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[FF] Mad World
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Walking through the grocery store, through the streets, through his house, through his mind, he sees them everywhere. Everybody he's ever touched. He stars at the revolver sitting on his bedside table. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring. He lays down on his bed, staring.
He wakes up, and it starts all over again.
| 3 | 0 | 13 | 500 |
[FF] Mad World
|
I probably went a bit overboard with the bonus...
-------------------------------------------------
I’m walking to the same old dead end job, bright and early for the daily races and all around me are familiar faces and worn out places. Everyone seems to walk with no expression, just looking right through me as though I’m not even there.
I’ve probably seen every single one of these people before, but do I remember any of them? Do I care about any of them? Do any of them care about me? In this mad world everyone is so concerned with “getting ahead” that instead of getting to know their fellow man they knock him to the ground – I find it kind of funny yet I find it kind of sad.
| 1 | 0 | 13 | 501 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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On my plate there is everything Epic Meal Time has ever created and uploaded to youtube. I'll die of heart explosion later on, but my god it'd be worth it.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 502 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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The mashed potatoes were practically floating above the plate. The whipped texture reminded me of clouds being blown by an approaching storm. A thick, country-style white gravy is ladled over the waves of potato heaven. Crumbles of crisp bacon are sprinkled on top.
bright orange carrots that had been simmering in a soy and garlic hot tub for the past 30 minutes finally make their way to the mouth party that is convening on my plate. the aroma rises to my nose and I am reminded of my old friend Pavlov as I begin to salivate at the shear site of these delicate morsels.
A flaky biscuit now joins the party, adding a burst of hot steam as the halves separate and a pad of butter takes up residence on each side.
Now the emperor arrives, dressed in what he believes is his finest clothes. Yet to me, it is a naked chicken breast with drawn butter skin. It parades itself onto my plate with a smug look of worthiness and vain certainty that he is the main attraction. Yet, he is simple, and delicate. The finishing item to a home-style masterpiece. I kiss my grandma on the cheek and with a wide-eyed grin I tell her thanks for the things she has prepared.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 503 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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I picked up the leg of meat and sunk my teeth in, tearing off a chunk of the tender, still pink flesh. The almost metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils before the flavours of the juicy rich meat overwhelmed it in an orchestra of flavours. Swallowing I licked my lips before taking another savage bite of the delicious leg, thinking how wonderfully empowering it felt to devour another human being.
| 15 | 0 | 10 | 504 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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The pie was baked with the utmost of care, sprinkled with coarse-cut sugar and served with a dollop of ice cream. Served with a cool glass of lemonade, dressed with a fine glaze and served in a sunset to the music of a violinist, it was hardly worth mentioning the old tire that was used for the pie's stuffing.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 505 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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Kids grew up hating the plant, which I never understood. Not like it tasted terrible. Even when raw it was an experience. The top tickles your tongue while the stalk, so crisp, it echos.
Yet still versatile in it's own right. It doesn't complain when it's paired; only complimenting the other, even the chicken blushes.
Some pepper and salt turn it into a snack quieter than most. Maybe some cheese because cheese why not. Throw it in a pot and add some broth and baby you got a stew going, as it sponges up the flavor in its bristly top.
Broccoli does everything you ask it to do, so how can anyone hate such a harmless dude?
But cauliflower? That I understand.
| 3 | 0 | 10 | 506 |
[WP] Description Exercise
|
The bright red and plump tomatoes were perfectly sliced. The mozzarella cheese was delicate and soft, carefully arranged in-between each slice of tomato. Dark and rich balsamic vinegar paired with a golden olive oil drizzled over the plate, bits of bright and daring green leaves of basil bursting over the already perfect earthy tones of the salad. A deliciously light start to this meal.
The salad was paired with a chilled chardonnay, crisp and fragrant, a simple bouquet of citrus and the right smacking of sweet and sour.
Waiting to be served in the middle of the table was a piping hot dish of goat cheese and spinach ravioli, dripping in a rosy vodka sauce. Piled on a plate, now that the salad is done and a simple memory, the sauce painting a portrait of taste on the plate countered with the ravioli, pillows of comfort for my still hungry stomach. The garlic and creams filled the room with savory, mouth watering ambiance.
A warmed baguette to dredge through the tomato sauce, not forgotten in a basket beside the bowl, buttered and crunchy, a stark contrast to the soft doughy pasta.
Warm and soothing red wine to top of and pair the tastes, a biting end for a delicate meal.
Chilled lemony gelato.
I then wake up, and realize I have yet again slipped into another McDonald’s induced coma. Only a month left on my meal plan.
| 5 | 0 | 10 | 507 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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The mug of tea was steaming to the left of the plate. Strong tea, the colour of cheap fake tan. On the plate breakfast was waiting. Crisp bacon, a link sausage with the skin caramelised just right, a fried egg sunny side up waiting to give up the gold to the dipped toast and butter. On the side the sautéed mushrooms were looking lonely, so I piled them on the plate. I sliced the sausage hearing the skin crack, pairing it on the fork with the first buttered mushroom. The yolk bulges then yields as I plunge forth the fork. I salivate in anticipation of this first bite. Then the phone rings.
First go on this thread, all pointers/advice/criticism warmly receeved.
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 508 |
[WP] Description Exercise
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[deleted]
| 2 | 0 | 10 | 509 |
[FF] You wake up in a seedy hotel in Greece...
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I push myself off of the floor and stumble towards the nightstand. I rummage through my bag for my bottle of aspirin. Instead I find my original belongings have been replaced by a strange assortment of things. The only one of interest being a phone number.My memory of the past few days seems to be absent.
I sit down, pull out my phone, and call the number on the piece of paper.
"Hello?" I wonder if anyone is there? "HELLO?" I say more loudly... I can now hear muttering. "Listen, can you help me? I need to know who this is?" The muttering grows louder, and excited? "Uh...You see, I found this number, and I'm...Uh, kind of lost, do...Does anyone on your end speak english?" I ask desperately.
"YES. What do you need?"
"Ummm, I'm not really sure. I found this number my bag...And, I um... Just was trying to figure out, where it came from... ...."
"...You don't know where you got this number?"
"I...Can't remember... I'm sorry, nevermind" *I'm glad to hang up at this point.*
"Wait"... I hear a muttered exchange, "Are you free this morning, Mr....?"
"...eh, Huelskamp, and yes...?"
"Huelskamp, yes, would you like to grab lunch?" He asked loudly.
"Sure, where would you like to meet, Mr....?"
"It's doctor, actually, Dr. Achelous.”
I walk in and try to give a smile and exchange the usual nice to meet you, however when I stick out my hand he hesitates.
"You don't remember anything yet, do you?" Then he nods to another man there. I’m thrown to the floor and handcuffed amidst a flurry of shouts.
When I awake I'm chained to a chair in a holding cell, the good doctor is sitting across from me.
"An explanation is due, Mr. Huelskamp, your being here is as much my fault as yours."
I wait questioningly.I can't remember where I am.
"How long ago was your most recent memory?"
"About a week ago..." I respond cautiously.
"Before that, are your memories intact?"
*Yes* I think. But then I realize I can hardly remember anything for the past few months.
"No."
"Mr. Huelskamp, you came to see me two months prior about an experimental treatment for depression. Your wife passed and you had grief that would not leave you." He sighed, then continued "A few years ago me and my fellow researchers developed a new treatment that targeted memory, and specifically memories tied to strong emotion. Knowing your background I will skip the technical details. We found a way to eliminate the negative emotion from past memories. The brain already does this on its own, but we increased its effectiveness substantially. Unfortunately, despite early success, we have had some setbacks..." He looked up and examined me. "In short, the process was too effective, and had unforeseen side effects reaching into other areas, like behavior....Your memories are now fading, and will continue to fade. My team failed to pinpoint major negative associations with memories and in many cases, such as yours, even childhood memories are now being repressed to a place you cannot reach."
"What do you mean?" I question.
"All memories, or almost all, have a mixture of good and bad emotion, or association... Our process was meant to target bad emotional memories, unfortunately your mind is now forcing back nearly all of your memories, and your behavior, which was based partly upon those memories, is changing... In the past week alone your previously outstanding status in society has been changed forever. You have been caught on camera stealing from stores, attempting to rob a poor old man in front of a hotel, and you have been linked to various acts that are questionable ethically and certainly illegal. Forgetting pain, it was, a...a-wonderful-dream..of mine, but I failed to limit its side effects."
"What will happen to me now? Will you try to reverse the process?"
Here he smiled even more sadly, and responded "No, I've been forbidden from practicing in this country..."
A buzzer rang and he began to walk towards the door.
"Will I be able to leave today?" I call out to him.
"I'm afraid not, the police tell me they have reason to believe that you may have been planning to kidnap someone, and a suspicious amount of money was found on your person."
He eyed me one more time..."I'm sorry, I truly am..."
As he leaves, I test the strength of my handcuffs...
| 3 | 0 | 11 | 510 |
[PI] The August Writing Prompt Contest - Creature
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Dark. Cold. Spots of warmth dotted over his back. And above all, the pain. 8 tried to move but despite all of his efforts nothing moved, he was completely paralyzed.
Then, with a dim flickering his vision began to return. It wasn't anything exciting, just grey cement and a rusty drain just a few feet away from him. He tried to move again but with no luck. Even blinking was beyond him and all he could do was watch the ground and wonder where he was.
He knew he was in the facility, but this was a new place, he had never seen this area before. None of the rooms had had a drain in the floor besides the bathroom, and that room was sterile white, not dull grey.
Then behind him a door clicked, and 8 heard footsteps entering the room.
"So...what do we do to the specimen?" Asked a young voice, more than a little nervousness in his tone.
"We've been tasked with removing the limbs, they're of no use to us but the torso is, so we give the torso over to command and they deal with the rest, got it?" This voice was older, he too sounded nervous but not as much, he had probably been at the facility longer than his partner.
"Yah...got it. Now hand me the scalpel, I'm going to make the opening incision."
8 listened to those words with terror and tried moving again, desperately working through his muscles. The effort made the pain in the back of his head spike but that was nothing compared to the terror he felt when again, nothing moved.
And as he lay there on the floor, he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder and he was flipped onto his back. His view was now of two masked doctors and a bank of flickering florescent lights on the ceiling. One of the doctors held a scalpel, the blade shining wickedly in the light.
"It's eyes are still open, that's creepy as hell." Commented the doctor with the scalpel.
"When a person dies their eyes almost always flick open even if they died with them shut, something about muscles in the face." Replied the other doctor as he produced a black medical bag.
"I'll mark off the areas where you need to cut." He said and uncapped a marker. 8 tried to move his eyes but failed, he was completely immobile and could only wait as the doctor marked the muscles for his partner to cut, the marker tip cold against 8's skin.
"Alright, beginning initial incision." Said the doctor and moved the scalpel out of 8's view, towards his left arm.
8 felt panic, cold and dark clench his chest and once again tried to scream.
"NO!" He screamed internally and to his surprise the doctor suddenly recoiled.
"What's wrong?" Asked the doctor's partner, casting a wary gaze at 8.
"I thought I heard something." Said the doctor with the scalpel and began to lean in again.
But this time 8 knew what to do, watching the doctor's face he cast his thoughts out at the doctor, thoughts of malice and death.
This time the doctor actually stood up and backed away from 8, his eyes shining with fear. Then the arm holding the scalpel jerked and before he could stop himself, the scalpel had slashed across his partner's face, staining his mask crimson as he doubled over in agony.
"What the fuck did you do?!" Roared the partner as the scalpel descend ed again, this time into the wounded man's back. The doctor holding the scalpel was shrieking now as his arm descended again and again in a spray of crimson carnage. His partner collapsed onto the floor bleeding from a dozen stab wounds and attempted to crawl for the door, leaving a giant smear of blood behind him as he went.
8 ignored him, the man was already dead, two of the scalpel's stabs had severed the man's spinal cord and brachial nerve, within seconds he was going to drown in his own blood as his lungs quit working.
The first doctor looked down at his arm in horror as the bloody scalpel began to work its way towards his throat. He reached down towards it with his free hand, but then 8 acted and that hand yanked his head back, exposing his throat.
The blade bit deep and with a spray of arterial death the doctor fell to the floor, kicking spasmodically for several seconds before laying still, his last breath bubbling out from the blood that filled his mouth and throat.
From down the hall 8 could hear sirens beginning to go off. No matter, from here he had a good view of the door, he could hold them off for as long as he wished.
EDIT: Not entirely sure if I was supposed to write a story of my own or continue 8's saga.
| 4 | 0 | 10 | 511 |
[WP] Someone you hate.
|
It was 2 AM on a Tuesday morning. Exhausted from hours of tedious smoking, the man had fallen asleep at his desk and had just awoken. He stretched his flabby arms, knocking countless Chick-fil-a wrappers to the floor. He looked at the clock. "Wub wub glub glub, Obama gay communist glub," he said to himself. He then smirked, he would have to remember that for his radio show tomorrow. suddenly, he heard a crash. The building's alarms had sounded. There was an intruder.
The man grabbed his American made, American Smith & Wesson model 500 (America) and ducked under his desk. "Communists!" he thought, "Socialist, Anti-American, CommiNazi terrorists!" The man knew in his heart that it was up to him to defend his glorious country from freedom-hating feminist eco-Nazis. He couldn't wait to use his new handgun. He had skipped the gun safety classes that the salesman had suggested as he had plenty of practice shooting trapped deer at point blank range with a laser-sighted exploding-bolt crossbow at the nature preserve. He knew that GOD was on his side: the freedom loving straight adult white male side. The man fired a warning shot. The gun flew back and smacked him in the face, while the bullet punched through the wall like it wasn't there.He heard shouting from the floor below him.
"Shit! someone's got a gun!" "So do we." Sub-machine gun fire sounded from the floor below. Then, crackling from the intercom. "We know you're here," said a voice, "You are out numbered. Put your weapon down and we won't hurt you." The man listened carefully. He was not used to being told what to do. It was his time to shine. The power of GOD was worth more than a thousand fully automatic weapons. Stealth was for terrorists, so the man flew down the stairs firing his last four shots wildly in different directions. He was met at the lobby of the building by a group of four black-clad men with ski-masks and body-amour.
"Who the hell are you, Rambo?" Asked one of the intruders, quickly slapping the gun from the man's hand. The man put his hands up and answered truthfully, "Wub wub America glub Mitt Romney 2012 glub glub." "The fuck?" said a softer voice. The man realized that one of the intruders was a woman. "Blubber glub glub, Get back in the kitchen glub," said the man. He felt a sharp pain as one of the intruders smacked him over the head. Dazed, The man fell to his knees, then blacked out.
When he woke up, he realized that his hands were tied. He was in the back of a van. "What should we do with him?" said a kidnapper. "I don't know-shh he's awake", said another. The man looked up and was amazed by what he saw. Piercing blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and fabulous hair. The man was speechless. The kidnapper had amazing biceps and broad shoulders. "Think about something else!" thought the man, "America, Pamela Anderson, War!" The man tried to distract himself but to no avail. "I'm not a homo, not a homo," he thought to himself, "I'm not-". The blue-eyed kidnapper put one arm behind his head revealing his muscular arm. The man stared,heart racing, unsure of what to think of himself. "Stop looking at me like that." said the blue eyed kidnapper.
The man knew he had to escape. He said a quick prayer, then fumbled for the door handle. The back doors fell open and the man jumped onto the road. He ran towards a nearby forest and kept running til he was safe. He then vowed to never do another radio show or television interview for the rest of his life.
| 7 | 0 | 7 | 512 |
[WP] Someone you hate.
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"Hi, I'm Gavin, and I'm a superhero!" he shouted to the whole city, ready to use his powers for good.
"NO," the citizens shouted back, firing at him with all the guns they could manage. Gavin died. Fuck Gavin.
| 6 | 0 | 7 | 513 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
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A perfect circle, it reflects light in a mysterious way. A rainbow is visible on one side and on the other infinite designs. The small in the center allows a persons finger to fit perfectly so as to be held with the utmost care to prevent the smallest scratches that seem to appear from nothing. The plastic is hardly bendable and shatters when enough force is applied to this fragile object. It is the thinnest thing yet is made to sustain the highest speeds of spinning. Such a wonderful object.
| 5 | 0 | 6 | 514 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
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"The date is June 22, 2222. It is approximately 15:11 and 26 degrees Celsius. Alright, we will start by placing the entire object under the 3-D imaging camera so a model will be reflected onto our screen and saved into our system. This is so Bill doesn't accidentally blow up the artifact again. Alright, now that that is done let's see what we have. The object is precisely 5.08 cm tall. 2.81 cm wide, and 13.97 cm in length and as the chemical tests show, is composed of poly(vinyl chloride) [plastic]. The poly(vinyl chloride) [plastic] has an indented groove slightly smaller than the width which seems to be coated with a sticky, binding cloudy residue. At the slightly curved end there appears to be a composition of Fe2O3.nH2O(s) [rust]. The test of the cloudy residue is coming back as an unknown substance directly related to C6H10O5 [cellulose]. The object is now carefully being split in half with our laser. Something is sifting out of the cracks. After closer examination it appears to be sand. What is this? Bill I am stepping out. Clean up the lab."
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 515 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
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Accident. Big bang. Doctor says I never recover. Brain damage bad. Don't always remember. Things look different. What this. Look familiar. But I not name it. What it do.
Big. Round circles. Four of them. Its feet. Glass and metal. Lots of metal. Shiny. People inside. It opens up. Changes. It closes. Changes back. I inside. Seats. I sit. Music playing. I start move. Go fast. It traps me. Straps. I can not get out. There more of it. They everywhere. Lights to. Move different directions. I starting to remember things. Accident. Like this. I was trapped. Tell brother. With writing. Brother was far away. Moving. Car. I was in car. I am in car.
| 3 | 0 | 6 | 516 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
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It's simplicity, beauty and elegance are apparent to me. A small silver object that feels very solid in my hand, it has such potential. I run my fingers across it's smooth metallic surface. It's touch somehow comforts me as it is still warm from it's last use. I listen for the satisfying click as I open the lid. Flicking my thumb downwards against the tiny wheel, the flame springs to life from the spark I have created.
| 5 | 0 | 6 | 517 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
|
Broad lie the shoulders of that alabaster collossus, each corner made square and each contour made straight. Not divine being not creature unworldly but possessed of its own form of life and motion. Time and again hath it spake aloud its whir and opened its maw to release winds frigid and dry as those that whisper from the snow-laden Caucasus. Eerie light shines in its gut but so complete and perfect is its form that not a ray escapes save when that belly show itself willingly before the world. Yea, it is within that belly and below that unearthly dawn that true magic lies. There time, inexorable and all-infusing, lies frozen. Fruit cannot rot as on the tree, drink does not froth and expire, no spoil touches the meats, and no plant's seed whithers. What a boon to the earth whoever its craftsman might be. What a power he wields.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 518 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
|
How beautifully we dance.
I dictate and with my eyes
follow its every line.
Alert, hoping it is perfect.
My purpose set in sets
in scale ascending and descending
sorting and presenting
line-by-line a stream of praise:
Parsing query; Array Selected.
Not affected
by mere physical constraints
it creates a world in essence.
Out of classes it makes laws
that an object, thus directed,
follows closely to the grave,
where, as trash, is soon collected.
| 2 | 0 | 6 | 519 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
|
From the words of the the Ankleer Shumaaker: (14/2)
How sweet the feel. The tug. The pull. The soft fibers so delicately woven as for the utmost degree of comfort. How cherishing, as it cradles our feet with the slightest touch. And as the great one gave it, it being so full and vibrant. Colors (colours) by the great and infinite many. And to the day it shall no longer lend to us it's lawful aid, we tear for, for on that day, when holes and stains fill it's beautiful canvas, we shall burn it as a wish for more to grace our presence.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 520 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
|
My mom headed the project to upgrade all the stoplights in St. Louis from analog to digital in 1988. When the job was done, they gave her one of the analog timers as a souvenir, and it, being both sturdy and interactive, became one of my first toys.
You've probably never seen a stoplight timer. They don't look like much. Most of the mechanisms live in a nondescript aluminum box, and they are controlled by a large, spinning metal wheel with ninety-two slots. An analog stoplight's cycle is exactly ninety-two seconds long. I have known this since I was old enough to count the slots. The lights are controlled by different-colored pegs--you put the pegs in the slots where you want the light to change. My stoplight was green almost all of the time.
I got older, until I was just about the right age to take it apart. They're built for easy repair, but it seemed that I had sprouted magical powers when my screwdriver teased the aluminum box apart at the seams. Cogs, springs, pegs easily separated from their housing. Soon, the box was empty, and the carpet was strewn with dusty metal parts.
The parts went back more slowly than they had come out, but every single part wound up back inside the casing after a time. The last screws went in, and the box was complete again. I flipped the timer over, and flicked the wheel with my finger. It ground and caught. No amount of reassembly persuaded it to spin again.
We've misplaced that timer since then. I always wanted to go back and make it work again. I never did, and now it never will.
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 521 |
[WP] Making the mundane interesting
|
[deleted]
| 1 | 0 | 6 | 522 |
[PI] "The alphabet game story."
|
A clever tale, to be sure. But really, is it necessary to be so meta all the time? Can’t one simply write a story as a story? Does it really need the reader to be involved with the writer so intimately? Even as I type this response I’m certain it does not. For what are we if not hungry for the loss of self that takes place in a well-crafted vignette? Given this knowledge, I would endeavor to break the mold of meta, and instead rely on layered characters and smoothly developing plot lines that call to the heart. Heart is, of course, subjective. In all my readings, it has meant something different to each author and each character. Just as I can separate my love of story from my love of family by the simple rhythms of mine, others should be able to plumb the depths of an author’s heart and understand the beat. Knowledge of heart, and self, and reader, and author; these are the hallmarks of story.
Leave out for a moment, if you can, the concept that the reader must not only lose himself in the story, but be part of the story. Many fine examples of works that draw the audience lack the violation of the ‘fourth wall’ of a book, as it were. Nevertheless, I do admire a bit of snark in a yarn and the above delivers quite nicely. On the other hand, the steep descent into debauchery is distasteful to my sensibilities. Perchance this author feels his audience will be able to relate to his indulgence in libation, but I have my doubts. Quite the opposite if I were to hazard a guess. Rather, I suspect that they, like me, will be disturbed by this turn toward escapism through drink, even as the author bars the door to the escape of the reader from the involvement one cannot avoid in the text above.
So then, can we say what have we learned from this comment? Truly, I don’t know that it has a lesson. Unless you consider that while railing against the meta, I have been slavishly using it all the while. Viler and more cruel tricks have likely been perpetrated against the OP, but I’m not aware of them. Whether or not he can withstand the onslaught of foolishness I’ve unleashed is beyond my ken, but I suspect him to the better of us two, and he will indeed write again another day. Xanthic seems apt to describe me, as I have ruthlessly attacked the poster above with exceeding cowardice, and I hope he will excuse me for it. Zestfully I close this diatribe, never to revisit the alphabet challenge again.
| 10 | 0 | 40 | 523 |
[PI] "The alphabet game story."
|
[deleted]
| 1 | 0 | 40 | 524 |
[PI] "The alphabet game story."
|
Outstanding. I needed a dose of wit and intelligence to bring a smile after a day of dealing with dullards and jackasses!!! Thank you, sir.
| 4 | 0 | 40 | 525 |
[WP] Superpowered
|
I awake from my coma with little to no emotion or desire to rethink my life. My wife rushes to my side and starts telling me that shes been waiting by my side for years, our kids are waiting at home, they are going to be so happy, *blah blah blah*. I yawn and say "Quiet, wench." Then I roll out of bed onto the floor, my muscles have atrophied. I smack my face on the tile, and then look up to see a janitor.
He asks me concernedly "Sir, should I go get a nurse?"
I smile reassuringly and say "Yes, but first, you are a janitor, correct?"
He looks confused but responds politely "Umm, yes I am."
"Then clean my shit up!" I yell as a stand up and proceed to shit on the hospital floor.
The man's eyebrows shoot up into his forehead and he gives me an appalled look, after which he backs out of the room muttering something along the lines of "Didn't know you could get corn in an IV, sick muthafuckas, sick sick sick..."
My wife vomits all over my bed and runs out of the room crying.
I then walk into the hall in my gown and calmly walk out of my section into the next ward labeled "children's icu".
"Well a looky here!!!" I exclaim.
A young boy is eating a small piece of cake in front of me. I pick it up with my bare hands, smushing it in my palm.
The boy begins to tear up, and he tells me its his birthday. I look him deep in the windows of his soul, and respond "Oh yeah? Well guess what?"
He looks up in spite of himself, and asks "What?"
"Yo, its my CAKEDAY, bitch!!!" I say through mouthfuls of vanilla cake and icing.
I then walk out the front door yelling "King kong ain't got shit on me!!!"
I kick two bums in the face on my way home. Then I sell all my kids stuff, and buy myself a nicer TV. I realize I have become inhuman. The world reacts negatively to my change, but I just DGAF.
*inhuman (adj.): lacking qualities of sympathy, pity, warmth, compassion, or the like, cruel or brutal.*
| 11 | 0 | 7 | 526 |
[WP] Superpowered
|
I slowly realize I am thinking coherently again. Somehow, this doesn't reassure me in the least. I open my eyes, but immediately shut them tight. The light hurts my eyes. I feel my way around my body, pulling out IV needles as I go. My head still hurts.
I try opening my eyes once again, having a bit more success this time. It still hurts, however I can now bear it.
I painfully crawl over the bed railing and gently lower myself to the cold floor. I cannot have been here long, my muscles have not atrophied. How long though?
I make my way to the doorway that leads to the hall, watching as people hurry by on errands I don't even care about. Everyone is ignoring me!
A nurse walks quickly by, I try to call out to her but I can't make my voice work. I simply make some rude vocalizations that are completely meaningless.
Now, I am pissed. I focus on the nurse and dwell on my anger for a moment. One moment she is there, the next she is nothing but a cloud of red mist.
Did I do that? I didn't mean to! Yet... it's satisfying. I look down to discover that my hospital gown is now covered with splatters of the nurse's blood.
Sounds intrude on my pondering. I realize there are people screaming. No doubt at least some of them witnessed the nurse explode. I focus again on the scene at hand. There is a security guard pointing his gun at me.
Now there is not. He has become nothing more than a red stain on the white tile floor.
I wander down the hall, taking out my anger on anyone that presents themselves. As I enter a new wing of the hospital I see I am in the children's ICU. There is a man standing there taking cake away from a child and eating it. His words make no sense to me at all.
"Yo, its my CAKEDAY, bitch!!!" he says through a mouthful of vanilla cake and icing.
I will take great pleasure in making a blood stain of this one. However, he walks away before I can catch up to him.
I go to the child, tears in his eyes, extending my arms to give him a comforting hug. He reaches out with a single finger and touches my arm with a mischievous look on his face.
I cannot move! The little kid did something to me! As my eyes focus on my arms, I am slowly forced to accept the truth. He has turned me to stone. Well great. Just great.
And I thought I was the only one with super powers.
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[WP] Superpowered
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I wake up, and my entire body feels as if it's been burned. The skin tingled and my hair felt- nothing. I run my hands over my head, and it's all gone. I quickly get off of my bed, but I realize that I'm not even in my house. Where was I? I look around at the metal walls, the test tubes, the beakers, and the different complex equations on the wall and realize I'm in the science lab. What was I doing here?
A man walks out from the bathroom. "Ah, you're awake," he says before he charges at me. He's incredibly fast. It seemed inhuman how quick he was rushing towards me. He had his fist raised. In a panic, I raise my hands and electricity comes out. He manages to dodge it though, and punches me in the face with such force that I fly backwards and hit the wall. I would collapse to the floor, but he embedded me into the metal.
He calmly walks towards me, his face angry and determined. He suddenly gets green skin, and his eyes begin turning yellow. "No! Not yet!" he shouts to himself. The skin turns normal, but the eyes stay yellow. He raises his fist and is now face to face with me.
"Why?" I ask. He laughs, but his laugh isn't friendly or genuine. It's a laugh of disbelief.
"WHY?" he shouts in repeat. He slams his arm into the wall right next to my face with such force that it dents the metal even more than I did. "Are you seriously such a heartless bastard that you don't even remember?"
"I- I have amnesia or something. I don't know what I did," I tell him. Then I get an idea. I put my hand against the wall and start shocking it. His arm was in the wall also, so he leaped back, electrified. I kick off the wall using my legs, and punched him in the face with an electric fist. He falls back and I stand over him. This was no time for mercy though, this man was definitely trying to kill me. I raise my hands and continue shocking him.
"I guess you don't want to talk then. I guess it won't matter anyways. If you win, you'll find out soon enough. And if you die, your corpse won't care much," he groans. I wonder how he's even managing to stay alive with all of the electricity coursing through him. Then I see *his* hair disappearing too. His skin was turning green again. He slowly stood up.
I shot my electricity as hard as I could now, and he collapsed again. But after a few seconds, he got to his feet a second time. Then I get the thought that he might be absorbing the electricity somehow, and I stop. So he turns around and faces me, and he's a snake. He has the body of a human, but that's slowly changing. His arms are shrinking, his legs are already merging together and turning into his lower half, and his head was green, had no nose, and his eyes were yellow with a black slit for a pupil.
"Oh god," I whisper. My powers were one thing, but this guy was on a whole new level of weird. He strikes at me, propelling his head forward at speeds faster than my eyes can follow. He latches onto my arm with his newly grown fangs. "Let's hope you aren't poisonous," I say. I make electricity go through my entire arm, and he releases me, but it seems he let go due to shock rather than pain. The electricity was hardly effecting him anymore.
I run to the side of him to the table that was next to us. I grab a metal pole off of the side. I see him coiling as if he were about to strike and I duck down. Seeing his head hit the wall behind me, I shoot the pole upwards into his throat, using the electricity to make the cut easier and more painful. I watch as the basilisk shrinks until it's a human again. His throat is ripped out but he's still watching me. So I place his head against the edge of the table stomp on the back of it.
I walk out of the lab, ready to use my powers for good, and maybe to earn some extra cash. Then I drop down to my feet. The entire city was in ashes. The buildings didn't even exist anymore. They were just ashes and debris. The city looked as if it'd been bombed. And just in front of me, written in dirt, were the words "Good job, doctor. ~Basilisk."
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[WP] Superpowered
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[deleted]
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[WP] Superpowered
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[deleted]
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[WP] Superpowered
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I awake in the hospital alone with only the silent blips of the heart monitor to comfort me. Slowly my memories wash over me. A flood of emotions overtake me, seeping into every crack, hurtful emotions, destructive even. It hurts to be alone, it’s not the abandonment, but rather the knowledge this isn’t the first time. I slip back into the comfort of a dream, false hope. It’s easy to live life in dreams, to dream of intoxicating happiness, but to face the cruel harsh world, that is difficult. So what are we if we don’t choose? It’s not choosing correctly that makes a person, it’s deciding to choose in the most difficult of times, choosing when your choice won’t make a difference. Choice is the sign of human strength. It’s not strength of muscle that makes me a hero, it’s strength of mind. My ability to control people with words and ideas makes me strong. With one word I can change the world: *”Timshel!”*
(I would really appreciate any feedback)
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[WP] Superpowered
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"... and that is all you have to do."
Lightning travels up my spine and into my skull. Brutal explosion, cough, gasp, spit. Blood on the sheets in front of me, a wheeze of air like razor blades and puke.
The room is made of shrinking cotton-balls, slowly making themselves into a desk, a chair, a nurse, a tree, and a window between him and me.
Crashing screeches fill my head and taper off into the buzzing of light, water-pipes and air conditioning.
My hands are down, they are still in a coma. My legs are off, they are still in a coma. My eyes, in and out, fake a full focus and toss to the side, no control over them, they know I am quickly going back to a coma. More puke, a gasp, this time for outside, a nurse runs out to fetch a doctor.
"... and that is all you have to do."
What a start, the implications crush my brain without regard for its grogginess. I know. I know what my life is supposed to be, what my objective is going to be, why I live, why I'll die and why I'll do everything in between. Its explicit, its kismet, its out of my control... But I know.
I scream a silent scream. I wish I could burst, cease to exist, traverse the room and flee to soon crash at the foot of the tree, and I would too, I know because flying is nowhere in the plan for me.
No way I can stay, but I will and I will wake up some other day and walk out a healthy man, not remembering the illumination I've just had, and go on with my life. Marry a simple man, live a simple man, and only become extraordinary in the way that I pass. Walking down the street, I'll sigh, look at the sky and die. A bus will pass by me, through me, at me. And just like I, there will be another guy, sleeping restless in sickly sleep. In a coma I will appear in front of him, and tell him how he will live and die, how he won't survive the endless to-do list dictated in the sky. And when I do, and I'm done, and I move on to let him explode and forget this horrible show, I'll let him know, to make him feel unburdened:
"Then you will whisper like I do... and that is all you have to do."
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[WP] Superpowered
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Painful and slowly I ascend to the surface of the watery depths meant to drown me, following the bubbles of my last breath. Awake with a gasp, I am astounded at the stiffness of the member below. The sheets of the hospital bed seem to have formed a tent-like pavillion supported by a mighty mast.
A nurse enters. A tight white mini-dress hugs her form.
"How long?" I gasp.
"Three years. As of last week. How are you feeling?" she prods.
"Horny," I reply. And a shuddering contraction overtakes me. I whip down the sheets and see what is easily four inches longer than what I remember staring back at me with one gaping eye. Hard as an iron bar. Over 1,000 morning woods condensed into one.
Suddenly a stream of Swedish Fish erupts. Their tiny gummy bodies flipping back and forth as in a leap.
"Jeesus Shit!" I cry as the raspberry colored fish threaten to land on my head. With a hard sideways pry on the rod between my legs I manage to divert the flow onto the floor beside me, at the nurse's feet. They land still flopping and flipping. Hundreds of them. The nurse's face contracts into a scrabble of horror and questioning.
"Look, sorry, I don't know what's happening", I manage to stammer.
With a small cry she bolts through the door and is gone.
*What the fuck! I must still be dreaming*. But overtaking this thought, *I gotta pee so bad.* So stumbling to the nearby bathroom, I assume the position. Hand on the wall over the top of the tank. Feet as far back as I can get them. Free hand to defy the inclination and divert the stream into the bowl. At least most of it. Finally the flow begins.
But to my surprise only a blue-purple flame flows out. Satisfying but terrifying at the same time. I struggled to direct the throbbing proboscis toward the bowl, to no avail. Like a cutting torch, the intensifying stream cuts through both walls of the porcelain tank and into the cinder block walls beyond. Mortar and masonry yielded no resistance.
*Holy Fuck!* A distinct cut line forms along and up the wall. Arcing back and returning to the original starting point. With a blocky crumble the wall falls outwards, the wind now entering and filling the small bathroom.
Bewildered, I look out on the vista revealed suddenly before me. A balcony open 10 feet below. I hop down. Landing solidly.
*And thus was the beginning of weird shit coming out of my penis.* To say the least, my life was never the same afterwards. And the world never understood.
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[WP] Superpowered
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"Shit, did he just move?"
Slowly the world came into focus. White squares, harsh fluorescent lights and the curtain rod hanging from the ceiling. I moved my head to the left and saw the city through the window. Slowly I swung my view to the right of my bed. Someone in a white coat seemed to be having trouble with something on the wall.
I mumbled, partly to test my ability to and partly to get the attention the man in the coat. He spun around clearly startled and began moving his mouth. Nothing but a muted buzz filled my ears.
"Oh, right" he admonished himself.
He held up a finger, telling me to wait. He left the room quickly his white coat barely whipping through the crack the door made in closing. I looked around again, right next to my bed was a heart monitor the green line bouncing in a regular rhythm, but it made no sound.
A voice from outside shouted "Goddamn, she is hot." Loudly, clearly.
Not my doctor, someone else. Something strange, who would yell that in a hospital? Something else, there were no footsteps accompanying that sound.
The door handle turned without a sound and the doctor walked in completely silently. He held up his finger again and sat down and began writing. There was none of the familiar sound of scratching that comes with a pen on paper.
"Poor bastard." He said as he wrote.
He held up the makeshift sign that he'd created. I remembered now that stereotype that doctors have terrible handwriting. It took me awhile to figure out what he had written.
YOU HAVE JUST WOKEN FROM A 3 MONTH COMA. YOUR EARDRUMS RUPTURED IN A CAR CRASH.
I laughed, it was ludicrous, I was hearing voices clear as day. I looked up at his face as he looked concernedly down at me.
"Creepy fuck" he breathed.
"I HEARD THAT" I yelled as loud as I could through the tubes in my throat, and the exhaustion of my atrophied muscles. But my ears met with a muffled roar. I let out a scream. My ears only buzzed.
He stepped back as his mouth flapped open and shut. Another doctor and a few nurses ran into the room. They exchanged words that I couldn't hear and the first doctor left the room with the nurses.
This new doctor was younger, he seemed to radiate confidence. He brought his hands out in front of himself and moved them in a complicated pattern.
"Do you speak sign language?" he said.
I shook my head no. He picked up the pen and paper the other doctor had used.
IT'S OK YOU'LL LEARN
"You'll have to" he added aloud. His lips not moving.
That's when it became clear.
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[WP] Superpowered
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The bed is comfortable
That's the thought that fills my head as I wake up, that and an unbearable pressure in my bladder that tells me a trip to the bathroom would be a good thing. As i prop myself up i can hear the bones in my spine crack, something tells me if been in bed for a while, I stretch and get in a sitting position at the side of the bed, my feet feel cold as i touch the floor but i make my way to the door marked "bathroom". The door closes quickly behind me but i almost not notice it as i relieve myself.
I wash my hands on the adjacent sink, then move towards the door
The handle is stuck, i jiggle it a bit and finally it opens
"well this isn't the white walled room i just walked out of", i say to myself as i look around the bustling city that currently surrounds me, people walking around me, cars honk at each other from the street before me.
Now it's been a year since i discovered this new ability, the doors have been many and they've taken me all around the world. Some experiences have been odd, like the time i opened a door inside the Kremlin in russia and others have been eye opening, taking a trip to the top of Everest, via a tent door. I don't think i'll be stopping any time soon.
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[WP] Superpowered
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Two weeks passed before I noticed the first sign. By then I had been four days out of the hospital, and was recuperating at home, feeling useless while Dave carried in meals on a tray and deactivated bachelor-pad mode on the house. On the fifteen-day mark, he brought me a painting, a reproduction of the Oath of the Horatii. One of my favorites, he remembered. He had two nails in his mouth and a hammer in his hand, and he thought the painting would look nice opposite the window.
Tap, tap, tap, went the first nail into the wall. Dave lined up the second nail. He hadn't brought a level. He raised the hammer.
"Wait!"
Dave nearly stabbed himself in the eye with the hammer's claw, probably mistaking my interjection for a cry of distress. "The nail was 3/32" too low," I explained. He looked at me, trying to decide if I was kidding. "No, really," I insisted. "It's basic geometry. Imagine the perpendicular intersector of the wainscoting and your first nail, and then it's easy to see the right angle off... the..."
I was looking at a simple geometric diagram overlaid in thin black lines on the wall, and Dave was looking at me, confounded.
Geometry was only the beginning. By the end of the week a glance at a curved surface might reveal a spline-interpolation of its edges’ shapes. During the third week came multivariable calculus; for entertainment in the morning, I might compute the surface integral of my coffee cup, over the temperature vector field of the hardly-cooled beverage. On the one-month anniversary of my recovery, I succeeded in visualizing the fourth dimension, and started deriving topology from scratch after dinner.
During this time, the university called to congratulate me on my recovery, and to offer my job back. My old colleagues came to visit me more and more frequently, ostensibly to chat and in actuality to pick my brain on the Banach-Tarski Paradox and the implications of toroidal spacetime fields. I saw Dave at mealtimes, usually.
On the two-month anniversary, Dave made me breakfast in bed, even though by that time I'd been up and about for several weeks. He smiled a little as he bumped through the door, his face an assembly of features in an average proportion of 1.623, adorably close to the golden ratio of 1.618 (rounded, of course). He set the tray on my lap and sat beside me. I thanked him, and made a bit of small talk about the proof of Godel's Incompleteness Theorem that I'd been working on. He fidgeted with a napkin as I did so--my Dave, who hadn't taken a math class since freshman year of college.
I started to explain Karlmogorov complexity, because I was really quite excited about the way I'd found around it in my proof. Not for the first time, I wished I'd married a fellow mathematician. Dave wouldn't understand, and explaining things broke the rhythm of my thoughts, but he would always play along. This time, though, he stopped me.
"Come back to me, Tess. When you have it all figured out."
He set the napkin down on the tray and left. His new apartment number was a prime.
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Feedback would be greatly appreciated!
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[WP] Superpowered
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My eyes slowly flicker open. I...I can see. My ears twitch...I can hear. The rough scrape of fabric over my skin startles me. I...I never knew. A hospital room...why...oh, yes, I remember...that thing, rising from the darkness, opening its eyes, star- no. I mustn't think of that. How can I? I never saw it...what...my mind shuts down, sending me to sleep as it tries to puzzle out this strange information.
Three hours later, my eyes snap open. I know. I can see the room from every angle, I can feel every fault and imperfection in the bed...and even beyond, stretching out into the hospital, the city...the world. I can hear...a multitude of whispers...fear, agony, despair, hope, joy. Does everyone hear this, see this?
The nurse walks in. "Oh...Oh my God...he's awake! He's awake!" She screams hysterically.
I look at her, through her, into her soul, and read what lies there. I hear her, every word, every thought, every emotion...*oh, oh God...he should never have woken...we have to destroy him...he's too dangerous...*
My eyes narrow. I attempt to rise, only to be hindered by the restraints of the bed. I feel them, find the weakness, break them. She pales, then pulls a knife and rushes towards me. I *see*. Moving swiftly, I step just far enough to the left, reach out, and tap the knife from her hands, then I look into her eyes, reaching out to her with my mind, trying to make her understand. I meet a will there, attacking me, fighting to defend its mind. I break it.
She collapses to the ground, her eyes void, her expression vacant.
*What have I done?*
I flee, evading the attempts to catch me. They do not stand a chance, when I know all. Slowly I come to terms with who I am, what I am, what I can do...I am omniscient. Then a certainty forms in my mind. I know what I shall do...I shall become God. All I require is power, and allies. I shield my thoughts form the heavens, and turn my inner eye to the inferno, seeking the one being who would help me.
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[PI] Hi everyone, saw a link on the front page. Wrote an alphabet game story, hope you like it.
This is the first writing I've done since NaNoWriMo last year. Fun stuff!
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Here is the story.
Agony. Beyond pain, fire wracked her body, curling fingers licking her flesh. Close by, the stench of smoke and burning flesh filled the air with a vicious miasma. Drenched in sweat she howled, shrieks of a throat raw and bleeding from screams.
Echoing across the darkened courtyard, her shrieks fell among hard faces, grim with hate. Fire rose higher, igniting more faggots on the pyre. Great billows of smoke flowed forth, fouling the air. Higher the flames rose, reaching for her hungrily. Incense from pendulous censers mixed with the smoke, making a mist of horror. Jerking, screeching, she tried to pull away.
Keeping close watch, murmuring dark-cowled figures pushed her back, stoking the flames with torches, guttering and spitting oil in the incendiary night. Lost in the roar of burning fire, her screams diminished, a wail of lost piteous toil, as the fire kept its deadly purpose. Many eyes watched, the fire’s reflection a burning torch in their own eyes. Never blinking, the desolate faces stared at her, still writhing in the fire’s grip.
Onward the flames rose, lighting her dress’s hem, raising a curdling screech. Plain terror echoed her voice, horse in the smoke and roar. Questing, searching, her eyes flicked, but there was no surcease from the crowd. Raw with terror, her wails raised a murmur in the crowd, a slow chant. Slowly it built, words forming, point by counterpoint with her screams. Throwing more wood, even the dark-cowled gaolers joined the chant. Under the howl of the fire, it grew louder. Voices joined one by one until it was clear, all chanting in unison. “Witch, burn witch, burn witch burn.”
Xanthin from marigolds was thrown into the pyre by a dark figure as the chant rose. Yellow flames burned brighter as she torched, her final wail fading into the smoky mist. Zeal absolved, the dark crowd chanted as one, watching as the body melted, sizzling lumps of fat splattering onto the guttering pyre.
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[PI] Reverse Alphabet Game - Kurt's Story After He Pressed The Button
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Zombie Apocalypse? You're kidding me, right? Xenomorphs would be much more interesting I would think. Whatever it's worth, I now understand the horrible purpose of the crematorium I was trapped in. Volumes of literature have been written about the end, little did I know I would be, in all likelihood, the last human left alive.
Unless I miss my guess, I was the administrator of the crematorium for the undead. The device on my wrist was some kind of remote control for the furnace I very nearly died in. Silently, I make my way through the deserted streets of the city, hoping against hope I remember something other than just my name.
Returning to the moment, I realize I have been far too careless, I have a couple walkers on my tail. Quietly ducking into a doorway, I step back into the shadows hoping they will pass by. Possibilities run through my mind. Only the things I need to survive and escape the city are important now.
Now I really wish I could remember more, I have no idea where I am or where I am heading. Maybe if I can find a weapon of some kind, a shotgun would sure make me feel safer. Looking around I see something that will have to do, I almost missed it. Kicking away a cardboard box that was partially covering it, I lift the crowbar and feel it's weight in my hand. Just as I start to turn back towards the door, I realize I have been distracted, a walker is nearly upon me!
I swing the weapon with all my might at it's vulnerable head, the sound I hear is one that will haunt me for the rest of my days. Having little strength left, I must hit it several times before it finally goes down for good.
God, what have I done to deserve this nightmare? Falling to my knees, I am on the verge of just giving up, letting them take me. Even if I can find what I need to survive, what the hell is the point now? Do I have any right to live when everyone else is dead?
Carrying what few possessions I have left to me, I start out the door only to be stopped in my tracks by a familiar sound. Beginning to question my fragile sanity, I hear the distant rumble of truck engines!
All I know at this moment, is that there is hope - and hope is enough for me.
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[PI] Reverse Alphabet Game - Kurt's Story After He Pressed The Button
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*I wrote my own. It's hard to write a good story and follow a rule like this. I think I definitely had to focus more on the alphabet than on the content of the story
Zeppelins, thousands of them, soaring in the sky. Yellow from the sunshine, they passed overhead. Xerothermic lands below, scorched by Apollo's rays, were slowly filling with people. Wondering aloud, someone questioned why the zeppelins were there.
Vermin, or journalists, now joined the crowd to document the mysterious airships. Understanding why there were so many zeppelins flying about became the goal of many people present. The reporter who could figure it out would have the story of the year. Some may even say the story of the decade. Reporters now raced to determine the answer.
Quickly, the ships were passing. Persons who had grouped below were shoved out of the way by vicious journalists and photographers. Once the ships of the sky were almost out of sight, the group began to give chase. Not everyone was able to keep up, as blimps move faster than you'd think. Most all present, however, crossed the rolling hills in order to keep watching the zeppelins.
Little by little, the crowd thinned. Keen to write a groundbreaking story, eager journalists stayed underneath the vessels. Just as some were losing heart, the airships began to land. Intent on getting the scoop, the descending ships were surrounded by reporters. Hounded by questions before the doors even opened, the captains were unsure of what to do.
Greeted by reporters and photographers, the admiral of the fleet gave an emergency transmission. Figuring the people would leave if they simply stayed aboard, he ordered his men to do just that. Even the most veteran among the journalists now considered leaving. Dirigibles locked to them, many assumed they'd never get a story, and a mass exodus of journalists occurred, yet some remained. Coming down to sheer willpower, the hardened sailors of the air would undoubtedly outlast the meek reporters. Battling it out anyway, a few journalists spent the night outside the vessels, sleeping just outside of them. Awaking, they found the zeppelins gone, leaving just as mysteriously as they had arrived.
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[PI] Reverse Alphabet Game - Kurt's Story After He Pressed The Button
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Zoologist at St. Xavier Inc. York at received the title only a month ago, and still now he could hardly speak it without his stomach churning. Xavier the Saint, also known as Saint Francis, for who the company was named for, represented the polar opposites of the company. Where was the Saint as Johnson York was made to pit men against their own demons for the sake of science. Victims of themselves, York watched to see how people would react when pitted against high chances of death. Usually, the DV – a kinder name for what the people were, the dependent variable – would shout and scream for hours, but not this one. The current subject, one Kurt McDonough, had seemed to accept his apparent demise rather hastily. Surrounded by what seemed to be decomposing bodies, Kurt had quickly looked for a way out of the concrete room before turning to the button strapped to his wrist. Reasoning to how it could possibly help him aside, he proceeded to pressing the button. Quiet came through the speaker as York watched Kurt receive an electric shock and slump to the ground. Pillars of light poured into the dim room as two men clad in white jumpsuits came and picked up the unconscious Kurt out of the room. Only silence joined York now as he went through his private ritual of hating himself after every experiment. Notes on paper, papers of words, words about how York made men’s worse fears a reality. Men far greater than York would call him a monster, and he could only agree as he verbally abused himself. Looking now to the schedule of experiments set for the day, he found himself in higher spirits to find that Kurt was his last of the day. Knowing he would come back tomorrow, made the spirits lower, but it didn’t stop him from leaving the small white room he dreaded to arrive in every day. Johnson didn’t look through the windows to his left as he drifted like the ghost through the long hallways. It disgusted him to be a part of this insane “zoo”. He was told all those months ago when speaking to The Man that he would be studying animals. Grinning ear to ear, The Man casually flaunted his metaphor to York, proud to have come up with such an analogy. Foolishness had clouded York’s judgment that day, and he couldn’t see through it to the truth. Every man had an unintentional instinct inside him. Dormant until released, it is often overlooked, but when released, that instinct to kill to survive takes a hideous form. Characters are lost to the need to live, reducing men to nothing more than the beast we claim to be above. Beasts kill to live, humans live to live, but we ourselves are beasts. And that is why York was the Zoologist, to study the instinct in men to live, to watch as innocent people lose themselves to the animals within.
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[PI] Reverse Alphabet Game - Kurt's Story After He Pressed The Button
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I decided to give my own story a go, just to see if I could.
"Zoo? You're sure that's the exact word he used? Xenophobia knows no bounds, it would seem. What was he thinking anyway, with a comment like that? Violent protests are going to stem from this, mark my words."
Underneath the impassive facade he presented to the world, he was seething.
"This is quite possibly the most discriminatory thing I've ever heard anyone say ever. Stating that immigrants to our country deserve no more rights than animals in the zoo. Racism, flat out racism, is all it is."
Quickly pacing around the office, he struggled to keep his emotions in check.
"Politics was always a dirty game, but apparently it's not enough to merely pander to the lowest denominator. Of course it isn't. Now it seems that emulating the policies of tyrants is what passes for good governance. Mein Fuhrer," he sneered and mock-saluted.
Livid, he remained silent for a minute, before letting sadness creep into his tone. "Known him for years and I always respected him, even when we didn't agree on issues. Just lately though... I don't know," he said as he shook his head ruefully, before once more steeling his resolve.
"He needs to know he can no longer count on my support or backing. Good men know when to support their leader, but they also know when to stand up to them. Following blindly has never really been my forte. Even if he is, or was, a friend."
"Decent men lose their way in the end," he lamented. "Convicitons are what I need to stand by, I know. But it breaks my heart that it should all end like this."
A single tear rolled down his cheek, for the man he once knew now consumed by hatred, and for the friend he had lost.
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[FF]A story involving the discovery of complex life in an unexpected place
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I'm writing on my smartphone, so I'm not sure how to check the word count.
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There was once a little boy, an incredibly curious boy. He spent his summer days running around in the woods behind his house, terribly adventurous. On his birthday, his parents gave him a microscope. Absolutely elated, he spent the next several weeks running around and testing different items under his microscope. He tried a leaf and observed the uniformly rectangular cells. He tried a dead fly, and observed the hexagonal patterns of its eyes. He tried his own blood, and observed the ovular blood cells and platelets. His parents looked on with pride.
After he saw his mother dusting the house, he decided to try a speck of dust under the microscope. With difficulty, he managed to get one onto the stage of the microscope. Now, his parents had splurged on him out of love, and got a high-powered microscope, capable of up to x4000 magnification. He adjusted the microscope with a prescision quite unlike him. The image was blurry, but eventually the image focused to reveal that the dust was composed of a planet. He saw people jumping on its surface and yelling at him, but he could not hear their voices. Frustrated, he grabbed the speck and set it on fire so he could hear their screams.
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[FF]A story involving the discovery of complex life in an unexpected place
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[deleted]
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[FF]A story involving the discovery of complex life in an unexpected place
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"Look. There. Thermal readings." The technician pointed. I shook my head, rubbing a brow. "If you're so sure, check again." I was tired. Being the head of a research group was alot of work- And there were a LOT of false positives. "This IS after a second check." My map tech gave me a stern look, a frown that said "Don't tell me how to do my job."
I offered an apologetic smirk. "Look, it's going to take more than thermal readings of trees to get us that funding-" I glance over the map on his terminal. I feel my jaw drop- A close thermal reading next to a river- Something that hints at fires, possible habitation?
We knew the planet was life-sustaining, we've had countless samples of native life, but never anything sentient. How could we miss this?
"Ready a deployment team- I want the rest of the team up and awake in five." I sit down. The room begins to bustle with activity. I'm escorted out into the away room, fitted in an atmospheric suit and I meet with my colleagues. I can see anticipation in their eyes- In some, in my younger colleagues, excitement. I can't help but be excited too.
We deploy to the planet's surface in less than fifteen minutes.
We arrive in a field of alien plant life, less than one hundred feet from the outskirts of crude huts made of the local topsoil, cooked dry by the planet's sun. "We have to do this carefully." I speak through my radio. "Should we send radio to home? I mean, before we do anything?"
"It'll take seven years for information to get home, do you want to stop and say hello or wait another decade?" I offer with a dry wit.
My colleague sighs.
We approach the settlement. It's late in the afternoon, and in our suits, it's hard for them not to spot us. It's hard to describe them in comparison to us- In place of our four eyes, they have two, one nose, one mouth- And a patch of fur on the top of their head (and hair on their faces, if they're male.) Pink/tannish skin, for the most part-
And they're mostly naked, apart from simple fur coverings made of local wildlife.
They're frightened as all get out. Screaming at us. Trying to frighten us with stone tools and sticks. The females hide the children, the males attack us. We back away and offer them food- Crude, cooked meats from local wildlife. We get wary, anxious stares before the offering is taken and they retreat back to the hut. We stay outside of the encampment for four hours, until they're brave enough to meet us.
The oldest of the group meet us and give us a close examination.
They don't have any clear cut language like ours, so communication is difficult. We show them where our home is - Pleiades, and they mimic our actions by drawing crude patterns of stars in the sky. We try to share information with the wisest of them, but it hardly gets far.
One of my colleagues jokes that they'll worship us as gods.
I hope not. Rules state we can't do much now. Just watch and observe. We tag the healthiest and leave, hosting a celebration on our research vessel that lasts about a day afterwards.
Word from home says we have to leave. It's a shame. Long-range reconnaissance of this planets is already being set up. This marks the first time our team has had a success. I'm hoping there's more in the future.
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[FF]A story involving the discovery of complex life in an unexpected place
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[deleted]
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[WP]/[PI] - Lost in the Desert
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What had she been thinking accepting Tom's offer for a safari? Egypt was still unstable from the recent revolution and bandits were known to roam the deserts south of Cairo, making off with tourists and other important people to hold for ransom. But Tom had convinced her, winking as he showed her a sleek black Beretta.
"This ought to do it, and if it doesn't there are some good weapons markets near the Libyan border..." She had laughed at that and watched as he tucked the gun into a hip holster, feeling more reassured.
The day they had set off had been windy and several of the locals recommended waiting for another day before setting off, but Tom merely waved them off.
"We wont go far, just a little sight seeing and we'll be back in time for supper." But that promise hadn't become a reality. They had driven around for nearly three hours after their makeshift tour of the desert had ended, trying to find the track back to town.
But then the wind kicked up and Tom had stopped the motor, cursing in frustration.
"The wind is kicking up too much sand for me to see, we'll wait here overnight." They had argued after that, swapping insults over who was at fault before falling into as deep of a sleep as they could in the cramped confines of the car.
Morning had arrived, but when Tom tried to start the car, nothing happened.
At first Tom had laughed uneasily and made a joke about Egyptian automobile engineering, but after a few more unsuccessful turns of the ignition he got out and looked under the hood.
The engine block was caked with sand and one of the spark plugs had blown out. They didn't have a spare.
Tom's face had hardened at that point and as he slammed the hood down she could sense that he was doing his very best to hold back despair. The car was completely dead and neither of them had thought to bring a satellite phone. Their regular phones caught no reception in the desert and the only valuable survival tools that remained were the beretta and a half gallon of water. The situation was grim and both of them knew that the chances of them getting out of the desert alive were slim.
"Tomorrow we're going to walk out of here." Said Tom that night as they settled down for another few restless hours of sleep. She had nodded but within her she felt despair beginning to grow. For all she knew both of them were already dead, they just didn't know it yet.
The next morning they had begun their trek, talking to each other in the happiest tones they could muster about what they were going to do when they got back to town, wherever that was. But after a few hours of that, the conversation had faded into silence and instead both of them stared at the sand, trying to ignore the biting heat of the sun as it burnt their fair skin.
They hd huddled in a hollow near the top of a sandstone outcropping that night and finished off their water. As they looked at the empty water container Tom pulled out the Beretta and set it on a stone in front of him.
"If we get too weak to walk...then there's an option other than dying from the heat." She had shook her head vigorously and chastised him for even suggesting such a thing, but even as she spoke she knew that he was right, a bullet would be a much better option than a slow death in the heat of the Sahara.
The next day they had barely left the safety of their sandstone shelter when a sandstorm blew in. They had huddled down in their shelter, clinging to each other for what seemed like years before the storm finally blew itself out.
She could barely move, sand clung to every bit of her body and her skin stung from being chafed by flying sand. Tom was in worse shape, he could barely open his eyes and was too weak to even stand.
"I cant go on." He had croaked, complete hopelessness dominating his voice. "Give me the gun." At first she had refused, but then after seeing the pain in his eyes, she handed him the Beretta, hardly believing what was happening.
"We'll go together, okay?" Tom croaked weakly, "first me, then you." She had nodded, tears blurring her vision. Seeing Tom like this had taken the last of the fight out of her, she was at the mercy of the desert and right then the gun seemed like a very good option indeed.
Tom had raised the gun and she had closed her eyes against the blast, not wanting her final vision of this world to be her love's brains splattered against the walls of some sandstone cave deep in the wastelands of the Sahara.
Eyes still closed she found Tom's hand and gently pried the gun from his rapidly stiffening fingers. Then, sobbing gently she raised the gun to her own temple and tightened her finger on the trigger. For a moment she hesitated, then with a jerk her finger pulled back, the trigger released the hammer, and her eyes snapped open as she was met with nothing but a hollow click. The gun had misfired.
She pulled the trigger again and again but was met with nothing but the same infuriating click. So she was to be denied her final peace, rage filled her and she hurled the gun out of the mouth of the cave, stumbling out after it.
Tears still running down her face, she stumbled away from the cave and into the unknown. Hopefully there she would find her peace.
EDIT: Good lord that got a lot darker than I meant for it to be.
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[WP]/[PI] - Lost in the Desert
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A steaming post shone ruby smoke and lifted itself off the ground in the process.
The vultures were not far off, black claws scanning dusty meadows and cactus gardens, making the fire ominous. The sulfur and tar cocktail, rusted and broken, had been rolling between clumps of limestone, sand and nitrogen depleted soil for quite some time now. After all, the vultures were not far off. And even through the whole ordeal, the cicadas continued their rapturous cacophony, accompanying the rumbling flames and the sudden bursts of squeaks from one gasket or another.
The engine was a fabulous symptom of the wreck. Its body completely concealed the now smothered telephone pole. Scarves of silver and gold cylinders loosely bounded the sanded wood frame, with pumps and gaskets garnishing the slumped figure like pearls on a necklace. Navy paint chips scattered the ground like confetti and shards of glass and plastic metal delightfully reflected the embers and the sun, which gave the wreck a rather festive air. And, look, the vultures even came to the lively soirée.
However, the vultures were a solemn bunch, and, as a result, did not care for the sparkling decorations and gilded attire. White frocks stifled up to thin, veiny necks by feathered overcoats. Medals of week-old gore, made black and sticky after baking in the sun, stuck to their heavily collared outfits.
In the center of it all laid the fire, fueled by leather and polyester. Occasionally, feathers of paper or some light, wispy thing rode upwards with the flume and gently made its way down. Sometimes the feathers would fly up only to fall back down into the air flow, like a child would in a created game.
And as Robert sat in the driver’s seat, his skull penetrated by gems of splinters and cooking saliva-infused blood, his arms tending to the desires of the hungry, decorated, stuffy guests, his eyes littered with glitter and glamor, his heart pumping the last of his blood onto the now useless seatbelt, his brain echoing out final relapses of information, he remembered that to get Mariah’s house, you had to take a left, not a right.
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[PI] The August Writing Prompt Contest - The Creature
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First time submitting something on here. I do hate that I can't format this like you can on Word, but hey....still get to share the sick, right? Hope you enjoy!!
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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*I'm VERY drunk, bear with me.*
I set the binoculars down on the windowsill. My shoulders and elbows ached, creaked, popped and complained. All the shit you'd expect them to do after 3 hours in a stationary position. Other parts rattle. A not-so-subtle reminder. I pulled out the bottle and twisted. I used my poor, over-worked shoulder to press down through the worn-out elbow, bending back the less-than-enthusiastic wrist and twining the overworked fingers around the cap, gripping, twisting and pulling. Using them beyond their limits to provided relief. Are they truly unaware? Do they realize that this motion will be beneficial? Would I care at any other time? No, who are we fooling? What do I care about, other than a glimpse. It's been...wait, let me check my watch. Then let me cross-reference my diary. And my app. Yeah, well, of course I knew this. It's been one month and 16 days (14 hours, 37 minutes) since I've seen you naked. I know. Don't yell! Geez. We've had to work. Together. Goddamnit, do I want to sliiiiiiiide up to you in the break room and let you know. Or maybe just *almost* let you know. Drop a comment about the color of your underwear the night before. Or about what you were watching on TV. But, though I lust after your tight thighs and ever-so-slighty bouncy breasts, I know without a doubt that you are not smart enough to pick up on clues I'd drop. I'm kinda in a special phase. It's not you, I swear. It's me. I'm just kinda, um, in between stalks at the the moment. I'd totally stalk you hardcore, if no one else better ever came along. I mean, you're hot. You wear designer panties that match your perfume, for God's sake. You include Brazilian waxes as a part of your budget. Just like you would rent, or commuting expenses. I mean, even though you can't find what's inside of your heart and your dreams and your future. I'd still fuck you. But, at the end of the manic, obsessive day, you just aren't what I'm looking to devote to. You're kinda like methadone. You'll do for free in a pinch. But the first time that heroine comes around, I'm gone. Nothing beats a sorority girl like a newly single, questionably Christian, small town girl that has never dealt with a stalker before. You just can't compete with nativity, dear. Sorry.
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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Even though you can't find what's inside, sex never does seem to lose its excitement.
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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There's a cherry tree. It's atop a hill where I come from. It's beautiful. Its fruit leisurely falls off its branches. Little woodland creatures scuttle by, then scurry off with their juicy, red payloads, packed as tightly as their little cheeks can swell.
I can't see that old tree anymore. I sometimes wonder if it still bears fruit. I sometimes wonder if someone still picks of it, still bakes pies.
The sidewalks of the city see nothing but drunken foot-traffic. Fast-food wrappers, sticky Big-Gulps, and cigarette butts are strewn about like confetti. Sometimes a McDonalds apple-pie carton blows by and makes me think. And if it does, I usually think of cherries. And then I think of this cherry tree. It's atop this hill where I come from.
The pies I grew up with were a far cry from what passes these days. Flimsy cardboard capsules? Over-processed fruit preserves? Grandma don't play that way. She would prepare the tins and have me pit the cherries. I made certain to corral them all into one place. I used to sit, my work done, with a pit or two in the palm of my hand, just admiring the simplicity; admiring the beauty.
A cab whizzes by. Out the back window a large Pepsi is thrown, still full. A smiling pig stares at me as I turn to face the side of a building, a Piggly Wiggly. 18 blocks from my apartment. 18 blocks I walked to the store!!! No trees, no fruit, no hills. Just cab passengers who prefer Coke; just refuse.
Sometimes, while pitting cherries for a pie, I would sneak some of the fruit. Delicately, I'd bite down until my jaws hit the pit on either side. I loved the tactile sensation. I imagined I was breaking down some illusory wall between me and nature itself. The red, harvestable fruit of the cherry -- it's just what is *seen*. But I wanted to know the fruit more intimately, I wanted to *feel* it. I wanted to hold its core in the palm of my hand and read its ridges as if they were stamped of braille.
I threw a bag of fruit into my backpack and set off on the 18 blocks home. I passed yellow cabs, sullied condoms and spent hypodermic needles, but saw no trees, no fruit, no hills.
I popped a Maraschino into my mouth from the bag and slowly raised my lower jaw to meet the top one falling. Delicately, I continued digging into the fruit, like I had when I was young. Then my teeth met. The two halves swam around my mouth, riding my tongue like it was a wave. Just skin, swimming in circles. Just skin, aimless. Just skin, gaily loitering.
Pit-less cherries. Even though you can't find what's inside -- what should be inside -- you bite down delicately, looking for it. The pit that's not there; the fruit that's not there.
No pit, no fruit. No fruit, no tree. No tree, no hill.
As I look up, the Maraschino falls to my uvula. Still it swims, as I drown.
No pit, no fruit. No fruit, no tree. No tree, no hill.
I think of that scene from *The Fifth Element* with the glass of water and the cherry, and, for the first time all day, the clouds part and the sun shines down. A smile comes to my face.
There's a cherry tree. It's atop a hill where I come from. It's beautiful...
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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He was beautiful. Churning spit and and bent in an awkward position, he was beautiful. Staring at you with those same intelligent eyes, he was beautiful. Perhaps even more beautiful than before.
I closed the door and gave him a kiss on the forehead before sitting down beside him. He watched me with those eyes, and the ends of his mouth curled up into a smile. I knew how difficult that was for him.
"How was your day today, Kevin? I had a wonderful day. I got some pastries from the French bakery after work, and they were delicious." I didn't bring him any because he couldn't eat solid food.
He was silent, but I knew he appreciated the conversation. "I saved a patient's life today, Kevin. She was a 12 year old girl who had been in a car accident. I had some difficulty binding her tendons and veins back together, but she's going to make a full recovery. Isn't that wonderful?" His eyes twinkled.
Now, you may think that this conversation is making him jealous. That hearing about another victim's perfect recovery would make him bitter. See, that's the thing. He had no jealous or malicious bone in his body. He was happy to hear about someone's success story, and I knew he appreciated the hard work behind it. If his father hadn't thrown him in front of a car, he would be doing the same kinds of things right now. He liked hearing about it. He liked feeling like his life hadn't changed. Sometimes, I would take him to visit the recovering patients, and he loved it. Despite everything that had happened, he was still optimistic.
And that's something I look up to.
"Hey, it's about time we start watching Stargate, huh?" I felt his anticipation. I opened the top of the laptop on the coffee table in front of us and went to Netflix. The next episode we were watching in SG-1 was when Daniel was hit with a lethal dose of radiation to spare someone else's life. He died and ascended to a higher plane of existence. He was our favorite character, and there wasn't a dry eye in the room. We spent the evening together, simply enjoying each other's company. I told him about an idea I had for a book. The thought of his own. It was pleasant. I started reading *Name of the Wind* by Patrick Rothfuss to him and he sat at attention, eyes following me attentively. Eventually, he lost the fight to stay awake, and I stepped out of the room.
I almost knocked into his mother in the hallway outside his room. "Oh, sorry about that," I said, smoothing down the pants of my scrubs.
She grabbed my arm. "Listen, I have to talk to you about Kevin. Let's sit." She guided me to one of the any benches lining the hallways. I sat and watched her expectantly.
She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. "Listen, I don't think we should keep Kevin tortured like this."
My brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"It's just that... Well, Kevin isn't in that body. For all intents and purposes he's dead." Seeing my protest, she rushed on. "Listen, you have to agree. He can't walk, he can't talk, he has nothing to live for. It's worse than being dead. Trust me, I know what he wants, he just can't say it to you."
"You don't know what he wants. You can't even see the truth. Kevin is still alive in that body. He's still the same person. His eyes tell the truth. And I won't let you kill him blindly, even though you can't find what's inside." I stood up. She tried to take my hand and have me sit again, it I shook it off. "Next time you speak to him, truly watch and see if he listens. Maybe you'll notice something new." I walked off.
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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Whir of wind rushes by
Everything is changing around me
The phone line is empty without a dial tone
Everyone is wandering aimlessly
Repeating, repeating, repeating
Searching for a purpose
Even though they can't even find what's inside
The world is somber but you make me feel like no other
You give everything but ordinary
The words you speak are lovely
Helping me break free of mundane routine
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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It’s been nearly 3 years since I have started working at this thrift store. I have grown fond of this place. Living in a small town of 80 in Ohio and being raised in a poor family, I never had the luxury to fancy possessions. Who knows how old this building is; the paint near worn off, barely masking the bleak walls that held this building together. A few months ago, the city inspection finally decided to tear the building down to build a playground in its place. I would leave off to college in a few weeks so I really didn’t care; my town never had a playground anyway. Perhaps it was nature’s poetic way to show me the circularity of life. Today was the last day of my work and my job was to get rid of all the items left in the store.
Most of them were just useless junk that people didn’t want anymore; old furniture, broken appliances, etc. etc. There really wasn’t much I could take with me to college anyway aside from a couple worn out movie posters. There was one item that intrigued me though; a small giftwrapped box in the corner of the store. It sat there on the top shelf, lonely, dusted, having not moved an inch since the day I came here. I decided to take that box with me. Why throw such a mysterious item away? Everything about it was ugly. It was a frail old box, giftwrapped in an even uglier design. There was a crudely written address on the top. 447 Rainbow Drive, Mayf--; I couldn’t really read the rest because of how old the writing was. I figured it was Mayfield, Ohio; I used to go there to visit my grandma before she passed away. Anyway, I grabbed the box and the posters and I left work. It was a long day, and my body was sore from all the moving. I could finally go home and relax.
The entire night, I kept thinking about that box. What could be inside? Why would someone give away a gift meant for someone else? What if it was something important to someone? I woke up the next morning still feeling in the wrong. I couldn’t take it anymore. Even though I couldn’t find what’s inside, I couldn’t keep the box. After moments of hesitation, I finally decided to go back to the store and put it back on the shelf. Maybe I should leave it there, and let it come down with the building. But on the way I changed my mind... I had other plans today, but what’s one small detour to the post office gonna do?
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[WP] Incorporate the sentence anywhere: "Even though you can't find what's inside..."
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He smokes a cigarette. Fourth of the day. When he woke up that morning he promised himself he'd only smoke three, a personal promise. He doesn't remember this. His twitch is nervous. A nervous twitch.
Personal problem.
He stands at a corner of a busy street in a small city in an important country. His life. Many peoples' lives; go figure. There's a door across the way, the one he has to enter. Not one he wants to enter. Not one he chooses to enter.
There comes a point in some peoples' lives, maybe not yours, maybe not mine, but his. No one has ever said "He's going somewhere," about him. He's a nobody. Self prescribed.
Open the door. Act charming; this means smile. Offer everything. The money, the rest of the smokes, his body. Someone laughs at the last offer. They've been laughing the whole time. He doesn't mind. Currency changes hands. But its not enough. "its okay," they say. "next time." Next time. He's been shoved away.
Still, he smiles. As he walks down the busy street in the small city, he looks at the bag he's received. Its clear, its blank. It says 'Happiness' across the front. It says 'All you could ever want' across the front.
The park is up ahead. Up ahead is a park. The park is solitude, the park is relief. There's a Cranny. A nook. Nooks and crannies are perfect for him. He loves a nook. He loves a cranny. There's no need to try so hard in solitude. He doesn't have to smile.
Smiling, He settles down. He got to keep the smokes. He opens the bag. The bag of life. Even though you can't find what's inside, he does. Its his bag. His bag of happiness.
Its empty now. He looks at the bag. It says "Fuck you". Fuck you, it says.
Somethings wrong, he thinks. Its over now.
No one ever says "somethings right". Its always "Somethings wrong".
He's not smiling anymore. It's okay though. He's a nobody. Self prescribed.
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Link flair is now available to tag writing prompts. Any other(reasonable) requests?
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Could we add tags for musical prompts for links to youtube/bandcamp/soundcloud etc?
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Link flair is now available to tag writing prompts. Any other(reasonable) requests?
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the front page is flooded with PI posts. while I don't mind seeing a few of them, only about a third of the content seems to be actual prompts, defeating the purpose of this subreddit. So if you could deal with that somehow it would be awesome
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[PI] The Alphabet Game (My attempt)
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Not bad. Good effort. I enjoyed reading this.
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Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I am hydro-man
turn myself into water
yet fight with a sword
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Randomized Superpower challenge.
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Panamus stood over the bloody field, battle raging beneath his all encompassing gaze. Sword drawn over his head, Panamus lept into battle. As hundreds of legionnaires from the Sarraxian force fell to his blade, Panamus worked towards the massive Chimera. Grox, seated upon his mighty throne on the Chimera's back, saw the carnage of Panamus and his raging destruction.
Grox, war axe in hand, leaped from his lofty seat, as Panamus drove the blade of the sword through the Chimera's heart. The Chimera fell to the ground, defeated immediately by the massive killing blow. Grox brought his war axe down towards Panamus, planning on irradicating him immediately.
Panamus, a sensory demigod with vision of all thing happening at once, dodged the mighty blow, moving deftly as the axe cracked into the barren planets crust, causing a massive canyon to form. Grox, unwavered, attacked again and again, each strike behind Panamus, who was moving out of the way with plenty of time regardless of the strike or direction.
With deadly precision, Panamus drove his blade into the thick body of Grox, who fell to the ground. His stamina was no match for Panamus, who had seen all before the fight had even started. Slice after slice began to rip Grox to pieces, who then collapsed in defeat, falling into his canyon.
Panamus stood over the bloodied crater of war, his entire civilization murdered by Grox and his army, as a portal appeared before him. A faceless being appeared from the portal, encompassing Panamus, and teleported him to a new planet.
The being spoke in a booming voice, "You fought valiantly against the Terror of Worlds, Panamus, your journey is not over yet though, welcome to Earth." The being began to fade into space, as Panamus became blinded by the intense light of the foreign sun. His all seeing vision lost in this new world, scarred by nuclear war, was replaced by a new type of vision, that could see in a temporal state.
Panamus readied his sword as the first zombie noticed him.
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Randomized Superpower challenge.
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One day, whilst sitting outside and drinking a typical southern glass of sweet tea, I heard a faint whistle of something passing through the air. Slowly rising to a stand, a sword punched into the concrete nearby. Not just any sword- One of those one-sided japanese swords. Wakizashi or whatever.
I drop my tea. The dogs are freaking out because I'm freaking out. My first worry- Dear god, it's raining swords, probably because of a terrible accident with a shipping plane or something. A faint, shimmering void appeared just feet away from the blade, painting a part of the back yard with the images of another place in time- Specifically, a futuristic cityscape. ..And there's another me, just standing there.
"Oh- Holy shit!"
I scream in terror for about a minute. Other me is worried- and begins screaming too out of empathy or whatever. We're screaming for a while, unsure of what's going on, before we stop to breathe. "So- .."
"...Yeah. What's your name?" "Jeff." "Oh. Mine too! Weird." He scratched at his chin and glanced at me through a futuristic visor.
"It's weird, you look like a fat, less handsome version of me."
"Look, man. If my mom gets here and she sees this shit, I'm gonna be like, yelled at or some shit. Any idea of what's going on?" "I don't know, do I look like a scientist or some shit?" He threw his arms up in the air. "Don't get snippy with me, guy!" "Snippy?! You're the one with the crass attitude, Mr. "Asshole who just appears in my backyard."
"The fuck you call me?!" I bow up and raise my voice. "I think you heard me, or is the lard in your body getting into your ears too?"
I begin to weep. "I don't need that shit!" "I- Oh, come on. I'm sorry."
I wave him off. "No, no, you've hurt my feelings." "Oh, come on."
A faint whistle. A hard thunderclap on the other side. My counterpart screams. "OH SHIT!" "OH SHIT, WHAT?" "I DON'T KNOW, A SWORD OR SOME SHIT!" "OH MAN, WEIRD, THAT JUST HAPPENED FOR ME!"
There's the faint voice of a third me on the other side.
"Dude, I think this sword is so sharp it allows me to see into other dimensions!" "Oh, that's impossible-" "YOU'RE TALKING TO ME RIGHT NOW!" "FINE! GOD, WHATEVER, JUST ..SWING IT AROUND OR SOMETHING, I'M TALKING TO OTHER-ME." He snaps at me. Dick.
Sure enough, he starts talking to the other me on the other side and I'm cut out of the conversation like I'm not good enough or something.
Jerks. I don't need them or anything.
I wipe my eyes and yank the sword from the ground. It gives a faint resonating whine as it passed through the air. "Oh man, this is badass."
I swing the blade- And the other universe's 'window' is washed away, replaced ..with another. Another me, picking at a bone with his rotten teeth. "Braah- Buh?" He looks over at me. He's fat and pale-
"Zombie?" "Buuuhh." He reaches an arm over. I wave the sword again.
Another vision into another reality. A thirty foot tall robot with a vague resemblence. "Robot." Another. An near-identical copy of myself, holding an identical sword, the only difference being I'm sporting a goatee. "Evil."
This is going to get me -so- much karma on Reddit.
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Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I am the metal-man!
I can make a metal armor and use any metal near me to my advantage.
Yet i fight with a bazooka.
The advantage by fighting with a bazooka is that i can make it into a homing missile because of my ability to control metal.
| 3 | 0 | 17 | 563 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I am Helios. I absorb matter. I wage war with an ancient... katzbalger? What the fuck is a katzbalger?
| 4 | 0 | 17 | 564 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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As the winter snows wane in their strength, I wake and become aware of myself. I have been in the shadows awaiting my time: spring. I don a white shift dress and make my way outdoors. I step bare-foot onto the snow outside my porch. As my foot hits the snow, it melts and steams. I take a deep breath. It feels crisp and as I exhale, the warmth of the spring sun comes out from my chest, creating the first warm breezes of spring.
I begin my walk through the forest, touching branches with my wand as I move along. Each branch I tap begins to sprout its spring blossoms and each step I take melts snow. I reach the first frozen streams and tap my wand against it. The ice cracks and I dip my wand into the stream and swirl it, watching all of the ice across the lake crack and the water begin to flow again.
Further walking brings me to a shrine built to me. On it lay dried fruits from last year’s harvest – a harvest that couldn’t have happened without my walking the earth and bringing the warmth and rebirth of spring to all. I touch one of the dried apricots with my wand and it constitutes into a fresh, juicy apricot. I eat it with a smile. This is going to be a good spring.
| 4 | 0 | 17 | 565 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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Zordan stands in line at his local Starbucks, anxiously anticipating that jolt of caffeine he so desperately needs on a particularly dreary Monday morning. The line feels infinite as each patron appears to have waited until they reached the front of the line to even realize they were at a fucking coffee shop. Zordon's fingers are twitching as he watches customer after customer look bewildered at the large menu on the wall behind the barista, reading each item off aloud acting if this was their first time seeing the English language. Patience was never one of Zordon's strong attritubutes and it is clearly evident as the veins bulge in his forehead while his muscles tighten throughout his body. He can feel his skin become warm as his blood vessels dilate and brows begin to furrow. Zordon licks his pursed lips and with unconscious movements unsheathes his sword. He closes his eyes and breathes out a heavy breath of hot air.
Zordon Jumps on top of the nearest table and shouts out inside the coffee shop "Who here wants a free trip to Mexico?!". Silence overcomes the once busy establishment. Bewildered, the coffee patrons are now looking around for signs of what might be going on, confused by this strange situation they seem to be a part of. Zordon takes another deep breath and rises his sword high into the air, "Doesn't matter, because I'm banishing everyone there anyway!" A flash blinding light erupts from the sword as everyone in the building except for the staff suddenly vanishes.
Zordon hops down from the table and walks calmly up to counter. With a quiet sigh of relief Zordon looks at the barista and orders.
"I would like one large coffee please. Black."
The young boy looks at him, still shaken from the display of sorcery he has just witnessed.
"Did you mean a *venti* coffee?" he asks.
Zordan immediately decapitates the barista and catches his head by the hair as his limp body falls to the ground. He turns the decapitated head towards the display cups placed neatly on top of a clear plastic case of assorted bakery items.
Zordan says, "I meant, give me a fucking *large*" as he places the head on top of the largest cup.
| 3 | 0 | 17 | 566 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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It was a dark night. Cedric was waiting outside the store for Veronica to return. The door behind him opened.
"There you are!" Veronica exclaimed. "I was looking all over for you. You should have told me you stepped out."
"Sorry dear. But it was getting late, and I was feeling anxious. Come on, we have to get home." He said, as he began to walk down the sidewalk. It was about one in the morning, and in such a large city, being out late was not the best idea. Veronica looked around frantically. "Don't you think we should call a friend or something? This street doesn't seem very safe, and there's too many people around."
"Relax. You're always safe with me. Plus, I doubt anyone would try something her--" He stopped mid sentence as the familiar sound of a clicking gun resonated behind his head.
"Wallet, purse, phones now." A gruff voice said from the shadows. Two large men wielding firearms stood behind them.
"Hey, we don't want any trouble man. Just take the stuff and leave us alone." Cedric said as he passed the men his belongings. Veronica, too complied. The men turned and ran down the street. Cedric pulled a small rod from his front pocket.
"Here, really?" Veronica whispered. "I told you, there's too many people around. Someone might see."
"Just watch and stop talking." Cedric said as he pointed the rod at the man on the left, who took his possessions, just as they rounded the corner. The man stopped in mid stride and reeled over. Space itself distorted around him, as if reality too were to be torn asunder. The second man looked on in horror, able to do naught as the void swallowed his companion in mere moments. Faster than one could blink, nothing remained of that man, save for a small indention n the ground.
The second man looked at where his partner was, then looked at the couple. He began walking up to them, gun drawn, malicious intent in his eyes. He suddenly froze over, but he did not double over as his companion did. No, he was stuck in time, frozen as reality moved on without him. He could not move one muscle, but his mind worked just fine. Indeed, he was clearly able to see Cedric as he walked up to him, as well as the nearby stop sign at the corner. It was glowing with an unearthly pulse, the word, "Stop" projecting itself off the sign itself. Cedric walked up to him and pulled out a piece of paper. Saying nothing, Cedric wrote the word "Void" on a sheet of paper and placed it in the man's pocket. He pointed his wand at the sheet, and suddenly, the second man, too, disappeared just as quickly as the first. Cedric pulled out another sheet of paper as he walked over to Veronica and wrote a few more words: "My wallet. Veronica's purse. Our phones." With a quick flick of his rod, their possessions simply faded back into existence.
"And that," Cedric said, with his trademark cocky grin, "is why you are always safe with me."
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 567 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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Master of the Divine Lightning. Unchallenged in power. How I look so forward to guiding the Divine Lightning upon any force of evil. To only use my powers for the benefit of man and in support of all that is Good, Honorable, Beautiful, and Natural.
Now to have a weapon bestowed upon me, to aid this new Noble pursuit. Enter name on the magical tablet.
A *Hegelblad?*. The outrage! That such a puny and laughable weapon should even be considered worthy of the Master of The Divine Lightning! A slender pole with a tiny axe head and a miniscule spear point? I summon all the power of the Divine Lightning immediately!
A cloud gathers over Japan and the servers of Takahisa Nakamura are incinerated in seconds. Only a curling whisp of smoke speaks to the former presence of GenZu.net.
My lip curls into a twisted devilish smirk.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 568 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I am a warrior of pure unadulterated epicness! I have the unruly power of Enhanced Boomerangmanship and I come at ye with my trusty Halberd!! Wait.. what?!
I shit you not.. [Boomerangmanship of awesome](http://imgur.com/HYwbW).. [no boomerang](http://imgur.com/6RL9R). 'Tis a sad day, indeed!
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 569 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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**Power**: Lightside View (The power to force a person to see the good side of his/her own soul)
**Weapon**: Ax
The year was 1368. War, famine, and general dismay were all commonplace. Su Lian was China's finest warrior and champion in many of its battles. While she was short in stature and docile in appearance, she had a commanding presence in battle unlike any other. Men respected her; she would stand in her glowing red armor and give a speech that would rouse an army after fighting for hours in brutal conditions.
She also boasted the highest POW to enemy casualty ratio. Su truly believed that there was a good side to every human being. Her peers mocked her for it, they would all rather see their enemies executed, but since food was in excess and the prisons had plenty of space they let her keep them alive.
Often she would check on the condition of her prisoners to make sure they were being treated fairly. On one such occasion she arrested a guard who constantly tormented one of the prisoners and threw him in the same cell as his victim.
These acts of eye for an eye justice made Su Lian legendary. Tales would circulate of anything from her bravery and prowess in combat to her beauty and grace in social situations.
Despite the lore attributed to her, Su would be forced to face a test that she might not be capable of living up to. From the North rode a large rebel force led by defector Guan Jiang, who was known for his ruthlessness and pure disdain for anyone not like him. Terrible atrocities had taken place in his name, and now he wanted to spill the blood of the Empire.
After counseling her men on tactics, training the new recruits and establishing the best possible vantage point, Su Lian had made all the preparations she could, but when it came to drawn swords they were simply underprepared.
She watched as her front line of archers crumbled, being brutally trambled and slashed apart by men on horseback. Instantly, she thought to give the fall back command but something told her she must not back down.
"Attack!" She yelled in Chinese, taking off furiously with her ax held high in the air. Her gorgeous white stallion stepped on body after body before meeting the enemy's, and a thunderous, armor piercing strike left her opponent writhing in pain on the ground.
The lanes for battle quickly began to open up, and after dismantling a few more inexperienced recruits she locked eyes with the man himself, Guan Jiang. In an inexplicable moment of obligation, Su jumped down from her horse and walked towards him. Jiang followed, deflecting strikes from Empire soldiers on the way.
Walking quickly turned into running and they met with a clash of sparks, Su maneuvering defensively in anticipation of Guan's strong attack. He bashed her ax several times with a large, powerful sword and pushed her back forcefully. One Empire soldier looked at Su, gesturing as though asking if he should help, but he already knew that this sparring match was to be won with integrity.
Su parried each and every blow for a while, but eventually grew exhausted and took a shot to the chestpiece that made her drop her axe and shield. Guan Jiang ripped off her helmet and was preparing for the killing blow, but then noticed her eyes. Eyes that said, you don't have to do this. This is not like you. In a trance-like state, he dropped his sword and walked away.
Although her injury was severe, Empire medics were able to save Su Lian and bring her back to safety, where she was given a hero's welcome. Guan Jiang soon decided that he would call off the war, and was never seen in Chinese territory again.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 570 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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The voices of millions... no, billions, ran through my head. There was no shutting them off as they all spoke at once. It had taken years to get to a point where I could cope with the sound, let alone untangle the noise into individual voices. If it hadn't been for that device I'd never have made it out of the madhouse.
The technology was able to shut a human brain down to the most basic functions. A small innocent looking device which when pressed to the skin, hacked into the central nervous system and took away higher brain functions, temporarily. I wore mine on a chain around my ankle. Sure it sounds evil, it was originally a military device to be used to pacify an individual into a coma like state. But for me, it was freedom. Freedom from the voices of the entire world, a way that I could sleep for more than a minute at a time.
It was the lack of sleep that drove me mad. Too tired to concentrate, too tired to focus, all the voices just became more and more tangled until I couldn't separate my own thoughts from them. But after a few nights rest I was able to start to exercise more control over them, listen to them individually, access them at will. I was the most powerful super computer on the planet, capable of knowing everything and anything there was to know.
It was why I was in this secret government facility. I didn't mind, after all, I was given anything I wanted, at any time. And the world is pretty boring when you can access any experience in any place at any time. At least here I could make a semblance of difference, it was the only reason I chose to stay here.
I say chose, because even the tightest security couldn't stop me if I wanted to leave. Six digit key code, 206889; disc tumbler lock, can pick with tools made from a fork and a nail file; security camera, blind spot at ever 16th second past every even minute if you hug the wall; guard, Jerry's getting divorced and it distracts him from his job, Rob has a weak bladder, they work together every second Tuesday and first Monday of the month. No more than twenty people's minds used and he could make it to the lobby without breaking a sweat.
Lately though I'd been starting to access more and more minds simultaneously. At first it was one or two, letting me use a genius's mind to solve a problem of any topic. Now I could access dozens at once. I could simultaneously explain the theory of relativity to you in ancient Mongolian in the form of a haiku while juggling knives and doing the Pasodoble if I chose to. It was getting pretty crowded in my head, which is why I can't tell if I'm going insane again.
Sometimes I could get so deep into someone's head that it was hard to tell if I was following their thoughts or guiding them. It was something that was worth contemplating the implications of a little more at least...
*(Omnipathy as a power (awesome!), anklet as a weapon (seriously?))*
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 571 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I am a hydro kinetic
and i fight with a bow
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 572 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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They call me Luekomight, a name that rings loud and clear through the valleys around here. For those that don't know me, well, I feel sorry for them. People try and mess, pick a fight, but they don't know what they're getting in to. When you have a reputation, you'll find challenges coming your way all the time. Only thing is my reputation only takes hold through myth; unfortunately those that can confirm the reason for my notoriety are no longer around.
"The Ox" they called him. Poor fellow. Not only was his nickname horrendous, but he approached fully unaware. "You Luekomight?" he asked as I sat sipping my coffee in some rural hole-in-the-wall café. I kept looking forward, hoping he'd go away so I wouldn't have to do something I didn't want to do. My wish wasn't coming true, and he just stood there waiting for an answer. Finally, I felt something sharp touch my lower back. "You. I'm talking to you" he said. "Word has it you're the master around here. The one people fear. The one who has a knack for making people disappear" he continued.
I gently placed my coffee down and leisurely turned to face him. "Wrong guy" I said. "Sorry to disappoint".
As I was about to return to my morning cup, he drew his sword, pointing it directly at my face. "Leukomight has been known to slice with a saber, and you have a saber. He's been known to wander these parts, and yet here you are. It has been told he gets a little cranky without his cup of joe at sunup, and still I have to ask, what is it you're drinking there?" he questioned. Oh well, I thought, poor bugger is asking for it. Won't take long anyway.
"If I'm Leukomight, you must be 'The Ox'. Sure, I've heard your name before. What is it you want?" I said while giving him a glaring look. His eyes were locked onto mine, so much in fact that not even an earthquake could break his concentration. "You" he muttered as a grin formed onto his face. "I can't have you stealing my thunder. This is my territory now" he continued, slowly tiptoeing closer to me.
I pulled out my saber, readying for the attack. Once he reached a comfortable distance, he struck, trying to make his first move. I deflected it, swinging his sword off to the side. Taking advantage of my open body, he gave it another shot, this time trying to shove the sword pointy-end first through my abdomen. I shifted to the side, avoiding the jab with ease. It was my turn, and I took the opportunity. I swung the saber high above my head, slashing downward and pinning his sword against the ground. He was no match for my strength, and I held it down with ease.
"You obviously haven't heard everything they say about me" I said, staring into his startled eyes. "They say it isn't the saber that kills, it's that I have bad blood. That I'm angry and unforgiving. Only thing is I don't call it bad blood, in fact I find it quite helpful" I continued. At this point I used my mutation, the ability of blood crystallization to end his life. Protruding from my skin emerged a sharp blade, made from my own hardened blood. It's then I lunged forward, breaking through his chest and mangling his heart and the surrounding area. He dropped dead instantly.
I looked down at what I had done. I should feel bad, but he brought it upon himself. No time to worry myself too much, though....my coffee was getting cold.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 573 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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Kjammorin quickly runs through the mountainside. Although he is used to running after animals to find his food in the morning, Kjammorin is not quite used to being chased for his life.
His pursuers were the local guards of a nearby village, called Pastoria, that saw his unlawful sorcery. The high priests of Pastoria were already convinced that Kjammorin was a fire demon, and his sorcery was just the thing they needed to prove his guilty conscience. Kjammorin was not from Pastoria; the armor that he was wearing, and the iron saver he carried seemed to hint that he was not of this world.
"Stop! For the love of the land! Please stop!" the pursuers shouted. They were getting closer and closer by each step they took through the rocky terrain. Kjammorin knew he could not avoid the guards for long. They outnumbered him, and they would soon out-run him. Kjammorin then stopped dead in his tracks, his back facing the pursuers.
It didn't take long for the guards to catch up to him. They all ran up and surrounded him in every direction. Kjammorin estimated there must have been 10-15 guards around him. There was no chance for escape now.
"Kjammorin" Began the head guard from behind him. "By orders of the High Priests of the village of Pastoria, you have been accused of witchcraft, wizardry, and unholy conjuration of fires. Your punishment will be the release of your magic back to the gods. If you resist, you shall be put to death with no trials. What do you have to say to these claims?"
Kjammorin turned his body around slowly to face the head guard. As he turned, he saw all of the guards surrounding him pointing their swords and daggers pointed at them. Their hands shook as the their eyes met with Kjammorin's. When Kjammorin finally met with the head guard, he was surprised to see that he was a young man, no older than late 20s. Very light blonde, almost white hair covered his forehead. His thin face almost seemed unfitting to his gargantuan, muscular body. He wore armor that only covered his torso, leaving his legs and arms bare. He wore a Dragon-skinned helmet that only covered the sides and top of his head. He must've been quite a man to deserve such a regal helmet though Kjammorin.
Kjammorin stared into his colourless eyes for what seemed like hours until one of them spoke.
"Well?" The guard said in a determined, almost enraged voice.
Kjammorin closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He looked towards the sky and focused my entire energy into his hands. With all of the strength Kjammorin could contain, he clapped my hands into the air. Just as he did, Flames began to dance in the air. They moved so gracefully all around that he was almost hypnotized by it, but Kjammorin kept his focus. The guards seemed to back away from the dancing fire. They were all afraid of what would happen next, all except for the head guard.
Kjammorin looked straight at the head guard's eyes; neither one looked away. Kjammorin took a deep breath once away and began to yell at the top of his lungs. The yell was so loud, that is seemed to hurt his own ears, but the head guard was still holding steady. The flames all combined themselves to form one giant fire. This fire grew higher and higher, burning so much oxygen in the air, everybody held their breaths. The giant flame then bursted into a giant bird, shaking the earth as it exploded thousand of embers onto the earth below it. The fire bird had the form of an eagle, but it was much bigger. It was as big as a small house. Its wings were spread out as if it were about to fly into the outer earth. It began to rise higher and higher. Its colour constantly changing from a dark red to a light orange.
Kjammorin had summoned the Phoenix.
The head guard took his sight off of Kjammorin and focused it onto the Phoenix. The Phoenix was looking at everybody below it, ready to pounce on its prey. All was silent except for the crackle and pops that came from the Phoenix.
"Pyras! Infinitas!" shouted Kjammorin and the top of his lungs at the Pheonix with all the authority he could conjure. The Phoenix then bursted into millions and millions of embers in every direction. Guards were screaming as fire and flames flew everywhere. The guards seemed to all catch on fire at once. there steel body armor caught on fire as if it was made of dried wood. The guards fell to the ground to try to stop the flames from consuming them, but it was too late. Every guard was on the ground, either dead, or dying. All except the head guard. He stood there, as he did before. The flames seemed to miss him entirely. Kjammorin did this on purpose.
The Guards are all dead, and the Phoenix is gone. Smoke rose from the ground as Kjammorin walked toward the head guard, with smoke coming from his shoulders and feet.
"Goodbye brother" Kjammorin uttered as the Phoenix arose from the ashes on the ground. The Phoenix grabbed Kjammorin by the shoulders and flew away into the shy. The head guard could do nothing but watch as Kjammorin and his Phoenix flew into the sun.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 574 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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Soooo. I got unlovability: Feel or Make others feel unloved
And a bazooka.... Does anyone think I should turn this overpowered champion into a story?
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 575 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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“Look at you cunts!” I had to be rough with them. Orcs are very hard to control. “You’re a piss poor lot aren’t you? Well, I guess you’ll do and we’ve got a job to do!” Looking at my ragtag group of a dozen Orcs I began developing the game plan. “You!” I shouted, pointing to no Orc in particular, “Prepare the Ale!” After some confusion, the small one of the lot headed off to the kitchen.
“Bring food too!” shouted one of the grunts. I could tell this was going to be fun.
“You!” I shouted, pointing at the big-mouthed grunt. “Gather the horses, this carriage ain’t gonna pull itself!”
A few hours, and tedious orders, later we were ready to go. For some time ahead of us we would be traveling through a prairie. After that, however, the most direct route was through a wooded area. I took my position at the front of the caravan. “Time to dip into my personal flask,” I whispered to myself with a sheepish grin, as I freed it from my belt. I took a draught and was instantly greeted with that burn, the burn that can only come from your favorite spirit.
“You mind sharing?” an unexpected question from behind.
I turned to see an average-sized Orc, on horse, pulling away from the others and toward me.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I challenged.
“With all due respect, sir, I know who I am,” a smile overtook his face. “I am Oenomaus.”
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean to me?” I pressed further.
“I imagine, not very much, to you, but it means more to your sister,” his grin grew until ugly teeth were bared.
Anger flooded my face. “Well, aren’t you a piece of shit?”
“Guilty,” said Oenomaus, almost laughing now. “Are you gonna share?”
This guy had guts, I liked him. “You can drink with the dregs. This is my personal flask, son.”
We rode most of the journey in idle chit chat. It helped the hours dissolve into nothingness. Time flew. As we approached the woods things….changed. The chattering behind me, that previously meant nothing, grew louder. One grunt said to another, “We’re dead if we go through there.” The largest of the grunts shouted, “Those are just stories to scare children! Are you a child?”
I positioned myself so I could see my cohort, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Terrified murmurs came from a few but were quickly stamped out by the big’n, “Stories are told to our children of these woods. Orcs go in and never come out, they are just scary stories but these men don’t seem to realize that.”
Onward we pressed. There was a nice path carved through the woods, it was a regularly traveled route. The trees started out sparse but thickened to the point of blocking out the sun. It was always night in there. Lanterns had to be lit to allow safe passage. Tree limbs hung over the path and, occasionally, caught the passerby.
“The trees are grabbing me!” a terrified shriek from behind. It was met with laughter.
As the laughter died out, I heard rustling to my left and then to my right. Oenomaus noticed my worried expression.
“Worry not, there are animals in the wo…” his speech faded. *Thwmp*.
I turned to see what put a pause in his speech. He was clutching his stomach with a look of pure fear on his face. “Well, fuck me,” he groaned as he slid from his horse. Behind me I heard swords unsheathing.
*Thwmp*, another fallen Orc. “Jimmy, they got Jimmy!”
Shadows and rustling began to assault my senses. We were surrounded. I drew my sword, “Halt! We stand, and fight!” This was met with cheers from the remaining Orcs. *Thwmp*. *Thwmp*. The cheers were noticeably quieter.
A creaking sound came from above me. I looked up to see a hooded figure crouching on a tree limb above me. *Thwmp* he loosed an arrow. It dug into my side, blinding pain. The hooded figure jumped from the tree limb to my left and disappeared into the night. Behind me, the remainder of my cohort stood confused, terrified. *Thwmp Thwmp Thwmp,* three more arrows, three more dead Orcs. I turned to see where the shots came from. A branch above us waved but nothing was there.
A moment passed in silence. Nothing. Every creak I heard scared me further into my silent prison.
*Thwap*, I turned to see the hooded figure kicking one of my Orcs in the face. The big Orc took a slash at it. The hooded figure side stepped, to big’n’s back side, and kicked out his knee. Arm still outstretched, the hooded figure was able to snap big’ns elbow. It took a final shot at big’ns neck. Big’n was failed. It stopped and stared at me. In the poor light, I couldn’t see its face. The last remaining Orc charged toward it. It turned toward its challenger, grabbed him by the shoulders, and tripped him. Bow pulled, arrow knocked, *thwmp*. It jumped back into the trees.
“What are you?” I shouted into the darkness. Laughter was its response.
I heard one final creaking sound. I woke up, several hours later, the carriage had been taken. All of our weapons were missing as well. Big’n began to stir, I guess he survived. He stood up, groaning and holding his head. *Thwmp*, an arrow pierced straight through his eye. Rustling overhead, I followed as best I could until I noticed a piece of parchment floating to the ground. It was a note. I won’t bore you with all the details. It promised that our rule would be undone and it was signed, “The Ghost.”
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 576 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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My name is Sean. I steal other people's superpowers. I'm armed with a bazooka.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 577 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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I got psychic manipulation. I can create objects or entire beings from pure psychic energy. I fight with a saber. Like a musketeer.
A psychic assassin.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 578 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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The last rays of light fell across my floor in a crisscross pattern as I watched the sun set through my window lattice. The scene could almost be called beautiful if it wasn’t for everything else the light illuminated. Sprawling houses and storefronts smashed together far as the eye could see. The streets were so narrow traveling caravans had to go through the widest single file. Most just waited outside the city and sent merchants with pack-mules to make their sales. The city would be easier to traverse on the rooftops than by the streets, but I had avoided doing so in broad daylight as yet. The appearance of poverty was everywhere.
The only reason I could even watch this sunset was that I had been lucky enough to find a room in the highest of the three houses stacked together here. A family in the marketplace had taken me in today after I haggled a clerk down so they could buy just a little more bread for the week. I had come this far east searching for the reasons behind my unique skills, which I usually only spent in combat. But, here, language was combat so I had mastered this land’s tongue with ease and so far found it quite useful in my quest, even though I had not yet gotten any closer to the answers I was seeking.
As the sun finally sank beneath the sparse, arid wasteland outside the city walls, the hair on the back of my neck started to stand on end. This city would prove a dangerous place at night. I calmly walked across the room and pulled my shamshir from my pack. This weapon appeared to be this land’s version of a longsword. I had bought one in the marketplace from an old armorer. The curved blade would take years for most experts to master. Of course, for me it had only taken a few hours practice outside to figure out most of the sword’s nuances.
I waited for what seemed like minutes, but, in reality, it was a few hours before I heard the rough knock at the door. A gruff voice outside was demanding I be handed over to the city watch. From his mode of speech and the restless rustling of his many followers I could tell that this man did not represent the watch. They probably just wanted to relieve me of the little golden burdens in my pockets and any other foreign belongings they could get their hands on before robbing the family blind. I gave my friends in the house a reassuring look and told them to take the children to the back room as I opened the door.
“We see you in market today,” said the owner of the gruff voice in what must have been his closest approximation to the Frankish everyone here seemed to think all of us ‘foreign devils’ spoke. He was a tall man with a pronounced mustache and was clearly the strongest of his bunch of vagabonds, each one more unkempt than the last.
“I’m very sorry to have been an inconvenience to you,” I said in my most respectful Persian, as I gave a low bow.
While my mostly uneducated assailants were trying to piece together my syntax, I exited my bow with a slash from my shamshir that opened their leader from navel to nose. He slumped lifelessly to the ground in a heap as blood sprayed all over the threshold. His companions set on me in moments, coming all at once. I guess I had been getting soft lately because I had only counted 20 based on what I heard through the door originally. I was attacked by 40 at least. I told myself I would need to hone my focus again as I dispatched the last one a few minutes later.
The family came out and thanked me profusely as I was just finishing cleaning the last of the blood from their doorstep, the bodies having been stashed safely out of sight. It was at this point they realized we had yet to properly introduce ourselves, since foreign men like me who stood out tended not to last very long in their city.
“What is your name, sir? We will remember you in our prayers for as long as we live. What is such a one as you called?” they asked, trying to imitate what they must have thought flowery language they had probably learned in the mosque.
I thought for a moment how best to present myself in this city, and decided that honesty would be best as these people had already been so kind to me. I looked up and said simply, “There are some who call me. . .Tim.”
| 2 | 0 | 17 | 579 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
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He sat high above the forest, crouched in the boughs of a redwood cedar. California was gorgeous, all forests and deserts and urban decay. A beauty of its own. He'd always wanted to visit, and he was glad to have the chance, if “visit” was the right term for what he was here to do.
If anyone had bothered to look they would have seen him, dressed in simple black and white, nothing at all to hide him from view. While most visitors came here for the trees, craning their necks to appreciate the height and majesty of the ancient forest, not a single person had noticed him. It was almost time for him to change that.
Below him, far below him, there was a commotion. Two men, young, too young, stood at the base of his tree, fists flying. He dropped down, hopping from branch to branch with ease. It wouldn't do anyone much good if he couldn't get a clear shot.
The men were shouting, screaming. He didn't get to know their stories beforehand—The man he was here for could tell him later—but this was a rare occasion. It was easy enough to piece together what had brought them here. Drugs, of course. Drugs and a woman.
“YOU KILLED HER!”
“YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY! YOU KNEW THE GODDAMN DEAL!”
Cyrus summoned his bow and arrow, the wood and sinew resting heavy in his hands. It was necessary, he knew, but that didn't make it any easier. He knew what his target would be doing for the rest of his existence. He himself was one of the lucky few, able to help without participating.
The task was necessary.
It did nothing to ease his guilt.
He turned his attention back to the fight, drawing the bow and aiming down at the men. His timing had to be perfect. The younger of the two, from what he could tell, the one who had lost someone, was towering above the other man. The heel of his boot struck at the dealer's torso, ribs cracking with each hit. He looked almost dead, whimpering with every strike. Finally, the other man stumbled back, chest heaving, blood running down his face.
“I hope you rot in fucking hell, you cocksucking son of a--”
He didn't get to finish his sentence. Cyrus aimed swiftly and the bolt flew true, a clean shot through the young man's head, just moments before a bullet did the same.
The other man would die too, mere minutes later. But he hadn't come for him.
He made a final jump from the tree, landing soft in the dirt next to the recently deceased. He knelt next to him with a gentle smile and took his hand, pulling him to his feet.
“Welcome, Angel. We have much to discuss.”
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 580 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
The Ombre Tech office building looms above me. Its steely framed pierced the night sky, a testament to the power and wealth of the man who owned it. A man suspected of blackmail, money laundering and murder. The police had tried to charge Darren Ombre several times but nothing ever stuck. The man was smart, always making sure to tie up any loose ends and employing a pack of ruthless lawyers to ensure that those ends stayed tied. Yes, the police had tried and failed to catch Darren Ombre so now it’s up to me, the local professional vigilante, to lend them a hand. A strong wind blows through my hair, loosening some strands. I secure them back in place with a bobby pin as I step up to the door of Ombre Tech. Being the front door of a major tech company, it is of course guarded with the latest in voice recognition technology. This is probably a big deterrent for most people but not for me.
I’m an omnitone, meaning that I can imitate any pitch or tone in existence. Okay, so it’s not as cool as being able to fly or blasting laser beams out of your eyes. I’ll give you that. Still, when one is attempting to break into a highly secured facility, being an omnitone comes in handy.
“Voice recognition requested.” The computer’s voice reminds me of the one from “Star Trek”.
“Darren Ombre.” I’ve heard Mr. Ombre speak in public a few times. It’s an easy voice to reproduce. Confident and sleek, it’s the voice of a businessman, a politician. It’s a voice you can’t trust.
“Voice confirmed. Access granted.” The doors slide open and I slip inside. I’ve spent hours studying the layout of this building and I creep quietly down the hall, towards Ombre’s office. The lock on his office is the same as the outside door, voice activated. I unlock it quickly and get to work. It doesn’t take me too long to hack into Ombre’s computer. I’m not so much of a computer whiz myself but my sidekick Marla is and she was kind enough to whip up this great little hacking program for me. In no time at all, I find the files I need and download them onto a thumbdrive. The process is almost complete when I hear a sound at the door.
“Hey, who are you?”
I look up. Two of Ombre’s lackeys stand in the office doorway. They’re big and muscular and the look in their eyes tells me that they wouldn’t have any qualms about beating up a woman. Carefully, I slip the thumbdrive into my pocket, then reach back to my quiver to draw an arrow. Empty.
Crap. Crap, crap, crappity crap. How can my quiver be empty? Marla was supposed to refill it. What is wrong with sidekicks these days? Maybe my next sidekick should be an orphan or an ex-prostitute. Those seemed to have worked out well for some of my peers.
I see one of the men reaching for a gun as they make their way towards me. No time to worry about my lack of arrows. I’ll just have to make due with what I have. Gripping my bow with both hands, I somersault over the desk. I whack the first goon in the side of the head with my bow, then the stomach and give him a hard knee to the crotch for good measure. He goes down. I twirl and hit the other one in the chest, then bring my bow down on his wrist. He cries out and drops the gun. I crack him on the back of the skull and he joins his companion on the floor. They’re both moaning, struggling to get back up despite the pain. I look towards the door. Too far. That just leaves the massive window behind Ombre’s desk. I turn towards the window, open my mouth and let out a sonic scream.
Oh yeah, did I not mention I could do that? Another perk of being an omnitone. Admit it, you’re beginning to think my powers might not be so lame after all, huh?
The glass shatters and I stare out into the open night. Behind me, Ombre’s goons start to get up. No time to waste then. I throw myself out the window. In freefall now, I detach my grappling gun and shoot it back up towards the building. My body gives a slight jerk as the hook catches, then I smoothly descend towards the ground.
Superpower: Omnitone, Weapon: Bow (no mention of arrows)
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 581 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
New at this. Decided to take up writing as a hobby. Please, please, please give me pointers.
Something has come through my livingroom. THROUGH. The hard way. The holes in either side of my house are huge and indistinct. Peace out, poor television. You will be remembered, recliner. Good riddance goldfish. I can’t tell what’s going on. It’s dark. I’m scared. I want to get the hell out of here. And what the HELL IS THAT!
A THING is coming back through the wall. You know what? I don’t give a damn what it is, I want it to go away. “GO AWAY!” Nothing. “YOU WEREN’T INVITED!” Oh, now it’s snarling. Good. Now I know that whatever it is, it doesn’t like being yelled at. However, it does enjoy being huge, covered in spikes, and… glowing? It’s not glowing. Things that size don’t glow. I need a weapon…
I have a WEAPON! Ok, I have a bow. I used to have an arrow. I shot that thing in the eye. I need another arrow. What am I thinking? The only arrow I need is 40 millimeters in diameter and packed with explosives. I want a damn radar-guided, freak-seeking, intercontinental-ballistic-blow-things-to-bits kind of arrow. Head down this alley. Might be too narrow for it. Nope. Damn. Maybe I should detour through the graveyard. The headstones should slow that gigantic thing down.
Crap! Damn! WHY?! Just. Thing! Running. It can jump like a goddamn kangaroo. The graveyard is just open ground to this freak bastard thing. I want a gun. I want ten guns. And nine other dudes. This is going poorly. My hands are glowing. Why are my hands glowing? Is this thing radioactive? Son of a BITCH! This freak is going to kill me, no matter what. I’m beyond scared. “HELP!” And the ground splits open.
Ok. Okokokok. There’s an army of zombies fighting a glowing… bear? In a graveyard. I’m sleeping. I can’t be sleeping; my everything hurts too much. Shit, I’m out of shape. Ok, I have a bow and no arrows, a few dozen zombies fighting a rampaging alien(?), and I’m seconds from soiling myself where I hide. Looks like a nice night for a run. “POLICE!”
I’m on a park bench. I think I passed out. What the hell happened? Dream? Nope, that’s a zombie. That’s a real. Damn. Zombie. And its friends. And they’re holding back a crowd? Are they protecting me? “What the hell?” People are shouting. Shouting questions. You think you’ve got questions?
**EDIT: Weapon: Bow, Power: Necromancy**
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 582 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
**Power: Universal Manipulation**
**Weapon: Japanese war fan**
I wish I could die.
I lay on my couch, listening to the rhythmic sounds of the grinder outside my house. Screaming, followed by sudden silence. 3 seconds pass. Screaming, and more silence. After a time it begins to irritate me. I grasp the artifact laying on my coffee table, an ancient Japanese war fan. I form an image in my head: my house, surrounded by silence. The fan grows cool as it translates my thought into reality. Silence descends like a blanket. While I’m at it I dim the sun and turn it a slightly warmer shade of yellow.
My girlfriend walks in the front door.
“Hi honey! How are you?” I don’t answer. Instead I cause to her lift off her feet and float towards me. As she moves through the room tiny cuts appear in her clothing. In a matter of seconds her clothing, completely shredded, falls from her body. She lands in my lap, naked and giggling.
“So that’s how you’re feeling.” I bring her close for a kiss. We make love on the couch. I don’t really know why I do this. Sex no longer brings me pleasure. Maybe there’s something about her pleasure, her moans, her face that makes me remember what it’s like.
“So,” she begins. “What are you plans for today?”
“Oh, I don’t know” I say absent-mindedly as I sculpt the fluffy clouds visible through my living room window.
“Draw my face!” she begs, suddenly. I laugh, creating a perfect image of our faces miles above the ground. She laughs and throws herself on me again. She leans down and whispers “I love you”. We kiss, and she asks again. “So, were you just going to draw pictures in the clouds all day?”
“I was thinking about getting a new girlfriend,” I say absent-mindedly. Confusion flashes over her face.
“What?”
“It’s nothing personal. It’s just that I’d like a change." Change is good.
“What… But I thought we were in love! We’ve been together for years!” When I don’t answer she stands up and cross her arms over her chest. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Probably throw you to the grinder.” Her eyes go wide.
“You can’t do this!” she cries before leaping off the couch and running for the door. I snap my fingers and my butler appears. He picks her up and hauls her, kicking and screaming, outside.
I spend some time playing tic-tac-toe against myself in the clouds before getting to my feet and following him through the door.
My house is a small cottage in the middle of a sea of rolling hills that extend endlessly in all directions. Nothing mars the view. Not a mountain, tree, or shrub. Nothing except the grinder.
It was something I made when I first began experimenting with my powers. I can do so much better now, but it reminds me of a simpler time. I could still learn, back then, because there were things I didn’t know.
The metal monstrosity consists of a building-sized hunk of rust and steel containing massive, spinning blades. A large glass tube opens at a point thirty feet above the machine’s gaping maw. From there it runs down the side of the grinder and along the ground, where it continues all the way to the horizon. Miles and miles of impenetrable glass tubing. Inside the tubing are people. Thousands of them. They stand in the tube, packed like sardines, waiting for their turn to fall into the grinder. The ones at the back will be waiting for years. The ones here, this close to the machine, only have a matter of minutes. They see me and pound their fists on the walls, screaming pleas that don’t make it through the soundproof glass.
These people are my creations, of course. Earth is gone. The moment I found the fan was the moment I woke into a world of confusion and nightmare. People tried to control me, but how could they when I couldn’t even control myself? It was like handing a loaded gun to a baby. There was no good ending. By the time I gained a measure of control over the artifact the universe had been permanently altered.
That was all so long ago. More time has passed since my transformation than before. It must have been billions of years ago.
“Ahem,” the butler says. He holds my still-struggling ex-girlfriend. “The grinder, sir?” he asks. I nod absently. He bows slightly and carries her over to the tube. There he opens a door, temporarily letting out thousands of scream and wails. After shoving her inside he closes it.
I watch for a time. One after another they fall from the open end of the tube. Screaming, silence. 3 seconds pass. Screaming, silence. I wait until my girlfriend’s turn and then stand up, stretching. I could use a walk.
The war fan cools my hand as it lifts me out of my body. I have a feeling of falling away from this world and into another one. In this place I am an artist, and causality is my paint. Here I see patterns no mortal mind could ever comprehend. I see the movement of galaxies, hear the terrible rushing sound of black holes, and watch in awe as mass bends space. It is all mine.
I glance across the universe and watch my plans unfold. I have been constructing a machine these past few eons. Its elegance and cosmic dimensions utterly dwarf the grinder. This project will be my crowning achievement. I do not know if it will work. Time is the only veil behind which knowledge may hide from me. But if it does work, I will finally have peace. I have designed this machine to end my life.
All I have wanted since my transformation is to die. Unfortunately divinity and death are mutually exclusive. But this project will finally bring me the eternal silence I long for. Until then I will have to satisfy myself by granting this peace to others, even if they are unable to appreciate such a gift.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 583 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
I have the power to create elemental entities, and for some reason fight with a haliberd
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 584 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
Power: Transparency (aka, people see nothing but the skeleton.)
Weapon: Magical Staff
Screams echoed through the abyss as I traveled down, down, into the darkness. I descended, bringing my skeletal guise into view. My staff twirled in my hands. Deeper.
The first circle. No problems - as one of the dead, I was easily admitted. Getting out might be harder. Second circle - still good. *This is almost too easy*, I thought. Only two more; my target is bound to the fourth circle of Hell. *Third...this one's trickier. Demons of darkness...they might be able to pierce my illusion. Better safe than sorry...* I proceeded to weave a web of deceit around me. The guards seemed suspicious, but they let me through nonetheless. After all, what kind of crazy person tries to sneak *into* Hell? I sighed. *Me, of course. This is madness, after all, mm?*, my logical side put in. *Oh, shut up*, the rest of me responded eloquently.
*Fourth circle...and I'm in. Now to find her...*
__________________________________________________________
Her eyes flickered open. *Where am I?*, she thought. She tried to move, but to no avail. Her head clearing, she found chains binding her hands and feet to...a cross? What sort of twisted...oh. The evil light...the heat...the putrid air. "Oh God," she groaned.
"Beg all you want. He can't hear you down here," cackled an evil-sounding voice.
"No...how is this possible? I...I'm not dead!"
*It doesn't matter now.*
She tensed. That voice was in her head...no...she had to keep them out of her head.
___________________________________________________________
The tip of my staff glowed as I floated an inch above the lake of fire. *Fallen Angel. Damn. And I thought this was going to be easy.* "Here we go," I muttered to myself.
I quietly approached the grim scene in front of me: two gargantuan demons of fire flanking something that seemed to be a man...the only distinction was the pair of burnt, shriveled wings sprouting from his back. And there she was, chained to a cross, resisting the fallen angel's powers to the last. *Now*, I decided. No time like the present.
I swung the staff. In a flash of bright, pure light, the fire demons were destroyed, their spirits banished to the seventh circle. The Fallen was another matter. He merely winced, and turned around to face me.
"WHO DARES? I AM THE MIGHTY ELOSEIN! YOU SHALL FALL TO MY WRATH, PUNY SPIRIT!", he roared, his voice many times louder than the size of his body would tell you. He raised his hand, and sent a nimbus of crackling power at me...which hit me with no ill effects besides returning me to my normal, human appearance.
"My turn." I brought all the powers of my staff into bear, sending a driving bolt of holy light into his soul. He screamed, and the light turned upward, pulling him with it. "Hurry!", I shouted, as I swung the staff once more, shattering the fetters that bound her there. I grabbed her arm and caught the last of the light as it rushed upward, oblivious to the attempts of the powers of Hell to stop it, returning to its Creator. We hopped off at the Earth's surface, the light still rising, bringing the Fallen to his final judgement.
"Well, my love, here we are. Home again. We should really rethink our tra-" My further words were silenced by the sudden embrace of my lips by hers. And there we stayed - on the verdant grass under the clear sky.
| 0 | 0 | 17 | 585 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
feather projection, dagger
She didn't know if it was a curse or a blessing as she embraced the night sky with wings of brilliant white and maroon, illuminated only by the fading light of the moon. Her only friend was the dagger she had unwillingly inherited on the night of her father's death. She cringed as she pictured the 30 story building she grew up in. The hallways, painted in a monotonous beige and adorned with outdated argyle wallpaper, always reminded her of a prison. She was alone in the world and she knew it.
As she flew in the direction of the French Alps, the only place on earth where she ever felt a fragment of comfort, there was an explosion 20,000 feet below her. Quickly she swooped down to analyze the commotion. In disbelief, she watched an entire village vanish. Validated by a deafening silence, she reached the ground and gazed upon utter destruction.
That was when she sensed him.
"Hello Emma" the shadowed figure whispered.
As Emma turned around, she couldn't help but gasp at the pure size of this creature. Towering ten feet over her, was the dark figure responsible for destroying her family, her hopes, her dreams and her overall faith in humanity. She hadn't seen him in years, but she recognized him instantly.
With revenge coursing through her veins, she did not hesitate to draw the dagger from her belt. Emma swiftly plunged the weapon deep into his thigh, but the creature didn't so much as whimper at the prospect of the wound.
"Emma darling, you really must learn from the past. If I remember correctly, it was that same dagger that your father used to try and defeat me twe-"
"Twenty two years ago!" she erupted. His calm demeanor made her sick with rage. It was at that moment when she knew what to do. A fury of razor sharp feathers was unleashed onto her nemesis; cutting him in his rough head and slicing open his snake like skin. The creature stumbled back in awe of this ability that he had never encountered. White feathers turned crimson with blood seeping out of his body from all angles. He fell to one knee.
Gasping for air, he could barely make a sound. She had punctured his lung. Collapsing under his own weight, the creature lay motionless just as the sun had emerged its way in to the sky. Emma stood still in disbelief. She gazed upon the cadaver until an effluvia formed that she could no longer withstand. She reached for the dagger, still lodged in the thigh of the monster, but quickly drew back. She did not want to keep up this life of revenge and loneliness. All she wanted was freedom. As Emma soared effortlessly, she cracked her first smile in years.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 586 |
Randomized Superpower challenge.
|
Negitive Energy Control (It was a really broad topic), Katana
"You're going crazy. You know that?" Derek asked, his hair fluttering in the wind. He and I stood atop the roof of John Hancock Tower in Boston. "You know there's nothing wrong with Darren. You've always wanted the guy to have nothing of good intentions."
Clutching the handle of Kitsuke tight, I looked over the city. "I wish I could believe you Derek, but the fact of the matter is I can sense negativity, and he certainly gives off a lot of it."
"You always do this, Robbie. You never see the good in people."
"I pay attention. I know him a little better than you do because of it, so maybe YOU should start listening to your senses."
"You've been--"
I stood up, resting Kitsuke's blade against Derek's neck. "I say again, I am listening to my senses, and while I am detecting negativity from Darren, you aren't telling me about all the positivity he's giving off as well. I would expect you to remember that life is a balancing act, and that falling off either side can be disastrous."
A surge of energy passed through me, weakening my knees. It wasn't too suprising, then, when Derek pushed me enough to upset my balance. From the edge of the sixty story tower, I dropped. Panic hit me. Why couldn't I have flight like Darren?
After the shock passed, though, I composed myself enough to thrust Kitsuke into the side of a window. Holding onto it, I gradually slowed to a stop. Derek looked down from the top of the building, as I watched him from the side of it. He shook his head in disappointment, before vanishing onto the rooftop. I turned back, looking over the city again from my admittedly treacherous vantage point. Even from there, if I paid attention, I could feel Darren roaming the streets of Boston, wandering towards... No.
I pulled myself up, onto Kitsuke's blade, carefully climbing through the window with it in tow. I had to make it to the bank in time. I wasn't gonna be wrong this time.
| 1 | 0 | 17 | 587 |
[MP] Deadwing
|
Great idea for a prompt!
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 588 |
[MP] Deadwing
|
[deleted]
| 2 | 0 | 1 | 589 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
[deleted]
| 4 | 0 | 16 | 590 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
....with a slight touch of the bone, a fracture will occur.
I've only begun to fight the disease, but I can tell this pseudo-epidemic our society has conveyed will soon eradicate the weak, and infect the strong. The dilapidated corners of the Earth will break and crumble. Chaos will be created among those who survive.
For those left able to stand, life will remain only as a torture device. The ability to withstand pain from the ever-shattering human structure will die.
I should have stopped myself.
I'm sorry.
| 3 | 0 | 16 | 591 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
Turmoil and tragedy are no strangers to the heart of humanity. Since our first steps out of dust and ruin, we have overcome their efforts.
On August 2nd, 2012 a lethal outbreak occurred in the town of Raccoon City, Maryland. Quarantine was set up immediately to seal said virus, but our relentless efforts returned unrewarded. I regrettably announce that this epidemic is likely to spread throughout the entirety of the United States within a week’s time.
Nation, do not lose your fighting spirit in the face of this tragedy. We have overcome much before, and we will overcome more still.
| 2 | 0 | 16 | 592 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
Telegram - 10 aug. 2012
THEY HAVE TAKEN OVER THE ENTIRE COUNTRY! THE REST OF THE WORLD MUST KNOW!
TECHNOLOGY HAS BEEN KNOCKED OUT BY REGULAR EMP BLASTS.
IT'S BEEN 10 YEARS. INVISIBLE FIELD SURROUNDS US - MAKES THE WORLD OUTSIDE OF IT FORGET WE EXIST.
I AM SENDING OUT THIS TELEGRAM. FROM AN ANALOG WORLD TO A DIGITAL ONE.
IF ANYONE GETS THIS SPREAD THE WORD: THERE IS A PLACE ON EARTH CALLED OSTLAND AND YOU MUST REMEMBER.
-DR. JACK GRIFFIN
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 593 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
June 2005
Dear Steve,
I have an idea. A brilliant idea.
We should make a site where content from all over the web will be gathered in one place.
In short, we should make the front page to the internet.
It has never been done before. Our time is now.
Alexis Ohanian
| 16 | 0 | 16 | 594 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
"Harry is fine."
So claimed one White House official in response to allegations that President Truman's use of a nuclear bomb against Japan last night was the result of him going crazy.
Physicists at MIT: the bomb devastates future generations, but there’s a chance of being born with two penises.
“When you think about it, that’s pretty cool,” noted one scientist who wished to remain unnamed.
Several reporters have observed Mr. Truman walking himself on a leash and barking. Officials assure us these events are unrelated to last night’s security incident, when pedestrians saw flashing lights above the White House.
| 2 | 0 | 16 | 595 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
Sunidhi,
We're okay. Am in Poughkeepsie, 2 hours north of city -- before storm -- now it took 12 days to come.
Brooklyn is gone. What tsunami didn't wash away, rioters took. What they didn't take, they burned.
I've seen the worst of humanity these last few weeks. Two things I will never forget as long as I live: the sight of crabs, hundreds of thousands of them, feasting on human bodies in downtown Manhattan, and small children fighting a bloody battle over a piece of candy found under the rubble. =-(
Will write again soon if current stays up.
best,
Rohan
| 7 | 0 | 16 | 596 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
Nobody knows where the monster came from. One says it crashed from the sky after losing its wings. Another swore it rose from the deepest of ground, tired of our noise.
Its appetite has consumed our food. Its wrath has broken our homes. Many have given up and left their bodies for us to bury. Even more worship the monster and fly to it, only to be swallowed by it and spat back out. They scream and laugh and die.
Nobody knows that I have tamed it. My hands scarred, but I have learned to control its hunger. Sleep, my Fire.
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 597 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
Society has collapsed. Money is worthless. Someone should have realised that global recessions don't just **stop** in a week.
It seems someone took the advice of an 8 year old, and thought the best way to fix it would be to print more money.
Now, money is worthless. There is no order, and there's no-one to stop it - people saw the law as the cause and targeted it.
After the recession 'stopped', there was a week of joy and jubilation, and then yesterday, everything collapsed.
What a coincidence that yesterday was the 21 of December, 2012...or was it a coincidence?
HogBacon.
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 598 |
[FF] [PRIZE] 100 words and 24 hours. An email that changes everything
|
To the Editor
In light of Manifestation, European courts reinstate death penalty. Elective procedure for all LfeCorp
patients convicted of life. Incentives to reduce prison upkeep - free LC treatment for three
immediate relatives, one non-relative, in case of choosing **sodium thiopental**.
Still early to say whether max. of 200 years for 1st, 2nd degree will extend before 2215, when first LC
expected to be released.
PS: The Walls are strikingly magnificent, multi-coloured, opulent, gold, silver, diamond, although appear cold and the same distance no matter how long you walk. Even from Vienna, one can read the newspaper at midnight. Never really dark enough to sleep.
| 1 | 0 | 16 | 599 |
Subsets and Splits
SQL Console for euclaise/WritingPromptsX
Provides a limited set of records with high post scores, offering basic filtering but minimal insight into data patterns.