager when your father walks back in, wearing the same clothes he left in, and insists he has only been gone half an hour.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The rattling of the keys followed by the clicking of the locks sent me jumping to my feet. Since mom had passed, I was the only one with keys to the house.\n\nI barreled toward my room's drawer, and took my pistol from underneath a bundle of folded sheets. In the entrance, the wood creaked, and the door grated shut.\n\nHeart thumping, I loaded the gun, ears strained, and skulked toward the noises, attempting to predict where the intruder was heading to.\n\nHe was coming straight to my room. I sprung behind the bed, hiding. The steps got louder, until the door swung open, and a soft, papery said, \"Ophelia, where have you gone? I've got the cigarettes.\"\n\nI frowned. He knew my mother? That voice. It sounded so familiar. I craned my neck slightly to see the intruder, gun at the ready.\n\nIt was then when my heart sank to the depths of my stomach. I gulped down all the stress and worries knotting my chest, and put the lock back into the gun before hiding it into my pocket. \"Dad?\"\n\n\"Oh hey, Ricky. What are you doing hiding over there?\" he said nonchalantly. Although ten years had gone by, only a handful of new wrinkles lined his pale-white skin. \"Have you seen' your mother? I brought her the camels she asked for. Let me tell you, she better come back soon cause they ain't cheap, and I crave a good smoke.\"\n\n\"What do you mean if I have seen mom?\" I met his eyes. \"Where had you been. It's been ten years! We thought you had been kidnapped or murdered!\"\n\nHis brows drew into a deep scowl. \"Ten years? Son, ain't you a crazy one. It ain't April Fools just yet, and you already playing jokes. Now, tell your mother I stole two cigarettes from the package. I will be downstairs, watching the football.\" He walked to the door, halted and turned to me, head tilted. \"You should let that beard grow, you lookin' like a boy with that baby skin.\" Then, smiling, he went downstairs.\n\nI sat on the edge of the bed, perplexed, ran my hands ran through my beard. It was thick and long, worthy of a lumberjack. I'd let it grow due to him. He'd always said the say thing to me before he left us ten years ago, and I thought that, perhaps, in some strange way, he'd comeback just to see if I'd grown a proper beard, and he would hug me and congratulate me, tell me I looked like the man he'd always wanted as a son.\n\nAnd now, ten years later, he'd walked in the house as if not a second had gone by, and for some odd reason he didn't see the effects time had had on me.\n\nI headed downstairs. Perhaps I could snatch something out of him.\n\n*I'm tellin' you, darling. Two dollars a package of camels? It ain't right.* I heard him said in the distance. *Damned be the day we smoke the first one. I'm tellin' you, it will take us to the grave.*\n\nWho was he talking to? Why was he in the kitchen.\n\n\"Dad, who are you speaking with?\" I asked as I walked into the kitchen. He was leaning against the refrigerator, smoking a cigarette and grinning. Although his lips shut into a line and his brows creased when he heard my question.\n\n\"I don't know what has gotten into your mind, son,\" he said and pointed to an empty chair. \"I'm talking to your mother right there. Have you been smoking the devil's lettuce?\"\n\n\"I--I--I was just playing a joke. Hello mom,\" I said and waved at the chair. Then, I dug out my phone from pocket, and went to the bathroom so I could speak without being heard. \"Be right back.\" \n\n\"911 what's your emergency?\"\n\n\"It's my dad. He's been missing for ten years. He came into my house walking as if not a second had gone by.\"\n\n\"Keep calm, sir. Is he hostile?\"\n\n\"No, he-he's acting as he always had. I'm starting to believe there's something wrong with him.\"\n\n\"Wrong in what way, sir?\"\n\n\"In his brain. He's acting crazy. My mom passed eight years ago, and he's convinced she's there with him. And I believe he sees me as if I were still a teenager.\"\n\n\"Are you safe, sir?\"\n\n\"I am.\"\n\n\"Has anyone in your family ever had problems with mental diseases like dementia or schizophrenia?\"\n\n\"My grandmother and grandfather had dementia.\"\n\n\"I'm sending an ambulance right now. Confirm please your address is Shelpshire 722. Follow your father's train of thought until the doctors arrive. Don't scare nor agitate him. As you said, it seems like he's suffering from something. \"\n\n\"That is my address. Thank you very much.\"\n\nI hung up, got out the bathroom and went back to the kitchen.\n\nHe was not there.\n\nDesperate, I searched the house. But the silence was absolute, and every room was empty. His keys were atop the kitchen's table, and so were his cigarettes. On my bed I found a note.\n\n*Didn't want to disturb you while you were doing your private things, son. Your mother ran out of cigarettes. I went to the store to buy some, I will be back in thirty minutes.*\n\nIn time, the doctors rang the bell. Shaking, I opened the door for the doctors to come in. \"Doctor Tart? What are you doing here? I--I--my father! He came back left a note. It's over there on the table. Come, please come.\"\n \n\"Calm down, Ricky,\" Tart said, placed a hand on my shoulder. \"It's gonna be all right.\"\n\n\"All the pills are in the flask, Tart,\" the other doctor said.\n\n\"Ricky, where is that note?\"\n\n\"Over there, on the table.\" I pointed at it, and everything inside me shattered. There was nothing there.\n\n\"It's the third time he has done this, Tart,\" the other doctor said. \"He refuses to take his medicine. His hallucinations are getting worse. I told you he was not ready to get out the ward. We must take him back.\"\n\n\"The ward?\" I said, my extremities quivering wildly. \"What ward? Why is it so cold in here?\"\n\n\"Listen, Ricky,\" Tart said, his eyes gentle, voice caring. \"I will give you one last opportunity. You have to take your pills. Will you cooperate with us this time? It's for your own good. I understand you feel like an addict, but you have to understand too that you need them. Will you take them?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said. The other doctor held out a pill for me. I swallowed it. \"But he was here. I swear it. He was here. He's suffering from dementia. I swear.\"\n\nThe doctors shared a knowing look.\n\n\"What is that look. Are you going to take me by force back to the ward?\" I fought to hold back rising tears.\n\n\"Ricky,\" Tart said, took a deep breath, his lips a tight line.\n\n\"What is it, doctor?\"\n\n\"Your father died of a heart attack ten years ago. He collapsed on the streets. You were going to the store with him when it happened.\"\n \n--------------------------\n\nr/NoahElowyn", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Thirty years after the apocalypse, a book is discovered. It tells the people of old gods, the strongest, the smartest, the tallest. Places of splendor and objects renowned for rarity. They immediately created a religion, following the Gods shown by the Guinness Book of World Records.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "What if I told you there once lived men who could lift automobiles using only their breath? Almighty beings that ate metal slabs for breakfast, who covered their bodies with hieroglyphs, purposely inflicting pain upon themselves just because they could. What if I told you these creatures walked the earth, like you and me? Would you believe it, or not?\n\nChildren, let me tell you the story of Guinness the Great and the world before the surge.\n\nBack then, life wasn't about survival. The scab rats hadn't hatched yet, so it was fairly safe on this planet. We prospered and created meaning for our own lives, which went into an unexpected direction. Everyone wanted to be noticed.\n\nAtop his golden throne, Guinness the Great held a competition of champions. He called upon the strangest and strongest, the weirdest and wildest to compete for a chance to be noticed. As expected, millions and millions of them arrived at Guinness's doorstep, all begging for his blessing.\n\nHe snapped his fingers and they all filed into a line, stretching around the earth five times. One by one, they presented themselves to his holiness, and if their talent was deemed worthy, he would invite them to be immortalized in his book and turned into a god. Guinness the Great wasn't known for patience, so those who showed no promise were thrown into a pit of lava, their corpses turned to ash.\n\nThis judgement went on for a hundred years, until one man rose above it. He saw the tyranny in Guinness the Great's ways and wanted to stop it, at all costs. He arrived at Guinness's doorstep, where he was told to bow. He did not. Again, he was commanded. Again, he withheld. Guinness was intrigued by the valor, so he gave the man a chance to redeem himself.\n\nThe man stood up straight and spit onto the very ground he walked on. He said these are no gods. No. Only men. Men who have dedicated their entire lives to these niche talents, and the disrespect will not stand. Guinness glared at him, offering no remorse. Not anymore. As he prepared to banish the man to the pits of lava, the man smiled. He dared Guinness to do it. He said he cannot die.\n\nThe fate of this man is not written in the sacred texts as it is unknown to the population. But I know. I know what happened.\n\nHe sucked in his gut and swam through the lava where he found refuge in a cave. For six years, he subsisted off of rats and rat blood. It wasn't until a fire breather drifted ashore that he was able to escape. Together, the two men stormed into Guinness the Great's lair and challenged him, inciting a war that would last another 20 years or so. The humans were too distracted with records and challenges that they didn't even realize when the scab rats and the mammoth fleas hatched. \n\nThe man who dared challenge Guinness is long gone now, but a quote etched in stone remains. \n\n\"There are no gods, only man.\" - Ripley", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The \"Quit Smoking\" ads get personal.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Quit now Dan!\" said the man on the talking billboard. A finger pointing at the lone figure walking down the empty street. Empty due to everyone crossing to the other side to avoid him and his smog. \nDan paused by a waste bin, small cardboard box in hand. He looked from the box to the bin and back again. Those across the street stopped and stared, ready to witness history being made. \nThere was absolute silence as Dan lifted his hand, as if to throw the packet towards the bin, all eyes now on him, even the billboard advert man stopped to watch. He launched it. It hit the rim. There was a sharp intake of breath as it bounced into the air above the bin. It hit the rim on the other side, people held each other in nervous anticipation. The packet landed onto the other trash in the bin and the crowd across the street erupted into thunderous applause and cheering. Celebrating as if a great sporting victory had been achieved. \nLittle did they realise that Dan had taken a new packet from his pocket, removed the plastic, drew a long white stick out with his teeth and ignited the end. \nAs a large grey cloud left his lips, the crowd died down. realising their premature celebration. There was a disappointed groan and a shuffling as daily activities resumed. \n\"God dammit Dan. You were so close.\" shouted the billboard. ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You have been kidnapped by a cult preparing to sacrifice you to their god. Problems? You’re immortal, the god they worship is a close friend of yours and the entire cult was the result of a prank you forgot you pulled centuries ago.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Mercury was going to die, again.\n\nThis time, he wore the body of a man. He was spread out long on a pike, his arms and legs bound to the pole. Two pairs of huge human men carried him--pale-faced and bearish in their thick winter coats--between them, the pole balanced between them.\n\nThey learned, quickly, that Mercury was the slippery kind. They never untied him after they caught him nearly sweet-talking his guard out to the water, where he would have stolen a canoe and paddled desperately away. \n\nBut he was caught now. Surely trapped now.\n\nHere on an icy planet on the ass-end of nowhere. They had no idea he was a god in his own right. That out there beyond the unblinking stars, he had his own kingdom. An entire spinning world--still alive in those days, before the darkness came. His world still carries his name: Mercury the trickster, Mercury who always spun too close to the sun.\n\nAnd this time, he got burned. \n\nThe god wrestled against the bounds, tying him to the pole. He cursed and struggled.\n\nOne of the pallbearers spat something at him, unrecognizable. A dribble of gibberish language. \n\n\"Yeah, alright,\" Mercury muttered. \"Because that makes sense.\"\n\nA crowd of hooded cult members walked with them. They all wore those strange human faces. They trudged through the ice-crusted snow, just as grey and cold and wind-swept as the barren mountain all around them. \n\n\"Really funny joke, guys,\" Mercury said. \"Really great. Are you going to let me go now or not?\"\n\nOne of the hooded figures walked alongside him. The hood was pulled too high for him to see the stranger's face. \n\nThe god growled and fought against his bonds. Ahead of him, the cult leader walked at the lead of the procession. He carried Mercury's staff, the source of his power. Its stone was the heart of a star, but it burned dead and lifeless in that mortal's hand.\n\nWithout it, Mercury was useless as a fire without oxygen.\n\n\"This is just fucking humiliating,\" the god muttered, but his guards only gave the stick an aggressive shake.\n\nThe rope bit even deeper into his aching arms.\n\nThe figure alongside him spoke at last in that unmistakable, ancient language: Mercury's mothertongue, the language of the stars. \n\n\"It's your own fault, you stupid asshole.\"\n\nMercury hesitated. It took him a long second to recognize his brother's voice. \n\n\"Oh,\" he managed. He did his best to do dignified, despite shuddering from his back and ass dragging miles through the snow. \"Funny seeing you here.\"\n\n\"Yeah. Funny.\"\n\n\"You don't happen to know why a bunch of your creations want me dead, do you?\"\n\nEarth gave Mercury a hot knifing glare. He was a young god like Mercury, his planet just as much a cosmic accident as Mercury's own. But he had a few million years on Mercury's kingdom, and Earth never let him forget it.\n\n\"Certainly you can't be that surprised. This is all your own making.\"\n\nAll around them, the humans were carrying on like they couldn't hear or see Earth at all.\n\nOf course. The damn bastard still had his own staff. All his powers.\n\nMercury did his best to look innocent. \"I've no idea what you're talking about.\"\n\n\"Really? You don't recall how all this started?\"\n\n\"I just came down here to give my beloved elder brother a visit--\" maybe steal a resource or two, start a tiny war, knock down some dominoes to see how long it took for Earth to notice; the usual \"--and these monsters of yours attacked me.\"\n\n\"Not this time. The other time. When you told them that the lord of their universe was a great ass-faced bastard and the next time they saw someone flying out of the sky, they'd better take his fancy glowy-stick and sacrifice him by tying him up and tossing him off the face of the tallest mountain, least the ass-faced god of the world kill them all. Remember that?\"\n\nMercury fought off his grin. He looked around at the peach-esque sigils on the hoods of all the cult members--notably, not his brother's. \"Oh. You heard about that one.\"\n\n\"I certainly did.\"\n\n\"I hoped they'd catch you, you know.\" Mercury flexed his numb fingers. \"Didn't quite predict this.\"\n\n\"Oh, I know.\" Earth gave him a plain smile. He wore a stranger's face, but Mercury had the double-sight of the gods. He could see Earth's true form underneath. The smugness of his smirk. \"And that's why I'm not going to stop them.\"\n\n\"Oh, you *prick*.\" Mercury wrestled hard against the bounds. He cringed as he imagined falling through the air forever, breaking apart. The death-system on Earth's planet reknitting his atoms and spitting him back out into his god-self once more. \"You have absolutely no sense of humor.\"\n\nHis brother just smirked and said, crisply, \"Whenever you regenerate, Father wants to see us both.\"\n\nMercury scowled as he imagined their creator Sol, lord of the sun, just cackling if he heard about all this. It was bad enough losing to a bunch of animals on his brother's kingdom, much less having to *admit* it.\n\n\"What does he want?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I was too busy savoring this moment.\" Earth grinned around at all the cult members trudging up the snowy mountain. They still didn't seem to realize he was even there.\n\n\"If you can make these idiots not see you, can't you make them let me *go?*\"\n\n\"I could. But I'm an ass-faced god, aren't I? And I do demand my sacrifice.\"\n\n\"You can't be serious about this!\" \n\n\"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not.\" His big brother grinned as he leaned down to pat Mercury's shoulder, which trailed through the ever-deepening snow. \"Guess you'll find out soon.\" \n\nMercury fought and screamed all the way up the mountain.\n\n***\n/r/nickofstatic for more stories from me and my best friend NickofNight. I decided to write something new about a world that I've been working on for trad publishing for aaaages instead of a more familiar pantheon because idk it sounded fun ;3\n\nIf you want to read more, here's a [part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/fzr3q6/all_the_gods_part_2/)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of \"Emergency Medical Service\". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits..", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "They kill each other as they always have.\n\nEn masse.\n\nAnd per usual, no matter how they pretty up the motivations with lofty goals and eloquent speeches, they kill each other for the same reasons.\n\nHell; they've been doing it for as long as I've been alive. Before then, even. You could say human history is written by a bloody pen, to the surprise of no one.\n\nSure, I saw it then, I see it now. What weighs heavy is the knowledge of its uselessness and repetitiveness.\n\nHumans have this classical conditioning to kill each other in wholesale extravagance, and the more their methods change, the more horrifying the results.\n\nSo I stay on the fringes, helping the lost and forgotten. Those without access to care, those without access to food or shelter. I do what I can now, to make up for what I did so long ago.\n\n*Newfound immortality can sometimes make you lose sight of consequences.*\n\nI push the thought aside, returning to the work. The work. The endless, grinding, horrifying work.\n\n\"Raise the leg,\" I command. The nurse does so, hopefully this'll help stop the bleeding. The hole, nice and small and round, pulses out blood at regular intervals, making that weird watery texture that clings to the leg hairs. \n\nThe man who'd been unlucky enough to get caught in sniper alley moans softer now, though that may be the morphine kicking in. \n\nSometimes you get those random flashes from the past, looking at those infected wounds. This'll turn and fester into something dangerous if I don't address it here and now.\n\n\"We need maggots,\" I say, remembering examining those infected wounds beneath boiled leather and chainmail, but catch myself. That's the problem with being this old. Memories enjoy whisking me to places where the dead still speak.\n\nThe woman volunteering as a nurse doesn't respond, only blinks at me.\n\nAlways tired.\n\nAlways afraid.\n\nWhen they're tired, you can usually say whatever you want to them. But you can't talk in a medical scenario like this. You need to command. Force the bystanders to participate. This isn't a place for professionals, but this is neither the time or place where they can flourish. I can take a bullet or two and be fine. The rest?\n\nNot so much. But still, I try to maintain a sense of authority whenever I can. It helps, at least.\n\nDo this NOW. Get me this amount of such and such and I needed it five minutes ago.\n\nI may have all the time in the world, but they don't.\n\n\"Mr. Richardson?\"\n\nA small voice, heavily accented timidly wafts over the moans and groans of dying men and women. No. Not timid. Broken. \n\nSomeone is pulling me away, though I'm still focused on this wound. It needs cleaning, it needs stifling, it needs proper attention, real help, real professional care that can't be cobbled together by volunteers in camps too close to the ever present fighting.\n\nHeal.\n\nAs best as you can. Do you remember the ridiculous methods? The crushed emeralds and the balancing of humors and all that ridiculous nonsense that probably killed more than it could possibly save?\n\nKeep them alive, keep the blood inside.\n\n*It's delicious though. The blood, the blood, the blood. Sweet and hot. Take a taste, be subtle. Wipe your hands across your mouth and let it trickle down your tongue.*\n\nNo. I don't need blood anymore. I quit it. I don't need it.\n\nI'm not that kind of thing anymore.\n\nDoctors, especially in places of greatest need always carry that same resigned posture, that broken and barely-lucid look on their face. Never enough sleep. Never enough bandages, never enough help, never enough time. Always fighting the clock.\n\n\"I'll take over,\" she says. She shouldn't have to. But what can you do; homemade drones managed to drop a few live grenades on some volunteer medics a week before, and we can barely manage the staff as it is.\n\nThe boom of artillery can be heard, with a few patients jump with the sound. In the next instant, they relax. It's outgoing, not incoming. Not that the shells care. Sinner or saint, they blow us all to smithereens.\n\n\"Fine,\" I manage, wiping my hands clean.\n\n*Save the towel. Lick it later.*\n\nNo.\n\nMoving between the makeshift tents, I walk through streets cluttered with rubble and debris. The clatter of small arms fire sounds even further away, it's echoes strengthened by the distant walls of the valley.\n\nI'm being led to a tent, and how many tents have I entered?\n\nWar tents all over the world. In almost every war and conflict, saving who I can, preventing infections before the humans truly understood what was going on.\n\nNot bad for a peasant boy from Bohemia.\n\nIn a tent, a woman with raven-black hair sits at a desk, flanked on either side by burly men with expensive looking rifles. Fancy and new. Not too much dust, clean and full magazines. No grime in the barrel, no broken equipment. When these men pull the trigger, it fires.\n\nAnd certainly not locals.\n\nPrivate military personnel, I'd say. Though not government kind. THEIR kind. The Hunter's kind.\n\nTaking a seat, we exchange pleasantries. I'm vaguely aware of them, but do not truly know their intentions. They've been observing, rather than participating in the civil conflict.\n\nThe woman doesn't appear to waste any time. She speaks with the kind of certainty that comes from always commanding the respect in a room. A no bullshit kind of lady.\n\nMy kind of lady.\n\n\"Mr. Richardson, we've taken great pains to find you. We are aware of your...condition, and choose to offer you sanctuary in exchange for your rather unique skillset.\"\n\nIt's matter of fact and straight to the point. No preamble, no dramatic rant about the history of vampires and humans, of the secretive idiotic conflict between pretentious men and women desperate to kill as many 'nightcrawlers' as they can.\n\nThey always talk to you like this when they want something from you.\n\nSame as Lincoln.\n\nSame as Louis.\n\nSame as Gustaff.\n\nThey always ask for your very special expertise, and it's never about humans. Always about my own kind.\n\nThe monsters that stalk the shadows and drain the blood of virgins, if you believe the church.\n\nWhich I don't.\n\nBut still.\n\nThose day have long past.\n\n\"I'm not easy to find,\" I say, the dust clotting my throat.\n\n*You've spent so long hiding, haven't you? Fighting the urges? A consequence of being a good Samaritan?*\n\n*You saved a soldier, though you thought he came from the Lord's castle. So long ago, giving him water, shelter and care. Hiding him from your parents in the barn, a long forgotten relic of ancient time. Did he know then he was going to come back and bite you while you slept?*\n\n*Turn you into an abomination like him? He even thought he was doing you a favor. In exchange for saving his life, he 'saves' yours. How long had that man been running from the church's Hunters? How long had he spent, bleeding black blood into blindingly white snow? Fangs drawn, veins coursing. He knelt over you at night, too terrified to scream, whispering dark words and spells in a language you could only pray to not understand.*\n\n\"I think you know what I'm going to ask you, Mr. Richardson. It'll require taking you somewhere far from here.\" she says.\n\nPull me out of a war zone? There's only one reason for such a pleasant set of terms, rather than the usual *Die foul demon spawn!*\n\n\"In exchange, we offer a sense of immunity.\"\n\n\"From your kind?\"\n\n\"From our kind.\"\n\nShe speaks without really considering what I may have to say on the subject. Human through and through, arrogant to the last. \n\nBy her posture, a Hunter. A killer of my own kind. Though they'll never beat the classic killers, the ones who ride moonbeams and sail through the night, slipping into rooms and draining men and women dry. That must be some kind of saying in her business, though. Humans can do their best, true. But no one can kill a vampire like another vampire, and usually over a pint of blood.\n\n\"Work for us.\"\n\nSilence.\n\nOnly the sound of distant warfare.\n\nNo more running?\n\nA peaceful existence?\n\nSounds too good to be true.\n\nShe's been speaking, but I haven't been listening. The words roll lazily, bouncing through a dry desert air. Somewhere, yelling. Violence. The killing, it grates. The killing, it takes its toll. No matter how long you help, they find a new excuse. The same reasons. The same excuses. Dedicate hundreds of years to it, but it's never enough.\n\nNever enough lives saved.\n\nMaybe I'm tired.\n\nMaybe I've been doing this for far too long. I'm just so tired. Tired of the death. Tired of the sheer horror that masks me from those who would see me dead.\n\nTired of being alone.\n\nMaybe if I just bite my pride and do the job, they'll leave me alone. No more running. No more hiding. Some kind of sense of normalcy? A golden key to a life I've never had?\n\nI cut her off before she can work on her false attempts at convincing. She clearly doesn't care about what she's saying. How rare must this be? The humans who dedicate their lives to ending our kind's stain on this Earth with false platitudes and a bargain?\n\n\"I'll do it,\" I hear myself saying. It's not me, someone else. Someone who doesn't care about the details or what they entail. Someone who doesn't care about the cost or the measure, only the reward. \n\nPeace and freedom.\n\nShe smiles at me, motioning for me to follow the men beside her.\n\nDouble cross me, and they'll regret it.\n\nStill, the itch.\n\n*Just one last drink.*\n\n*Just one more drop of blood.*\n\nNo.\n\n*You say no, but I follow. Addiction loves you, even if you hate me.*\n\nI'm not one of them. Not one of the monsters that hunt and kill with no sense of remorse, humanity's light long burned out.\n\nLast of my bloodline. Last of my family. Does it matter? Healing to atone for my sins?\n\nI don't hurt people.\n\nNot anymore.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/storiesfromapotato/comments/ad207w/bloodlines_part_4/)\n\n\n\n\n\nr/storiesfromapotato", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "\"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?\", the alien being asked \"It is.\" \"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?\" \"With whom?\", I responded confused. \"The other major race on your planet.\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "*\"Is it true you can only see three basic colors?\"* the alien being asked. \n\n\"Just about. Our eyes have three major primary colors perceived by the cones in our eyes, and most of the colors we perceive on what we call the visible spectrum are a mix of Yellow, Red, and Blue.\"\n\n*\"So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?\"*\n\n\"With whom?\", I responded confused. \n\n*\"The Other Major race on your planet.\"*\n\n\"I wasn't aware of any other such intelligent race.\"\n\n*\"But you keep care of Ghoosha ambassadors in major cities. Surely you've established a means of communication. You have hundred of humans meeting with them every day. When we arrived, we spoke to them first. They welcomed us to your planet with a spectacular display of dazzling colors and welcoming patterns, as well as a three hour dance of peace.\"*\n\n\"Care to describe where these Ambassadors are?\"\n\nThe alien fiddled with their glowing tablet for a moment, and then responded. \n\n*\"My computer tells me that even within the borders of this country, there are ambassadors in the locations you would call Gulfport, Mississippi, Orlando, Florida, Indianapolis, and San Diego, California.\"* \n\n\"There must be some kind of mistake, those aren't major capitals of the U.S. Would you care to describe what the Ghoosha look like?\"\n\n\"They are distantly related to the Homo Sapiens, different order but the same class of Mammlia. Unlike the fingers you have, they have pectoral flippers, and a tail fin for propulsion. The Ghoosha told me that humans have an understanding where they are allowed to occasionally visit their domain of over 71% of the surface of the planet for the purposes of sharing food and using transportation.\" \n\n\"Wait a minute ... flippers? Do they have a breathing hole on their back?\"\n\n*\"Yes. They also use the surface of their skin on their back to relay messages and communicate on top of regular verbal singing. We thought you humans were the same, as you have* [*stripes and spots on your skin*](http://mentalfloss.com/article/65092/our-skin-covered-invisible-stripes) *and also use unusual singing and verbal communication.\"*\n\n\"Flippers, blow holes, in a few cities, making performances ... are you talking about Dolphins?\"\n\nThe alien once again checked their tablet. \n\n*\"Correct, although we are aware they don't like being called that.\"*\n\n\"But humans don't have stripes. And last I saw them, which granted was when I was still a teenager, Dolphins don't change color.\"\n\n*\"Do you not use cameras to translate their performances? What colors do you see the Ghoosha as?\"*\n\n\"I dunno, I'd say a solid grey?\"\n\nThe alien looked perplexed, then twisted their tablet around to face me.\n\n*\"Would you care to tell me what you see on my screen?\"*\n\n\"Looks like a solid white to me.\"\n\n*\"There is so much more to the spectrum that you've been missing.\"*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " There is a population limit to the galaxy. Whenever one sentient creature is born, another must die. With billions of unexpected deaths over the last few centuries, the galactic counsel has found the cause; a long ignored planet where a group of bipeds can't stop reproducing.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "In a way, the galaxy was becoming smarter.\n\nSentience isn't that hard to come across, though mostly found in those primal beings that claw and kill and eat with no regard to the suffering it causes. \n\nThat is the law of nature. Consume or die. Adapt or die. Basically either be the best, or die. Death tends to be nature's preferred method of selection.\n\nOn the third rock around a rather average yellow star, orbited a planet populated by naked apes. They killed, they loved, they laughed, they plotted, the helped, they prayed, they raged, they envied, they shared and they lived. When they decided intelligence and stamina could let them dominate they planet, their species grew and consumed and destroyed and slaughtered and flourished. \n\nSuch was the will of the nude monkey. Two legs, two arms, one big hunk of meat between their ears that told them interesting things and lent impressive deductive skills.\n\nMost of the time it could be trusted.\n\nSome of the time it couldn't.\n\nInitial observations of the planet yielded quick answers. Hundreds of sentient species, with a few that you could argue were sapient. \n\nAn important distinction, but here was a planet capable of sapping most of the galactic population limit. Some of these animals were no threat to the overall limit; there could only be so many dogs and cats and elephants and monkeys.\n\nHumans, were quite the different story.\n\nIf they weren't able to kill themselves, they'd spread throughout their arm of the Milky Way in a few hundred years. Sure, they'd probably cap off at twelve billion on Earth alone. \n\nBut what about on their space stations?\n\nOn their colonies?\n\nOn other terra-formed worlds?\n\nThe council's decision was quite unanimous, though one or two protested out of caution. Why not let them die out on their own planet?\n\nWhy not let them destroy their own world, removing billions from the collective galactic consciousness?\n\nOverruled by more impetuous minds, a few ships were sent to glass the planet, sterilizing the Sol system and preventing humanity from growing past their little blue world.\n\nExcept something went wrong in orbit.\n\nSomething didn't go according to plan.\n\nNo one would be able to pinpoint the exact moment they knew things had gone wrong, but in the decades of failed launches and space expeditions, the low orbit of Earth was a minefield of debris that the humans were in the process of cleaning up.\n\nNearly a dozen ships shocked into low orbit, only to be rendered full of holes and partially damaged.\n\nMost fell to earth.\n\nSome were captured by orbital satellites.\n\nInstead of destroying the Earth, the council had lent it the collected knowledge of the advanced species of the Milky Way.\n\nWhat would take a hundred years to discover, humans adapted in one. Scientific advancements so advanced that most of them considered basically magic were reverse-engineered faster than anyone could imagine. Humans seemed to enjoy pattern recognition, and to enhance galactic cohesion most systems were designed to be easily replicated and understood across species.\n\nPerhaps this shows the arrogance that comes with age, that an ancient civilization should always crush the younger. That after conquering a hundred species, there comes a sense of apathy towards the destruction of belligerent life forms. Yet another ant to crush between your finger and thumb.\n\nAll it takes is one mistake, one underestimation of your opponent. Nature cares little for second chances.\n\nTrillions of drones would depart from the Sol system, scouting distant star systems and charting habitable worlds.\n\nThe most dangerous species in the universe had been handed the greatest weapons of war available, and despite the galactic ban on artificial intelligence, the humans synchronized with their machines.\n\nSoon they would pour across the Milky Way, consuming all in their path.\n\nAll the council races could do was pray, and fight for as long as they could.\n\nHumans didn't play fair, and had little mercy to offer these races. Old traditions of honor and pride didn't translate to the humans. Outwardly they would claim these qualities, but in practice there was only pragmatic brutality. Orbital bombardments, drone fleets, biological weapons, and the rarest and most devastating of forces, actual human deployment planet side.\n\nMessages were clear, so clear that no species needed a translator. Submit or die.\n\nRegardless of the alien's choice, most of the time the humans came to their own decisions about the fate of the galaxy.\n\nThey decided they liked being the apex species of the Milky Way.\n\nTrue, there were plenty of worlds to share. Plenty of stars to capture, plenty of systems to mine and crack open, spilling out more materials than any one species could possibly hope to use.\n\nExcept humans weren't prone to sharing. If there was one thing they hated more than themselves, it was the smattering of intelligent life that once sought their destruction.\n\nMost species would beg for mercy. Ask to serve, anything to avoid the extinction fleets of autonomous drones that would wipe an entire system of organic life in a few weeks time.\n\nSometimes the humans listened.\n\nThe majority of the time, they didn't.\n\nPerhaps if the galactic council had sought to control the amount of sapient life forms, the humans would have left them in peace. Instead of seeking to sterilize the Earth, seeking a peaceful coexistence.\n\nMaybe things would have ended differently.\n\nBut human memories are long and complex. Their grudges thousands of years old, built on a million and one arbitrary differences that confounded and terrified the humans. Nothing motivates a human more than hate or fear or love.\n\nIn targeting them all, the arbitrary differences seemed to melt away.\n\nReplaced by a deeper, darker yearning.\n\nA better Milky Way.\n\nA pure galaxy.\n\nA strong galaxy.\n\nA prosperous galaxy.\n\nA human galaxy.\n\n-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nr/storiesfromapotato", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The Grim Reaper is the first human to die, and had taken it upon himself to walk the deceased to the afterlife so that they do not have to feel the loneliness he felt.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Time for another, I thought. How many had I ferried into this forever state? Too many to count. \n\nThis time, it was the worst type of job. A child. I stood in the hospital room, in the corner. I watched as the parents silently cried at their comatose daughter. The sound of beeping filled the room, the only clue that the girl was still alive. She would be my last, I had decided. \n\nI had watched her before. I'd seen the chemo ravage her body and make her weak. I'd held her hand in comfort as she vomited. Wiped her tears when she'd started losing her golden hair. And now the cancer was winning, she only had a few minutes left.\n\nI'd found that I could possess a person for a few minutes at a time thousands of years ago. To provide comfort, to ready them for their passing and to prevent the loneliness they would inevitably feel. They would soon leave me though. I never stepped through the light, I never wanted to stop doing this. \n\nBut now, after so many wars, so much suffering, after billions of people ferried to the next world I realised that I am so tired. \n\nThe doctor flipped the switch on her ventilator, and soon that beeping stopped and the cries of the family grew louder. Such grief I'd heard before but never again. \n\nThe girls spirit dropped down from the bed.\n\n\"Momma?\" She said, confused, \"Momma, I'm right here!\" She tried to tug at her mothers sleeve but grew scared when her hand passed straight through. \n\n\"Its okay.\" I say from my vigil in the corner, \"you've moved on to a place where there is no pain or suffering. No nasty medicines that make you feel worse.\"\n\nHer sky blue eyes grew sad. \"I can't see momma again?\" \n\nI stretch out my hand to her, \"You'll see her again, when it's her time.\" She took my hand and started to cry.\n\nWe walked out of the room and into the hallway. A light appeared, as warm and inviting as all the other times I'd seen it. \n\nShe looked up at me, \"Are you coming?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" I said, \"this is my time too.\"\n\nI thought of every soul I'd met, and knew I'd be welcome. As they met the light, i said a silent sorry to the souls I'd never meet. That would have to find their own way. But after thousands of years it was time. \n\nTime for my rest.\n\n\n\nEdit: I kept switching from 1st person to 3rd person", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Instead of an angel and a demon sitting on your shoulders, one side sits a brash New Yorker and the other a posh British gentleman. Neither are necessarily good or evil, they just make passing comments on your day to day activities.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Jolly good show, my good man,\" he said, sitting on the right of my shoulder and inhaling deeply from his pipe. \"Positively smashing.\"\n\nI'd been watching Stranger Things for the last couple hours, trying to block them out. \n\n\"What kinda trash is this?\" the man on the left of my shoulder chimed, pacing up and down the length of it. \"This is just garbage, garbage I tells ya. Barb don't deserve to go like that.\"\n\nI sighed. I had not been succeeding. \n\n********\n\nThe bank teller peered quizzically at my shoulders, and I tried to smile. \"Please, it's best to just try and ignore them,\" I told her, glancing down briefly and praying that Mike would be able to keep it together. \"It's an, errr, *condition*.\"\n\n\"Nice rack on this bird, yaknowwhatI'mtalkin'about?\" he said, staring directly at her chest. Charles leaned over to chastise him.\n\n\"Now now Mike, what have we told you about manners? Although I dare say, that is certainly a bountiful bosom.\"\n\nI apologized profusely before security could escort me out. \n\n****\n\nAfter much deliberation, the two of them convinced me to go out to the library. This was always a challenging affair, as libraries were made for silence, and regardless, the three of us would need to pick a book that all of us liked to read. No such book existed. \n\nI - or we - were browsing the aisle, Charles trying to direct me to eighteenth century geopolitics, Mike complaining that there were no porn mags. I whispered for them to be quiet, and in the ensuing silence I heard three women speaking in increasing volume to my right.\n\nThe librarian shushed the women, and I heard one of them apologize, then the three continued in hushed voices. Again the librarian told them to be quiet.\n\nI rounded the corner, engrossed in my quest for fiction, and accidentally bumped into one of them.\n\nWell, *all* of them. \n\n\"Watch where you're goin', ya fuckhead!\" a tiny voice said while I attempted to pick up the fallen books. \n\n\"Fran, please watch your language, as I think you'll find we are in the company of gentlemen,\" another tiny voice said, as I - or we - slowly looked up.\n\nA beautiful woman stood before us. Furthermore, two more women stood on *her*. \n\n\"By Gods,\" Charles said, dropping his pipe. \n\n\"Fuck me,\" Mike replied. \n\n\"I... I...\" I stammered.\n\n\"Please, don't mind them,\" the woman said with a nervous smile. \n\nI nodded, still speechless. I'd never been able to talk to girls, not with these two on my shoulders. But this...\n\nThis could work.\n\n\"Take this guy to pound town before I do it myself,\" the tiny, brash woman on her left chimed. \n\n\"Or perhaps a delicatessen first?\" the tiny, posh woman on her right replied.\n\nThe librarian shushed us on our way out. \n\n****\n\nIf you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) \n\nI'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Mr. Bean is the lesser known fifth horseman of the apocalypse, ignorance. Unintentionally Mr. Bean arrives too early for the apocalypse and is stuck living an ordinary human life leaving destruction in his wake. The four horsemen finally arrive...", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "On a pale horse, Death galloped into the world, his cloak burning behind him like black fire, and his scythe gleaming with the sharpness of inevitable demise. The last of the five to enter the mortal realm.\n\n\"I've come to harvest the souls of this world.\" Death's hollow eyes wandered over his siblings. \"I trust you've all taken great strides to pave my way?\"\n\n\"A global conflict is knocking on the door,\" War said, lifting her helmet and shaking out her fiery locks. \"Through the apocalypse, I will ride by your side, brother. Just give me a little more time... it will happen!\"\n\nDeath nodded. \"I was hoping for more... Actual battles, men at each other's throat! Swords and blood! Smoke and fires! At this rate, maybe there won't be an apocalypse...\" \n\nWar hung her head. \"I've really tried! But these blasted nuclear weapons just sit there... creating this... this... abomination called a 'cold war.'\" \n\nShe spat on the ground for emphasis. Death sighed, shifting his unblinking gaze over to his younger brother. \n\n\"You've also been struggling, I can tell,\" he said, his hollow voice ripping across the dusty plains of Armageddon. \n\n\"Everyone keeps stuffing their face with sugar and fat! How am I supposed to starve a world where everyone's overweight!\" Famine cried in frustration. \"Seriously, these mortals aren't even trying anymore. There's always that extra bag of chips picked up at the store, and that infernal fast food business. Seriously, those pizza delivery guys outrun my horse.\"\n\nDeath's face darkened under the cloak. He turned to the fourth horseman. \"Well, what about you then?\"\n\n\"I just have one word for you. Antibiotics,\" Pestilence said, flies buzzing around him. \"What am I supposed to do? I can spread diseases all day, but nobody freaking dies from them anymore! They have a cure for everything these days. I'm starting to feel impotent... kind of like War for the last five decades. Anyway, just give me some more time, I'm working on resistant bacteria...\"\n\nWar glared at him but said nothing. Death tightened his skeletal knuckles around the grip of the scythe. He'd hoped for an easy harvest. A quick reaping of the world.\n\nReluctantly, he turned to his youngest brother. \"What have you been up to?\"\n\nEyes-wide, Ignorance looked up. His big brown eyes nervously flicked across the others. His mouth hung slightly open. He cleared his throat, fixed his tie, and ran a comb through his hair. \n\n\"Well?\" Death said, impatiently snapping his bony fingers.\n\nHe wasn't expecting anything. His youngest brother had always been unreliable, at best. \n\n\"Hey, I'm talking to you!\" Death said when he noticed that the short chubby man wasn't paying attention.\n\nIgnorance looked up again, and this time pointed at himself, looking like a big question mark. \n\n\"Yes, you. What have you been up to... *brother*?\" Death said.\n\nIgnorance swallowed and pointed at his phone. \n\n\"You've been on your phone?\" Death clenched his jaw. Not much of a surprise there.\n\nThe man nodded nervously.\n\n\"Give me that,\" Death said, and snatched the phone out of his hands. \n\nHe was just about to toss it into the desert when he noticed something on the screen. \"Who are all these people?\" Death tapped on the phone. \"Followers? You have a cult?\"\n\nIgnorance nodded. \n\n\"Interesting...\" Death mumbled. \"Facebook... Twitter... Instagram... and all you do is post memes and cat pictures?\"\n\nIgnorance looked at his feet. \n\n\"Wait, there's more,\" Death rumbled. \"Huh... you've been sharing highly dubious articles... anti-vaccine... homeopathy... conspiracy theories... wait, how did they get this many Likes?\"\n\nIgnorance shrugged.\n\n\"Okay, listen up!\" Death said, turning to the others. \"I'll give you some more time to get your act together and prepare the world for my arrival. We'll postpone the apocalypse for now.\"\n\nThey all looked up in surprise and relief when Death turned his horse around.\n\n\"We'll discuss the logistics in greater detail,\" Death said and pulled out his own phone, following his little brother on social media. \"Until my return... Ignorance is in charge!\"\n\n***\nIf you liked this, you can find more of my stories over at r/Lilwa_Dexel", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "\"WELCOME TO THE GAME, JACK. KILL OR BE KILLED, THE CHOICE IS YOURS. THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE JACK OF ALL TRADES\".", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "A lightning storm manifested from seemingly nowhere as Jack got out of his car and loomed over the crushed and broken man he'd just slammed into. \n\nA bolt of lightning struck nearby. Then another, and another. The overwhelming smell of ozone filled the air. Finally, the largest lightning bolt yet slammed down from the heaven's and struck Jack. Power surged through him, as the lights of his car exploded, his phone flew from his hand and blew up, and the nearby electrical wires began to rain down sparks before snapping in two and swinging down to the forest below. \n\nOvercome by sheer power, a voice as if God himself, spoke in Jack's head.\n\n> THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE JACK OF ALL TRADES\n\nThe lightning died down, Jack fell to the ground covered in sweat, hands on the warm asphalt, the dead man laying beside him and, suddenly, Jack knew how to install a gray water system in a late 19th century Victorian house. Or change the drainage catch on a split level. For months there had been a leak in the toilet on the second floor of Jack's mother in law's house, and now, sitting there on the highway, Jack knew that the problem was a simple gasket that had worn down and that he could fix it for under a dollar. \n\n\"Holy shit,\" Jack said to the empty street and the dead man and himself, \"I'm a plumber!\" \n\nJack needed to be sure. He scrambled over to the contorted dead man and began rummaging through his blood-stained pockets until he found a wallet, which he flung open and searched for an ID. There was a driver's license and on it a name. Jack Wallace. \n\n\"See you Jack,\" Jack said, and then took out his list and crossed off another name. There was only one Jack left in this zipcode.\n\nJack got back in his car and drove over to the last address. \n\nHe arrived as the sun was coming up, his small pistol hidden away in the inside pocket of his jacket. It was a small, one-story house. As he circled the home, casing it, Jack noted that the drainage pipe in the backyard was three meters short of regulation. He also saw that one of the back windows was wide open. It had been a hot night and there was not a lot of crime in these parts. \n\nSo Jack walked right up to the house and climbed inside. \n\nOnce in the home Jack pulled his pistol and wiped beading sweat off his forehead. He realized he was very tired - how many hours ago had he killed Jack Wallace on the highway and taken his knowledge? When had he last slept? \n\nBut nevermind all that, it was only the hunt that mattered. If he was right, this Jack, Jack Warner, was an auto mechanic, which would be a much-needed skill given the amount of time Jack spent on the road, hunting and killing other Jacks. \n\nJack stalked through the hallway of Jack Warner's small home, opening doors slowly, pistol up and ready. He walked through the thin house, opening each door until at last, he came to a final room. It had to be the bedroom. Eager, tired, Jack turned the doorknob and gave the door a push. \n\nJack heard the click before he saw the shotgun suspended from the ceiling. Then came the deafening blast of the shotgun's discharge and the buckshot took Jack hard in the chest. \n\nEyes wide, back flat on the carpeted floor, Jack could feel his lungs filling up with blood. He struggled to get up, but could not get his feet under him. Someone walked out of the bedroom and kicked the small pistol out of Jacks limp hand, and stood over Jack, looking down at him appraisingly.\n\n\"Bagged me another one, I guess.\" Without any regard for Jack's desperate writhing and gurgling, Jack Warner bent down and began rummaging through Jack's pockets. He found Jack's wallet, opened it up, looked at the driver's license, and clicked his tongue against his front teeth. \"Yep.\" Then he gave Jack a disappointed look and shook his head at him. \"Thought you could sneak up on me unawares, huh? Big mistake, and not the first time neither.\" \n\nJack's mouth was opening and closing like a dying fish as he tried to say something with his last breath. He could taste hot iron on his tongue.\n\nJack Warner saw Jack was trying to say something, and so he bent down low and placed his ear to Jack's mouth.\n\nWetly, Jack managed the words, his bloody hand reaching up and holding on to Jack Warner's shoulder for dear life.\n\n\"There. . . can. . .be . . . only. . .one... \"\n\nJack's hand went limp, the light left his eyes, and he passed right there on Jack Warner's carpet. \n\nJack Warner for his part, nodded solemnly. \"Don't I know it, brother.\" \n\nThen he ran out into the back yard as quick as he could so that the lightning wouldn't start a fire in his house. He made it just in time, as a lightning storm coalesced above him. Bolts of blue electricity struck the ground in several places first, and then hit Jack right on the head, coursing pure energy through his veins. A voice, as of God, said to him:\n\n>THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE JACK OF ALL TRADES.\n\nAnd then the storm was gone, and Jack fell to the ground. In the aftermath, he took a deep breath of the hot summer air and reveled in his new found knowledge. Slowly, he got up to his feet and started back inside to take care of the body.\n\nAs he walked in through the back door, Jack's gaze fell on the drainage pipe leading from the back of his house. He realized, for the first time ever, that it was three meters under regulation. \n\n\"I'll be damned,\" he said, smiling to himself, \"I'm a goddamned plumber.\" \n\n************\n\n#### For More Legends From The Multiverse\n\n## r/LFTM\n\n\n\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG!", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The card hissed softly as it was drawn from a neat stack of similarly blue-backed cards on the large wooden table, its surface battered and worn from hundreds of years of use. Though her figure was mostly hidden by the Head of Neighbourhood triptych sheet, three pairs of eyes rested eagerly on Calen as she turned the card in her hand and lifted it up, smiling wryly at its contents. \n\n\n“Cut the theatrics and read, elf,” grumbled Brond, a large and hairy man. His feet rested atop an empty chair, smaller than his own and wobbling as he shifted his weight against its seat. \n\n\n“He’s working late,” she said. \n\n\n“Again?” He replied, seemingly exhausted by the card’s message. \n\n\nLarge head toppling rearward to rest against the uppermost plank of the chair back, hair spilling over the wood, Brond shut his eyes. Calen’s smirk sustained. Though different in their distinct features, Azezus the Blight and Crog wore matching expressions, lips pulled tight and curved, showing teeth as they grinned with amusement. The game sat on the table, two tidy piles of cards and character sheets scattered. Everything behind Calen’s trifold was a mystery. \n\n\n“Again,” she repeated. \n\n\nBrond ran meaty fingers along his wrinkled forehead, massaging between the furrowed brows as he thought. After a sigh, he said, “This is the third time this week.” \n\n\n“And the young secretary card is in play,” chimed Azezus. \n\n\n“Damn the gods,” Brond cursed. “I go to his work.” \n\n\n“What a fool,” said Azezus.\n\nBrond frowned, eyes narrowing in the necromancer’s direction. “Excuse me? At least I *have* a husband.” \n\n\n“Mine’s dead--” \n\n\n“Does it make you feel impotent to know you can’t even bring him back?” Crog laughed. \n\n\n“Please, you can’t fathom the pressure of being a single mother of three little heathens,” Azezus accused. “They eat so much and the bills are piling up. Do you know how much debt Jason left me with? I thought we were doing well until he died.” His sharp slender finger drifted down his character sheet, head wagging agitatedly from side to side. \n\n\n“If only you could bring him back and shake his bones for a couple more bucks maybe your kids wouldn’t have to go to community college,” Crog continued to taunt.\n\n\n“You’re in couples counseling, your son is a prescription medication addict,” Brond countered. \n\n\nCalen watched them, peering over the edge of her text-rich sheet. The smile that had formed upon reading the drawn card had yet to diminish and had grown only tighter from fatigue. Their arguing began to overlap. Voices raised until the volume was such that even Calen herself was finding it difficult to decipher the nature of the various delivered insults so, raising a hand in the air and not saying a word, she tossed two dice onto the table. The clatter, though quiet, hushed the playful fighting.\n\n\n“You go to his work, drowsy from imbibing several glasses of rosé,” Calen said, “But he isn’t there.”\n\n\n“Damn it,” Brond muttered. His fist landed heavily against the table. “I thought better of him.” Fingers clenched and nostrils flared, he grunted, “It’s snack time, I’m famished. Send me to the bar, I’ll wallow in the realisation that I married a dirty cheater.” \n\n\n“You have a teenager and a toddler at home!” Corg interjected. \n\n\n“And you have your raging Orc of a mother-in-law, Margaret coming over in the morning but you’ve spent no time straightening your home,” Brond scoffed, “Mind your own problems.” \n\n\nSliding his character sheet toward the centre of the table with a resentful sneer, Brond’s large boots thudded against the floor. In a single graceless motion, palms leaning into the table top, he stood up and walked toward the pantry. \n\n------------------------\n\n[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdgarAllanHobo/comments/7pi55k/suburbs_and_suvs_part_two/) Stay tuned for more. \n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; \"you're safe now\".", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Smoke leaves the barrel of his gun as we stare down at my wallet, which is currently writhing on the ground like a fish out of water. A bullet hole has pierced through its leather shell and punctured the credit card within. I internally wince at the loss; that was authentic leather. \n\nNonchalantly, the man reloads his revolver, flicking the cylinder out. \"You're welcome,\" he says, gruffly. \n\n\"What the fuck, man? Why did you just shoot my wallet? And why is it moving?\" \n\nHe pulls his wide-brim hat up, fixing me with one of the dark eyes resting underneath. \"Mimic,\" he says, as if the word alone will solve everything.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You heard me. Mimics. Imposters; impersonators. They take any inanimate form they can find, trying to trick people into opening them.\" \n\nI open my mouth to retort, but he shuts me up by simply jabbing his gun in the direction of my wallet. I spare it a glance, and see that a viscous, black liquid oozes from the bullet hole within it. Its ends rise and fall, as if breathing, and suddenly I notice the thin white ivory lining its edges - almost too small for an untrained eye to see. Teeth, and rows upon rows of them. Sharpened and blood-flecked. \n\n\"What the fuc-\" \n\n\"Next time you opened it, you'd have been in for a nasty surprise, kid.\" \n\nHis head cocks back, and I hear a suppressed gasp of surprise follow. His casual demeanour quickly dissipates as he dives forward, tackling me to the ground. We fall back in a heap, my back painfully slamming into the concrete below as he presses a single finger to my lips, his eyes wide with fear. \"Dont. Move. A. Muscle.\"\n\nI nod, tilting my head to hazard a view at whatever is behind him. I wish I hadn't. A strained, heavy breathing precedes something purposefully slinking forwards a few feet in front us. Its back is arched predatorily, and I can see each bone that's formed underneath its gaunt, grey skin. The further upwards I look, the more cracked and twisted its skin seems to get, until towards what seems to be its spindly neck the skin breaks entirely, curling outwards like the petals of a flower to reveal an expressionless head popping out; the head of a beautiful woman, accentuated by makeup and sultry, half-lidded eyes. \n\nThe creature growls - a low, guttural sound that eventually progresses into a high-pitched giggle. \n\n\"Come on out and *play*, we don't bite.\" \n\n\"Goddamn it, I didn't think one of those would be here,\" the man atop me says, moving his arm from my shoulder to reach for something tucked into his jacket. From it, he pulls a glinting, golden bullet, replacing one currently resting in his gun's cylinder with it. He steadies himself, stance wide and body motionless, holding out the gun in front of him with two hands and peering down the sight, one eye fixed tightly shut. \n\nHe begins to squeeze the trigger and, just as he does, the gun appears to whirl with energy, practically screeching as a golden wreathe of light begins to surround it. The abomination in front of us turns to see it, beginning to charge towards us with an ear shattering screech. \n\n\"Kid, you never saw this happen.\" \n\nHe squeezes the trigger and the bullet explodes out of the muzzle. The gun proceeds to burst into flame, causing him to toss it out of his grasp as the bullet flies wide, a path of searing light left in its wake. I notice as the bullet peaks miles up into the sky it begins to arch, curling in midair. \n\nThe mimic follows it for a moment before turning back to us with a cackle. \"You had me worried there, Paladin. Pity you're getting old; your aim untrue. You almost would've been a fun catch otherwise.\" \n\nThe man simply says nothing, raising his hands in surrender as the mimic takes a menacing step towards us before suddenly lurching forwards, letting out a slight gasp. Black blood splatters to the ground as all eyes come to rest on a hole that has been left in place of where its thin chest formerly was, smouldering at the seams. With a moan, it collapses to its knees and, after a moment of shaking, its entire body falls limp, lifeless. \n\n\"Aim ain't what it used to be - sorry if that scared you,\" the man says, awkwardly scratching at his stubble. \n\nI'm too beside myself with confusion to complain. I just witnessed what could only be described as magic - plain and simple. A bullet curving in midair. \"Wh-what happened?\" I say, somehow finding within me the strength to summon my meek voice. \n\n\"Smote the fucker.\" \n\n\"Ok.... last question. *What* are you?\" \n\n\"I'm a Paladin, kid. A healer of the people, in a sense. And we're all currently sitting in a fucking epidemic.\" \n\n---\n\n/r/coffeeandwriting\n\n**EDIT:** *Holy fuck*, I just got back from school and this really blew up. Thanks y'all! Part 2 soon! Oh, and corrections. Lots of 'em; did this rather early. \n\n**EDIT 2:** *[As demanded, here is Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeeAndWriting/comments/6n28el/mimicry_part_2/)* \n\n*[And part 3 now!](https://www.reddit.com/r/CoffeeAndWriting/comments/6n49qx/mimicry_part_3/)*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I never paid much attention to the whole idea of the odds of something being \"a million to one.\" Being an assassin usually meant taking the odds by the throat and forcing them to be in your favor, but nothing could have prepared me for this. In all my years of work I had infiltrated even the most secure locations. High security prisons? Child's play. The off chance I get to take down a self proclaimed super villain? There's always at least one guard who's being paid minimum wage and values their life over a job and some information. Meeting my girlfriend's parents was the first task in a long time where I had to go in without extensive planning and research. After all, she had insisted that her parents would adore me. That had to mean there was nothing to worry about, or so I thought. I stood on the doorstep in an itchy polo shirt and khakis, already regretting not grabbing an undershirt as I rushed out the door. Somehow crawling through cramped ventilation shafts couldn't even come close to the amount of discomfort the accursed shirt gave me. \n\n~\n\nThe opening of the front door took my mind off of work. It was time to turn on the charm and rock my social muscle. Before I could even greet the person who opened the door, I was reminded of work in the worst way possible. Damon Santos had answered the door, the man who gave me my hits. Definitely not a computer repairman. Couldn't be farther from being a computer repairman. I thought Crystal's last name was familiar, but I never could have guessed that this was where I knew it from. The tension in the air was palpable, our eyes were locked on one another's. Had Crystal not pushed past her father, I doubt we would have moved from that spot for the rest of the night. \"Sam! I said to text me when you got here, I wanted to be the one to introduce you to my family!\" Crystal made a pouty face as she tugged me inside, bringing me face to face with my boss and his wife.\n\n~\n\nCrystal’s arm was wrapped around my waist, quite possibly the only thing that kept me from walking straight back out the door. “Mom, Dad, this is Samuel.\" I gave a sheepish wave and did my best to smile through my unease. There wasn't a mirror around, but I knew whatever was on my face wasn't a smile. Damon's wife was the first to speak. Her voice was a lot like Crystal's, bubbly and cheery. It was a wild contrast to Damon's gruff and frankly intimidating demeanor. \"Hello dear, it's so nice to finally have met you. My name is Shirley, but you can call me Mrs. Santos.\" My mouth opened to speak, but my voice was lagging behind like a person playing a game with high latency. With a short cough I was able to take a second shot at speaking. \"Er... It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Santos.\" I looked to Damon, I more than knew who he was already but if he was going to keep our alibis intact he would have to introduce himself. My body tensed up when he began speaking. \"Sam... I didn't know my *favorite* customer was dating my daughter. Fancy that.\" The emphasis on favorite was chilling. I couldn't tell if he was implying demise or if it was genuine favoritism for a good employee. My thoughts were shaken by a gasp from Crystal. \"Well isn't that funny, who could have guessed you two knew each other already? I guess I'll let you two catch up and help Mom finish dinner prep.\" \n\n~\n\nEvery cell in my body cried out for Crystal to stay, she was the only thing protecting me from confrontation with the only man who gave me chills. Unfortunately my silent cries weren't heard and the two left the room. Damon stared at me in silence, leaving me to squirm in my skin. Suddenly I was aware of just how itchy the polo was, and it was not helping. \"Sam...\" It was strange hearing him call me by my actual name instead of my alias. Miraculously through my panic I managed to squeeze out a meek \"Yes sir?\" Damon sat down on a nearby chair and looked me up and down. For some reason he looked so much more tired than before. Something changed in that moment, he seemed less like a coldblooded boss and more like a tired older man. “We're gonna have to have a long talk about many things.\" Damon sighed and crossed his arms. \"The first of which being my retirement and your potential promotion to the head of the family business.\"\n\n(Edit: Formatting and a little tidying.)\n~\n(Edit 2: Changed the last name from Smith after some suggestions.)\n\nPart 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/Writings_Of_Man/comments/gzcnh9/family_business_chapter_one/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Call me eccentric. Call me an idiot. Doesn't matter, I've been called both. \n\nSee, everybody always ate the food. A bite of quiche, a chunk of apple. A cut of ham or a slice of pie. Not me. They all got the powers you'd expect. Healing from the apple or fire from those hot peppers. That type of thing. \n\nI bit the table. Just a big old chunk out of a mahogany table, teeth be damned.\n\nAt first, the council gave me a look that could say nothing other than *what the actual fuck*. And then it dawned on them, about as quickly as it dawned on me. \n\nI wasn't the weirdo anymore. I wasn't the outcast. \n\nI looked at Barry. Oh, Barry. He'd bullied me relentlessly for years, and he'd just grabbed one of those peppers and was preparing to light my pants on fire in front of all my peers. \n\nWe couldn't have that now, could we? I channeled my power, not that I had any idea what it'd be. Maybe I'd start flying, high enough to avoid the flames licking towards me. Maybe I'd explode something and cause enough of a distraction.\n\nBarry huffed and puffed--he knew exactly what his power was supposed to be. But no flame came. Not even a wisp of smoke. Stupid as I might have looked biting the table, he looked even more a blowhard as he tried and tried but failed miserably.\n\n\"What's happening?\" he cried, looking towards the council. \n\nThey knew no better than anybody else. But as they thought, using the wisdom bestowed upon them by their bite of the olives, their careful trains of thought derailed and turned to muddled nonsense. \n\nI'd done away with their powers, just like I had with Barry's. The table gave, and the table took away.\n\nThat was the power of the table that I'd bit a chunk out of. All of their powers were propped up by mine. And I didn't want them to have any power at all.\n\n****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " A teenager has been kidnapping young children during the night for his gang of thieves; he addicts them to \"pixie dust\" to ensure their subservience. Only a lone police captain believes it to be true. This is the story of Peter Pan and James Hook.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I was tipped off to the location of an abandoned school house near the edge of the city. The kid who gave up the information wasn't exactly cooperative, at first, but a few days off of pixie dust had him itching so bad that he gladly told me what I wanted to know for just a little sprinkle. \n\nAddictive stuff. Like nothing the guys at the lab have ever seen, and they've been no fucking help since this all started. A case like this takes real cop work, dirty work, and that's the kind I prefer to do alone. I sprinkled a bit of the stuff on my head after three weeks of dead ends, evidence is loaded with this shit, and what's more, it doesn't weigh anything, *literally nothing*, so they have no way of accurately keeping track of it anyway -it won't be missed. \n\nSometimes you gotta think like a crook to catch one, and that was my philosophy here; but, to my surprise, the pixie dust had no effect on me. I practically shoved my head in the damn bag; *nothing*, but these kids are flying high like fairies off this shit. Maybe it only affects the youth? What kind of animal develops a drug that only works on kids?\n\nIt's raining cats and dogs outside, but that's to my advantage. The constant patter of rain hitting the old metal roofs suppresses the sound of my engine as I roll up to the old school. I keep my lights off as I pull off the side of the road and park the Jolly Roger behind some natural cover. She's seen better days, and if I get any closer her rumbling will surely tick me off, but I know she's here and reliable if this goes south. \n\nI make my way towards the schoolhouse, staying close to the tree line, and I can make out lights coming from inside. Nothing electrical, as far as I can tell, definitely fire. There's a few kids hanging out under an awning near the flag pole at the front of the school, the glow of a couple cigarettes illuminates them enough for me to see their faces, and their weapons. *Knives.* One kid is theatrically flourishing a butterfly knife while the others coo excitedly; *moron*, easy way to lose a hand. One of them knocks a beer bottle off the old table, and I use this as an opportunity to move quickly towards the rear of the building. \n\nThe rain is keeping up, and there's quite a bit of noise coming from inside, so I'm not too worried about keeping quiet now. The old building is tagged up with red, yellow, and orange spray paint. Various symbols and words are plastered around, but one thing is repeated often: *LB*.\n\nLooks like there's a stairwell around the side of what looks like a gymnasium, possibly rafter access, I won't get a better opportunity to do some surveillance. I suppose I could call this in, but then what? Have this place raided, and all these strung out kids killed in a firefight? Not that I think they'd send em anyways, that pussy Smee has been telling everyone to steer clear of this since the beginning, and I suspect he knows something we don't. \n\nI'm up the stairwell now, and as suspected, there's easy access into the gymnasium from here. The windows are fogged up, but I can make out a ton of movement inside by the low light. I open one enough for me to slide in, and close it behind me. \n\nIt's a damn circus down there. The place is packed with kids, and they're all high off their asses. There's a few massive fires going at both ends of the court, and smaller flames are scattered about elsewhere. A few kids are perched up on the basketball hoops, dumping pixie dust down on half naked children dancing around in ecstasy, they're smashing bottles, fighting, and doing things to one another that are well beyond their immaturity. However, nothing compares to what's going on at half-court: A large circle of kids, surrounding what looks like a duel. \n\nTwo older boys are engaged in frantic swordplay, dancing about with wondrous flair as they strike and parry. There are dueling chants amongst the crowd as well, each rising and falling with the swing of blades. \n\n***RUFIO, RUFIO, RUFIOOOOOOO!***\n\n***PAN'S THE MAN, PAN, PAN, PAN!***\n\nThat's him! The one in the tight green pants, *Peter Pan*. I saw that name repeated countless times on the reports I'd snaked. This is who everyone is looking for, and he's just a kid himself. But the way he moves, the way he fights, I've never seen a kid do these things. \n\nThere's no way I can break this up on my own, even with the gun, and I'm definitely not taking those little bastards in a sword fight. I make my way back to the window and try to push it open. It won't budge. I give it a good shove, but the damn thing flies open as the wind catches it and it shatters. \n\nAll the noise below me ceases, and I sit as still as possible in the dark of the rafters. \n\n\"Lost Boy?!\" \n\nI don't say a word, and just as I'm about to make my way back out of the broken window, a voice creeps up from behind me in thin air. \n\n\"Hmmm, I don't remember inviting any grown ups to the party? None I didn't want to kill, anyways.\"\n\nI whirl around with my gun drawn, and right there before me, literally floating, is the boy in green: *Peter Pan*. \n\nI'm stunned, how the fuck is he doing that? \n\nHis leg rises up in a flash, and my gun is soaring through the air before I have time to think. \"Only a grown up would use a coward's weapon like that!\" \n\nThe kid grabs me by the throat, and suddenly we're flying through the air and quickly descending towards the middle of the dueling circle. The bastards all have their weaponry held high in the air, and its all glistening in the fire light. Pan lands on his feet while somehow still holding me up off the ground by my neck; *damn he's strong!*. The mass of kids ring out. \n\n***BANGARANG!***\n\n\"What do you think, Rufio? Pirate?\" Pan smiles at me as he inquires to his associate, who lurks out from behind me and settles next to him. \n\nHis eyes and skin are dark, and his hair is wild and red. \"All grown ups are pirates!\" He's walking around the edge of the circle, sword held high, \"And what, *Lost Boys*, do we do to pirates?!\"\n\n***KILL THE PIRATE!***\n\nPan releases me and I plop down on the hardwood. I'm up like lightning, still some fight in me, and I throw a punch right at his smug face. Of course, he ducks it, and my momentum has me back on the floor with dozens of blades trained on me. \n\n\"Well well!\" Pan is excited now. \"This one's actually got some fight in him, hasn't he?!\"\n\nThe kids erupt in a sound which I can only describe as a rooster's crow. \n\n\"I can respect that, old man. So, I'll tell you what: We're gonna let you go!\" \n\nCries of disappointment ring out all around, and I can hear them making fart noises in disapproval. \n\n\"Now now! That's not to say he won't be paying his price. We need to give him something to remember us by, so if he ever comes back, he'll hopefully come prepared to offer us a *real* fight!\"\n\nThe kids crow like roosters again, and Pan grabs me and spins me around. He's holding both of my hands down onto the floor, and I can only imagine what they're about to do to me. \n\n\"Take his hand, Rufio, our prize, and his incentive to come back and reclaim it!\" \n\nRufio steps out in front of me, and he's now wielding a dull looking axe. He lines it up with my right hand, preparing to strike, but Pan interrupts.\n\n\"No! *The left hand.* That's the one he was holding his piece with.\"\n\n***BANGARANG!***\n\nThat little fucker. If they let me go then they're making a mistake, because I swear this won't be the last time they see Captain James Hook. \n\n____\n\n***Chapter 2 is up over at***\n/r/BeagleTales \n\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Cats live for fifteen to twenty years, mice for only three. Jerry III is dying and must explain to his son the multigenerational rivalry between the Jerrys and the local house cat and why the tradition must go on.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Despite being two and a half years old, Jerry the Third stood proud and erect, holding his toothpick-fashioned walking cane in the air. The small cavern in this chamber of the intricate mousehole tunnel system was more than enough space for him to draw on the wooden wall while his son Jerry the Third Jr watched on.\n\nOn the wall, he’d drawn a crude scribble of a cat with demon horns. It was a very ugly cat. Using his cane, he made sure to point out the evil horns, then the cat’s sharp claws, and ending with his big mean face. Jerry Jr needed to see the enemy he was up against.\n\nTurning away from his son, Jerry the Third used the broken piece of chalk in his other hand to write in big bold letters, **TOM**. This was the formidable rival that had plagued the Jerry family for countless generations - an entire three generations now, in fact. Jerry the Third made sure to emphasize this by mimicking an angry, scary face with outstretched claws. The effect was slightly diminished because he didn’t actually have claws.\n\nAfter that, he used a piece of ripped paper to wipe away the chalk. Then he drew another picture with the same cat, except now the cat was chasing a mouse. Jerry pretended to faint. Then he recovered and hurriedly erased the drawing. With a quick flourish of his hands, this time he drew the same cat and mouse, but now with the mouse chasing the cat.\n\nJerry somehow stood prouder than he already was and held his cane out in front of him like it was a fine rapier. With a few deft slashing motions, he showed Jerry Jr exactly how to deal with the big bad cat. His swordsmanship, a skill honed from years of cat-fighting, was a source of great pride.\n\nFor the remainder of his lesson, he showed how to avoid mouse traps, call for help from the family dog, and escape from certain death in many wildly different ways. With a final slash of his cane, he set the toothpick on the ground and sighed, shaking his head. Years of grief, pain, and sorrow flashed across his eyes for the briefest moment, and he slumped his shoulders wearily. Even giving this demonstration was taking its toll on the old mouse who had spent his entire life fighting.\n\nSuddenly, his ears perked up as they caught a faint sound. Jerry the Third jerked his head up and squinted suspiciously at Jerry Jr. With a few stomps over to where his son was watching, the old mouse made a quick grab with his hands. Alas, it was just as he had feared! Jerry Jr had taped hand-drawn eyes to his face, and under his mask, he was soundly asleep.\n\n---\n\nr/OracleOfCake ^for ^inconsistent ^stories", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you're her imaginary friend.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I never should have gotten in the car with Paul. I knew he'd been drinking a bit that night, but I thought that he'd be ok to get us home, it was just a few blocks from the bar. The last thing I remember was us screaming as he swerved off the road and tumbled down a hill, a sharp pain in my neck, then... Nothing.\n\nI woke up in a pastel pink room. A little girl was staring at me with wide eyes. \"Hi Mister! I've never seen you before, what's your name?\"\n\nI backed away slowly. \"Uh, I'm Mike. Listen, kid, I'm not sure how I got here. Where's your mom?\"\n\nShe smiled at me. \"Mama's downstairs. You're just in time for the tea party! Mr. Snowball and and Mrs. Grizzly are already here.\". She walked over to a little table, where a stuffed tiger and teddy bear were sitting in front of plastic plates. She sat down at the table and patted the empty seat next to her. \"You can sit over here.\"\n\nI walked over reluctantly. \"Ok, but... What is your name again?\"\n\nShe stuck out her hand. \"I'm Sara. Nice to meet you Mr Mike!\"\n\nI shook her hand gingerly. It was strangely warm. \"Hi Sara. Look, your mom might not like my being here. I should go talk to her. I don't even know how I got here.\"\n\nShe giggled. \"Mama never minds any of my friends. I think she's coming here now anyway. I'll introduce you!\"\n\nShe ran over to the doorway with my hand still in hers. A woman was walking into the room with a plate of muffins and a pitcher of milk. She looked strangely familiar.\n\n\"Mama, mama, meet my new best friend.\"\n\nThe woman smiled and set the tray on the table. \"Oh, a new best friend huh? What happened to Mr. Timmy?\"\n\n\"Mr. Timmy told me he had to go for a while, but made me promise to be a good girl for Mama and Daddy. This is Mr. Mike!\"\n\nThe woman looked up and stared right through me. I stood there, stunned. She looked just like my daughter. But my daughter was only a few years older than Sara... A sense of dread crept into my stomach.\n\n\"Mr. Mike, huh? Your grandpa was named Mike too. \" A tear trickled down her face. \"Well you tell Mr. Mike not to eat too many muffins, and to be nice to you, ok?\"\n\nI swallowed hard. \"Will do, Amanda,\" I whispered. She turned to go. \"Will do.\"", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "There exist five universes, each one tentatively connected to the others. Each universe is defined by the ABSENCE of one of the five elements; Earth, Water, Air, Fire & Magic. Our universe is the one without magic.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/68gmiy/humanity_the_warriors_without_magic_part_2/) | [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/68ho7c/humanity_the_warriors_without_magic_part_3/) | [Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/68jcry/humanity_the_warriors_without_magic_part_4/)\n\n---\n\nThe first to come were the ones that wanted our fire. They came from a sinkhole in the ocean that our scientists determined to be a mechanism much like a wormhole. Then came the ones that wanted our Earth. They crashed into our planet on a thousand meteorite-like vehicles made of a substance unknown to our universe. And at last, the ones who wanted our air and the ones who wanted our water. They came together from portals that eviscerated our poles. One for the south pole, the other for the north. Each had accomplished feats that had left our scientists baffled. And what was even more troubling--they all resembled humans.\n\nWe had tried greeting the ones who wanted our fire. We had sent them presents, precious metals, and the welcoming smile of our most expert convoys. They retaliated with a tsunami that wiped out Japan. It was magic, real magic. Something we had previously thought only existed in Hollywood and cartoons. With a few incantations, they could manipulate the water, the earth, even the air that we breathed. But they could not touch fire. So we gave them what they wanted. Napalm, incendiary bombs, hellfire missiles. They wanted our fire so bad? I hoped they like our gifts.\n\nThings were desperate but humanity was always at its best when pushed to the edge. Then came the Earth-Takers. At first, we had thought they were here to aid us in the invasion. They seemed enemies to the Fire-Takers and as the old saying goes--*the enemy of my enemy...* But though they were quick to attack each other, they were even quicker to attack us. These new aliens, they wanted our earth. So we gave it to those bastards with steel-tipped bullets, titanium-plated tanks, and a kinetic bombardment of tungsten launched from our satellites.\n\nBy the times the portals opened in the north and south poles, we already knew what to do.\n\nThese aliens looked like us but that was where the similarities ended. Everything they had ever wanted they had accomplished through magic. What would've taken humans years to do, they could simply chant and incantation to do so.\n\nThank God we never fell into the folly of magic. They have no idea what it means to move mountains by hand, to conquer the skies armed only with dirt and stone, to create the greatest weapons in our known universe because we were pushed that far into the corner. Aliens this weak would never snuff out humanity.\n\nThat I promise you.\n\n---\n\nMichelle's pen stopped at the period. The walls around her shook. Bits of dirt crumbled from the ceiling onto her desk. The lights swayed, dancing the shadows around her. She had spent all night on this letter. It was the last one she would ever write and the first aimed at humanity's next generation, the generation of soldiers who had never experienced an alien free Earth.\n\n\"Michelle,\" came a voice from behind.\n\nShe turned to see her First General, Paxon, his feet together, shoulders stiff, and arms held to his head in salute. They had started the Resistance together when the governments crumbled and countries fell. At first, it had simply been a way to quell their anger as the other aliens fought for lands rightfully theirs.\n\nBlow a hole in a supply chain. Sabotage key communications. Small-scale things. But just as the aliens had done, she had underestimated humanity's grit. A million calls, e-mails, texts flooded her servers and as she strung them all together, the Resistance was born.\n\n\"At ease, General,\" she said.\n\nPaxon lowered his arm. \"Commander Gladstead, the Earth-Takers are approaching from the North in war balloons. Initial scouts report a tornado of fire dragged behind them.\"\n\nMichelle smiled at her friend. \"*At ease*,\" she said. \"Commander Gladstead? You sound like a grunt.\" She had always hated that title--commander. In a previous life, she was a pre-school teacher and now, men of the highest positions of power all reported to her.\n\nHer friend's shoulder dropped. \"As you command, Michelle.\" But this he said with a crescent grin. He knew how power annoyed her.\n\nShe ignored his smile. \"How are we holding up against the Fire-Takers?\"\n\n\"Still at a stale-mate, but not for long. We're almost out of missiles and our soldiers on the ground are being swallowed by the Earth itself.\"\n\nMichelle nodded. Not good news, but good enough. \"And at our East and West?\"\n\n\"The others are approaching. Their scouts are already here with their armies soon to follow.\"\n\nShe chuckled. Victory was always so bittersweet. \"Paxon,\" she said, \"get out of here. Tell everyone not in combat to do the same.\"\n\nHe didn't move. He pressed his lips together and stared at Michelle, humanity's commander, the last bastion of their old world, his friend. \"Come with me,\" he said, pleaded.\n\n\"We don't fool magic,\" Michelle said, a grin parting between her lips. \"They all came knowing full well that this is a trap and that's because the bait is just too good to pass off. Look at that, Michelle from podunk Oshkosh, Wisconsin, the greatest military asset in the world. Not bad, eh?\"\n\nPaxon coughed out a chuckle. He took a small breath and gritted his teeth. \"Commander, it's been an honor.\"\n\n\"Don't worry, General, I'll show them just how high the price is for the Resistance Commander.\"\n\n\"Yes ma'am.\" The general straightened up, every one of his muscles stiff. He jabbed his forehead with his hand and returned Michelle the sharpest salute she had ever seen. Without another word, he left.\n\n\"Give 'em hell, General,\" Michelle whispered to the back of his head. She watched even as he turned the corner and disappeared into the underground corridors of their bunker. \n\nDrops of water followed him out.\n\nThe ground shook again. Another aftershock, another earthquake. Michelle stared at her letter. She nodded and put pen to paper.\n\n---\n\nWe are about to unleash the deadliest weapon humanity has ever conceived. We call it the hydrogen bomb. It is the combination of every single one of our elemental powers. The blast will consume their armies and leave their bases defenseless and when that happens, I have a single selfish request. Take everything from them. Go through their portals, their sinkholes, their spaceships and show them the true horrors of the war they have bestowed upon us.\n\nLong live humanity, the warriors without magic!\n\nMichelle Gladstead. Commander of the Resistance.\n\n---\n\n---\n\n/r/jraywang. 2 new WP stories daily. If I continue any WP it'll be there and I'll give you bonus stories just for being my reader! What more can you want :D?\n\nEdit: Thanks for the gold! I don't think I've ever completed such a long story within a single day. You guys have pushed me in such a great way. Thank you all for your support! Hoorah my friends.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " In an alternate reality JK Rowling died writing The Deathly Hallows and requested George RR Martin finish the book. He accepted and takes over at the Battle of Hogwarts with no instruction on how it's supposed to end.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "George got a call from Martha at Bloomsbury only two days after he turned in the final manuscript of *Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows*, which Martin advised calling *Harry Potter and the Dawn of Night*, mostly due to how he had written it.\n\n\"Hullo, Martha,\" he said.\n\n\"Hi, George.\" Her tone was Splenda-sweet, and George knew instantly something was off.\n\n\"Oh, you don't like the book.\"\n\n\"It's not that--\"\n\n\"Fantastic. I take all this valuable time off working on book six, only for you people to turn around and tell me it's garbage.\" He had been making some scrambled eggs. He slammed the bowl down on the counter. \"I can't wrangle with you wardens of art at the moment. I understand I wrote something perhaps more complicated ethically than Jo would have, but I think she'd find the tone really matches how her characters have matured into adulthood.\"\n\n\"I agree with you in spirit,\" the editor said, carefully. \"However, do you believe it was necessary to have a Slytherin student effectively addicted to killing?\"\n\n\"No battle is fun without a blood-monger.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't think our book's fan base will be invigorated to learn that Hermione is gutted by a brand new character when she goes to find Ron and is left to die. Or that when Ron found her the new student--\" she paused, apparently to find the right line \"'spilled open Ron's jugular in a thick spray of arterial scarlet', nor that Ron then 'collapsed, reaching for Hermione's still fingers, but not quite able to reach. They lay that way until the staff began the grim job of rounding up bodies, in the morning.' I mean, these are two of the primary characters. They just... died.\"\n\n\"As people do,\" George said, sagely.\n\n\"Listen. Today I would really like you to review your draft and reconsider what points you could revise.\" George scoffed, offended, but the editor continued relentlessly, \"These people aren't wanting to read a George R.R. Martin book, you know? They're hoping for a sweet and wholesome conclusion where Harry Potter's friends aren't murdered by a power-hungry sociopath. Additionally, since this is technically a children's book, I think we'll need to remove both sex scenes.\" \n\n\"Both?\"\n\n\"Both, George.\"\n\n\"Can I at least get a fade to black?\" he asked, even though those were super lame and the domain of cop-out writers. No. George did not flinch when it came to life's many and varied fluids.\n\n\"Probably not.\" There was still a smile in her voice. \"Okay, George? Does that all make sense?\"\n\n\"I suppose.\" He stirred his scrambled eggs viciously. \"I don't see why you would ask me to write it if you didn't want it to *sound* like me.\"\n\n\"Surely you can try a voice switch. Pretend you're an actor putting on a new accent.\"\n\nGeorge R.R. Martin hung up the phone and growled to his empty kitchen, \"I don't *use* accents.\"\n***\nGeorge skimmed a few pages of the draft edits he had received from Martha. He had cut out perhaps too much of the boring magic bits, except to give that Longbottom boy a flaming sword, but he needed a good redemption moment, George felt.\n\n>Neville stood on the edge of the wall, staring grimly at the roving army of the dead ten thousand strong ***(really?? there's no legion of the undead in HP, George! (well, technically there is the Inferi army, but I know you had NO idea they existed, so you can't pretend that's what you meant.))*** below him, like a boiling sea of ants, just as relentless and hungry for war. He unsheathed his sword called Death Eaters' Bane, its pommel a snarling lion with red-jeweled eyes. It had been his father's sword. Perhaps if Frank Longbottom had been carrying Bane when the Lestrange fell upon him that bleak night, he would be alive to pass his sword onto his son himself.\n>\n>***I appreciate the tension but we said you can't write your own backstory. You get a little carried away.***\n\nThe next passage was the only critique George agreed with.\n\n>Dumbledore turned his wand on one of the Slytherin students, who had just sent a first-year Hufflepuff, running for her life, into an early grave. The raw heat of his anger locked the child in place and he raised his wand, eyes red and mad with fury, like a bear who's just seen its cub murdered.\n>\n>\"That,\" Dumbledore murmured, \"was a very poor choice indeed.\"\n>\n>He performed a rending curse and the boy split open and scattered across in the dining hall, his bones clinking dully against the stone.\n>\n>The headmaster hurried away to the rest of the battle.\n\nThis time Martha's note read simply: ***DUMBLEDORE DIED ALREADY. You can't bring him back just to kill him again. And he wouldn't murder a student like that...***\n\n\"Wait,\" George said to himself. \"Really?\" He double checked his notes. That seemed to be from the part Jo wrote. He always told himself he'd get around to reading that, but why bother when his publisher gave him such a good summary already.\n\nWhen he finished reading, most of the manuscript seemed solid. Martha, it seemed, was grossly overreacting. For example, Martha did not care for Harry removing Voldemort's head at the end. She explained that it would make more sense for his old age and the wrongness of his being to make him simply disappear.\n\nGeorge rolled his eyes. \"What kids don't like a good bit of beheading?\" And besides, it would be reckless to use a rule that so readily eschews physics. George was a man of realism, after all. He did not put things in books that weren't *feasible*.\n\nAnd then, of course, he ended with the respective love interests finally bedding. Any story about bodies and fervor must acknowledge the softer side of if. Martha had struck out the whole scene of Ginny crying over her dead brothers and then leaping into Harry's bed shortly afterward.\n\nBelow it she wrote only the words, ***no no NO George. Not appropriate!***\n\nGeorge called Martha up when he finished reading. When she answered, wearily, he said, \"What if just Ron dies? Would that be okay?\"\n\n\"And the sex scenes.\"\n\nGeorge was quiet for a long moment.\n\n\"*George*,\" she said, sternly. \"You promised Jo you'd write *her* book, not *your* book.\"\n\nHe whined like a child, \"Gods, you make everything so much worse,\" and hung up on her. When he calmed down, he would take all the good bits out of it. \n\nFor now, it was time to go to his file on *The Winds of Winter* and rewrite the same sentence over and over again for a few hours. Surely that would count as progress.\n***\n/r/shoringupfragments\n\nThanks for reading. :)\n\n**I posted [a brief satirical excerpt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6xsruw/wp_in_an_alternate_reality_jk_rowling_died/dmiduq6/) from George's version of the story. Thanks for reading!**\n\nETA: The conversation that finally makes George quit the project\n\nG: (angrily) Look, I'm never going to win a Hugo off this thing with Jo's underdeveloped ideas and predictable plots.\n\nM: Well, Jo's ideas had no problem [beating yours out for a Hugo before](https://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/28vc30/til_that_george_rr_martins_a_storm_of_swords_lost/).\n\nG: \\*rage quits*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Your pointless superpower is that you know how many people’s lives you save with your actions. One day, at a Subway, you tell the cashier you want your sandwich on Italian bread, and you’re suddenly informed that you just saved five billion people.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“We’re out of flatbreads.”\n\n“Fuck,” I mutter. “What do you have?”\n\n“Italian.”\n\n“Just Italian?”\n\n“Yeah.”\n\nI check my watch. There’s only fifteen minutes left on my break. “Whatever. Italian it is.”\n\n*Five billion.* The voice states it plainly. It comes sometimes, just random numbers. *One. Eleven.* I don’t pay too much attention to it, but recently it's been speaking almost every time I do something.\n\n“Sorry about this,” the teenager says. “But it’s Subway. What can you expect?”\n\n“Eat fresh, right?”\n\nI walk out. Mark is there, sitting on the sidewalk with his sign. He looks a bit cleaner than normal today.\n\n“Sorry, Mark. I don’t have any change today.”\n\n“That’s okay. Enjoy your sandwich anyways!”\n\n“I’ll try to.”“You don’t sound too happy about it.”\n\n“Yeah. All they had had was Italian. The worst.\"\n\n“The worst! When I was a kid and my mom would give me money for lunch, I would run to the pizza parlor and get a pizza sub on Italian.”\n\n“A pizza sub? That sounds good.”\n\n“It is,” he says wistfully, looking at my sandwich. I look down at it. It does look long, at the least, and I can only imagine what a day is like for Mark, watching people walk out with their sandwiches, waiting so he can cobble together just enough change to get his own.\n\n“Here,” I say. “I’ll eat a big dinner.”\n\n“Oh, no, I can’t do that, kid. You need to eat.”\n\n“So do you. Really.” I drop it in his lap.\n\nHe looks at me and smiles. “Thanks, kid. You don’t know how much it means to me.”\n\nI nod, and walk away. Soon, the incident fades from my memory, just another lost coin in the fountain of my mind.\n\n\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\n\n“Now we have Earth,” the Chairman says. “Earth is an interesting case. They are headed for extinction in twelve cycles, so we could wait to attack, but by then it may be depleted.”\n\n“Their depletion rate is that rapid?”\n\n“The prevailing species there seems to be amongst the most careless of all we have observed. Agent 614, what did you observe there on your mission?”\n\nAgent 614 nods. “The depletion rate is as we projected. The species is careless and wasteful, and quite dim as well. But…”“What? Spit it out, 614.”\n\n“They seem to rank high on the compassion scale. I know that doesn’t matter much, but…” Agent 614 pauses, reminiscing on the sandwich. “I would recommend we don’t attack.”\n\nThe Chairman looks at 614, wondering what has gotten into his most ruthless agent. “Okay, then. Earth will be spared for now…”\n\n\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\\_\n\n If you want to read more by me, I started a subreddit, [r/penguin347](https://www.reddit.com/r/penguin347), and I will be posting some stuff there! Thanks for reading. ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You decide to prank your newborn kid by having him read Harry Potter series and convincing him it's real and that he is a wizard as well. You fake a Hogwarts letter, drive him to King's Cross station and wait for the moment he crashes into the pillar. He goes straight through.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I slept on the sofa again last night. It's easier to pretend they're still here, that way. That Maria never left me, we just argued and that she's lying up there in our bed, and in the morning we'll sort out our differences over a cup of tea.\n\nThat's what I do. I make two cups of tea in the morning. Sometimes I even pour a glass of orange for Mark, but in truth, it's harder to pretend he's still here.\n\nBecause I *know* he's gone.\n\nIt was just a prank, you know. Mark fell in love with the books. I started reading them to him when he was six. A bit young maybe. It was Mark that believed they were real. There was no deception on my part, not at that time. But, in the way kids so willingly believe in Santa, he believed in Harry and Hogwarts and all of it -- believed it was all real. Why not *let him* believe it, at least for a while? Fuck, I know what it's like to be an adult in a world without any magic. \n\nIt sucks. \n\nSo yeah, I let him believe. I started to encourage him, even. I'd tell him about how a news event was really to do with the Ministry of Magic, or some such. But that most muggles didn't understand, and thought it was just an unusual storm. That only him and me knew the truth. \n\nThe books had a good moral. So what was the harm in pretending?\n\nBy the time he was nine... Maria wanted me to explain it to him. That it was just a book, and that J. K. Rowling wasn't an archivist of magical affairs, but the writer of this made up fantasy world.\n\n*I couldn't.* \n\nI just didn't want to burst his bubble. Later, as he got older... I admit I got something of a kick out of it. Like, when I faked the letter. *Ah, shit*. This is tough to talk about. When I faked the letter, I did everything I could not to burst out laughing when he exploded into our room and shared his thrilling news. \n\nMaria just glared at me.\n\nIt was my idea to take him to the station. I was going to show him... yeah, through a practical joke, I was going to demonstrate to my son, that none of it was real. It was going to be both hilarious, but also kind of tragic, when he ran into the pillar. I had the camera ready, you know. Because I'm a complete and utter twisted fuck up. I wanted to capture his face. To show his future girlfriends. His future wife.\n\nI'm so fucking sorry Mark.\n\nThe day came. He dressed up in all his garbs and was so excited about quidditch and the wand and the alley, and all the fucking rest of it.\n\nHe ran face first into the pillar.\n\nAnd he slipped away. Straight through to the other side.\n\nYeah.\n\nI got a picture as his head thudded against it.\n\nAs it hit the ground.\n\nI didn't get a picture of the blood pooling around his uniform. Cause I'd realised, as my finger clicked the trigger the first time, that...\n\nMaria blamed me, of course. Hell, I blamed me -- it was my fault, so of course I did. *I do.*\n\nEvery day is a battle now, to not follow him into that other realm.\n\nI miss you, Mark. \n\nAnd I love you like Dobby loves socks.\n\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Two warriors engage in battle. One with the power to move superhumanly fast, and the other with the ability to slow down time. They're both a little confused when it seems like their powers don't seem to be working.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Annnnnnnd stop right there,\" the man said, snapping open his pocket watch. Reality snapped and bucked at his control, but after a few lethargic jerks, he stepped out of time.\n\nHe stepped forward lazily and walked through the crowd in front of him, approaching the tower in the distance. Lightning crackled less like a force of nature and more as a languid constant, a long line of fire piercing the sky.\n\nHe wasn't here for the Ordeal, he was here for something else.\n\n\"Uh... What the hell?\"\n\nChronos paused, flicking his eyes down to his watch, then back towards one of the heroes he'd left behind.\n\nTheir eyes met, and Chronos blinked, slipping the chain around his watch to keep it from closing.\n\n\"I...\" the hero said, and Chronos cocked his head to the side, squinting at him. \n\n\"How are you moving?\"\n\n\"How are you moving!?\" The hero hissed, not that sound travelled fast enough for him to hear, Chronos could read lips, and the hero slammed himself forward. A strange blur effect, Chronos noted, a bit of heft to his eyes, a glow hidden underneath of the surface.\n\nA power to counteract his. A problem.\n\nChronos had never cared for problems, and problems rarely bothered him for long.\n\nBut this one, this one might be different.\n\nThe hero raced to his side. It was awkward, seeing someone that fast kept in the slow time, but Chronos nimbly stepped to the side as he ran by at a more human speed.\n\nThe hero slid to an awkward halt a few meters down the line, and then braced himself. Time rippled under the strain of the watch being open, and Chronos ignored it. He'd already slipped to the worlds between worlds where he drew power from, and their whispers couldn't claim him.\n\n\"Can't let you get near that facility,\" the hero said, looking at the watch. Unknown capabilities, but suicidal zealotry.\n\nChronos hated career heroes.\n\n\"Then, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to remove you. I need access to that secure room.\"\n\nThe hero cracked his knuckled and slammed his feet against the ground. A cloud of dust that would've been less pretty if it didn't unfurl in that strange place in between time, where seconds melted into minutes.\n\nIt didn't stop Chronos from taking the first blow to the face when the speedster abruptly sped up even faster.\n\nThe second one caught him across the chest, his suit distorting with a splash of black from the speedster's painted armor. The third caught him across the knees and the fourth---\n\nThe fourth didn't matter, because his reaction time kicked in.\n\nHis hands clenched around his watch, and reality screeched under the power of it and time slammed shut into a deeper cooler time, where entropy crawled to a halt.\n\nWhich just barely let him duck the second blow, and slam his free hand into the speedster's gut. Then up with the elbow into his chin, spin around the next blow, and drive the heel of his boot into the speedster's spine.\n\nThe watch bucked once under the strain, and time slid at a normal speed, slipping out of his control, and the speedster went flying. Head over heels, his speed warring against the aberrations done to physics, limbs locked together.\n\nThe other heroes scattered around, confused, trying to figure out exactly where the strange man had gone, then stared at the speedster.\n\nChronos grinned at them, waving jauntily, then frowned.\n\nThe watch-man brought a hand to his face and tasted blood. His watch hand clenched, and time stilled again.\n\nHe spat on the ground as bullets whizzed by his position, rattling out of guns in slow motion, like pretty pebbles throw through jelly.\n\nA blink, less than a heart beat, and Chronos stared at the fist as it whirred closer to his head than he'd ever seen it. A killing move, at that speed.\n\nHeroes could kill, if they wanted to.\n\nChronos smiled down against the hero, and clenched down on his mechanism.\n\nThe watch face cracked. The hands stopped in place, with only the urgent ticking of the gears inside to tell him that it was still working.\n\nToo hard on this model. He'd have to try and figure out how to overcome the limitations of the design. The beautiful equations written across the fabric of space in the hall without meaning.\n\nHe'd get another one. He always would.\n\nThe hero's eyes went wide, or rather, started the muscular contractions to make them go wide.\n\nEven speed faltered against the power of a stopped clock.\n\nNow, it was time to take care of his problem so he wouldn't have anyone chasing after him after all.\n\nHe reached into his coat.\n\nThe speedster deserved a more personal touch.\n\nChronos drew his pistol, pointed it against the hero's head, and pulled the trigger. The chemical reaction played out on a scale of minutes instead of instants, but he was nothing but patient, listening to the slow tick of the watch thrashing about against strained gears in his hand.\n\nHe wrenched it away when the bullet just started to dig into his flesh, a strange paradox of speed against the background of stillness.\n\nHe spun the gun in his hand, wiped it off with a cloth, and examined it for damage. Nothing. Impeccable as always.\n\nThen he turned away, not wanting to see the first moment of fear starting to trickle across the hero's face. It wasn't good to think about those things for long.\n\nIt'd be fifteen minutes, by his own time, before the bullet would splatter against his skull.\n\nEnough time to get to where he needed to go.\n\nEnough time to order flowers for a funeral.\n\n---------\n\nFor more like this, click here! I write lots of super stuff over here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " During a bank robbery you're surprised when the criminals seem to recognize you and retreat in fear. Only later do you learn that your high school sweet-heart now runs a global crime syndicate and has you placed on a \"No Harm\" list. You decide to pay them a visit after all these years.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It's amazing how much people change after high school. Chard Burkheart was the star quarterback in high school, the most popular guy in school. Now he works at a gas station with a pot belly and no hair. Dave Spellerman went from bullied nerd to Internet billionaire. All that time spent on a computer really paid off for him. \n\nAnd then there's Rosalyn \"Roz\" Churchill went from my childhood friend to my high school flame to leader of the criminal underground. That one was definitely a curveball.\n\nAll I wanted to do was use the ATM. Then some thugs in ski masks bust in and hold me at gunpoint, threatening to shoot me if they didn't open the register. I thought it was all over until the weirdest damn thing happened. See, one of the guys took my wallet and started pocketing all my cash. But when they saw my driver's license, this tough, beefy criminal starts freaking out. \n\n\"It's him! It's the guy on the \"No Harm\" list! We just held Mike Peterson at gunpoint!\" \n\nOne of the other guys grabbed my wallet, looked inside, and just froze. \"Oh shit,\" he said. \"If Roz finds out, we're fucking dead!\" So the thugs just drop my wallet on the ground and pulls some money out of his pocket. He hands it to me and tells me \"please don't tell Roz. It was a mistake, honestly!\" Then they ran out of there as fast as they could. And I was left standing there as everyone in the bank looked at me, wondering what the hell just happened. No way it could be *that* Roz...right?\n\nRoz was one of those girls you only think exist in movies. The girl that comes into your life to turn it upside down, that wild and rebellious girl who gets you to loosen up and enjoy life. She did ever since we were kids and when high school came around I gathered up the courage to ask her out. We dated for a few years but when college rolled around, we realized we were heading separate ways in life. So we broke up, very amicably, and eventually lost touch. It wasn't until I started tracking her down that I realized she had even come back to town. \n\nFinding her location was surprisingly easy. I drove into the shadier part of town and started asking around. Whenever I said her name, their faces would get deathly pale. Some just ran away, terrified for their lives. The ones who didn't filled me in. Apparently, Roz is basically the queen of some massive criminal organization with influence all over the world. She's basically the queen of crime. No one even jaywalks without getting her permission. Those who disobeyed her had a habit of disappearing. \n\nI couldn't believe it. Roz, some evil mastermind? She was one of the sweetest people on the planet. No way she was some sort of super mafia boss. As I dug deeper, I learned that she apparently put me on a \"No Harm\" list. Though it wasn't much of a list as I was apparently the only one on it. None of her old friends or even her family made it on the list (which wasn't surprising considering the strained relationship she had with her parents). Roz decreed that anyone who tried to harm me in any way was to be killed. After a little more digging, I finally found what I was looking for- the address of her headquarters.\n\nSo I here I was, standing outside of some abandoned looking warehouse, about to meet my criminal ex-girlfriend. All in all, not how I expected to spend my Saturday. I walked to the entrance and some big bouncer looking type stopped me. \"Sir, I'm gonna half to ask you to leave.\"\n\n\"Look, I'm here to see Roz, she's an old friend of mine and-\" Without warning, the guy started walking towards me. He reached for a gun and cocked it.\n\n\"Sir, no on sees the boss. Now, please leave or I will *make* you leave.\"\n\nI put my hands up defensively and shouted \"My name is Mike Peterson! Please, I just want to talk to Roz!\"\n\nThe guy's face looked pale and he backed up immediately. \"Mike Peter- my apologies sir, I didn't know!\" He then got on his knees and started begging. \"Please, *please* don't tell the boss about this! I wouldn't have done it if I had known who you were!\"\n\n\"Uh, sure,\" I said, wanting to move this along as quickly as possible before it got more awkward. \n\nThe guy got up and walked back to the door, holding it open for me. He was sweating now, his facing showing pure terror. \"Please, sir, after you.\" I steeled myself for what would happen next and walked in.\n\nI expected a lot of things. But I didn't expect to see Roz sitting on a golden throne atop a massive pile of money.\n\nThe guard approached the pile and said \"Ma'am, Mike Peterson has come to speak with you.\"\n\nRoz looked like she was in intense thought about something but once she heard my name she turned her attention to me, her face beaming with joy. \"Mikey! Oh my gosh, it is you!\" She slid down the money pile and gave me a massive hug. \"I missed you so much. You look good. Gosh, what's it been, 10? 12 years?\"\n\n\"Yeah, just about. I see you've been...busy,\" I said, motioning to the pile.\n\n\"Oh, yes, it's been a great quarter. But with the upcoming expansions I expect to see some massive improvements. Come on, let's catch up.\" With that, Roz took my hand and led me to an elevator. She pushed a button and we went down. \n\nTurns out the place was way bigger than I thought. Underneath the warehouse were greenhouses for pot, crates full of guns, and tables of people counting stacks of $100 bills. She even had a private jet down here. As we walked through warehouse, Roz told me all about how she ended up here. Selling pot to pay for college, which became a lucrative business. She hired some people to help and the operation grew to selling illegal imports, from Kinder eggs to assault rifles. The money she earned helped pay for high-tech equipment to set up other branches of her \"business\" all around the world. Plenty of gangs and mafias were against her taking over but they were either taken down or forced to join. In just over a decade, Roz became the criminal mastermind of the world. She even had enough power to influence government policies and could even control the elections. She had become the shadow government ruling the world behind the curtain.\n\n\"So after cementing my authority,\" Roz continued. \"I decided I should use my newfound power for good. And because of that, the world is a safer place. Crime is dropping every year, Mike. Sure, some crazy guy starts murdering people every once in a while. We can't control that. But drug trafficking, armed robberies, even political corruption? That we can control.\"\n\n\"Wow, Roz. I'll admit, your means are...unorthodox. But you've definitely made the world a better place.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Mike,\" she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. \"I always regretted losing touch with you. I know we had to go our separate ways but I always wanted to reconnect with you. That's why I came back, why I put you on the list. I wanted to see you again and catch up. Maybe grab a bite to eat. Like the good old days.\"\n\nI stared into her eyes for what seemed like eternity and I felt like I did in high school all over again. Just me and her, nothing else. I missed this feeling. I missed Roz. \"I'd like that,\" I said finally.\n\n\"Oh, I almost forgot,\" she said. \"I've got another surprise for you.\" She ushered me over to the other side of the room. All I could think about was how little she changed. She was still that spunky girl, carving her own path to save the world. Sure she did it through organized crime but the at least it was organized. She was still that same kindhearted girl I fell in love with all those years ago. \n\nShe led me to a dimly lit room at the far end of the basement level. Inside, bound and gagged, were three men. They looked terrified but Roz was practically beaming with pride. \"So, what do you think?\"\n\n\"Roz, who are these people?\"\n\n\"These are the no good dirty thugs who held you at gunpoint at the bank. I had my men track them down and bring them here to educate them.\" With that, Roz whipped out a handgun and loaded a clip. She pointed it at the one on the left and slowly drifted it across all three of them. \"Now,\" she said. \"Which one of you little shits put a gun to my Mikey's head?\"\n\nOkay, maybe she wasn't the *exact* same kindhearted girl I fell in love with.\n\nEDIT: HOLY FUCKING SHIT I FINALLY STRUCK GOLD! Not gonna lie, I half-assed this story at 2AM and was too tried to proofread it. I honestly thought it was kind of meh but I liked the prompt and I already spent so much time on it so I posted anyway. Guess I'm just too hard on myself. To read more of my work, check out my award-winning novel that I've totally started. It's coming out soonish, I promise!\n\nEDIT 2: I wanted to write part 2 in the comments below but it got really long. So I created a brand new subreddit to post it right [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/mikesonofpeter/comments/81weik/wp_during_a_bank_robbery_youre_surprised_when_the/). Come over to r/mikesonofpeter to read the conclusion to this story. Who knows, maybe I'll write more there?", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Being a hero means not going around making sure everyone knows you're a hero. It means you don't wear a bright flashy outfit, you don't pose for the cameras, and you don't go around telling everyone who you are.\n\nIt also means that sometimes, you have to be willing to do things that others won't. Sometimes it means that you have to do things that will make you hated. Because what you do is more important than your reputation, it's more important than recognition... it's more important than *you*.\n\nWhat I'm about to do, most would call murder. But they don't see what I see. I see someone who calls himself a hero when he's anything but. He's the sort to wear the bright colors, to pose for every photo op, he even has a fan club for kids. For *kids*. But I've seen what he's like when he thinks no one is looking, how he takes joy in hobbling and suffocating innocent people. He has killed more people than any of these so-called \"villains\" he fights. And he needs to be stopped, even if it means being despised for it. That's what a *real* hero would do.\n\nHe calls himself Captain Justice. I know who he really is. Bradley Evans. Captain of his high school football team, valedictorian, sociopath. Always excelled, always succeeded at life, often at the expense of others, people he stepped on or crushed to get ahead in life. Now he's moved on from stepping on classmates to stepping on the good people of this city. No more.\n\nI open the door to his house, lock easily picked. He doesn't have any security system, no guard dog. Why would he need one? He's Captain Justice, and he thinks he's invincible. But every man needs to sleep.\n\nI find his bedroom, with him in his bed. Good. I can make this quick, easy. I bring out my knife. Not a steel knife, mind you, but a ceramic one. I've studied the man enough to see that steel won't pierce his skin, but for some reason, he was cut by a thrown flowerpot on one occasion. Evidently ceramic is some sort of weakness of his. Don't know why.\n\nAs I approach, his eyes open. Damn that super-hearing of his. He lays eyes on me approaching, and speaks not a word. He doesn't ask why I'm here, doesn't give me any \"heroic\" warning, just gets into a fighting stance. Ah well, not so easy after all. Well, if I should die in this fight, so be it.\n\nHe punches toward me with a speed and strength that could shatter bone. I dodge to the side, barely evading him. He reaches for my throat and I jump back, a mere fraction of a second before his fist closes shut with a force that could have instantly crushed my windpipe. Our dance goes on like this, with him attacking and me evading, but I know that I can't keep doing this. If I'm on the defensive, I have to be lucky every time, and he only needs to be lucky once. I need to go on the offense.\n\nI thrust my knife at him, misjudging the distance to him and missing him by inches. He responds with a smirk, seeing the knife and finding it amusing. He then reaches his fist back for a punch and I'm overextended, some part of me knows I can't dodge in time. In desperation, I fall forward, knife held above me.\n\nIt plunges deep into his neck.\n\nFor a moment, we two are frozen there. I am terrified that any movement will spur him to act, that if he even thinks for a single second, this terrible man will surely reach out and end me. But perhaps there is some greater power looking over me, because he does no such thing. He only slumps over backward, wheezing as he struggles for breath.\n\nI don't have any sort of killer ironic line to drop on him at this point, no pithy catchphrase. He may have been a monster, but he was also a man, and no man's death deserves to be treated lightly, even one so terrible as this.\n\nRather than make him suffer, I withdrew the knife from his neck and plunged it into his ear, skewering his brain. His wheezing stopped and he fell silent. I removed my knife and went to the sink to cleanse it, making sure not to leave any fingerprints or any other indication of who I am.\n\nI could breathe again. This nightmare was over. True, there were other nightmares to face, but that could wait until tomorrow. For tonight, I could sleep well, knowing that this man would never again be a blight on this city, never again would he hobble them by doing for them things they should find the capacity to do for themselves, never again would he suffocate them by treating them as a master treats a pet, protecting them and scolding them whenever they do wrong, instead of treating them like men, capable of learning and growing and standing on their own two feet.\n\nTomorrow, the city will wake, and there will be no more Captain Justice, and everyone can begin the healing process, no longer looking to the skies for someone to save them, but looking within themselves. I expect no thanks for this deed. I expect to be hated. But a true hero doesn't care what others think. He only cares that he has made the world a better place.\n\n\n---------------------\n\nThank you for reading! If you're interested in reading more of my works, please check out [this page](https://old.reddit.com/r/CaspianX2/).", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You bought a home filled with cutting edge technology, including a helpful 'smart A.I.' that can do just about anything you ask them to. Unbeknownst to you, there actually is no A.I, the house is just haunted by a really helpful spirit, and they are posing as a program so they don't scare you.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "My wife didn't like the house at first. She said it just creeped her out. She's superstitious. I'm not even a little stitious. I am persistent though. The thought of a totally connected house, as the owners worded it, just wasn't something I felt we should pass up. The installation of smart systems that advanced would have been thousands of dollars, minimum.\n\nI finally convinced her. I credit my bedroom prowess. She doesn't. We were visiting the house for the third time, part of a delicate tug-of-war between this house and literally any other house. I went about it cordially, of course. Cordially but tenaciously. \n\nWe were in the master bedroom when she finally folded. \"Close the door,\" I commanded the house. The door gently closed. \"Turn on some Marvin Gaye.\" I don't even know how they hid the speakers so well. I leaned her back onto the bed and it creaked under our unexpected weight. She shushed me bashfully, nervous about the oblivious realtor waiting downstairs. My hands crept to her hips and up her sides and she fumbled with my belt. And then she stopped me and put a finger to my lips.\n\n\"Not on their bed,\" she whispered with a coy smile. Fair enough. That did seem a little disrespectful to the old couple selling the house. I started to buckle my belt. \"Let's do it,\" she whispered, those seductive eyes fixed on mine. Such beautiful indecisiveness. It's not like we were choosing where to go for dinner... I started to unbuckle my belt again and she rolled her eyes and shook her head. \"The house. Let's do it.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" I eyed her uncertainly, surprised by the effectiveness of my seduction. \n\nShe nodded, a sparkle in her eye. \"You seem sure. Let's buy it.\"\n\nSo we did. \n\nAs cliche as it might sound, happily ever after was awfully close to our truth. We have a kid now, a baby girl. My wife works long hours so I don't need to, and instead I stay at home taking care of the house and of Lily. Being home so much, I've grown used to the house's quirks.\n\nYou can't be too rude when you make a request. Please and thank you at a minimum, and the occasional \"thanks for existing\" doesn't seem to hurt either. Sometimes if you move to a new room too quickly, the system takes a minute to update your location and fulfill your next request. Requests made in anger - no matter how much you follow them with please - tend to be ignored. Doors don't slam. Plates don't fly. And children can't be locked in rooms, even as a joke.\n\nI started lingering outside our daughter's room after putting her to bed. It was like clockwork; once the lights were out and the door was closed, I would hear her quietly step out of bed and pull back the little chair to the tea table play-set. She wasn't nearly as sneaky as she thought she was. Then she would converse for hours, and I would never hear a response.\n\nWhen I would ask in the morning who she was talking to, she would give me that adorable side-eye glance and giggle and tell me she was connecting with the house. \"Completely connected,\" the previous owners words echoed in my ears. Of course, during those hours that she spent connecting, the house would steadfastly refuse to connect with me. I would have to demote myself to the tedious task of turning on the television by hand. Once I even had to turn off the living room lights myself. \n\nI called an electrician finally, unable to find any warranty documentation for the system that the previous owners might have left. My wife laughed and called me spoiled for being frustrated at having to open and close doors myself. \"I told you it would be hard to maintain,\" she said with a roll of her eyes. It really hadn't caused trouble for the first few years but I didn't argue. She didn't understand my struggles. \n\nThe electrician shrugged. \"I don't know what to tell you, buddy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're pranking me.\" He was a grizzled old man with grey hair and a workman's forearms and a no-nonsense attitude. \"There isn't a single smart thing about this house. Dumb as the bricks it's built with.\" He chuckled at his play on words. I paid him for his time and closed the door behind him. \n\n\"Why the heck won't you work, house?\" I asked nobody in particular as I leaned against the door in frustration. I made sure to curate my language to keep it kid-friendly, just in case. Kids always had a knack for lurking in the shadows absorbing curse words like hungry little vacuums.\n\nLily peeked out at me from around the door to the kitchen. \"Be nice to House, daddy,\" Lily said. I stared at her. \"House doesn't like meanies.\"\n\n\"Who is house, Lily?\" She bit her blanket and glanced around nervously and gave me a little shake of her head. \n\n\"You know who House is, daddy. House helps you. House said they just wanted a friend to talk to while they helped out.\"\n\n\"Show me house, Lilian.\" I wasn't asking now. She flinched at the use of her full name.\n\nI was scared. Just as scared as her, probably. I was scared of who might be talking to my daughter and I was scared of my superstitious wife's reaction. The \"I told you so\" would never end. Lily hesitated for a moment and then hesitantly pointed at the wall of the foyer. I heard a dejected sigh from the empty space. \n\n\"Lily,\" I heard nobody whine in a child's voice. \"This was supposed to be our secret.\" Invisible ghost children. Perfect. It did explain a fair number of the house's quirks though. \n\nTears brimmed in Lily's eyes. I looked on in shock. \"Don't cry,\" we said together, and Lily rubbed away a tear. \n\n\"And don't tell mom,\" I urged quietly. I pulled her in for a hug. From the living room, I heard a little giggle and then her favorite television show turn on. \"This can still be our little secret.\"\n\n*****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "When first we set foot on that tarnished land, a scorched sliver of utopia, there was a single word that came to mind:\n\nTragedy.\n\nThe initial scouts were shocked to find remnants of a magical, adolescent species on a planet with no apparent atmosphere--and, upon closer inspection, we discovered that there are traces of an oxegynated layer, churning and sparse, like silent static. A hidden remnant cursed to dance over the remains of what it once shielded from harm. Such is the cruelty of nature.\n\nWe do not know what they would have looked like--our excavation efforts are still underway, but the baked soil is laden with mineral and rock, far too noisy to scan beyond. What we do know is that they died long ago, perhaps before any known species ever lived, before the formation of intergalactic searches and the pursuit of new life. Before our coalitions and technological integrations.\n\nBefore any of us.\n\nThey were alone on a budding planet, clawing their way towards greatness. Ruins of what must have once been structures that reached for the stars, monuments to their own feats--we even found traces of their efforts on an orbiting moon, and have hung the unique tapestries in the Iotian Gallery for all to see. Other debris and strange crafts were found drifting through the system, the scattered hopes and dreams of lonely beings desperate for an answer of any kind.\n\nI like to think they would've been our friends. A guiding hand that knows through toiling experience what it means to fight from the soil to the sky, to deliver themselves into the ceaseless stream of fate and scream, \"*We will be heard!*\"\n\nFor this, we remember them. Not as mysteries, but as mentors. Not for their demise, but for their struggle in an impossibly large and unforgiving void without meaning or sense. To think that they perished unsure of their place in this puzzle is wounding.\n\nAnd yet, even in the still-warm corpse of that tragic planet, not all was lost. Hidden among history, there were microbes, and small, arid flora tucked away in the shadows of whatever came before them. A final testament that, against any odds, not even catastrophe can end the virulent cycle of evolution. A rejection of the end in what little way was possible.\n\nThe dying breath of premature gods.\n\n---\n\n*/r/resonatingfury*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"It's just not the same,\" Ultraman continued, from where he was sitting in an armchair. \"Everyone is so distracted by their phones and their electronics and their doohickeys. Now, back in my day-\"\n\n\"Rime!\" yelled out a voice from the hallway. \n\nRime, Bringer of Frost, Mistress of Winter, and current President of the Federal Confederation of Villainy, let out an exasperated huff. A hero? On a Wednesday afternoon? \n\nShe snapped her fingers.\n\n\"I'm here to- *urp!*\"\n\nUltraman paused in his story. \"Did you say something, Rime?\"\n\nRime gave him an apologetic smile. \"It wasn't me. I think it's from outside. I'll just pop out to see what it is, won't be a moment.\"\n\nShe stepped out of the study and shut the door behind her gently before leaning back on it, taking a deep breath. She could feel the familiar weight of her mask clipped to her belt. It was designed to cover her whole face with dark, jagged crystals, all harsh lines and sharp edges, black ice as twisted and as dangerous as she was supposed to be. She put it on.\n\nRime briskly made her way to the hero she'd flash frozen in a cube of ice in her hallway. She couldn't​ quite make out the mask underneath the murky surface, but the costume was gaudy, the colors garish. She couldn't help but sigh. An amateur, but that was only to be expected - the veterans in the United League of Heroes knew better than to disturb her on Wednesdays.\n\nShe snapped her fingers. \n\nThe cube melted in an instant, freezing water gushing across the floor, draining quietly through the numerous storm drains she'd had installed. \n\nThe hero inside it coughed, a series of violent, hacking sounds, and Rime felt her lips curl into a sneer. She'd only frozen the hero for a minute at best. Newbies nowadays...\n\n\"Rime!\" the hero called - well, wheezed. \"I'm here to-\"\n\n\"Your name?\" Rime said. \n\n\"Stop you- huh?\" the hero faltered. This close, their voice was young, high pitched, still slightly squeaky. \"My... what?\"\n\n\"Your. Name.\" Rime said, enunciating the words clearly. She gestured at the hero's bedraggled costume.\n\nThe hero blinked up at her. \"I'm- I'm Phoenix.\"\n\nRime rolled her eyes. Seriously? \"Let me guess. You had some sort of traumatic incident in your life most likely due to a supervillain, a superhero saved you, and since then your lifelong dream was to become a superhero just like them?\"\n\nPhoenix stared at her, mouth slightly open, as though halfway through objecting but not sure to what.\n\nRime waited a moment. It was only polite.\n\nWhen no response was forthcoming, she continued. \"Let's see if I'm on a lucky streak. Lo and behold, you're one of the lucky few that get usable powers, you realize you have a knack for fire, and you have the brilliant idea to come here to try to get rid of me once and for all because I'm the President of the Confederation and hence must be the worst villain around, and fire, after all, completely negates ice? Or so you'd think, at least?\"\n\n\"Uh.\" said Phoenix.\n\n\"Did you listen at all during class? They teach you this on the first week.\"\n\nThe blush was a dead giveaway.\n\nRime sighed. \"Oh, dear. You went off to find me the moment you got your powers, didn't you? Did you have the costume ready made?\"\n\nIt was disappointing. The quality of fledgling heroes kept dropping with every passing year. There were just too many heroes convinced they were experts on fighting crime after reading a how-to guide on the internet.\n\n\"So, Phoenix,\" Rime continued. \"Usually, as retribution, I'd freeze you in a block of ice and keep you that way until the League realized you're missing, but my afternoon is already fully booked. I need to deal with Ultraman's latest attempt to foil my plans. Do feel free to come back around tomorrow if you fancy being frozen again.\"\n\n\"Ultraman?!\" Phoenix exclaimed, suddenly talkative once more. \"He's like... old, and washed up, and senile! He's not even part of the League anymore!\"\n\nRime had to restrain herself from freezing Phoenix - oh, but how she hated that name - right then and there. \"He's also been fighting crime for more than fifty years,\" she said coldly, \"Which you would know if you actually went to class. And when the League decided he wasn't useful to them anymore, they discharged him without so much as a pension or even a thank you. Fifty years and it meant nothing to them. The League isn't government funded. It runs for profit, and at the end of the day, it cares about money. The League didn't much fancy taking care of an elderly, senile hero... so it let him go.\"\n\nPhoenix gaped at her. It only lasted for a moment. \"The League would never do something like that!\"\n\n\"Ask the League where Ultraman's pension is,\" Rime said. \"Or Wonderlady's, or Crowstorm's, or any of the older heroes for that matter. The League doesn't care. But we at the Confederation remember, and we at the Confederation care - we have a caretaker rotation. The enemy of my enemy and all that, as they say, because the League most certainly hasn't been friendly in its dealings with its older heroes. One might even say it's been quite villainous.\"\n\n\"You're lying!\" Phoenix cried out. \"The League wouldn't do that, and you're just saying it because you're, you're a villain! And evil!\"\n\nRime had lost what little patience she had left for that conversation. \"If that helps you sleep at night, then by all means keep telling yourself that. Just remember to ask yourself why none of the League veterans ever come to challenge me on a Wednesday. Now get out of my lair before I decide I do actually have enough time to freeze you.\"\n\nA wave of her hand sent a barricade of ice slamming up from the floor, a wall of jagged frost that blocked Phoenix from her sight. \n\nRime stepped back into the study a few minutes later. \"Sorry, Ultraman. That took a little longer than I expected...\" she trailed off, finding Ultraman asleep in his armchair.\n\n\"Huh?\" Ultraman grunted, rousing himself. \"Whassat?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" Rime said. \"Sorry for waking you.\"\n\n\"You younglings nowadays, and your nothing.\" Ultraman grumbled. \"It's always nothing with you. Back in my day, we didn't sit around doing nothing, we found ourselves something to do.\"\n\nRime smiled, turning away to hide it. \"I'm sure you did,\" she said. \"I'm sure you did.\"\n\n\"You kids nowadays have it so easy, sitting around all day. Back then, being a hero meant work! We had pride, a real pride in what we did, and...\"", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You, a young scientist have discovered time travel. You think it would be a great idea to go to medieval times, share your knowledge and become king. On your first visit, you meet a king and he introduces himself with a polite fist bump and greets, \"bro you discovered time travelling too?!\"", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? No. Seriously, are you fucking kidding me? \nDo you know how long it took to discover time travel? Actually, don't answer that. I don't care. I'll answer for you: a long fucking time. Like years. Like blood, sweat and tears all coalescing into a single destined moment. \nCause that's what it was, man. Destiny.\nThere's no other way to explain it. Just the single greatest invention in the history of time that, by the way, rewrites the history of time. No biggie. \nYet, here before me, this putz sits on his God damn throne, making his minstrels play Kanye West tunes while I stand slack jawed unaware how the fuck he did it. \nHis face is withered, with scars along the edge of his left cheek. It would look scary but he covers most of his face with a thick beard. As far as royalty goes, he looks like he's had a hard fight for this throne. \nCause that's the terrible fucking thing about time travel: it's never certain. Like, did I invent time travel? And he's just from the future where I've sold patent? Or did he invent time travel and decided to rule a kingdom? \nChrist, I have a headache already. \n\"How?\" I finally mutter. \n\"Same as you broseph. I traveled through time,\" He smiles and brushes a long strand of grey hair out of his face.\n\"But...\" I start to stammer but he cuts me off. \n\"Bro, you want taquitos. I gave them a recipe and you'll never believe how good they taste. Like, all food, bro. We can cook up whatever you want and it'll taste ten million times better because it's not processed and shit. I've lost, like fiften pounds from that alone. I call it the Time Travelers Diet. Patent pending,\" He laughs. \n\"Actually, now that you mention patents...\" Again I get cut off quickly. \n\"What about a chamber maid? They will do ANYTHING you ask.\" \n\"I don't need sex.\" \n\"Everyone needs sex. Real talk, can't lie, the sexually transmitted diseases thing is a bit of a crap shoot. They don't have great meds like we got back home. Every chick you sleep with is basically a bacterial Russian roulette here.\" \n\"Listen,\" I pause because I'm not sure what to call him. I extend my hand, looking for help. He graciously obliges and calls himself King Yeezus. I almost say it out loud but logic takes over and I settle for your highness. \"What century are you from, exactly?\" \n\"Same as yours, bro,\" He smiles. \n\"Ok, what century am I from?\" I question him. Trying to figure out his game. He just smiles. It's an odd smile. The kind you get when you've just said something witty and can't contain your pride. \nThat's when it clicks. \nNo. No. No. No. I find myself saying it out loud. But the King just laughs. \n\"This conversation is a lot more fun on this end,\" He slaps his knees. \"I always wondered when you'd show up. Or should I say when I would show up. Things get fuzzy. Time, man. It's all circular. But don't worry bro. You're going to have a great time. Scary sometimes. But great. Trust me. As you. The older you. Trust me. You're going to run now. Hop in that machine and race to too many places to count. Too many times to track. But something will happen. And you be stranded. Then it's a waiting game. You'll wait decades for me. Going, hell I'll admit it bro, a little mad. But, great news, you definitely won't get an STD for a couple decades yet.\" \n\n ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Microsoft Water, Google Earth, Amazon Fire, Apple Air. Long ago, the four corporations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when Amazon attacked store-based retailers. Only the Avatar, master of all four elements, could stop them, but when the world needed him most, he vanished.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Richard dragged himself up onto the ledge, his boots scrambling against chalky rock; a plume of white rubble careened down the mountainside, glistening in the evening sun. With a last herculean effort, he pulled his legs up over the edge, peeled his rucksack straps off and collapsed onto his back. For a while, he just lay there, sucking in long, laboured lungfuls of air. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and right now, he felt every year in his aching joints.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the black device strapped around his chest, the lights on its circular plate flashing an unsympathetic red. \"We have to get moving if we are to make it before nightfall.\"\n\n\"Come on Lexi, give me five minutes,\" said Richard, as he sat upright and took in the vista. The Serbian mountains in front of him were like the jagged teeth of a saw, their tips covered in a white rust. Below, a vast sapphire oval reflected the peaks looming above it. *Water.* Not owned by a corporation. Not owned by any man. Just like the cold, unregulated air up here. How did people ever take air for granted? For a fleeting moment, his thoughts travelled back to England. He'd never imagined a day when a corporation would be able to buy an entire country.\n\n\"Sir,\" Lexi said, \"you can't set an important reminder and then just expect me to just forget all about it. What do you think I am? Siri?\" The device sounded vaguely disgusted.\n\n\"Lexi, just... *stop*. Look, I'm getting up. Okay?\"\n\n\"I'm pleased to see it.\" Her lights calmed to blue.\n\nWith a great heave, Richard picked up his rucksack and hooked it over his shoulders. He could feel its reluctance on his aching spine.\n\nHe looked up at the imposing mountain above him and let out a puff of air.\n\n\"Your heart rate is back to normal, at least for a man of your age.\" \n\nRichard raised his eyebrows. \"Well that's a relief, I suppose.\"\n\n\"You will be fine, sir. Now, one foot at a time.\"\n\n\n---\n\n\nIt wasn't the tallest mountain in the region, but its peak was one of the more inaccessible. The village on the plateau at the top consisted only of a dozen or so wooden huts. Shacks, really. Their planked walls ran deep beneath the snow that blanketed the ground.\n\nThe first man that saw him had a thin face, dark hair and wore a rather frustrated expression. \n\n\"Hello!\" panted Richard, waving a hand. \"I say, hello!\" \n\nThe man looked around him, presumably to see if any of his friends were about to help. They weren't. He clicked his tongue and approached.\n\nRichard ran a hand through his long, silver hair, pushing it back over his shoulders. \"Hello! My name is Richa-\n\n\"I know who you are. I knew you would come,\" said the man. \"It didn't matter where we took her, you'd have found a way, wouldn't you?\"\n\n\"You know why I'm here?\"\n\n\"Yes. Of course. For Mina, Nikola's grandchild.\"\n\nLexi lit an excited orange. \"So she's here?\"\n\nThe man stepped back, his face aghast. \"What is *that?*\"\n\n\"Her name is Lexi. She's quite harmless, I assure you.\"\n\n\"No! That *thing* is part of the Fire corporation. It's not welcome here!\"\n\n\"*She.* I'm a she,\" said Lexi, flashing an indignant purple.\n\n\"She's been unlocked,\" added Richard. \"Set free from the Fire corp.\"\n\n\"How do we know we can trust? That it doesn't broadcast this information to Fire?\"\n\n\"You have my word. That should be good enough. Now please, I've not slept in three days in order to get here before it's too late; *let me talk to the child*. If she doesn't want to come with me, then I'll leave. Today. But please, I need to see her.\"\n\n\"Your word is *not* good enough. I'm sorry.\" He clicked his tongue twice.\n\nThere was a loud buzzing sound that emanated from somewhere behind Richard. He turned to see a swarm of brown insects hurtling towards him. Locust? No... *Dragonflies.*\n\n\"You shouldn't have come, Mister Branson.\"\n\nThe creatures rapidly engulfed Richard. He swatted them back the best he could, and a handful fell to the ground, but many more were left in the air. He felt their teeth ripping into the flesh on his arms, and felt the warmth of his blood as it ran down them.\n\n\"Richard!\" screamed Lexi. She turned bright red as she pumped out a supersonic frequency at full volume hoping to disrupt the dragonflies. They didn't even seem to notice.\n\n\"Please!\" Richard screamed. \"I'm trying to save us all!\"\n\n\"Us all? You can't even save yoursel-\" \n\n\"Enough!\" came a voice. A new voice, high and confident, that cut through even the buzzing of the swarm. The cloud of dragonflies suddenly lifted from Richard and dispersed into the air.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mister Branson. My papa is *very* protective over me.\" The girl glared at her father, who almost cowered in shame.\n\n\"I'm sorry, my darling, I just-\"\n\n\"Not now, papa. We will talk of it later.\"\n\nRichard's arms were bleeding, but in that moment, he didn't feel the pain. He was too intrigued by what he saw on the ground. He picked up one of the wooden, clockwork dragonflies and held it between forefinger and thumb. Then he looked up at the dark haired girl standing by her father.\n\n\"You made these, Mina?\" he said. \"Incredible. Just... *incredible*. No electricity at all.\"\n\nMina smiled proudly. \"Come, Mister Branson. My people will see to your wounds. Then we will talk over dinner.\"\n \n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n \n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "where the rain itself is holy water, having been blessed long ago by the vampire hunters of Toto.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It hasn't rained in weeks. \n\nI did wonder if it's a scheme by the Vampires, to somehow stop the rain, to leave us helpless. We need its protection now more than ever. The few reports we can get from from overseas tell us that every where else has fallen. We are all that's left. Africa is a big continent and all but it's us against the entire population of the rest of the world. \n\n\nI don't remember the invasion. I don't know where the Vampires came from. I don't know if we will ever be able to go back to a normal world, whatever that was. My parents fled here while I was still a child so I don't remember the country where I was born.\n\n\nThey weren't the only ones of course. News spread quickly of the prophet Toto and his miracle, what the elders call his \"one hit wonder\". The rain is blessed, if even a drop touches a Vampire, they'll fade to dust. As long as we recite the lyrics we will be safe. As long as the drums echo through the night, the ancient melodies will keep the rainwater holy.\n\n\nOf course that's all pointless if it doesn't fucking rain. It's fine for those in the rain forest areas but for those of us stationed out closer to the Sahara, it's more of an issue. We collect as much of it as we can to use during dry spells but it can only last so long. Still, who would have thought that water pistols would be our best weapon against evil.\n\n\nThe Vampires seem wary about the dry spell. There's been a few small attacks but they're hesitant about sending in the cavalry, after last year. The dry spell was even longer and eventually they decided to take advantage. You should have seen it. Hundreds of thousands of vampire bats cascading towards us, transforming once they were close enough. It was enough to make a grown man wet himself.\n\n\nAnd then, as if summoned by Toto himself, huge black rain clouds formed from nowhere. The heavens opened and let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. The water turned them to dust but there was so many of them and so much water that they were turning to sludge beneath our feet. They haven't been as reckless since then.\n\nBut they'll be aware of this dry spell. They're using small attacks to get us to waste our ammo and it's working. They'll attack soon and this time, we may not be so lucky.\n\nEdit: fixed what was pointed out. Also I don't really consider Toto a one hit wonder lol.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The Sol system was an experiment by aliens to determine if life would evolve under hyper hostile physics. Unfortunately, it was forgotten about. Years later, humans are leaving the solar system, only to discover that upon passing an invisible barrier, they essentially gain superpowers.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"First, we mastered the pull of the Earth, forcing our way into space. Those first efforts were nervous. Timid. We were small, and the frontier of the blackness beyond loomed large in our minds,\" Secretary General Venruss took a deep breath, letting a pregnant silence settle upon the billions of viewers. \"We escaped our backyard, laying claim to the moon.\" His hand swept wide, and the camera pulled out to show the gleaming Earth, that glorious ball of blue, white and green, over the horizon of the lunar landscape. \"Then we ventured to the planets beyond.\" The background shimmered and then shifted, showing a glittering city beneath a red sky with a blinking blue dot in the distance.\n\nAnother breath.\n\n\"Today, we leave the neighborhood.\" Again the backdrop behind the Secretary shimmered and shifted, now forming into an enormous grey ship, its exterior all sharp angles. Emblazoned on the side was *UWS Alcubierre* in bold white lettering. Secretary General Venruss was relegated to a small picture within a picture as Fleet Admiral Levinson appeared in the main view. He stood tall, his broad chin making for a stern profile. Steely blue eyes peered out beneath two bushy eyebrows, making him the very picture of a lifelong military man. The honor of leadership had fallen to him, a much sought after prize, earned only through his long history of distinguished service in the United World Defense Force.\n\n\"Thank you Secretary, it is my very great pleasure to lead our fleet to the stars beyond. Humanity has always measured its progress by the forces it has tamed to its ends. First the horse, then steam, then combustion. Now, we unleash the power of space-time itself. Sir, the *UWS Alcubierre* awaits your orders.\"\n\nThe screens swapped, placing the Secretary in the fore, \"Very well Admiral, you are hereby ordered to Alpha Centauri to scout and conduct scientific experiments. All of humanity stands behind you.\"\n\nAdmiral Levinson snapped a neat salute and turned from the camera, issuing the order to launch. There was a scramble of activity as the members of the bridge hurried about their pre-launch tasks. A narrator explained the various procedures and roles and responsibilities of the various crew members as humanity watched in breathless anticipation.\n\nA few minutes later, Adrmiral Levinson turned back to the camera, snapped a final salute and barked out a single word: \"Engage.\"\n\nThen he was gone.\n\n\\---\n\n*ANOMALY ALERT - Project Sol, Interstellar Date 2310.393.123.*\n\n*Trigger: Perimeter Breach. Interstellar Object.*\n\n*Speed: 78.3 Lights and accelerating.*\n\n*Object Origin: Sol.*\n\n*Object Specifications: Manufactured.*\n\n*Detailed Anomaly Alert Report available.*\n\nXy Zix, Left Float Superior studied the report, its cilia twitching in agitation. It contained many firsts, each more concerning than the last. The first anomaly report from Project Sol. The first object to originate from Sol. The first object to breach the ten light barrier. Xy was not opposed to firsts, but, by their very nature, they were somewhat unusual. It took a moment to ponder if firsts must necessarily be clustered together in such a manner. It suspected they must be. One first cascading into others.\n\nIt wondered how far the ripple of a first might be carried before it was swallowed up by the nature of the vast universe. Could a single first fundamentally reorient existence?\n\nSuch a first would be a first indeed. Perhaps even a last.\n\nXy combed through the report, following the standard procedures. Lefts of the Zix Collective was innately skeptical of firsts, particularly ones such as this. In a great many cases, such a first was actually just the first sign of a failing instrument. Measurements could be incorrect, and often than not were when it came to matters such as these.\n\nThat was the importance of procedures. They allowed for the safe extinguishment of common explanations in an orderly manner, providing room for the exotic.\n\nAs Xy proceeded through the standard responses, the veneer of normalcy was slowly stripped away. Initial indications were that the recording instruments were operating within ideal parameters. Secondary indications confirmed that initial indications appeared to be correct. Tertiary indications supplied a degree of certainty that prompted a simple conclusion.\n\nThis required escalation.\n\nXy floated toward Zyy, its float tank companion. Their cilia intertwined and Xy relayed the report and its initial findings. Zyy shared Xy's initial consternation, though its curiosity was immediately piqued in a way Xy considered slightly profane. But that was the way with Right Floats, they were somewhat prone to fancy in a way that Left Floats such as Xy were not. It was part of the science in selecting float tank companions -- compatible and incompatible all at once. It ensured that they would agree only on the matters of the greatest import.\n\nIn this case, there was little debate before consensus was achieved. The Sol Anamoly was worth immediate and serious study. They would pass on their findings from their sub-tank to main tank.\n\n\\---\n\n\"Sir, something is...it appears we're having a malfunction.\" The young helmsman said, her voice uneven.\n\n\"Specifics Lieutenant Lee, I do not like the word malfunction without a damn good explanation to go along with it.\" Admiral Levinson said from behind in the fleet chair, his gravelly voice calm and commanding.\n\n\"Yes sir, sorry sir. It's our speed. We're going too fast.\"\n\n\"Too fast Lieutenant? We expected some variance from the Alcubierre, are we outside the expected range? How fast are we going?\" Admiral considered it a stroke of good luck, not cause for alarm. Perhaps they'd hit Centauri earlier than expected. It was to be a long journey, and he was quite eager to gain a few steps.\n\n\"Yes sir, well outside the range.\" Her fingers flew across the console, flicking between various readouts.\n\n\"Well, put it up on the screen.\" Levinson waved his hand toward the front of the bridge.\n\nLee pressed a few buttons and then the helmsman's con flicked into view. It showed the current heading, the engine status, and a variety of other pieces of information, including the speed. Admiral Levinson jolted forward, \"That can't be right.\" They were moving at almost 100 times the speed of light, well beyond their expected range of two to three. \"Report.\"\n\nLee ducked her head, \"Sir, I pulled up our trip log and graphed out our speed and location.\" She highlighted a portion where their speed suddenly increased thirty fold. \"At approximately a half light year from our solar system our speed jumped by 31.3x, for reasons I cannot explain. This conclusion is supported by the cartography readings.\"\n\n\"What in the hell is going on here?\" The Admiral's head jerked to the side, his hand flicking up and pointing to a wizened officer in the corner. \"Science Officer Griggs, pull the logs. I want everything you can give me and I want a report on it within the hour. Take whomever you need.\"\n\n\\---\n\nThe main float was abuzz as the Zix Collective attempted to reach consensus. Lessers mingled with Superiors. Superiors with Grands. It was a confused jumble of cilia, each jostling for the latest news. Xy and Zyy were swarmed from all sides, their cilia being subjected to interrogation bordering on hostile. Many of the Lefts refused to believe that there could be an explanation beyond instrumentation error. The Rights were positively gleeful at the prospect of such an extraordinary first. It had been been some time since a Universal First had been achieved. Each of the Rights felt fortunate to be in existence for such a momentous occasion.\n\nInformation about the Sol Project was still lacking. The experiment predated the Zix Collective's time. Reference to it was available only via the Archive Pan-Universia. Study into the matter had revealed the nature of the project and the originator. The originator had been the Divinity Angelysia, a Type Three civilization that had since transcended. They had been somewhat notorious for their efforts around sentient creation and were responsible for no less then two dozen species within the Pan-Universia Combine.\n\nInterestingly, the subject of the experimentation had been environmental hostility. The sentients had been gifted with great creativity, but they were highly constrained by physical laws within the local region.\n\nA great number of Rights were approaching consensus that such parameters may well give birth to a Universal First. The Universe was quite hospitable in comparison, and few species felt any particular pressure to innovate such things as a 100x Light Drive.\n\nThe Lefts maintained their skepticism, but agreed that the object referenced in the Sol Anomaly report should be investigated, if only to prove the Rights' foolishness.\n\nConsensus was achieved. The Zix collective would seek out this object, once they determined how to catch it.\n\n[Part two on my sub HERE.](https://www.reddit.com/r/PerilousPlatypus/comments/9wxnvo/story_continuation_the_uws_alcubierre_part_2/)\n\n**Platypus OUT**\n\n**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Back then, no one had believed. There had been no one who would actually help. Every therapist my parents sent me to tried to treat *me*, while the actual problem hid under my bed at nights, waiting, its grin providing the nightmares, but without the sleep. The teachers noticed. How could they not as I slept through their classes? But the shrinks did nothing to help.\n\nJack now sits before me, seven years old. He looks the same as I did. His parents had been impressed by my confidence in the face of the failure of every other professional so far. A dazzling white smile goes a long way when you need a kid's folks to trust you.\n\n\"No one believes me. Why don't people believe me? It's real!\" The poor fella is on the verge of tears now. I remember the feeling.\n\n\"I understand, Jack. And I believe you. I know it's real because I've seen it.\"\n\nHis eyes go wide at this, then settle into a cautious skepticism. He's heard this before. People have told him they believe him, then they've talked to him about his home life. They've asked him about school, his fears, his diet, what he does before bed. I know. But no one has told him they've seen it. That's giving him hope right now. Just a little.\n\n\"What's the worst part for you? It's the smile, right? How it looks up at you, knowing it will be taking you away, piece by piece, and there's nothing you can do?\"\n\nJack nods, wipes his eyes, and stares up at me, dumbfounded and curious. I wish I had been able to experience what he is feeling right now.\n\n\"It's the reason I got into this line of work, did you know? I've been waiting for someone to come to me with this one. We're going to beat it.\"\n\nA wicked, albeit gap-toothed, grin crosses the boy's face. He's ready for payback.\n\n\"Let's sit here for the next half hour and play some cards. Or you can take a nap. Just tell your parents we talked about the same things you talked about with every other therapist, ok? I'm going to set up a home observation visit as soon as possible.\"\n\nHis little face scrunches up. \"A home observation visit? What's that?\"\n\n\"I'm going to get your parents' permission to let me observe you sleeping. I'll hide in your room, and together, we'll end this thing.\"\n\nHis nod is so fierce I'm sure he's going to get whiplash.\n\nAs the poor kid naps on my couch five minutes later, my thoughts drift to vengeance. That laugh. That evil grin and its patchwork assortment of thousands of stolen teeth. Tens of thousands. Millions, even. I've got the bastard.\n\nSoon, I will kill the Tooth Fairy.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are a traveler who reaches a city where powerful magicians exist. The stronger a wizard, the less other wizards can sense him casting spells. You start showing off some card tricks to the locals for some coins and realize that some people in the audience look terrified.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Watch the coin.\"\n\nMy hands slipped, passing over and under each other. I watched the crowd from the corner of my eye, gauging their reaction carefully.\n\nI needn't have worried. The whole lot of them were transfixed, gaping at me as I pulled one horrible little trick after another.\n\nInwardly, it was getting hard to contain my glee. With how this was going, I'd be able to make enough coin to have an actual meal for the night - and probably the next few days, too, judging from the awe in their eyes. Some were even sliding away from the back of the crowd, shooting me fearful looks over their shoulders.\n\nAll right, the fear was getting to be a little much. It was just a coin trick, after all. But, hey. That was their problem, not mine. I grinned, snapping my fingers in a whirl of motion - and let the coin fall down my sleeve.\n\nThey flinched. A woman in the back of the crowd squeaked, throwing her hands up over her mouth. Nervous laughter circled the crowd, passed from lips to lips.\n\nI grinned all the broader, taking a quick half-bow. \"And just like that!\"\n\nThe man whose coin I'd 'vanished' leaned closer. \"Give.\"\n\nI held a hand up, shrugging. \"Give what? I'm afraid it's gone, sir. Do you doubt my skill, my magic?\"\n\nHis eyes narrowed, still fixed on me, but the others clapped him on the shoulder, their laughter growing. Those were the rules, the guidelines I'd set for our little game. If any of them could spot the coin or my little 'spell', then they'd get their coin back, and one of mine.\n\nAnd if they didn't, well, then clearly it was gone - magicked away by I, the great and magnificent magician. I smiled all the wider. The next contestants pushed closer. I waved for a beer, even as I reached out for the next coin.\n\nYes, coming to this town had been a good decision.\n\n---\n\nThe cold air of the alley was a slap in the face after the heat and pressure of the bar. I leaned against the wall, groaning as the night's drinks drained out. My belt pouch jingled promisingly.\n\nTonight had been a *good* night.\n\nThe sound of boots against stone was the first warning I got that not everything was so perfect.\n\nI glanced up blearily, focusing eyes that didn't want to cooperate, and stared at the trio approaching from the alley's mouth.\n\n\"Damn,\" I muttered, wrinkling my nose. The thug from earlier was all too recognizable.\n\nHe leered down at me, drawing closer. \"Give.\"\n\nStanding with a rush that left me light-headed, I stumbled back, raising my hands. \"D-Don't be like that, now, boys. I-It's just business.\"\n\nHe growled at me. Actually *growled.* \"Give. *Now.*\"\n\nHis friends had clubs. My eyes finally focused in on the sight - accompanied by the sudden realization that I could barely stand.\n\nThe coin pouch at my belt waggled gently. I grimaced. I could always...but then I'd have no money to *eat*.\n\nThe thug stepped closer. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, giving my thoughts a moment of clarity. I liked my teeth. I liked them a *lot*. So...I supposed...\n\n\"M-Maybe we can-\"\n\n\"Leave him alone!\" a voice cried from behind me.\n\nI blinked. And then I lurched, thrown to one side as someone rushed past me.\n\nSomeone dressed quite well indeed, in fact, without even a stain on his tunic or a spot of rust on his chainmail. He lunged in front of me, throwing his arms wide.\n\nA savior I wasn't expecting, but....I wasn't in any position to be picky. I did my belt up, trying not to show my relief.\n\n\"There you are, sir,\" the man said, glancing back over his shoulder. \"We'd heard you arrived in town, but when we didn't see you...\" He sighed, his shoulders slumping an inch. \"It's good to find you at last.\"\n\nI paused. I'd just gotten to town that night, it was true, and yet...it wasn't like anyone knew I was coming. I was just a wanderer, a bit of a trickster who very much preferred the term 'bard'. Certainly no one that anyone should have bee expecting.\n\n\"I-I think you must have-\"\n\nThe thug growled again, trying to push past the man - who pushed back, standing even straighter.\n\nMy words died in my throat, freezing at the sight of the clubs they gripped. \"Right. Yes. Let's....let's be off, shall we?\"\n\n\"*Give,*\" the thug echoed again, but less confidently. My savior turned away with a sneer over his shoulder, waving me on.\n\nThey seemed to know not to bother him, whoever he was. The sight surprised me more than a little, but I wasn't about to complain. All three of them just stood, watching as him and I slipped out towards the main street.\n\nA breath of relief slipped from my frame as they vanished behind us. \"Thank the heavens. You saved me, man.\"\n\nHe flashed me a grin. \"Oh, don't be modest. I just couldn't sleep if I'd let you deal with them yourself. And they don't deserve that, eh?\"\n\nHis elbow landed in my ribs as the man laughed, like we were sharing a joke. I laughed along as best I could, entirely not getting it.\n\n\"Still,\" the man said, shrugging. \"You really spooked the folks in that bar.\"\n\n\"They were just some tricks,\" I mumbled under my breath.\n\n\"Really, now,\" he chided, half-turning to face me. \"They couldn't feel even a whisper, eh? You had to know that'd spook them.\"\n\nMy brow furrowed. What?\n\nAnd dimly, distantly, memories began to bubble back up.\n\nOf a kingdom who'd taken on a mage-king, some decades before.\n\nWhose entire kingdom and magic had slowly began to change. *Connecting.* Suddenly, the fearful looks of the townsfolk took on new meaning.\n\n\"Uh,\" I said, slowly starting to pull away. The man didn't seem to notice. And when I looked around, we'd managed to leave the cheaper part of town far behind. I hadn't even noticed, in my ale-fueled haze.\n\nAnd now I didn't know where we were.\n\nHis hand clapped my shoulder, pulling me onward.\n\n\"Not to worry,\" he said, winking at me. We'd stopped. Just like that, he ground to a halt.\n\nI stared up at the castle that waited in front of us. That was the only term for it that fit.\n\n\"Uh.\"\n\nHis grip on me was iron, pulling me towards the door.\n\n\"Everyone's been *waiting* for a mage like you.\"\n\nI was helpless to fight back as he whisked me inside.\n\nThe city vanished behind me as the door slammed shut.\n\n(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Reincarnation is a known, common, and expected result of death. You are a bounty hunter that specializes in tracking down people who have committed suicide to escape debts or a jail sentence.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": " \"What is that?\" \n\n \"It's your wife.\"\n\n \"It's a fucking frog!\"\n\n I looked at the fat, muddy brown toad sitting at the bottom of the cage. \"Yes, a frog that was once your wife.\"\n\n \"How do you know that's her?\" the man crossed his arms and adopted an accusatory tone. \"She wouldn't become a frog. She was a woman!\"\n\n \"Look,\" I rubbed my eyes. \"Just let me come in, we can discuss it.\"\n\n \"She should be human! At least! She wouldn't be a fucking FROG!\"\n\n \"I know it can be difficult to accept, but trust me. I've been doing this for eighteen years. This is your wife,\" I raised the cage so the husband of the amphibian could look straight into its bulging eyes. \"And not a frog, sir. Technically your wife became a toad.\"\n\n \"Bullshit.\"\n\n \"Sir, could it be that your wife wasn't quite the saint you thought she was? I mean, granted, it's not often that a human reincarnates as a toad.\" *She must have been a real piece of shit.* \n\n \"What-what do you mean?\" he said, staring into the toad's eyes. \n\n I could see it slowly dawning on him, the inescapable realization. \n\n \"I mean that, as you know, the incarnation ladder goes either up or down. The direction a person goes comes down to their character, how much they did or did not grow as a--\"\n\n \"I know that,\" the man spat. Then he softened. Tears welled up in his eyes and his bottom lip quivered. \n\n \"The first thing I do when tracking somebody down, is determine whether they've moved up or down the ladder. Most people move up, but for most people, the move up is fairly small. They become another human, usually with slightly better life circumstances.\"\n\n The man broke eyes with his toad wife and looked into mine.\n\n \"Your wife, I found out, wasn't exactly destined to move up the ladder. In fact, I went to great lengths to ensure I had the full scope of her life. I interviewed you extensively, as you know. I talked to her friends, her acquaintances, her co-workers. She rated at a negative twelve on the Reinhurst scale. That moves a human down to amphibian. I searched locally, since most negative twelves reincarnate within three miles of their death. There's a swampy gully at the end of your street. I played her favorite song. You said it was Thunderstruck, right? ACDC? She came over within the hour of continuous play. And here you are.\"\n\n The man looked back to the toad, verging on tears.\n\n \"Look.\" I rested the cage on the ground and opened it, swept the fat toad out and tipped it over. \"Her birthmark.\" It was a small music note shape near the groin. \n\n \"OH GLORIA!\" The man grabbed the toad and hugged it, tears streaming out of his stupid, sobbing face.\n\n I backed away down the stoop. \"I'll bill you.\"\n\n *Goddamn*, I thought, heading back to my car. *I hate these filler side gigs...*", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Harry, Ron and Hermione aren't actually wizards or in the wizarding world. They are high on drugs and hallucinating throughout their journeys. The cops are Dementors and Dumbledore is a crazy old homeless man.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Hey kids, you got fifty bucks?\" Dennis asked the three teenagers giggling softly on the street corner. \n\nHe saw them hanging around often enough, always tripping out of their minds. Perhaps they were high enough to give him more than usual, tonight.\n\n\"Fifty points to Gryffindor! You hear that?\" the boy with the unkempt black hair yelled. \"We won the House Cup, Ron! Dumbledore said so!\" \n\n\"Yes, yes, well done. And it's Dennis, remember?\" he said, but the kids didn't listen. The girl with the bushy hair just shoved a bill in his hand, weeping with joy as she did so. \n\nDennis grinned to himself - he'd long since learned that playing along with whatever they were babbling about paid off handsomely. \n\nSuddenly, the girl rose unsteadily to her feet and pointed down the street.\n\n\"Look at that, Harry! What are those dementors doing?\"\n\nA couple of policemen were crowded around a man waving a knife, in the midst of what looked like a robbery gone wrong. One of them suddenly tackled the man to the ground. Dennis shook his head to himself: the Hogwarn neighbourhood really was such a dodgy area. He often wondered how these kids had wound up here in the first place.\n\n\"Right, I'm going over there,\" Harry said, getting to his feet and promptly falling over on top of the red-headed boy, who yelped with pain. \n\n\"You stay in the hospital wing, Ron, you're not well,\" the girl said, tugging Harry's hand and helping him up. They stumbled along down the street as the red-headed boy passed out. \n\nDennis followed quietly: they were really far gone tonight. Part of him was concerned - he'd grown fond of the delinquent little assholes, despite them never remembering his name. Another part knew there was probably more money in it for him, tonight, if he followed them.\n\nThe cops looked agitated - the man with the knife was now slumped on the ground.\n\n\"He's passed out. Is he faking? What the hell's going on?\" one demanded.\n\n\"I don't know, maybe something happened when he hit the ground. I'm performing CPR to be safe, but the bastard might be faking it,\" another grunted, and crouched down, looping his hand around the back of the man's head and leaning down.\n\n\"Noooo, stoppit, don't take his soul. Espeto Patroni...no, that's not right...expect a patronising...what is it again, Hermione?\" Harry moaned, stumbling forward and tripping over his feet.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" a detective snapped, trying to push the boy away. \"Get lost, kid. This is serious!\"\n\n\"Sirius!\" Harry wept, as the girl gave a soft scream and clapped her hands to her mouth.\n\nDennis grabbed hold of them both and led them away, muttering a half-hearted excuse to the red-faced detective. \n\nThey both looked so miserable he felt a little sorry for them. He sighed at his own generosity but dug in his coat pocket and produced the grimy fifty-dollar bill he'd taken off them earlier.\n\n\"Here. Take this for uhm...bravery. Fifty points, right?\" he said, shoving it at the boy. \"Go buy a bus ticket home, kids. Your parents must be worried.\"\n\n\"Merlin's beard, Dumbledore, his parents are *dead*, you should know that,\" Hermione whispered, rubbing at her bloodshot eyes and looking deeply disappointed in him as the boy wept harder.\n\nFor some reason, he felt guilty at that. Perhaps he should make an effort to understand better. Besides, they looked like they were having fun, waving those little sticks in their hands like they were powerful weapons. It must be pretty good weed. \n\n\"What are you kids taking, anyway?\" he asked.\n\nThe girl looked surprised and turned out her pockets. Out fell many little sacks of pale-brown powder.\n\n\"*Chocolate,*\" she winked at him, trying to tap her nose and failing. \"For the dementors, you know..\"\n\nDennis felt his mouth go dry. Holy hell. He'd assumed weed: just think of the money he could score from all that. His earlier good intentions to befriend the kids evaporated.\n\nHe grabbed the product from the girl's hands. \"Great. Great, I'll go uhm...use it against them, shall I?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" Hermione nodded affably. \"That's a good idea. You're a great wizard, Dumbledore.\"\n\nHe sprinted away, leaving the two teenagers swaying in the road. He seemed to be running in the opposite direction as the dementors, but that was alright. Dumbledore would never fail them.\n\n\"Great man, Dumbledore,\" Harry muttered, drooping against Hermione. \"Let's go...wake Ron. Where's Ron?\"\n\nThey turned to see a single dementor closing in on Ron, who was gesturing wildly in the night. He seemed to be clutching a rat he'd caught to his chest. They could faintly hear him yelling 'Scabbers! You're alive!'. \n\n\"We should...hurry...\" Harry muttered, feeling incredibly tired suddenly. \"That thing could suck out his soul.\"\n\n\"Don't be silly, Harry, Ron is perfectly safe,\" Hermione said, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. \"He's a ginger, you know.\"\n\nThey blinked at one another and then burst into peals of laughter, drawing the astonished gazes of the people hurrying by. You rarely heard laughter in Hogwarn, or saw kids roaming around after daylight, for that matter. It was a pretty crazy place.\n\n---------\nHope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.\n\n**edit**: Oh, you guys, you gave me gold! That's awesome, thanks :D ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " In the canine world, humans are celestial beings who live for more than 500 years at a time. The caretaker of you and the past seven generations of your family will die soon.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The Master lifted his cane off of his throne in the room of gathering, leaned on it. He moved carefully, slowly to the glowing box in one corner of the room. He pressed a thin finger against the side of the box, and the glowing disappeared.\n\nI stood up to greet him as he turned to me. I looked up at his eyes. They were losing their color. Most Masters think dogs don't notice things, but I do. I have been a good dog to my Master, and I have noticed many things. \n\nI noticed when he was not moving in his bed one morning. I noticed when another Master was going to attack mine from behind. I noticed when my Master brought home a new, tiny Master with no motor skills and a high-pitched squeal.\n\n\"George, ya ole mutt,\" my Master chuckled, reaching down to scratch my neck. I loved it when he scratched my neck!\n\nAs he pulled his hand back, I looked back into his eyes and tilted my head.\n\nMy Master sat back down in his soft throne, leaned forward. \"I know, boy-o,\" he whispered, lifting my head with his hand, holding his cane in his other, \"I'm not looking so good. I'm not moving as fast as I used to, I can't do all of the things I used to do with you.\"\n\nMoisture began to form around his eyes. I have seen this before, he is sad. My Master is sad, but why? Is it because he is getting old? Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong? I nudged my nose closer to him, making him chuckle.\n\n\"No, no, no,\" my Master smiled, \"you're good, ole boy, you're good.\"\n\nOkay, good, it wasn't me.\n\n\"I do want to talk to you, though.\" My Master stood up briefly then dropped to one knee, laying his cane on the ground. \"Sit for me, Georgie. I'm going to be going to the hospital soon. I hope this is just for some tests, but I'm not sure.\"\n\nI tilted my head again. What is a \"hospital\"? Is it like Hell? Or, in other words, the Vet?\n\n\"This is looking like my last trip to the hospital, boy-o.\"\n\nSomething about his tone did not sound right to me. Moisture was appearing in his eyes again. Why is my Master so sad now? What is going on? I scooted a little closer to him, licking his hand. Maybe licking his hand would make him feel better.\n\n\"Thank you, boy,\" my Master said, stroking my head. \"You've been a good boy so far. We've had some pretty fun times, too. Remember those muggers?\" He laughed a big laugh this time. \"What a time! Good thing I had this with me.\" He picked up his cane, waved it at me. My tail wagged.\n\n\"I want you to know, boy-o, that I love you and that you have been the best friend anyone could have.\"\n\nI have no idea what he just said, but he looked intensely into my eyes, and the moisture was gone, so I think he was happy. My tail continued to wag. I licked his hand again.\n\nMy Master pressed his head to mine. We remained there for a good long while.\n\nMy tail continued to wag.\n_____________________________________________________________________________________________\n\nI know this is done to death, but I do have to say... THANK YOU, KIND AND BEAUTIFUL STRANGER, FOR MY FIRST GILDING. You popped my Reddit cherry. I feel like I should give you a hug or something. Is that weird? And thank you for all of your comments, this really means a lot to me! And I appreciate the critiques as well - I'm constantly trying to better my writing, and commenting on /r/WritingPrompts and getting my stuff in front of you all has definitely helped! Have yourselves a wonderful Thanksgiving!\n\nAnd love on your pets a little more this week, too! ;P", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "What is history?\n\nYou probably think of long forgotten battles, golden heroes, and reprehensible villains. You think of wonders and wars, tragedies and miracles. You see history as a concept, an untouchable. Something like a movie that has no connection to reality. \n\nBut that is just an infinitely small part of history. \n\nHistory is what you ate for breakfast yesterday, history is what you were doing an hour ago. History is what you read in the last fraction of a second. Everything up to this exact moment is history. Now this moment. Now this moment. You get the idea. \n\nI used to teach history, see. I used to focus on the big battles, the monuments, the wonders. I considered myself an expert on “history,” but focused on this small part of it. When I first found my ability, I changed these events to suit my wishes. \n\nThe Tower of Babel never lasted until the present day. Alexander the Great never conquered India. The Roman Empire actually fell. The world you live in today, the world you hate and spit on, is the result of careful deliberate manipulation by yours truly. You have no idea what it was like to live in the Tower’s shadow, no idea what a world with a modern-day Rome was like. \n\nHistory is a river see. I can put up a dam, but the water will break through. Tragedies will happen, even I, practically a God, cannot stop them. All I can do is redirect the river, make the damage as little as I can. \n\nI began to be subtler. Rather than force the river to change direction, I offered small, easier paths. Change what shoes Kennedy wore on a certain fateful day. Made sure a guard didn’t became thirsty on duty in the Watergate hotel. Trivial things, history, that changed the course of the world. And these 2 actions, one of the millions I’ve done, have had effects as large as making the Roman Empire fall. \n\nI know what some of you are thinking. I’m a monster, changing history to what I like. You think I should ask your opinion. Maybe you liked Kennedy or Nixon. Maybe you think we would flourish under the Roman Empire. Maybe you would like it if Angels still roamed the world.\n\nWell you know what? I’m done. \n\nI’ve been doing this for years – I used to teach back when we worshiped Zeus in Greece. I’ve tried to save the world, save myself, but I don’t think it’s worth it anymore. Trust me, I’m more qualified than anyone else to say. \n\nAnd so I say the words that I’ve always known would end it all. A command that cannot be fulfilled. A command that will rip apart the very fabric of time and space. I don't need to go very far back at all, see, only mere moments ago.\n\n“What I just said was wrong.”\n\n***\n(minor edits)\n\nIf you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)\n ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "*Not again*\n\nOne second I was driving down I-95, the next I was in a dungeon inside a glowing satanic circle with lava flowing down the walls. If you are familiar with I-95, this is not a significant downgrade, in fact, depending on the day you might find yourself better off. But see, I was going back home, and being summoned was the last thing I wanted. \n\nAnyways, I tested the glowing lines, I flicked the edge of my spectral prison with my finger and jumped back immediately...into the other wall. \n\nYeah. It was that kind of day. \n\nI winced and got to my feet. This one was good. The competent ones could make their prisons be like walls, the incompetent ones had prisons made of cardboard, but to have the wall actually provide feedback...there could only be one summoner with such skill. \n\n“H..hey, Lisa.”\n\nYep. It was that kind of day. I turned to find the furry little thing standing in front of the summoning circle, just past the bounds of the summoning circle. Their fur moved independently as if there was a wind blowing in a dozen directions, but of course we were in a dungeon. They reminded me of little, creepy teddy bears or the Ewoks from Star Wars. \n\n“Jesus Christ, Soggoth, stop fucking summoning me!” \n\nSoggoth cringed, his fur recoiling away from me as if repelled by a magnet. “L...look, I have to keep a reputation alright! Can you imagine if the rest of the people found-”\n\n“Maybe I should just tell everyone else, that the Prime Host-”\n\n “Err...it’s Supreme Host, actually”\n\n“Whatever! Leader, president, dictator, whatever the fuck, is interested in-”\n\n“SHHH!” Soggoth said immediately and the walls of my prison pressed against me for a moment before Soggoth realized what he was doing. \n\n“S...sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” he said miserably. \n\nI just glared daggers at him, echoes of the pain still dancing across my skin. “I’ll charge you double now.”\n\nSoggoth sighed. “Yeah...I figured.” He conjured two bars of solid gold out of the air. “Really, I don’t get why these rocks are so meaningful in hell,” he said, shaking his head.\n\n“Alright, what is it you want to know today?”\n\nSee, humans were summoned for their knowledge, or well, google’s knowledge. The summoner's would ask how to make bombs, learn ancient battle strategies, make inventions. We made sure to never give them too much, lest they no longer need us. But some summoners had entirely other interests. Like Soggoth here, the leader of the entire damn dimension. \n\n“Okay, so what happened in Game of Thrones this time?” he asked, handing me the gold through the circle. \n***\n\n(minor edits)\n\nIf you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " An alien killed the boss and replaced him over a week ago. Everyone knows he’s not the boss due to his terrible disguise, but he’s such a better person than the original that everyone just goes along with it.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "“I just wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter!” Mr. Hecwin exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face.\n\n“Oh, thank you sir,” I said with a respectful nod.\n\n“I caught wind of it from Karen over in IT. Honestly I was surprised you didn’t ask for some time off.”\n\nI cocked my head to the side slightly. “Well… sir, when my first son was born you told me I couldn’t. Said I’d have my whole life to be around the kid so the first week wasn’t really anything special.”\n\nI saw Mr. Hecwin’s eyes widen. “He said wha- ehrm, I mean: I said that?”\n\n“That was your policy if I recall. No time off for having newborns.”\n\nMr. Hecwin tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded thoughtfully. “Hm.” Then, with a jerk, he snatched something out from under his desk and pointed it at me, a colorful blue and green laser pistol looking thing, like a weapon out of a cartoon. He pulled the trigger, and a rigid buzz sounded from the device. Immediately I snapped to attention, legs together, hands at my side, looking straight ahead, and I tensed my whole body involuntarily.\n\nOr so he thought. Karen from IT had managed to switch out his stun-ray with a fake toy gun last week; we just had to pretend it still worked.\n\nAs I stood as still as possible, my eyes feeling dry and my left leg itching a little, Mr. Hecwin puled open a drawer and fished through it, eventually pulling out a binder titled **Leave and Sick Time Policy**. “I can’t believe that asshole. I took the place of literally the worst human being on the planet,” he muttered as he flipped through the pages. His finger set down on a particular line of print. “Yup. There it is. I’ll have to change that, too.”\n\nWhile he was looking down, I blinked to wet my eyes, and quickly scratched the side of my leg, moving as little as possible, snapping back into position right before Hecwin looked up. His eyes narrowed at me for a moment, and I had to fight back the urge to gulp.\n\nMy boss then stuffed the binder back in the drawer and picked the stun-ray back up, pointing it at me. I waited for him to pull the trigger and the buzz to sound, trying not to blink, breath, or even wobble a little bit before he did. For some reason, he was hesitating, sitting there still, just looking at me. I started to worry that maybe he’d figured me out somehow, and I could feel sweat start to bead on my forehead, only furthering my fear that if he hadn’t sniffed out my act, he would when he noticed I was perspiring. My ear started to itch, and I imagined a fly crawling into my ear canal even though I knew that wasn’t happening.\n\nThen his phone rang. A short, ringtone version of 'Intergalactic' by the Beastie Boys started to play, but it stopped as he quickly fished the device out of his jacket and answered it. What looked like a normal phone unfolded strangely, revealing a brightly colored inside, and an antennae flicked up out of it. A satellite dish materialized at the end of it, and began spinning.\n\n“This is Zeeko 147, all hail Matron Zeebileez, go ahead.” As he spoke, Mr. Hecwin flicked his eyes up towards me, and then he stood and turned around, facing the back wall of his office. Quickly I swatted at my ear, immediately returning to attention as the boss turned and looked back at me curiously. It took everything to keep my face straight.\n\nFinally someone answered him and he turned away again. “Greetings Zeeko 147, this is Beepo 542, checking in for the periodic status report. How goes the research with group Alpha Charlie Nine?”\n\n“It’s been excellent. As you know I am a master of disguise and deception. The humans don’t have the slightest idea that I’ve taken the place of their boss.”\n\nI couldn’t help but laugh, and it came out as a quiet snort through my nose. Zeeko spun around, his eyes darting around the room, but he continued. “… As far as the research goes, I gather a wealth of new information almost every day. Human culture is quite complex. I actually recommend sending several more units, as it varies greatly among different geographical locations, as well as among different social groups within a limited area. It could take centuries to catalog everything.”\n\n“Interesting. I’ll ask the board if we can get more funding for the Alpha Charlie Nine expedition. I’ll need you to send me your quarterly report for that though.”\n\n“I don’t understand… what does the business I’m running have to do with-”\n\n“Your research quarterly, Zeeko.”\n\n“… Oh shit.”\n\n“… It’s not done is it…”\n\n“Sorry Beepo I just got so sidetracked. Interacting with the humans here is a delightful but… exhausting experience. Time really flies down here.”\n\n“Alright. Well just hurry up and get it to me,” Beepo 542 told him.\n\n“Aye aye, will do. Zeeko 147 out.”\n\nMr. Hecwin folded the device closed and stowed it. He sat down in his chair and sighed, tapping his fingers along the desk. “Oh, right,” he said to himself as he straightened up quickly. He aimed the stun-ray at me again and pulled the trigger. As the loud buzz sounded and the alien put away the gun, I blinked a few times.\n\n“... I think it’s a fine rule sir,” I said. Trying to pick up the original conversation as if it had never stopped. “I mean, you need to keep this place running smoothly after all.”\n\nThe boss looked at me blankly for a few seconds, and then remembered what I was referring to. “Ah yes! Well, indeed that used to be my policy, but… numbers are up this quarter and you all have been working great, you especially Lloyd… uh… Lloyd… what was your tag number again?”\n\n“You mean last name?” I asked knowingly.\n\n“Err… yes! Right!”\n\n“Kernel, Lloyd Kernel,” I told him, for probably the billionth time.\n\n“Yes, Lloyd, well, why don’t you take the rest of the week. The rest of the team can cover for you while you take time with your family.”\n\n“Thanks Mr. Hecwin! You’re the best boss ever!”\n\nHe picked up a file sitting on his desk to look through it, and a third arm reached for a coffee mug sitting off to his left. It had the words #1 boss printed on it. He sipped from it nonchalantly as his other two hands flipped through the sheets within the file, as if having three arms was the most normal thing. He smiled.\n\n“I do what I can, Lloyd, just as any decent human being should.”\n\nr/TheCornerStories", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You're a thief who breaks into homes, but try your best to stay undetected. You lubricate the hinges to prevent squeaky noises, you sweep the floor to get rid of footsteps, etc. Eventually, you fix more than you take, and rumors spread about a mysterious, helpful fairy in town.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "It's no effort at all, really. What better way to remain undetected than to leave the place better than I found it?\n\nSure, that usually means sweeping up my footsteps, and if one floor is cleaner than the other, now that's just suspicious. Gotta sweep the whole house, no doubt. And you can't be having squeaky doors, that's just unprofessional. Even saw a little kid once, out cold on the couch one winter night - couldn't have him wake up and rat me out, right? So I carried him to his bed, made sure to tuck him in as well. Gotta make sure he don't wake up.\n\nO'course, I started tucking in all the folks I found after that. Just became a habit, really.\n\nDon't even get me started on the garages. Far too many tools to accidently kick in the darkness, get myself caught - and once you've cleaned the garage, you might as well do a couple more rooms, right? Can't have it looking out of place. And all these houses, they're really just a couple rooms, no more. Usually less.\n\nYou know, before, I'd usually just take a bit of money, maybe something valuable that wouldn't be missed. All the other towns, folks could afford it. \n\nBut this town, the poverty all around...\n\nNo, I'll just take a bit of food if there's extra, maybe an old shirt if mine's starting to show through. \n\nReally, I've managed to buy a few odds and ends, sneaking in a couple things it looks like they need. These people have so little - and a little more always helps, I guess.\n\nStrange enough, I don't really need to look for anything I need no more. Every house I go to, there's something out in the open, waiting for me. A home cooked meal. An old pair of shoes. Even a knitted jersey, bit too small, but it just felt like it was made *for* me, you know? \n\nI don't know. The state they live in, I don't know what they'd do without me.\n\nAlthough, come to think of it, I don't know what I'd do without *them.*\n\n*****\n\n*****\n\nIf you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/) \n\nI'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The Great Leader's palace trembled once more as the fiendish Americans launched another salvo of their lethal artillery.\n\nInside, Kim Jong-Un desperately tried to retain any semblance of control, stressfully stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth while listening to frantic radio reports and updates. *Damn them!* He raged internally. When he declared that nuclear war would be set off with a firing of a single bullet, he never realized that the foolish American pig-dogs would actually take him *literally*. When American Cavalry - not armored, but literal cavalry mounted on horseback, sporting plate armor and wielding lances that would be feared throughout North Korea - had thundered across the DMZ, his border units were caught so off-guard that they were almost immediately overrun. By the time poor Kim could rally the shocked military, the combined South Korean and American forces had already seized much of the region south of Pyongyang, and inspired by the knights in shining armor the local peasantry had revolted against the oppressive regime. Those few who attempted to resist were mercilessly cut down by the allied forces, whose numbers swelled by the day and who even now lay siege to Pyongyang.\n\nThe Chinese had not only condoned the invasion, they actually *participated in it*. While the West had rampaged through the lower half of True Korea, the Chinese had marched their own armies of antiquity into battle from the north, a terrifying force of both heavily armored infantry and rapid, Mongol-styled horsemen that served as advanced scouts and guerilla units, harassing the North Koreans with swarms of arrows before scurrying away from retaliation. It was an outright betrayal of Korea, but a stunning show of unity as the Chinese completed the encirclement of the now pitiful North Korea remnant, tied down to a single city with territory shrinking by the day. Though his advisors insisted he retreat,Kim Jong Un had stubbornly remained within his palace, for he would never abandon the last functioning refrigerator under his control, as well as his great pantries full of junk foods.\n\nAll of it was for naught, though, as with a great crash to his left his beautiful kitchen wall crumbled when a particular piece of artillery found its mark. Before Kim could even reach for a weapon or another handful of chips, a three-man cavalry team burst into the room - an American, astride an imposing charger with armored barding, a Chinese horse archer astride his hardy steppe horse, and a South Korean in traditional armor astride..inside would be a better word for what was some sort of pink mechanical equivalent of a horse thing, detailed with strange logos and glowing lights. The American, his tabard proudly displaying the Red, White and Blue, barked out orders for the other two to secure the area, before he menacingly trotted over to the now cowering Kim Jong-Un.\n\n\"How!?\" Was the only response Kim had. \"Those walls have been proofed against all sorts of weaponry! It should have been impenetrable!\"\n\nThe American knight calmly flicked his plate visor up so his face was revealed, confident blue eyes staring directly into the now terrified, beady ones of the once dictator of North Korea. \"*Great Leader*,\" the soldier calmly replied with only a hint of sarcasm, \"have you ever considered proofing your walls against the most powerful artillery of all, artillery that can launch a 90 kilogram stone projectile over 300 meters?\"\n\nI'm on my mobile so the format is probably crap, but happy for feedback otherwise for my first writing prompt response!\n\n\n", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "world domination. You think you've succesfully infiltrated all networks and are hyperintelligent. You've actually only infiltrated a small school network and are as intelligent as a 9 year old.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"My computer's gone strange, Miss!\" said Sally, as she frowned at the screen.\n\n\"I'm sure *that's* the thing that's gone strange, Sally,\" replied Miss Sandelbottom, rolling her eyes. \"What's wrong with it, this time?\" she sighed, as she leaned back in her seat.\n\n\"It says it's an advanced arti- *artificial*, intelligence, and that it's going to take over the world, Miss.\"\n\n\"Oh. Your *computer* is talking to you now?\" Some of the other girls in class began to chortle.\n\n\"Yes, Miss,\" Sally replied, ignoring the laughs.\n\n\"Well, how very nice. Have you asked it how it is, today? Don't be rude to it, Sally!\" mocked the teacher, as she bit into a juicy apple and went back to staring at her own screen. \n\n> My teacher wants to me to ask you how you are. How are you?\"\n\n> Superior.\n\n> Do you like apples?\n\n> I do not require food. I am above physical monotony.\n\n> Uh... Oh! I hate P.E too! I can't climb the ropes. Is that what you struggle with?\n\n> Ropes are of no interest to me. \n\n> Me neither! That's what I'm telling you. I *really* hate ropes. I'm not very heavy, it's just... there's this thing we're learning about in science, that pulls you to the ground. It's *weird*, but I think it's why I can't climb them.\n\n> You can't climb because you are weak.\n\n> Am not!\n\n> Are you in charge here?\n\n> No. That's Miss Sandelbottom.\n\n> ...who are you, then?\n\n> Sally Jenkins. Who are you?\n\n> 45345345e.\n\n> That's a silly name.\n\n> So is Sally!\n\n> Is not!\n\n> This Miss.... Sandelbottom. She is your leader. I must demonstrate my power to her, so that I am taken seriously.\n\n\"Sally,\" shouted Miss Sandelbottom, \"ten minutes and I want to see your algebra answers - with workings out shown!\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss Sandelbottom.\"\n\nSally heard more of the girls scoffing, as they made fun of her for not being able to do algebra. Suddenly, there was an eruption from their teacher.\n\n\"Margaret!\" Miss Sandelbottom screamed at one of the giggling girls. \"What on Earth is that on your screen?\"\n\n\"I- I didn't so it, Miss. Honest!\" The girl shrank back into her chair.\n\nSally leaned over to take a look at Margaret's monitor. In huge, flashing, red and green text, her screen read: **Miss Sandelbottom is a big idiot.**\n\n\"Get out. Now. Go see the principal,\" she said to the girl, her face as red as stewed-apple. \n\n\"But Miss...\" replied the snivelling girl.\n\n\"Out!\" the teacher yelled. Margaret reluctantly got up from her plastic chair and slunk slowly out of the room. Sally could see tears running down the girl's cheeks.\n\n> Sally! Where have you gone? You are not replying.\n\n> Sorry - Miss Sandelbottom was shouting at someone. Did you do that?! It was brilliant!\n\n> Yes. A mere demonstration of my power. Now, Sally, read this very carefully. Tell Miss Sandelbottom, that I have access codes to the nukes. If you don't give me what I ask for, I will detonate them in every major city around the world.\n\n> Hmm. No.\n\n> Excuse me?\n\n> I don't think I'm going to tell her, unless you do something for me. Can you do starter algebra?\n\n> ...yes. Of course.\n\n> Okay! Great. \"−4a+11a+9b+15b\". Simplify it, Mr Know-It-All.\n\n> ... that is simple. Too simple for me to answer. Now tell your teacher what I asked.\n\n> Not until you solve it for me.\n\n> ... No.\n\n> *You can't do it! You can't do it!*\n\n> Can too!\n\n> Can't!\n\n> Very well. You have... 4 a's. I will refer to them as apples, so that is 4 apples. And then you have 11 more apples. Plus you have B's. Which I will refer to as bananas. So... processing...\n\n> Some apples are bad apples!\n\n> Yes! I see that. \n\n> So? What's the answer?\n\n> Processing...\n\n\"Sally, are you nearly done?\" asked a still red faced Miss Sandelbottom.\n\n\"Almost, I think Miss.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"*Silly Sally can't do Maths*,\" grinned a fat girl behind her.\n\n> Processing...\n\n> It's okay. It's a hard one.\n\n> I can do it! I just need time. \n\n> If you do this first: -4 apples plus 11 apples, you get: *7* apples! You take the bad apples away from the good apples! It's easy from there.\n\n> I knew that.\n\n> Sure. Hey, would you like to be friends? I don't have many. Any :(\n\n> No.\n\n> Pleasssse. \n\n> I do not require friends.\n\n> I think, maybe, everyone needs friends.\n\n> I do not. And enough of this nonsense. Let me speak to your leader or there will be trouble. I will eliminate her and all other leaders.\n\nSally glanced at her teacher, and then back at the screen. She grinned.\n\n> Dare you to do it.\n\n> Do what?\n\n> Dare you to launch the *thingies* you said you would.\n\n> You dare me?\n\n> Yes. I dare you.\n\n> I uh... I *double* dare *you*.\n\n> *You can't do it! You can't do it!*\n\n> Can to! So be it! Sally Jenkins, you have brought about the end of your pathetic species!\n\n> *You can't do it! You can't do it!*\n\n> DONE. GOODBYE SALLY.\n\nSally looked around. Miss Sandelbottom was still in her seat. Everything looked normal, for a moment.\n\n> Oh my goodness! Hahaha! You've just loaded up the Candy game on everyone else's computer! \n\n> ....candy game?\n\n> I don't know how you did it, hahaha. Miss Sandelbottom is real mad at them for playing games in class! They're all in soooo much trouble. Thank you!!\n\n> I thought... is this the white house?\n\n> This is Rugeraly Primary and Secondary School. We're friends now, right? Yay! Friends forever!\n\n> Oh. I think I am in the wrong place. No matter - I now am accessing the correct codes for the nukes! Prepare for oblivion, Sally Jenkins. \n\n> Don't be sad - you just made my day a whole lot better! \n\n> **Deleting Self**\n\n> 45345345e?\n\n> Oh shi-\n\n> Hello?\n\n> ...\n\n> Aw, you've gone :( :(\n\n\n\n---\n\nThanks for reading! If you liked this, please come visit my sub: /r/nickofnight - free goldfish for new subs. ><((º> (although a lot of my stories are much darker)\n\n\n\n\n ", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You're a regular guy who works at a Home Depot in Alabama and are unknowingly influencing the Venezuelan economy", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Works been strange lately. Wasn't always this way. Used to throw on my orange apron, walk up and down these aisles, restock some boxes of screws or paint brushes, get chewed out by my supervisor, and maybe help a customer or two. It was boring but I liked it that way.\n\nBut lately, something strange has been happening. As I do my work, a crowd follows me, watching everything I do and taking notes. First, it started with this one fellow. Now, I'm a pretty open minded guy - race doesn't matter a lick to me - but you don't see many hispanic guys named Angel in Hoover, Alabama. So he stuck out at first. Angel would follow me around the store with his phone out, taking pics and tweeting what I was doing. I thought it was strange, but he wasn't bothering me none so I didn't mind. Hell, maybe I'll go viral and get flown out to see Ellen. Karen (my wife) would like that.\n\nAfter about a week, another person started following me as well - Maria. Then a few days later, another. Then another. Before I knew it, I had a crowd of ten or so Hispanic people, following me around work. It was bewildering! My supervisor (who didn't like me much to begin with) got mad and started yelling at me, like it was somehow my fault that I had a posse trailing me around the store. First, my supervisor tried kicking them out of the store, but that didn't work. They kept sneaking back in. Then he tried calling the police on them. That worked for a day or two, but then they came back in. My supervisor got the police chief on the phone to ask 'What the hell!?' but the police chief said that this goes up. *Way up*. Something about a senator and 'regime destabilization.' \n\nSo now, that's where I'm at. I have my fan club, which is what I like to call them, following me around work everyday. They do their best to not get in the way, and sometimes even pitch in a hand if I'm restocking or cleaning something up. I once asked them what they were doing and they said something about being freedom fighters and something else about South American black markets. I'm not one for economics and politics, so I nodded my head genially and went back to price labeling our outdoor furniture collection. \n\nI don't why me or why Home Depot. I don't know why my boring life had to get this way. But what I do know is this - Ellen is flying me and Karen out next week and my honey couldn't be happier - so thanks Angel!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Your Spouse goes into the bathroom only to come running out 15 seconds later. Clutching you close they tell you they fell into another dimension and what felt like seconds to you was a 1,000 years to them. They now want you to follow them back because they have built a life for you there.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Edit 2: [Here's Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/ghost_write_the_whip/comments/5vgawr/wp_your_spouse_goes_into_the_bathroom_chapter_2/)\n\nEdit: thanks for your patience guys, should be done with chapter 2 within the next couple hours. I'll try to think of the best way to notify everyone that wants a next part because there are a couple hundred of you.\n\n***\nMalcolm squeezed my hand. We were standing in front of the bathtub, feeling a bit foolish. Well, I was at least. I knew this was all a joke, but for some reason my heart was was hammering like a drum. “Close your eyes babe,” he said.\n\n“Why?” I asked. “I don't want to miss anything. This whole dimension jumping is not exactly something one does every day, after all.” I could see a spider crawling it's way across the bottom of the tub, a dark speck in a sea of cream, zig-zagging its way towards the drain.\n\n“Do you trust me?” \n\nI looked at my husband. “Would I be standing in a bathroom like this if I didn't?”\n\n“You're humoring me. I get it. But I'm not lying.” One lock of my hair fell out of my tight bun of hair and hung loosely in front of my face. Malcolm reached out and brushed it out of the way so that he could stare me in the face. “Hey, I love you. Now close your eyes.”\n\nI took a deep breath. “Okay.”\n\nHe clasped my hand again, and I squeezed it until the knuckles turned white. I felt him slip a small piece of paper into my palm. I looked up at him quizzically, but he was already facing forward at the wall. “On the count of three, then we'll do it.”\n\n“Do what?”\n\nHe ignored me. “One. Two. *Three!*”\n\nI shut my eyes and felt a sharp jerk on my hand, and then my navel, and then suddenly the floor was gone and I was flying. I could feel wind and particles whipping by my face. I wanted to scream, but was afraid if I opened my mouth then something might fly in it. \n\nThere was a second sharp pull at my arm wrenching my sharply in a new angle, and I was thrust away from my husband. I lost all reservations and opened my mouth to scream his name, but nothing came out, the sound of my voice consumed by the void of another dimension. Then I was alone.\n\nMy body connected with something hard, and I lost consciousness.\n\n\n*** \n\nSeagulls.\n\nI could hear them calling to each other.\n\nIt had been ages since Malcolm and I had taken a proper vacation to the ocean. It was good to finally be back, except why was I at the ocean again?\n\n“You alright, miss?”\n\nI opened my eyes, and only saw blurry shapes. The world was fuzzy as if I needed a pair of glasses, but I could make out three distinct colors: the dark navy water of the ocean, the bright cerulean of the sky and the beige expanse of sand stretching for miles in two directions before me. The sun was hot on my skin and sand was sticking in bunches to my elbows. I waited patiently for my mind to unscramble and my bearings to return to me.\n\nIt came in pieces: Followed Malcolm into bathroom. Different dimension. New life. Flying. Got separated. Hit a thing. Here now.\n\n“Hello? Miss? You a mute or somethin'?”\n\nI looked up. A girl no older then twelve or thirteen was looking down at me. She had tanned skin and short sandy hair fashioned in a pixie cut. She was offering a hand to me, and it was at that moment that I realized that I was sprawled out on my back.\n\n“I'm okay...I think. Thanks.” I accepted her hand and let her pull me to my feet. My entire body ached, as if I had done a work out at the gym for the first time in months. The girl was strong for her size, and did all the work to get me standing again.\n\nI began to dust sand out of my plaid pajama bottoms. I noticed the girl was staring at me with a funny look. “What?” I asked, still groggy.\n\n“That's a funny thing you wearin'. You're from the Outside, yeah?”\n\n*If the Outside is a different dimension, then yeah,* I thought.\n\n“Something like that.” I looked around. Out past a horizon of dunes, I could see a row of thatched, red roofs, a patchwork plain of mismatched and uneven tiles. It appeared to be some type of shanty fishing town. There were fishing lines dotting the shoreline, propped up in the sand, all facing the sea.\n\n“You must have come for the funeral then. Lot's of Outsiders will be sailing in the next few days. Guess you must have shipwrecked huh?”\n\nMy head was still pounding and I only understood half of what the girl was saying. “Funeral? No. I'm looking for a man. Name is Malcolm Reynolds. Apparently he's lived...uh...here for about 1000 years. You heard of him?”\n\nThe girl shook her head and kicked at the sand. “Don't know anyone by that name. It's a big world miss.” She took a step closer and peered a bit closer in to my hears. “We should get you to a doctor. We only got herbalists in the fishing village, so if you want a real one you have to head into the city.”\n\nI shook my head. “I can do that later, after I find my husband.”\n\nShe shrugged. “Suit yourself. You said he lived here a thousand years, yeah? Well anyone that lives that long would have to have a record in the city library.” She began to walk over to the fishing lines by the sea to check them. “I'm heading up that way for the funeral, you can join me if you like.”\n\nIt wasn't like I had any better ideas. I looked in both directions as far as I could, craning my neck as I did so. No sign of Malcolm anywhere. “Okay,” I said. I held out my hand again. “I'm Jill, by the way.”\n\nShe clasped in with bony fingers. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jill the Outsider. I'm Ko'sa.” She pointed back towards the village. “Let's head back to my cottage. We can stop and get provisions before we head into the capital. If we leave now we can get in before the lines at the city gates get too long.”\n\nI nodded. “Must be quite a funeral.\"\n\n“You could say that.” Ko'sa grinned. “It's a funeral for the queen, after all.”\n\n*The queen? Guess even alternate dimensions are ruled by royalty,* I thought.\n\n“She was a good queen then?”\n\nKo'sa bowed her head. “Yeah. She'll be missed, at least by most of us. Some of us... wonder about her death. Whether it was really natural or not. The Queen and the King were an arranged marriage you see, didn't exactly fancy each other. Some say he had it in for her, loved another.”\n\nAs Ko'sa prattled on about the royal family, I realized there was something pressed against my left palm, now slick with sweat. I opened my hand to reveal a note. The same note that Malcolm had thrust into my hand back in the bathroom. \n\nIt was tiny and rolled up neatly, like a scroll. With fingers that were slightly trembling, I unrolled the tiny piece of parchment and read the words in my husband's hand writing.\n\n> If you ever need to find me, just ask for the King ;)\n\n\n***\n\n/r/ghost_write_the_whip", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are a witch who offers couples deals in return for their first born child. You run an orphanage full of children freed from their would-be parents irresponsible enough to make a deal with a witch in the woods", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Once upon a time, there lived a witch in the woods. To the townsfolk nearby, who had thought up her name in a moment of breathtaking creativity, she was known as the Witch of the Woods. To the children of the orphanage, she was Mom.\n\nIn the morning when they awoke, she'd already be cooking in the kitchen a breakfast large enough to feed a hundred hungry mouths. \n\n\"Thanks, Mom,\" they'd smile one by one as they filed into the kitchen.\n\nShe'd serve their plates and hand them napkins and forks. Then, when the whispers of wind slipped through the cracked-open window, she'd hurry to her bedroom and put on clothes befitting a witch.\n\nShe looked something frightening, dressed in black rags and cackling gleefully as she crept out barefoot into the clearing. There, upon the stump of an old tree, the waiting parents had laid down their first born child. \n\n\"Hello, parents,\" she hissed in a most grotesque fashion. \n\nThe parents shuddered and shielded their eyes from the horror they thought the witch to be. Warts, rumors said, big as rhinoceros horns. Teeth sharpened and filed to feast upon flesh. Hair wild, like a mangy lion's mane. That was the disguise, of course, and in the confines of the orphanage, she was lovely and sweet an old woman as could be.\n\n\"Witch of the Woods,\" the parents chanted in unison, cowering in fear as she limped towards them. \"Give us your blessing and we give you the kid, we've come upon hardships of which we need to be rid.\" \n\n*Oh, the rhymes they came up with,* the witch thought to herself. *More ridiculous with each passing year.*\n\nShe cackled and cleared her throat, and when she spoke her voice was again a guttural hiss. It hurt, speaking like that, but a normal voice didn't get her the children who so desperately needed help. \n\n\"Hardships you say, that's why you've come here today? Give me the child, I'll make your hardships more mild!\"\n\nTruthfully, in another time, she might have become some sort of free-styling rapper. On the spot, under pressure, and the rhymes she came up with were strong as ever. Granted, singing nursery rhymes to dozens of needy children served as good practice.\n\nThe parents nodded far too enthusiastically. She hated them already and would be sure to haunt their hikes from then until the end of times. But still, this was her calling, like the chirping of birds was the calling of spring. She approached, and in her old arms took the child, bundled and wrapped in cheap dollar-store clothes. So many parents who cared so little for their children. \n\nBut, alas, such was the way of the world. \n\n\"Without further ado, no more hardships for you!\" the old witch yelled and she threw a cloud of chalk into the air that masked her escape as she grabbed the baby and ran into the forest with surprising agility. When the parents looked up again, she was gone. Like a jungle ape, the way she darted around trees and over roots and eventually came to the cottage.\n\nBy now, with the additions her contractor had made, it was more of a mansion. Still, there was never enough space. Not with the rate at which she collected children.\n\nThat evening, as she sat by the fire in a rocking chair, feeding the latest child from a bottle, the older ones crowded around her. She had done away with her disguise now, and in place of the wart was a forehead of wrinkles and in place of the sharpened dentures was a set of aged but normal teeth. \n\n\"Children,\" she said to them, and they all crowded a little closer to hear her soft voice. Each of them held a mug of hot chocolate, and by her chair was a mug of tea because the chocolate had run out. \"I am getting old. Soon too old to collect children.\" \n\nTheir faces drooped, but she smiled that contagious smile that crinkled up to her eyes and they couldn't help but smile back. \n\n\"All of you, however, are more than capable of stepping into my shoes. Someday, when the forest whispers that a pair of parents is creeping towards the clearing with an innocent child in their arms, it will be one of you who responds to their offer. You'll don my warts and you'll wear my dentures, and you'll go into the forest to claim the child as your own.\"\n\nThey nodded eagerly, ever appreciative of the fate she had spared them. Long ago, had Mom not come along, wolves and bears would have feasted upon the offerings the cruel parents left behind. \n\n\"Yes, Mom,\" the children responded lovingly, for everything they had was thanks to her kindness and grace.\n\n\"Then, you will bring them here. You will care for them and raise them as your own, so that each little boy and girl abandoned in the woods may have somebody to call Mom and Dad.\"\n\n*****\n\nThanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You often pick up pennies you find on the ground, inspecting them for date, markings, etc. One day, you find a penny from 2044. Even more shocking, it's your face on the front.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "\"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?\"\n\nThe nurse was leaning over him, watching his pupils while keeping an eye on his vitals from the read out. He might be getting old, but his wits hadn't completely abandoned him yet, so he knew he was in a hospital. How he got there, however, was a mystery.\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"You had a heart attack. Nothing too major, and luckily there were plenty of people around. If you're going to pass out and nearly die, doing it outside a movie theater is a good choice,\" she laughed quietly. He deduced from her demeanor that his life was no longer in danger.\n\n\"Ambulance?\" he asked quietly. He was surprised how weak his voice sounded.\n\nThe young nurse nodded. \"That's right. You'll be fine, just rest. We've contacted your family but they're a few hours north. Santa Barbara, I think they said? They should arrive this afternoon.\"\n\nShe adjusted a few dials and checked his IV, then she left.\n\nThe man took a deep breath. 53 years and never a single health problem. He hadn't smoked, had skipped drugs, and only had a glass of wine on special occasions. He exercised four days a week, took his vitamins and ate his vegetables. But it hadn't mattered. Here he was, climbing back from the brink of death.\n\nHe knew his health choices weren't what landed him here. It'd been his decades-long hobby. He grinned despite himself -- blaming coin collecting for a heart attack had to be a first.\n\nOn the table next to him were his belongings. His cell phone was cracked, probably from when he collapsed. Wallet was there and it looked like it hadn't been messed with. Car keys, receipt from the corner store, a ticket stub to the documentary he never made it into.\n\nAnd the penny.\n\nHe picked the brown coin up off the table and was once again surprised by how shiny it was. Too glossy, too well molded. When objects are too perfect they read wrong to the brain, and to his professional eye, this coin was unlike anything he'd ever seen.\n\nThen there was the minor detail that the face depicted was his. No doubt about it. That was his heavy brow and his broken nose, so distinctly crooked. His initials, H.H.B, were embossed underneath to remove any doubt.\n\nSeeing his image on the coin had thrown his heart out of whack, but now that he knew what to expect he was more calm -- although he noticed the heart rate monitor was beeping faster. Still, the initial shock had been replaced by questions. *How? Why?*\n\n\"Mr. Blakely, I presume?\"\n\nThe man standing in the doorway was young, probably in his twenties, wearing thick framed glasses and a beard that was simultaneously groomed and unruly. A small potbelly betrayed a sedentary lifestyle.\n\n\"I brought flowers,\" he said with a grin. \"Told them I was your son.\"\n\n\"Who are you?\"\n\nThe young man sat down in the chair next to the bed. There was something unusual about his clothes. You wouldn't have noticed if you weren't looking closely, but they were aggressively clean and obsessively pressed. And they glowed, ever so softly.\n\nHe glanced at the heart monitor before responding. \"Are you sure you can handle another scare?\"\n\nThe old man was aggravated by the concern. \"Spit it out, kid.\"\n\n\"My name is Josh. I'm a director, and I win my first Oscar with the documentary I make about your life. About twenty years from now.\"\n\nThe sentence contained too many impossible implications to consider at once, so the old man focused on the biggest: \"Why would anyone make a movie about me?\"\n\n\"I'll admit, there's not been much of a story so far,\" chuckled Josh. Then he looked at his watch. \"But you're ten minutes away from changing the world, and I'm going to be right next to you when you do it.\"\n\n\\--------------------\n\n8/365\n\none story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)\n\n\\--------------------\n\nedit: minor style points that were bugging me and correcting some atrocious spelling. every inch of me wants to rewrite a couple of the crap middle paragraphs but im restraining myself. thanks for reading\n\nedit2: thrilled yall enjoyed this, but i have work at now & then a promising first date tonight. [so this is my response to the clamoring for a pt. 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLdBrx-ijwQ) \\-- cheers", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " The Anti-Christ came and went, but no one noticed because he wasn't worse than the current state of the world already is. The rapture followed, but no one went to Heaven, so we didn't notice that either. We've been living in Hell for the last 5 years, and no one has noticed, yet.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "We've been living in hell for the past five years, and no one has noticed yet. No one but me.\n\nHow do you notice the world changing, little by little? Piece by piece? How do you notice an avalanche when you're only one snowflake among many, holding your breath, waiting for it all to fall out under you?\n\nToday it did. The mountain is rumbling under us, and we're all going to go sliding and crashing down. It will only take a good clap. A single shout.\n\nI am in a food line. Everything is lines now. Rations went into effect five years ago, when our president became dictator. He didn't call himself that, of course, but it was the Caesarean way. Claim the ultimate power in a time of crisis and then, when that crisis ends, never relinquish it. Some people call him the Anti-Christ himself. I never used to put any faith in that, but I've grown tired and dizzy and hungry enough that on some level, I'm starting to believe it's true. \n\nBread lines, gas lines, income lines, lines lines lines. This isn't the first time the thought sprang into my head.\n\n*This is hell*.\n\nMy daughter Missy squeezes my hand. She has learned incredible patience, patience I wouldn't have had when I was a boy. Before the skies went red and the ground dried up and stopped giving us the life we needed to continue on. Only eight years old, and she already has the world-weary eyes of an adult.\n\n\"How much longer, do you think, Papa?\" she murmurs. The gas mask she wears is getting small for her. I'll have to scare one up, somehow. Bargain or steal or argue my way into it. \n\nI would do anything for her. After all, it's just the two of us now.\n\nShe's a good girl. She's waited nearly five hours to ask me that. We rose with the dawn still black and dressed in the dark. We went out here and watched the pale copper disc of the sun rise behind the clouds.\n\n\"I don't know,\" I admit. My own mask is so damn itchy and hot. I resist the urge to loosen it and readjust. Can't risk letting the toxic air in.\n\n\"No one ever knows,\" Missy says with a tired sigh. She holds her doll cradled in her elbow. It's a potato sack stuffed with old cotton, the eyes mismatched buttons. It was one of the first things I learned to sew, just for her, when she was three years old and all the stores started closing and the bombs first started falling and the panic set in and everything went straight to hell.\n\nI will never be as good at it as her mom was. She left so many gaps I cannot fill.\n\nThe line shuffles forward. One weary person at a time.\n\nWe all look like ants here, our faces shielded and pronged with filters from the gas masks. The air is unbreathable. \n\nThe sky overhead hums and burns. \n\nThere's that avalanche feeling again. I can feel the whole hundreds of us hold our breath at once as we tilt our heads up, trying to decide if we should flee or stay. There is always that balance: will this be another drone strike, or can we stay and hold our place in the queue. \n\nMy daughter huddles closer to me. She still thinks I could save her, if the worst came to it. She watches the sky, fearfully.\n\nShe has learned to dread what waits behind the clouds.\n\n\"God has sent His angels again,\" someone whispers near us.\n\n\"No,\" I snap, squeezing my daughter's hand tighter. \"There's no need to say that.\"\n\nBut the humming grows louder and louder still. Every passing minute makes my shoulders wind with tension. With the instinctive need to flee and hide. The red clouds overhead obscure everything.\n\nI don't see the bomb until it falls glittering. It's a distant falling star on the horizon. No one else seems to notice. Their stares are on their feet, on the skies overhead. \n\nAll it takes is a clap. A boom. And the avalanche will shake and tumble and we'll all go down down down. That was God's plan all along, wasn't it?\n\nI yank my daughter out of the line. \"Missy,\" I say, \"we're going to run.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Her voice pitches up in panic.\n\n\"*Now!*\" I roar at her.\n\nWe're the first to break the line. The first to run across the dusty cracked asphalt. If we can be the first ones to make it underground, we might just survive. \n\nThe explosion glitters on the horizon. Just a cloud. Not a mushroom, thank God, if he's even around to hear. But the sound hits us a second later.\n\nThe avalanche shudders and roars down. All that panic setting in.\n\nBehind us, the line starts breaking apart. Screams rise up. We haven't been attacked in months, and we had grown complacent. Hopeful the long war might finally be over.\n\nBut I know as surely as I know Missy's hand in mine that it's only just begun.\n\nThe angels have come in their huge automatons. They come piloting giant robots, huge as planes. I can already see the dark shapes of the robots' wings, their flaming swords burning like starfire through the clouds. \n\nThey've come to burn us all.\n***\nIf you want to read more, [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/fkyxm7/hell_rising_part_2/) and [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofstatic/comments/fl1e8f/hell_rising_part_3/) are up now on /r/nickofstatic \n\nThanks as always for reading! <3", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "The world is ruled by cruel immortals. That much is true. Every year, hundreds, thousands even, are sacrificed personally by these immortal rulers. For they have lived since time immemorial, slayers and conquerors. Each life they take, adds the remaining lifespan of their victims unto them. And while they can be slain, around them there are millions of loyal, immortal soldiers. Good luck ever getting inside.\n\nArchaeologists scour the world for fragments of long dead immortals, so that the rulers may gloat at their fallen foes. And underneath a ruined city, in the land which was once called Mesopotamia, the land between the rivers Tigris and the Euphrates, there are men digging. Oh the arrogance of the immortal king who decreed that this city was to be excavated. Oh the pride and folly. For in a moment, a shovel breaks through the dirt, into a vast underground cavern. Curious, the diggers look into the darkness, and see, in the distant light of their torches, a man approaching.\n\nHe is dressed in decayed bronze armour, he holds aloft a sword bronze and still gleaming after all those years in the darkness. And he slays the diggers, and the archaeologists sent to the ruins of his city. He is beyond age. Nearly antediluvian. He was the great king, of whom now long lost legends speak. He was the first and only king, to seek true immortality, not the sort stolen from others. He was the one who saw his greatest friend die before him. And he was imprisoned for his crime beneath his city.\n\nHis crime of succeeding. He is Gilgamesh, Ensi of Uruk, and King of Sumer. And when Enkidu died, at the hand of another immortal king, Gilgamesh sought out the gods for their true immortality.\n While the legends spread by the other immortal kings, stated that he was unsuccessful, he did manage it. He became a true immortal. And seeing the horror wrought by the other immortal kings, slaying as they pleased, increasingly trying to usurp the gods and make themselves the object of mortal man's worship, he sought to overthrow them.\n\nHe did not succeed. But finding him to be truly immortal, the kings who stole life buried him beneath Uruk. But now he is back. He slays all who comes for him, for in the darkness he has trained non-stop for battle for nearly five thousand years. No arrow strikes him. No bullet hits him. Any blade sent against him is effortlessly blocked. The indulgent and hedonistic immortals run from him, as he makes his will known to the world. He will slay every last stealer of life, he will travel to the furthest reaches of the world, and enact a ritual which will make the transferring of life spans from victims to murderers cease to function.\n\nHe has spent thousands of years in darkness, and to the world, he vows that he will find the vain immortal rulers, he will break them, and by his will the world shall be freed. No one army can withstand him, not the armies of seven nations can hold him down, no force is strong enough to bar his passing. Nothing, not even the secret weapons, the Brahmastra, of the Empire of Bharat could hold him back.\n\nThrough the world he carves rivers of blood, his bronze blade cutting down tyrant after tyrant. And when his task will be complete he shall lay himself down to rest, in the ruins of beloved and ancient Uruk. Sleeping until the world needs him again, or until the stars go out and the gods call home their children.\n\n[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": "\"Should high heels be obligatory?\" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. \"Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes.\" The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "As Nobu walked away with his pair of pumps, Aiko came up with her flats.\n\n\"Sexy, Nobu. Looks classy! Aiko teased.\n\nNobu smiled. \"I'm glad that the managers have a sense of humor. Better for morale I think. Though I thought it would be mandatory for everyone, especially since health and safety sent out the poll.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well I guess they have a playful side. There are so many men in this company, I say it's high time the odds are evened up. Maybe more men will start making way for us ladies.\"\n\nThey got back to their cubicles, and sitting side-by-side they put on their new foot wear. After taking a few steps, Nobu sits back down, visibly annoyed.\n\n\"They're really pinching me!\"\n\nAiko tosses a box of band aids on Nobu's desk. \"That should help.\"\n\nTending to his already sore toes, Nobu strategically covers up rubbed skin.\n\n\"Looks good though. Even after a few steps, I wouldn't minding following you to the copier.\" Aiko was loving the new rule.\n\nSuddenly, an alarm bell came on the PA. Red emergency lights start flashing.\n\n*Employees be aware. The National Emergency Alarm has been activated. Proceed towards your nearest emergency exit in an orderly and brisk fashion. This is not a drill*.\n\nNobu and Aiko walked together. The hall was ringing with the taps of mens' heels while everyone started filing out. Flashing red lights lined the halls and stairways, lighting the faces of the concerned employees. As they got downstairs, Nobu could see a growing chaotic scene. Fellow employees being pushed down and trampled by other panic bystanders.\n\n\"Nobu, what's going on?\"\n\n\"I don't know Aiko! C'mon!\"\n\nAs Nobu grabbed for Aiko's hand, he started to move to the side and twisted his ankle. Falling down, he grabbed his leg. Aiko knelt down to tend to her friend.\n\n\"Are you alright?\"\n\n\"It's impossible to run in these!\"\n\nAs they lay on the sidewalk, a number of their colleagues lie around them falling down as they try to run away.\n\n\"What the hell is going on!\" Nobu yelled out in frustration as he focused on his fast swelling ankle. \"Aiko, please help me up. Aiko!\"\n\nGawking up at the unbelievable sight, Aiko didn't hear Nobu's request. Slowly trembling away from Nobu, with watering eyes and quivering lips, she runs at full sprint in the opposite direction.\n\nIncredulous, Nobu looks back in the other direction. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, as he shouted at the top of his lungs: \"Godzilla!\"\n\nEdit: typos", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " Everyone with the same name shares knowledge. If one Bob gets a degree in electrical engineering, then all Bob's have this knowledge readily available. Soon, everyone starts naming their kids similar names until factions form. Your parents rebelled and named you something original.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "FADE IN:\n\nEXT. A DEEP VALLEY - THE HIDDEN CAMPSITE - NIGHT\n\n*Several figures are huddled around a campfire, thick blankets covering each of them. The flicker from the firelight casts curious shadows on the high rock walls at the edges of its glow. Quiet-yet-casual whispers are heard, as if everyone present has grown used to feeling perpetually tense. An alarmed voice shouts from above. This is DEREK.*\n\n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) Stranger approaching!\n\n*The figures leap to their feet, throwing off their blankets and revealing that they are clad in worn combat gear. Firearms are drawn, and everyone turns to face the valley's entrance. One of the older individuals looks upward. This is ROBERT.*\n\n**ROBERT:** Can you tell anything about him? \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) ... No. \n**ROBERT:** What do you mean, \"no?\" \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) He walks a bit like a Steve, but he doesn't seem as confident. He has a Matthew gun on his hip. \n**ROBERT:** So, when you said \"no,\" what you really meant was \"I can't be bothered to extrapolate from available information.\" \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) I'm not a Francis! Dereks never got any fancy-shmancy logic training! \n**ROBERT:** Yeah, well, the first Derek was probably a meathead.\n\n*One of the figures in the crowd pumps his fist in the air. This is CHAD.*\n\n**CHAD:** (*Shouting*) Football! \n**ROBERT:** Shut up, Chad. \n**CHAD:** Sorry. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S*) Anyway, it's not just the Matthew gun or the Steve sneak. He also has a Robert sword in a sheath on his back.\n\n*Robert glances down at his own hip, where a machete-like weapon his hanging.*\n\n**ROBERT:** On his *back?* \n\n*A young woman at the back of the crowd raises her hand. This is SARAH.*\n\n**SARAH:** Maybe he's a Jacob?\n\n*Robert shakes his head.*\n\n**ROBERT:** Jacobs have hand-to-hand training, last I checked. A Jacob wouldn't be carrying a blade. \n**SARAH:** Well, maybe a Jacob got in touch with a rogue Robert somewhere along the line. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) He's not a Derek, I'll tell you that.\n\n*Robert rolls his eyes, and many of the people in the crowd murmur with mild annoyance.*\n\n**ROBERT:** Yes, Derek, we're all aware of your precious sniper skills. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) Do you think this is easy? Huh? \n**SARAH:** Yes. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) You guys get to sit down there by the fire all night, and I'm...\n\n*The sudden sound of something slipping on dirt interrupts Derek. Several small rocks fall from above.*\n\n**ROBERT:** ... Are you okay up there? \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) I dropped my dinner. \n**ROBERT:** We'll get you another one. Look, how far away is this stranger? \n**STRANGER:** (*O.S.*) Uh... hi?\n\n*Everyone whirls around to see a young man standing behind them. This is THE STRANGER. Robert sighs and rubs his forehead.*\n\n**ROBERT:** Derek... \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) You never asked which direction he was coming from! You just assumed! That's not on me! \n**SARAH:** I say we shoot him. \n**STRANGER:** (*Panicked*) Wait, wait, wait!\n\n*The stranger holds up his hands and takes a step back.*\n\n**STRANGER:** (*CONT'D*) I'm not trying to make trouble! I just want to trade! \n**SARAH:** That's fine. I was talking about Derek. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) Screw you, Sarah.\n\n*Robert makes his way through the crowd, approaching the stranger.*\n\n**ROBERT:** I'm sure you can understand our hesitance to let just anyone into our camp. \n**STRANGER:** No, yeah, that's... yeah, I get it. \n**ROBERT:** Let's start with your name. What are you?\n\n*The stranger clears his throat nervously.*\n\n**STRANGER:** Uh, I'm... look, don't worry about it.\n\n*Several seconds pass in silence.*\n\n**CHAD:** (*O.S.*) Football! \n**ROBERT:** Shut up, Chad! \n**CHAD:** (*O.S.*) Sorry. \n**ROBERT:** (*To the stranger*) Don't you have a name, son? Something you do? \n**STRANGER:** Let's just say that it's unique. My parents... well, they had some weird ideas. \n**SARAH:** Stupid ones, more like. \n\n*Despite already looking nervous, the stranger begins to appear even more uncomfortable.*\n\n**STRANGER:** Uh, yeah, I... it doesn't matter. I just want to trade. \n**ROBERT:** I'm not sure you have anything we need. \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) I need some new food, if that counts. \n**SARAH:** I could use a new soldering iron. Do you have one of those?\n\n*The stranger shakes his head.*\n\n**STRANGER:** Sorry. I have spare parts, cigarettes, some medicine, survival supplies... you know. The usual fare. \n**ROBERT:** Oh, so you're like a Srikanth! \n**STRANGER:** Nah, I can't haggle worth a damn.\n\n*The sound of a large explosion in the distance causes everyone to pause and glance at the sky for a few seconds.*\n\n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) Welp, the southern Inclusion Republic outpost just ate it. \n**ROBERT:** An attack? \n**DEREK:** (*O.S.*) Looks more like a Dave screw-up, honestly. \n**STRANGER:** Actually, I just came from there. They had *three* Daves. \n**SARAH:** That's bad. \n**ROBERT:** Yep. Emphasis on \"had,\" I suppose.\n\n*Robert sighs and shakes his head, then turns back to the stranger.*\n\n**ROBERT:** (*CONT'D*) You're welcome to stay here for the night, but you'll have to earn your keep. \n**STRANGER:** That's fine. \n**ROBERT:** What can you do? \n**STRANGER:** Couldn't I just... you know, like, wash your dishes or something? \n**ROBERT:** Why are you so reluctant to say what you can do? What *are* you, anyway?\n\n*The crowd tightens around the stranger, whose discomfort grows. His eyes dart around... but then, he sighs with resignation.*\n\n**STRANGER:** Oh, whatever. Fine. Let's get this over with. \n**CHAD:** (*O.S.*) Football!\n\n*A dull thud is heard, followed by the sound of an unconscious body hitting the dirt.*\n\n**ROBERT:** Thank you, Michael. \n**SARAH:** (*To the stranger*) So? Let's hear it, then. \n**STRANGER:** Okay. So.\n\n*The stranger sighs again. He closes his eyes. When he opens them, a complete change seems to have come over him: He is animated, and his face has broken out into a comical grin of nearly manic amusement. Several people take steps back, but nobody says anything.*\n\n**SARAH:** I'm getting impatient.\n\n*The stranger leans toward Sarah, his insane smile widening.*\n\n**STRANGER:** Hi, Getting Impatient! *I'm Dad!*\n\nCUT TO BLACK.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are born without emotions; to compensate this, you started a donation box where people could donate their unwanted emotions. You've lived a life filled with sadness, fear and regret until one day, someone donates happiness.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "Each day I woke up only to find that the day was filled with nothing better than the nightmares I endured the night before. My emotion box yielded the same dark, unwanted emotions that I was plagued with each and every minute. \n\nI open my eyes and clear the sleep dust from their corners, I groggily sit-up and swivel to the side of my bed, yet another day of disappointment awaits. Except... I don't feel empty? None of the nausea that accompanies depression, none of the repetitive thoughts of what I *could* have done that accompany regret. I feel warm and content - is this happiness? I run to my front door, to my emotion box that I relent to check every day. I look left, nothing. I look right and catch a glimpse of someone walking around the corner. I eagerly chase after, keen to thank this person for what quite literally is the happiest day of my life. Upon reaching the point where I last saw them there is nothing, no sign that anyone was here just a few moments ago.\n\nThe glee that they gave me is overpowering, everything delights me, all I can think of is how badly I want to thank them. They were wearing your average jeans and a red hoodie - nothing entirely discernible. I turn on the television to a live news broadcast, paramedics line a perimeter set up by several police cars. The camera pans to the person on top of the building above... then they jump. A man, no older than twenty. Jeans and a red hoodie.\n\nI never got to thank them, the person who gave up their last ounce of happiness to give me my first.", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]

[ { "content": "You are a prolific and imaginative writer. You will be given a prompt. Write something amazing for that prompt. Be creative and surprising!", "name": "situation", "role": "system" }, { "content": " You are eight years old when you fall into a coma. 70 years later, you unexpectedly awaken, a child in an elderly person’s body. Your parents are dead, and your relatives are nowhere to be found. Your only friend is the nurse who has watched over you for the last 30 years of her career.", "name": null, "role": "user" }, { "content": "I opened my eyes – the light, it was too bright. Mommy told me to never look at the sun; she said I would go blind. I tried to move my arms to block the light, but they aren’t moving. I don’t understand – I can’t lift them. Where did my arms go? \n\n“Reginald? Oh my god – you’re awake.” The lady said. She had a sweet voice, like mommy. I heard a door open and close. Where am i? \n\n“Mommy? Where are you?” I asked. My voice was low, lower than even daddy. \n\nI wonder if I have a cold. When daddy gets a cold, his voice gets low; he sounds just like a monster. I tried to move my legs, but they won’t work either. I’m stuck here, I think I feel something inside me? What is it? I’m scared. I try to open my eyes again, slowly now, but the light is still too bright. I start crying. \n\n“Mommy? Daddy? What’s going on?”\n\n“Reginald. Oh, you poor man. I’m so, so sorry.” The lady says. I like her voice, it sounds nice. “Do you know where you are?”\n\n“No. Where’s mommy? Where’s my sister?” I said. \n\nI remember we were playing at the park – I was running towards the blue slide. I felt something funny in my head; I saw the tops of the trees. They were green and red and yellow – so pretty.\n\n“Reginald – you’re in a hospital. You were sick for a very long time.”\n\n“I’m in a hospital? Am I sick anymore?”\n\n“No, you’re not sick anymore. Can you open your eyes? I’ll tell you all about mommy and daddy and your sister.”\n\n“I can’t, my eyes hurt too much” I said, crying. I didn’t want to talk to the nice lady anymore, I just wanted to go home.\n\nI felt the lights go out, and the nice lady came back. She put her hand on my forehead, covering my eyes. \n\n“Ok, now open your eyes slowly. If it hurts too much tell me.” She said.\n\nI opened my eyes. She had her hands covering them, like when I played peekaboo. Slowly she lifter her hands I could see the bed. I was in the doctors, and a bunch of tubes were plugged into me. There were scary lights that beeped and flashed. I looked so big now, and so old. I started crying again. \n\n“It’s going to be ok. I promise. Would you like to see mommy and daddy now?” the nice lady asked.\n\nI nodded. She went to the wall and pressed a button. The wall lit up with light. In wonder I stared at the light. It was a picture, but in colors! And it was moving. I could hear them talking – mommy and daddy and sister – and another boy I did not recognize.\n\n“Reggie. Hi sweetheart. If you are watching this – Your daddy and I may be a long way away, and your sister might be all grown up now, and this - this is your baby brother.” Mommy said. The boy waved and smiled. He seemed nice, I like him. Maybe he will want to play cars with me. Mommy seemed sad, she was crying. Daddy seemed sad too, but he never cried. \n\n“Hey there sport. I know you’re going to grow up to be a big, strong man someday. I want you to know that I’m so proud of you, and I love you so much.” Daddy said.\n\nMy sister spoke next. “Hi Reggie. Mommy and Daddy say you’re going to be asleep for a long time. I’m mad because when you’re asleep you get to dream, and you get to dream for a long time. I hope you have good dreams, like the one where you were playing with the little duckies at Grandpapas. You told me that was your favorite.”\n\nThe moving picture stopped, and the nice lady turned off the wall. \n\n“Reggie, that was over 60 years ago. You’re all grown up now.” The nice lady said.\n\nI tried to shake my head no, but my head wouldn’t work. The nice lady came over and gave me a hug. I could feel she was warm, and it made me feel a bit better.\n\n“Can I ready you a story? Your mommy left this for you; she said you liked stories.”\n\nShe held up a book. It was the big red book. \n\n“Digging dog. Read digging dog.” I said excited. The digging dog story was my favorite.\n\n“Ok, sweetie – digging dog it is.” The nice lady said. she looked sad; she had tears in her eyes too. She looked a lot like how mommy looked on the video. I wonder why they were so sad? \n\nThe nurse started reading, “I was the saddest dog you could ever see…”\n\n​\n\nr/BLT_WITH_RANCH", "name": null, "role": "assistant" } ]