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[ "I've always found this clip from Schindler's List to explain power most eloquently. This could serve as a good springboard for inspiration:\n\nhttp://www.metacafe.com/watch/an-_kaeuY4t2hbbYt/schindlers_list_1993_discussing_fear_and_power/", " Sometimes, I just wish for an end. This madness. This war. I just want to give up. \nYou see, this war has been raging for 15 years, and all I ever remember is bloodshed. Tears. \nMy whole family is gone, and I have lost every one of my friends. I am alone.\nAll I wish for in this world Is for it to be a peaceful, happy place, Once again. My greatest hope will never come never come true. I just wish that the war, or as the government called it, This revolution, Would end.\n \n ~~~~~~~~~~\n\n Back during the war weapons were precious. Peace was futile. Love was treason. I had had a stone cold heart for years. \n\nThen she appeared. She was a lovely, strong, blonde. I loved, and I lost. \nShe came to our town as just a tiny child, only 4. I was assigned to watch her. \nShe was clingy, afraid half of the time. We never knew her real name, \nBut I called her Birdy.\n \nWe were running low on food in our town. She said she wanted to learn to hunt.\n \nI took her in the woods, Gave her a small bow. She caught on fast.\nI taught her to kill animals and keep her arrow. \n\nWe were the best of friends.\n \n I told her that we should try hunting bigger game. Rabbits \nwere not going to keep our town fed.\n \nWe killed mostly small, 50 pound deer. But one day, we met a \nblack bear.That day, I had my gun with me. We fended it off for about 20 miles, but then the bear got a little too close. I shot. It found a target. Not the one I intended. She was killed, and then I killed the bear. I was sad.\n \nHer funeral was brief. The day she died, I think she was 7.\nShe didn't have a name, So we knew of at least. \nShe was buried with her bow.\n \n Today, I still have no idea who she was, or where \nshe was from. I'm sure the war is over. \n \nThe battle has just began. The battle for justice for \nlost family members. Funerals. The government has no idea what we suffered. They had no hardships or deaths. They were fenced in with supplies. They had \nsafety and plenty of food. They never had loss. \n \nIf one of my family members were alive, I would,\nbe overjoyed. If I knew joy. I had never had a true family\nmy town was great and all, but I wanted to know my family.\n \n ~~~~~~~~~~\n\nI was 6 when the war started, And 25 when it ended. \nI have never known a \"day off\" or a \"holiday\". \nFamily. Something that I longed for.\nI have found my family. I have found strength. I have found peace.\n", "my first ever. I need help :(\n\n\nI watched my friends approach the truck, their brows drenched in sweat from the blistering sun, the weight of their bags straining against their back. Yet, I was completely helpless. I could do nothing more than watch them march towards the front, not missing a single beat of their shared rhythm. \n\nIt was right in the middle of the day. I had just left my office just to see another truck, or whatever you call it, carry more soldiers into the war. That damned war. I couldn't be forced into the war because of the leg injury I had just a few weeks before the draft started. Because of that broken leg, I couldn't walk when they began the draft, and after, they deemed me too \"physically unfit\" to participate. \n\nI hated it. Now I was being told what to do on the home front. Ration this, ration that, can't fill up my car, can't buy this at the grocery store, donate trash along the road... It was almost nauseating. Those people -- my friends -- were off fighting in the front lines, but I could do nothing more than watch them leave. Every day, I watched another truck come by and take more people off to wherever they went. First it was the grocery store owner living next door to my house, then the paperboy I see every morning when I leave for work... everyone was just disappearing in front of my eyes.\n\nIt was weird to say the least about all of the disappearing people. The people I saw everyday -- my friends -- slowly left their place in my daily routine. It no longer made sense to wake up in the morning and take that extra pocket change to tip the paperboy. I mean, even the dog that barked at me every time I left my apartment stopped its greeting.\n\nEverything just became more quiet in general. You know what the funniest part about all of this is? I learned the names of the people who went on that truck. Every single one of them. I could identify them all by their height, weight, appearance... I doubt any of them even knew me. I mean, I'm just sitting in my office sorting through paperwork, rating people on how \"healthy\" they are. Some restrictions are quite odd. Did you know that someone with only one testes instantly fails?\n", "It's that thing that happens, and you didn't realize it.\n\n The silence that the teacher gains when the students are too loud, but for some reason, when they see her standing in the front of the class, not talking or moving they slowly gain control back of themselves. It's not just them that settle into place, but the teacher that obtains their attention. \nKnowledge and mystery.\n\nSometimes it's something a little different. When the man pleads \"I love you\" and the woman remains silent. She can't answer back. Knowledge and mystery.\n\nWhen a fat person walks by, and two passing pedestrians snicker. The obese woman walks to her car and cries as she fastens her seatbelt. She never sees them again, and never will, but she does cry frequently.\nIndifference.\n\nInstances of power.", "I have lived a long life and have ruled the underworld of Mumbai for years. They still call me BhaiSahab, or Mumbai's God Father. Long have I fought this bloody war with other mafias, with the police and with the politicians, and have continued to win. And now that my days are numbered, I sometimes wonder if it was all worth it. \n\n\nAs I grow old, I am haunted by the shadows of all those whom I tortured, mutilated and killed. The rain that falls outside the window looks like bloodbath. My children have failed. My trusted men have all betrayed me. My wife is long gone, leaving me alone. Why did I have to run after power? My empire is falling apart, being pulled by the demons of my past. My power is slowly fading away.\n\n\nWhen I came here from my village in the town of Sultanpur (the land of Sultan), I was 9 years old. I was terrified of this city. I slept on footpaths, ate from garbage and worked in a small tea shop near the railway station. I worked for 5 years before I saw the first glimpse of raw power. He came in a big car, and shot the shop owner 6 times in the head, all in front of a few policemen. No one was questioned, no one was caught and no one was punished. I saw it all, but waited. Two years later, I killed him at night. I cut his head and hung it in his garden. I killed all who opposed me. I killed all who betrayed me. I could see fear in their eyes. For the first time in my life, I was powerful. I was the king.\n\n\nAnd now forty five years later, here I am. Powerless. Lying in this bed, waiting for my death and wondering what is true power. No one will remember me, no one will praise me, no one will fear me. It is all an illusion. There is no true power. Power goes away, and takes away all the hopes, the desires and the will to live. It is all a big burden.\n\n\nNote: I am not a writer, and just giving it a shot :) .. I just realized it was meant to be an essay and not an story.. but now that it is written, why not post it!", "Power, like many things, is amoral in nature. Merriam-Webster defines amoral as \"lying outside the sphere to which moral judgments apply.\" Thusly, power can be used in nearly any way. Many men and women over the course of human history have attained power and used it for many different things, from inciting war to aiding those in need. While not wrong to strive for, power unarguably has the potential to corrupt. Perhaps Uncle Ben said it best: \"With great power comes great responsibilty.\" Power is a massive, grey force to be directed-and the men and women who choose to direct it taint it either black and white with how they harness it.\n\nNaturally, the darkness power can bring stands strong thoughout human history. Hitler, Castro, Bin Laden, and many other dictators are often considered to be the embodiment of evil on this earth-yet they also undoubtubley had power. Hitler at the outset was a talented speaker, cleverly using propaganda and smooth words to hoist Germany to the top of the European ladder and instill his own radical views upon many. Castro held a seat of great importance in the Western Hemisphere during the Cuban missile crisis and was a thorn in the side of many because of his military might and nuclear threat. Bin Laden used his power to opress and hurt many in the Middle East, leading to the death of many innocents while brewing conflicts with nations all across the world. Certainly these figures had power, but they made choices, and held fast to beliefs that did not better their fellow man-but as a whole led to destruction and death. \n\n***\n(That's only 272 words^ and I haven't written anything in forever (and I'm probably going to come back and finish it) but yeah, there's an approach you could take. I think my stance was more of power through history, and how those who HAD power used it. You could also go into how does one attain power, or even go in a literal direction and talk about electricity. Anywho, gotta go to class now. Like I said, I'm gonna edit/finish this when I get home. God Bless, and GLHF in your future writing adventures.)" ]

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[ "\"This is it!\" I exclaim. \"This is the moment we've all been waiting for!\" I dash up the steps to the podium and grip the microphone with intensity. \n\n\"I know you've all come here to see something incredible. When Orange Technology rolled out the first uPod, fans were ecstatic to see what we would come up next. With the uPod Gigafruit we raised the bar. Then with the Gigafruit XL we raised it again. Well, now I am proud to announce the most exciting technological breakthrough yet: The uPod Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition!\"\n\nThe curtain behind me retreated to reveal a giant banner with a larger-than-life Gigafruit model with lots of upbeat adjectives written around it. The pageantry was exquisite as pages brought the demonstration model down the aisle, ensconced in glass. I set it up on the demonstration table and paused to let the crowd bask in the moment of anticipation. \n\n\"The Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition has all the amazing features of the Gigafruit XL: bluetooth, mp3s, 3G, 4G, OMFG, LAN lines, and snaggletooth. Plus, we've added in a whole new functionality. Check this out!\" I press a button on the side of the Gigafruit.\n\nDozens of tiny bubbles stream out of the audio jack and float lazily toward the ceiling. One man in the back yells out, angrily, \"BUBBLES?!\"\n\nThe audience is silent. I grin.\n\nThen they erupt in applause. \n\n\"That's right, the uPod Gigafruit - Bubblebeam Edition! Only $899.99!\" ", "\"Bubbles.\" The word was barely audible, but the tone was undeniably angry.\n\n\"Pardon?\" Feigned innocence seemed like the best tactic.\n\n\"There are bubbles all over the laundry room floor.\" This was said through clenched teeth and was only just a hair louder than before.\n\n\"Oh that,\" I replied nonchalantly, \"I was trying a new formula. It works well, but it suds a bit overzealously. I'll clean it up when the cycle's over.\" His eye twitched, but he said no more on it. I got up from my desk and walked past him as the end-of-cycle buzzer sounded, kissing him on the cheek in apology.\n\n\"Why do I put up with your experiments?\" He asked softly, just as I reached the threshold to the laundry room, his anger dissipated.\n\n\"Because you love me... and the sex isn't bad either.\" I answered with a knowing smile.", "\"What're you staring at?\" she asks him. She's wearing his shirt, unbuttoned, and the panties he'd peeled off her last night. The sun is coming in through the kitchen window and alighting across the soft features of her young face, showing the full ten years distance between them, making her seem like a child. Her lips are soft and wet. She holds two mugs as she approaches him.\n\nHe turns away from the sink and locks wild eyes upon her. A cigarette is burning to a stub between his calloused fingers and the hangover of the cocktail of drugs he'd taken the night before is visible in his greasy, wiry hair. Two years of this lifestyle has chiseled in deep wrinkles across his leathery skin and chiseled away something more.\n\n\"Did you put soap in here?\" he spits, pointing at the sink with two fingers and the cigarette crushed between them. A foam of white has begun to rise from the water, creeping upwards to meet with the spouting faucet.\n\n\"Yeah,\" she says. \"Why?\"\n\n\"This is for fucking *rinsing*,\" he says. \"This is for *rinsing* and *that*--\" he shoves his fingers in the direction of the dishwasher \"--*that* fucking thing is for *washing*.\"\n\n\"I was just going to do them by hand,\" she says. She's frightened now. She should be.\n\nThe man clenches the cigarette between his teeth, slams off the faucet, and begins to fish dishes out of the hot, soapy water. He curses as he does so, brow chiseled in fury. Then, as the girl watches him in the morning light, the fury begins to fade, to transform, to soften his features and dull him until he looks too like a child, only weaker and sorry and scared.\n\n\"Fucking bubbles,\" he says, lifting his hands out of the water and snapping them outwards to fling off clumps of white suds, but his voice is thin, wet, terrified, and the hesitated way he reaches into the sink makes her think he's afraid of what he'll find.\n\n----\n\nIt's 3 AM and he's drinking a glass of whisky in the corner. A small blue cloth is clutched in his right hand, so soft and bright amongst the haze of cigarette smoke and darkness filling the kitchen, lit only by the blinking of *12:00* across the microwave. It seems almost comical to see the man clinging to the cloth. He seems a child, lost without his parents, desperate for the protection of his blanket. A sun is embroidered in the corner of the cloth, the name PAUL in childish lettering beside it. The man would cry if he could.\n\nHe picks up the glass and drowns the pain. Drowns it all away.", "The virus had spread.\n\nMillions dead around the world, stomped down like a bug under a heavy-sole boot. The United States shut down the borders weeks ago. Big men in suits broadcasted over the airways, droning on and on about safety plans and regulations. Guidelines on quarantine. Families need to stock up on food and all that shit. Fuck em I say; what have they ever done for us?\n\nLiz sat next to me on the couch. She had been quiet while the Tee-Vee played. Occasionally, she would bite her lip, or move a greasy strand of hair out of her face, but she never said a word. In her lap sat our two-year-old daughter, Jess. Her eyes were shallow and dull, and her stomach was distended with hunger. Spittle flecked her mouth, giving her the image of a dog with a bad case of rabies. She had a fever, the warmth radiating off of her in waves.\n\nJess gurgled. I looked down at her. The speckles of saliva had turned into tiny bubbles, the mass seeping down her face. Liz barely even reacted--she just sniffed and shrugged a shoulder. Why bother, I guess. The virus was here, and our time was up.\n\n I took a long drag from my cigarette, and grunted, \"Bubbles.\"", "[Not quite what youre asking for, but ive been writing poetry so ha] \n\n\nShe is still.\n\nAs Empty\n\nAs time\n\nAs bubbles\n\nShe cracks\n\nHer skin\n\nAnd nothing\n\nE x p l o d e s \n\nInto\n\nNowhere. \n\n ", "I was slipping on a pool of my own blood when the man punched me in the jaw again. I hit the ground and stayed down this time, collecting my senses and trying to be smart and live to walk away for another day. I rolled onto my side and coughed. \"And that's the last fucking time you mess with me, dickshit!\" He yelled in his high pitched, campy voice, then put a boot in my gut. I coughed and hissed. \"Fuck-\" \nTen years. Ten years since that goddamn day in 2002. I've been looking for him, casing hardware stores and trying to find this fucker where he's weakest- Hit him where it hurts. Revenge consumed me, consumed my marriage and consumed my job. Even took my goddamn dog. I had to scrape by from unemployment to odd job to demeaning job. It was last Thursday when I found him.\n\nI strolled up to the store opening with a frown on my face, having to resort to driving in my work outfit and vehicle to settle the score once and for all. Stepping out, people turned to stare at me, staring at my hot dog costume and the scowl on my face. I pointed a cartoon-gloved mascot hand at the man on the other side of the crowd, which parted to get me a clear look at him. \n\nA man stood there, standing in a ridiculous bar of soap costume. He gasped. Recognition. \"You recognize me?\" I ask. He frowns. \"Of course.\" He snaps back. \"Then you know why I've come.\" \"Look, I'm sorry-\" He stated, going to pull his mask off. \"No. Keep it on. I've waited ten years for this and I'm coming back for blood, you son of a bitch.\"\n\nHe took this as an affront and peered through the wide, cheery grin of his costume. \"So be it, asshole! You know what? You want another repeat from last time?\" We began to circle one another. \"I just wanted to buy some soap, prick! You didn't have to beat me up to an inch of my life!\" \"You know what? I just went off on you, and I told you I WAS SORRY, GOSH!\" \"You can't just apologize for that! You-\" \"Made you look like a bitch in front of that wife of yours, right?\" I stare, frozen. I roar, charging forward, hitting the man in the cheekbone with a right hook. He stumbles to the side, then goes for a jab.\n\n\nMASCOT FIGHT.\n\nI'm hit in the face with a jab, but try to hammer my fist into his chest. He's protected by padding, but he's knocked back. I go for a grab, trying to pound my fist into his face, but he shoves me back. The crowd is staring in awe and shock- Policemen present are unsure of what to do. I walk forward and try to throw another punch- But he catches my wrist and tries to swing at me- But his costume restricts his reach. This fight is mine- I think. I shove him into the side of a car. \n\nHe grabs a hot coffee from the roof and turns, hitting the cup into my face. I scream in pain, clutching my face. He opens the door of the car, panting, and shoves my head between the seat and the door- And begins slamming it on my head, which is protected by the costume. A yapping dog in the passenger seat- I grab it and throw it at the bastard. He stumbles back setting the dog down. I go for a groin kick- But I hit a soap costume. I'm still somewhat blinded at this point-\nAnd I fumble around, trying to grab for him. He goes for another jab. I'm hit in the face. I raise my arms, but I'm hit again and spit out a tooth. I cough violently and try to run, running into the store through a closed glass door. Workers flee. The bastard is after me, just as winded as I am. I rub my eyes and stop to pause, trying to lull him into a sense of security. He approaches, but I grab him and throw him into a row of shopping carts. He hits the ground. I go for a series of jabs, hitting him in his smug-ass face, or at least I try. The costume is very restrictive. He shoves me away with a foot and I try to find a weapon. He comes at me with a shopping cart, screaming at the top of his lungs. I'm hit and tumble into the cart- And he keeps pushing eventually ramming into the side of a washing machine. I tumble out, hitting the ground with a hard slam. \"Aaah- Aaah.\" I whine, a sharp pain shooting across the side of my face. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. \"Should- Should have just moved on with your life.\" \"No- No-\" \"Shu- Shut up.\" He swats at me. I grab him by the arm and try to pull myself up. He begins to guide me down an aisle, past fleeing workers, and we find ourselves in the toilet aisle.\n\n\"I-\" He pauses, taking a deep breath. \"Wait, you're in a costume, I can't just smash your face into one of these.\" He mumbles. I hit him in the face with a plank of wood. He stumbles and falls, landing on his back. \"HAHA! TURTLE PROBLEM!\" I point at him, grinning a broken grin. \"Fuck- FUCK!\" I wander off, then run back and jump, arcing my elbow and grabbing my wrist. I drive my elbow into his chest. He exhales sharply, having the wind knocked out of him. We both sit there for a while, afterwards. \"I.. I don't know what I'm gonna do with my life. I waited ten years to beat your ass and now it ain't done shit.\" I mumble, looking at the fluorescent lights above us. He sighs. \"Violence begets further violence.\" \"Ain't that the truth.\" \"Sorry for wrecking your life, man.\" \"Sorry for.. all this.\" I wave my hand. \"Ain't nothin'\" He mumbles. \n\nI stand up and wander off, wandering back with a bottle of water and a hand behind my back. I extend an arm- He pulls himself up to a stand. \"So, uh. Bygones be bygones?\" \"Uh, yeah. Hold on.\" I splash soap into his eyes. He yells. \"Agh! Bitch!\" Swinging his arms wildly, I pour the water on his face. \"BUBBLES! NO!\" \"BUBBLES, YES!!\" I yell at him, my mad laughter echoing through the hardware store. I prance away at the fastest speed my legs can take me- And I find a barricade of cops at the front door. Shaking my head, I continue my mad laughter. \"KNOW WHAT? I ROLLED UP IN A GODDAMN HOTDOG SUIT TO DO THIS SHIT! I'M GOING ALL OUT, BITCHES! TAKE ME TO JAIL! I DON'T GIVE A SHIT!\" I flip a shopping cart. They quietly escort me away with little difficulty afterwards. \n\n\nI serve ten years, and now, I'm an ex-con with peace on the mind. As I wander out of the prison gates a free man, my opponent stands on the other end of the street, clenching his fists. \"Ten years. You know why I'm here?\" \"Yeah.\" \"..We're gonna settle this like men this time. South Bridge.\" I squint, stroking the mustache I've cultivated over the ten year prison sentence. I've been waiting- Ten years for a chance of freedom and living a normal life. My opponent stares at me from the other side of a bridge, the rising sun in the distance. I squint, my headband flowing in the wind.\n\nTO BE CONTINUED- IMMEDIATELY\n\nHe sprinted at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. A jump- And he turns, throwing at me a hurricane kick of unerring swiftness. I block with my forearm and axe-kick, raising my leg up to strike him in the chin with my ankle. He stumbles back, and I rip my tanktop away, clenching my fists. I charge forward- And he goes on the defensive.\nTen years of training with the finest prison martial artists and stabbers have turned my at one-point hot-dog impeded combat ability with that of a unrefined but much more effective fighting style. As he prepares for my attack- I front flip, pivoting my foot in his face. On impact, I scream a loud Kiai, and he stumbles back, falling off the side of the high bridge, screaming \"You ain't shit!\" at the top of his lungs before he hits the brackish waters below. \n\nI stare off into the rising sun, finally at peace.\nA van arrived, with the back doors opening. My wife stepped out. \"Now that you've settled on your multiple decade quest for revenge, I've decided to take you back!\" I laugh with joy, hugging my wife. The driver's side door opened and my father stepped out. \"Son! I've decided that I should have never left and I've brought you over thirty birthday cakes and presents to make up for my absence!\"\n\nA border collie jumped out of the back of the van. \"Baxter! You've returned as well!\" The dog looks at me and barks in a sequence. I nod in understanding, having appreciated the tale of his life's story, ignoring the fact he'd be a twenty six year old dog by now. We all laughed and lived out the rest of our lives in peace and tranquility.\n\nTen years later, he attacked me when I was walking home from the market with some kind of bladed gauntlet that he'd designed, crafted and honed a deliberate fighting style for my assassination. Luckily, I was fifty years old at the time and had mastered the skills of Karate, and the battle was short and I was yet again victorious. Surely, he will not attack me again in ten year's time after this, a most assuredly final conflict.\n\nTHE END.\n\n", "Robert Jenkins was a man of routine. From the perspective of those around him, it seemed that he did things exactly the same every day. None of his neighbors knew where he worked, only that he always returned home at exactly 5:41. He wore the same exact outfit every day: a generic bargain bin suit with a cheap pair of leather shoes. He would go check his mailbox, water his plants, inspect his car, and then go inside, not to be seen until morning. It’s likely that Robert was just an eccentric hermit of a man, but some people made up stories about him. Some spread rumors that Robert was a spy, while others said he was a serial killer. It was really just a cruel game of “let’s make fun of the loner,” but Mike didn’t realize that. Mike was a 12 year old straight out of Stand By Me. Being quite the prankster, Mike had always delighted in messing with Mr. Jenkins. He egged, TP-ed, and even forked Jenkins’ property, but Jenkins never figured out he was the culprit. \n\nToday, Mike decided to be a little more creative. He filled a bucket with water and soap and mixed it up until the muscles in his arms were burning. Looking down at his watch, Mike knew it was time. He emerged from his hiding spot in the bushes and brought the bucket with him. Mike skimmed all of the suds off the water, and shoveled the frothy, whipped cream textured mixture into the mailbox. He checked his watch again, 5:40. Mike went back into the bushes already cackling in his mind at what he had done. When Mr. Jenkins pulled up, Mike watched him slowly get out of his car, he watched his shoes as they hopped one by one, closer to the mailbox. Mike was too far back in the bush, so he couldn't see Jenkins’ face. Mike only heard two sounds: there was the creaking of the mailbox opening, and then a shout. **“FUCKING BUBBLES!”**", "“Have you ever seen such a gorgeous wedding?”\n\nRachel smiled tightly in response. In fact, she had or, more accurately, she would. Her own wedding was in a month and she had been planning it for over a year. She was so excited about her upcoming nuptials that she had shared all the details with her co-worker Mindy which, she could now see, had been a mistake. Apparently Mindy had decided that she liked Rachel’s wedding so much that she had taken it for her own. Rachel looked around the ballroom with disdain. The colors, the menu, the bridesmaid dresses, the band, the ice sculpture, the cake, the favors. All stolen! There was only one thing missing. \n\n“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!”\n\nRachel turned towards the ballroom’s entrance. Her eyes narrowed. Mindy and her now husband were making their grand entrance. Hands clasped together, they made their way through a family and friends, surrounded by a sea of...\n\n“Bubbles!” Rachel hissed, cocking back her arm, champagne glass in hand. ", "\"Tha.... That's cheating!\" bellowed Jimmy, clutching his eyes while sobbing. \n\n\"You're supposed to use a water gun... Not your bubble blowing gun thingy,\" said Sara. \"Look! Jimmy is crying now, good job!\" she sarcastically continued. \n\n\"I'll never play with you or your bubbles again! I hate you! I hate you and these stupid bubbles!\" wailed young Jimmy, who would never play with bubbles again.", "http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEuNk4JMsUM\n\n", "soap bubble popped in my eye!\n\nedit: if you want a properly formatted sentence, then i am the wrong guy to ask and on a conference call at the moment for network outage", "I didn't even feel the small tremors in my arms anymore. Somewhere after eight cups of coffee, your brain just says \"fuck all\" to its self-regulation and gives up on telling you what your body is up to. Which was probably a good thing, since I could see by the reflective glass on the far end of the lab that I was a pitiable sight. But while the drug-and-caffeine concoction was doing no great deeds for my looks, they kept me alert enough to notice not only my face in a small square across the room, but the development of the mixture that sat in a small petri dish in front of me.\n\nThe table looked like something out of a science documentary from the '70s - exactly the sort that got me interested in this type of work in the first place - with its offensively inoffensive shade of yellow that barely gave contrast to the liquids. Its waxy surface was host to a concoction of items I'd assembled through the wee hours of the night while most of the University staff slept. And the payoff was minutes away if I'd gotten my numbers right.\n\nI opened up my journal and began to scrawl a few notes: \n\n*4:01 a.m. mixed 12mg XK with 8mg CL in static environment regulated at 21C. Mix has been stable for ten minutes with no sign of reaction.*\n\nI was going to win a fucking nobel prize. And even then, only because they wouldn't be able to think of something bigger and better-suited to the discovery. Or perhaps the drugs were helping me to mask the slow realization that somewhere in the past year of work, I'd forgotten to carry a one. Or perhaps worse, some hapless intern had ineffectively sealed one of three thousand different rare compounds. If it was the latter, I would find and utterly ruin the fucker. I looked down at the slight foam around the crust of the dish. There was no denying what was sitting plainly in front of me.\n\n\"Bubbles,\" I said as I stood, kicking the stool over as I rose.", "\"Of all the things you could have done,\" began the enraged landlady, \"you decided to go with bubbles.\"\n\n\"Well, Mrs Donovan, I technically filled the downstairs flat with foam-\"\n\n\"BUBBLES.\"", "I am a 75-year-old, Russian born man living in Upstate New York. Everyday, little children play their little babby games in my beautiful, green yard.\n\nI look out my front window, and see that the little demons are here again. They have bubble wands. Pink ones and blue ones. The bubble wands that is, not the children. The children are mostly just small.\n\nReaching behind me, I grab one of my handy bricks, and take careful aim as I hiss, \"*Bubbles.\"*", "\"I like this brand better.\" she insisted, clutching the bottle to her chest. \n\nHe pulled it away and checked the price tag. \"Why are you wasting my hard earned money on this expensive crap?\"\n\n\"While I'm cleaning I like to see the bubbles it makes.\" The spirit is gone from her voice.\n\nHe snorts derisively. \"Bubbles.\"", "\"What the fuck did you put dish soap in the fucking dishwasher!? THERE ARE FUCKING BUBBLES EVERYWHERE! You are the worst room mate ever.\"", "He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. \"This is bullshit,\" he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.\n \n \"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process,\" the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.\n\n \"No! You stop there,\" shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient. \n\n\"I have come here for three weeks with no results,\" Mr. Romney fumed. \"I demand that you fix me! This problem,\" he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, \"has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!\" He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.\n\n \"I understand . . .\" started the doctor, but he was interrupted. \n\n\"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, \" his voice was raising in pitch now. \"And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?\" he questioned accusingly. \"Every time I fart bubbles come out!\" he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, \"Bubbles!\" " ]

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[ "There was little to do but ascend the cracked stone steps to the monument. An aged carving at the bottom has never been deciphered (the meaning lost in time), scratched deeply into the corroded green surface. Wind blew over the short grass. A robust day had been obscured by overcast, and the place was quiet. Ribbons of sliver fish schooled by a dock edge. They nibbled at the rotten supports, scattering every time a raven flew overhead. Besides those scared creatures there was nothing alive on the island. The waves lapped on the rocks, indifferent. Water had eaten at the ground. It had started to eat a corrosive vein into the body of the island. Compacted ground would only last a few hundred years more. Whatever saga had once played here was forgotten. Perhaps the ground was sacred or hallowed or had once been a dwelling. The thing had aged dreadfully, collapsing in to itself. A few crimson flowers forced the way between cracks in hardened material. This opened the way for more hungry, devastating plants. Ropes of vines wrapped around upright spires and chocked lesser flora. The meek did not inherent the earth. If studied from affair the island would seem a robust haven obscured by plant matter. With an optimistic eye the scene appears voluptuous. It is full of life, besides the odd structure. Oddly it is green, but not plant green. The green it is has a sharp metal taste. Soon the shape takes focus. Without a breeze the metal ripples. an insidious feeling creeps onto the smudged scene.\nIf phrenology was used, they would have found this woman quite clever, with her torch and crown. She looked out to sea.\n", "Fast-Forward\n\nI sit on the couch, sharing a shot of whiskey with our favorite mad man, Don Draper, admiring Christina Hendricks's voluptuous body and crimson lips—a sight nearly as tempting as the needle I left lying on the table near the obituary section of last weeks newspaper. I stare deeply at my veins, which decorate my skin like bloody, battered ribbons, when a Mazda commercial interrupts me. \n\nI grab the remote and slam the fast-forward button, making the characters in the dreadful commercial melt into a blur of food and beer and life insurance. The needle catches my eye again, and while the commercials lurch forward, my mind lurches back— back to the time in college when you used to shoot up after school and recite “The Raven” to me, trying to drag out the words as long as possible, while I sank into the furniture and chuckled for hours. Or was it days? \n\nDammit! I fast-forwarded right through my favorite part—the one where the guy loses his foot, and Joan gets her dress all bloody. I skate back to the end of the commercials and zone out during an online college ad. \n\nAgain you force your way into my mind. Did I really know you for two years? It felt like a week. I guess that needle is an insidious thing—a slow-acting weapon of phrenology, cutting holes in my life like the plot of poorly written saga. I think of when we ducked class and spent a whole weekend buried in the floor of your apartment, not even bothering to make the ascent up to the couch.\n\nIt can't have been two years. I rush to the table and grab the newspaper and compare the date next to your name with my phone's calendar, which screams the truth at me. \n\nAnother commercial sneaks it's way onto the screen while I'm preoccupied. When I notice, I reach for the remote, but stop my thumb over the button when I see your face in the paper. I blow a sigh and vaguely wonder what sort of monument they'll leave over your new home.\n\n“To the man who sunk so far into the ground, he never came up,” I suggest to no one.\n\nI think for a minute, put the remote down, and let the commercials play.", "Beautiful crimson ribbons ascended her thigh. Her veins pumped their dreadful saga and greased the robust white bathroom tiles. A foot print preserved so brilliantly in the congealed mess was a monument to this sacred ritual. She watched the raven emblem of the shoe slowly filling with blood, it seeped in and drowned the messenger of death. Only then could she breathe again, not that the image of him was gone. ", "This is his duty to the world, as a scientist. After all those years of loyalty, devotion to her work, she was not above reproach from his peers and her clients. He loved her for her willfulness, her desire to partake in his favored field of phrenology. Breaking his sacred trust, her insidious nature revealed to others their dreadful personalities. \n\nHe untangles the ribbons from her raven hair, the locks tumble down and kiss the crimson drops on her voluptuous bosom. An unnecessary gesture, he knows that what he must do ascends his will to do it. Her robust heart stands as a monument to her passion. A relief. There has to be a better way to go about this. \n\n\"You are more man than I can ever be,\" he chuckles in a jocular vein. His attempt at humor is rewarded with a glassy-eyed glare. \n\nKnock.\n\nKnock knock knock.\n\n\"Doctor, is it over yet?\"\n\nShe stands up, and mutters, \"Let's create our own saga.\"\n", "Geraldine said we need a ritual sacrifice to summon the demon. I don't know if that's true. From the stories they tell in church on Sundays you'd think the demon would want to leave really badly. All the fire and tearing the flesh off of people. Even if you liked torture and brimstone you'd get tired of it eventually. I thought maybe we could just send it an invitation. One of those fancy ones like you’d get for weddings.\n\nWhen I told Geraldine that she rolled her eyes at me and said that was a stupid idea.\n\nShe's usually right, which is why I keep quiet. She was right about that blood belching worm we found in the field. She was right about the skull of an ancient man we found in the woods. \n\nThough that could have been Mr. Popperling, who disappeared several years ago after stumbling drunk from his cabin. His wife waited three weeks to report him missing. I heard my ma say once that was because he'd called her a horseface before he left. \n\nShe was right about the insidious voice on those cartoons with people in brightly colored suits. When we turned the audio way down and pressed our ears to the carpet, it sounded like snakes hissing.\n\nI don't know why she wants to summon a demon. I figure they're nasty things. I'd be nasty too if you left me underground so long. Demons don't even have moms to remind them to take baths and brush their teeth. I bet he'd smell horrible. But Geraldine is my best friend. She saved me from Marcus Yates who tried to stab me with his plastic fork on the playground because I wouldn't give him my new shoes that lit up when I jumped.\n\nShe told me she wanted something the demon could give her. Something she was too scared to do herself. I promised I'd help. She found this ritual on the internet on a page with these crimson drawings of upside down stars. A roar came out of the speakers. Geraldine had to turn it down before her father came in. He was always yelling at her while I pretended to be invisible. He called me Casper when he did notice me and told me to keep my hands off his little girl.\n\nThe website said to draw these symbols on the floor and make a monument of ancient bone and blood. Our monument was more of a pile of chicken bones and the skull we'd found. For the blood it said we had to \"sacrifice upon the altar of bone\".\n\nWe tried little things first. Geraldine smuggled a hamster out of the first grader's classroom. I had to look away when she hit it with a hammer. We didn't see much of anything come from that. Mostly a spark we thought might be the demon laughing. \n\nThen I found a half dead turtle on the side of the road. It wasn't moving but I could see its eyes blinking. That one was harder because I'd convinced my parents I wanted to save it. They let me buy this kiddie pool to put him in. I fed him watermelon and strawberries and watched him in the water. He never did move much but his blinks became more regular. \n\nGeraldine tried to crack his shell open but she couldn't. I pretended I'd injured my arm in a dreadful gardening accident. For a week I held my arm at this unnatural angle so she wouldn't know I'd wimped out. We settled for a couple of ladybugs but I could tell Geraldine's heart wasn't in it. Mr. Izzard lived on. I think he was grateful. I could sort of tell from his blinks.\n\nGeraldine finally decided that we weren't going big enough. She said the demon wasn't going to ascend to our earthly plane for a couple of hamster souls, a half cracked turtle shell, and a raven she'd accidentally run over in the park. She said we needed a person.\n\nI didn't think I could kill a person. The hamster was bad enough and I mostly just watched that. I thought maybe I could convince her that we didn't need to summon the imp of hell. She raised her arm and shoved her long sleeves up. There were ribbons of red scratched over the surface of her skin.\n\n\"I've already tried bleeding for it,\" she said. \"It's never enough! I just want him to die, okay? He deserves to die.\"\n\n\"Your father?\"\n\nGeraldine didn't answer me. She sat on the ground until it grew cold and quiet. I waited with her. When it was too dark to see she got up with a sigh and walked home.\n\nWe never did summon the demon. I don't think Geraldine would have gone through with it anyway. A person is really hard to kill. \n", "The cold, robust wind struck my face as I ascended the final 500 meters of this prodigious glacier. Ahead was a rock formation that would be our campsite for the night. I was leading a rope team of me and three close friends, Mike, Jeff, and Cameron, in the farthest north area of British Columbia. I was slowly stepping over the snow-covered glacier and using my probe to determine whether or not my next step would be safe to make, or if an unforgiving crevasse would swallow me into the mysterious system of veins and tunnels that move through all of these monumental glaciers. I tried reading the white plane from a distance to see if any parts of the snow were sagging or close to giving away and it seemed that the route I had picked was perfectly safe, but one can never be too careful while traveling on unexposed ice. It had been nearly 10 hours since we left our last campsite and we were all exhausted and ready to set up camp for a good night sleep. The weariness felt at the end of a hike made complacency our biggest threat. As I was eying the rock formation and moving slowly forward I felt a tug on my rope from behind implying that I was moving a little too fast and needed to slow my pace. It was only a small tug at first, but then a second later came a dreadful pull that violently yanked me backwards about 3 full meters. My training and intuition immediately kicked in as I rolled onto my stomach and jabbed my ice axe into the snow as hard as I could, using the crampons on my feet to also support whatever weight was behind me, all the while being dragged further back. This was not good. I knew before I had a chance to look back that someone had fallen into a deep hole. We must have crossed a crevasse that was covered by a snow bridge that let out on someone after I had moved over it. When I finally stabilized myself I was able to look back to figure out exactly what had happened. It was worse than I expected. Cameron and Jeff were the two people at the back of the rope and neither of them were in sight, while Mike was only about two and a half meters from the point where the rope disappeared. My muscles were already giving out but the desire to save my friends overpowered any fatigue. \n\n\"Mike!\" I shouted. \"Are you okay?\"\n\n\"Yes. I am stable but I'm not sure if I can take any steps to try and pull them out.\" He then called down to Cameron and Jeff to make sure they weren't stuck under a formation that would crush them if we tried to pull them out. They weren't.\n\nAt that point I decided to count down from three as loud as I could.\n\n\"Three! Two! One! Pull!\" and with as much strength as I could possibly muster I took a step with my right foot and dug into the snow. Mike did the same and we moved about 20 centimeters.\n\n\"Three! Two! One! Pull!\" Another 20 centimeters.\n\n\"Three! Two! ......\" Suddenly Mike lost his footing and we slid back a full meter and were now in a worse position than when we started. It was becoming clear that this was physically impossible for us to do. Coming from the crevasse we could hear some sort of shouting. It was Cameron and Jeff yelling at each other. A few moments of silence and then I could hear only Cameron yelling \"No! No! Don't do it, Jeff! No!\" I was at first confused about what was happening until the weight pulling us into the crevasse got lighter by about 250 lbs. Jeff must have cut himself from the line to give us a chance at living. He was a hero. Without any time for emotion, we knew we still had to pull Cameron out so we dug in and continued this slow and exhausting march.\n\nWhile I was crawling forward in the snow with an enormous weight on my back, something occurred to me that nearly paralyzed me.\n\nI initially thought Cameron was yelling to convince Jeff to not give up but I suddenly remembered that Jeff was third on the rope, and Cameron was actually the one at the end.", "\"Open your presents *now*\" she whispered\n\nAs I unwrapped the ribbons off of this small box, I start thinking about this whole situation. It was my 13th birthday, and I was hating it. The whole family puts on huge smiles to put on a show for our other relatives. As if everything is good and dandy here. \n\nWhen I open it, I see a picture. A picture of me, my parents and younger sister. We were posing next to a monument we saw when we visited North Dakota. Some type of stone structure with faces of old presidents. I remember in class, my teacher mentioned they fought for our rights we take for granted today. Did they fight for my rights ? Did they care about that kid in Texas who is constantly abused ? I try to pull myself together so I can put on my signature \"I'm fine, nothing wrong here\" smile. \n\n\"Thanks aunt Laura ! I love it!\" \n\nAs the day went by, I started to tense up a lot. The dirty looks she'd shoot me from across the room, with her vein popping from her forehead every time I'd do something she didn't like. She always had that look. And she knew I knew what it meant. Another beating. Another punishment. Another night in that closet. When the party came to a close, my relatives wanted to take a picture with me. As I hugged my mother, she whispered in a barely audible tone \"Mess this up for me and you will pay\". That almost killed me right there. She didn't care about me. She just cared about the check she received every month. She was willing to do anything to make sure I looked happy. So the social workers wouldn't see how careless she was with me. \n\nAs the last person left the house, I started thinking about what was to come. She closed the door behind my grandmother, blowing kisses at her. Telling her to have a safe trip home. *Home*. Then it happened. As if she turned into a monster in that single minute. She pounced on me, beating nearly every part of me. She would never ascend above my shoulders though. She wanted to make sure nobody noticed the crimson marks from the belts, scissors, and whatever else that was within arms reach of hers when she was angry. \n\nIt went on. And on. And on. And on. Until when she was tired, she yelled at me to go into the closet. I hustled up the stairs, tripping over the fourth step. I jumped into the closet and she locked the door. This was my home. Hell. Home, where my mother hid secrets from me in her insidious ways. She never told me about me. Until that night, a night unlike this one. She refrained from beating me. She was in a good mood. She instead decided that the closet would be my home from then on. I went in, crying. In my anger, I started to smash everything in that closet. Until I hit a box. Inside contained my birth certificate, a picture of a woman, a death certificate and a necklace. A necklace, with a gold raven hanging from the chain. The birth certificate was mine, and it showed my fathers name, Derrick Thompson and in the mothers name, an unfamiliar name. Denise Porter. Porter was my mothers maiden name. So, was Denise her sister ? After further inspection of the box, I looked at the picture. My mother was posing with a woman. A woman who looked a lot like me. My *real* mother ? Possibly, she was posing with my other mother. I came to the conclusion that they were sisters. I looked at the death certificate. Denise Porter's. Cause of death was \"Murder\". Murder ? I had to find out more.\n\nFrom that point on, I went to libraries investigating the name. Her name came up in many newspapers days after she died. No suspects were found. Just a dead body. It said she was strangled to death, with a chain. There was also gold residue all over her neck. And there was a branding on her back. A raven. At the time, I took it as a coincidence. My real mother had a necklace with a raven. And that necklace was in my other mothers box. My other mother. Her name was Flora. I figured Denise's murderer knew her, possibly an ex. Someone who was hurt. Someone who had dreadful things going on in his or her mind. \n\nI brushed it off. I kept the necklace with me always. So Denise would always be with me. \n\nA few days later, Flora fell ill. It was a godsend. It was days of hospital visits and crying for my father and sister. Me, I was silent. I had no attachment to this evil woman. Then, the doctors came with the news. She needed a transfusion. She had a type O blood type. One my father nor sister shared. But I did. It took days for me to consider this. Or at least it felt like days. I believe that life is sacred, and no one deserves to die. But this woman didn't deserve death. She deserved worse. She deserved torture. If what the religions preach about hell is true, I'd let her die. To suffer in hell where her kind belongs. To bad I had less than 2 seconds before my father jumped and said \"He will do it\".\n\nToo bad they needed a more robust person to do it. I had a rare disease, a disease of the mind. Doctors have yet to give a diagnosis, they've never seen it. I've seen specialists in many fields. Urology. Phrenelogy. An orthopedic surgeon. They couldn't find the cause. Whether it was a problem in the nervous system, in my spine, or in my cranium. I couldn't do it. She wouldn't survive another day. \n\nShe died 4 hours later. \n\nWhen the lawyers met with our family, they gave us her safety deposit box key. When my dad brought the contents home, he gave it out according to the will. I received nothing. My dad did, however, find an envelope signed by her for Denise. He gave it too me, as if instinctually. I ripped it open and saw the letter. I held the letter in my head and read it silently. *Wait* I decided to run upstairs and read the letter alone, in my closet. I grabbed the chain, held it tightly , like a child would grab his moms hand. It read:\n\nDear Denise,\n\nYou're dead. I killed you. You were my only friend. My only sister. And I killed you. Why? You know that I'm crazy. Schizophrenia is really a bitch. I saw crazy things. Things that weren't real. But one thing was. I saw when you were with my husband. Me and him were separated at the time. He came to your house in tears. You comforted him. He took your kindness for weakness and raped you. You bore a child. A child. A perfect child. A boy. You named him Riza. Meaning accepted, you accepted your fate as the mother of this bastard child. But I didn't. My husband loved you. My husband did ! And I couldn't take it. Remember that spot we would play in as little girls. I took you there. I grabbed your chain and strangled you. Your chain, which our mother gave you, cause you were healthy. And I? Crazy. so crazy our mother couldnt accept me. I then branded the raven on your back. A silent symbol of the darkness that clouded my judgement, and like Cain did Abel, murdered you. On front of god. I took your child, and abused him. He never did nothing wrong. He was a good child. But, he was the child of my husband. Every time I'd see him, I'd see you and him. You didn't mean it. What happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't help to be beautiful. Men called you voluptuous. They wanted you. Women called you a bitch. They hated you. I did too. I'm sorry. I another life, if we meet again, I will get to know you more. You were only 17 when I killed you. I'm sorry. I abuse your son cause of something you didn't do. I'm sorry. \n\nLove, your sister, and best friend,\nFlora.\n\nI couldn't help but cry. For years on, I couldn't look at my father the same way. I visited Denise's grave. Made peace with what happened. She was buried next to Flora. I made peace with her too. Today that letter is in the box. The box where I found everything. The box, where the only things I know of my mother are. I promised myself I'd never do the same. I'd never repeat the mistakes my family made. I'd never hurt these kids of mine. My daughters and son. My daughter, Denise, my son, Kurt and my youngest... Flora.\n\n I love you mom.", "Is there a word limit?", "It was an dreadful feeling that Sara got in the pit of her stomach the day that Robert messaged her that they needed to talk. She glanced down at the text one more time before shoving her phone into her jacket pocket. October was nearing it's end and the wind had grown cold and robust. She pulled her coat closer around herself and headed towards the campus art building. It was where she and Robert normally hung out when they just wanted to have a quiet moment together. Kept open most evenings for students working on projects, she was always able to find a corner that no one else was occupying. No one ever gave her funny looks for just being there.\n\nLeaves swirled around her feet, some of them still crimson with color. She hurried her pace. She didn't want to put this off for longer than necessary. She knew that her and Robert had only been seeing each other since the beginning of the semester, but she had never felt as comfortable with anyone as she did with him. Perhaps that was the problem. Maybe they were too comfortable. Sara frowned. This was what she wanted, but maybe it wasn't what Robert wanted.\n\nReaching the building, she opened the door despite the wind trying to keep it closed. Right inside was a coat rack with scarves like ribbons. She abandoned her coat to the rack, remembering to remove her phone and pocket it. The inside of the hall was plain, yet the smells around her spoke of the saga of creativity that she knew was behind every door and in every studio.\n\nShe went down the left hallway passing the monument to the Hall's founder. His expression was one of sad resignation. She shook her head slightly, as always, wondering why he was immortalized in such a way.\n\nNearing the end of the hall she passed the pottery room and glanced inside. One of the students was working on a bust of a voluptuous woman. Sara had to admit, it was amazingly accurate. Opening the door at the end she began to ascend the stairs to the second floor, but when she got to the exit door she hesitated.\n\nWhy would Robert have wanted to see her, and ask her to go to their spot in the art hall if he wanted to break up with her. That was their special spot, their sacred place. Where they had shared more than a few moments of stolen romance. It was insidious to think that he would want to hurt her that much.\n\nTaking a deep breath she opened the door and headed down the second floor hallway, passing a door decorated with black ravens, spiders, and roaches. Whomever had done the artwork was very talented. She could make out the veins in the roach wings and slid to the other side of the hall as she passed even though she knew they weren't real.\n\nShe finally reached her destination. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the time. She still had 15 minutes until Robert got out of his phrenology class. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and moved to take a step in. Her eyes flew open wide. Her foot hovered in mid air, almost as if it was afraid to come down. Inside the room was a full life-sized copy of Robert. She couldn't even tell what it was made off. Some sort of plastic perhaps, but it didn't look like a mannequin. This was hand made, not produced in some factory. Shock was soon replaced with curiosity and she moved quickly into the room. It was all she could do to just stare at this thing in from of her. It seemed the watch her no matter where she moved in the room. Cautiously as she reached out to touch it, the door to the room slammed shut behind her. \n\nThe next morning the janitor found two life sized statues in one of the classes. He assumed they were someone's art project and just left them be. He did remark to himself how accurate they were. Everyone at this school were such good artists.", "Those Were The Days\n\nThere was a tavern where we used to raise a glass or two. I remember those sacred evenings clearly. Our mouths were full of high minded talk and endless cheap beer that hugged the voluptuous curves of dirty pilsner glasses. Days of study and struggle seemed to dissipate in the miasma of smoke and urine. Full ashtrays and empty peanut shells the monument to our youth. Our poverty was both real and fashionable. Our ideas were radical and half formed. Idealism was our impregnable shield against critique and fear. We were as kings among men.\n\nThe sun ascends from the mainland. It is dry and it is warm but there is a chill in the air. It is Christmas and the band is not playing carols. Ravens gawk with a leer that is anticipatory and dreadful. This is not the end to the saga we wrote, we tried to write so many years ago.\n\nNow, if it were then, I might have tried to calm our passions. Cautioned against our excess. Explained that revolution is not so robust a foundation for progress as it is for predation. It is the opportunists, not the idealists, whom fortune favors. Grievance gives way to insidious greed. A movement becomes corrupted before it is triumphant.\n\n Skulls mounted on spikes return my fixed gaze. Could phrenology determine the difference between a failed dream and a failure? Is there a difference? A sound like thunder scatters the birds from their perch. The nectar of veins unravels like so many crimson ribbons, a package unbound, a box now emptied. As a different chill takes its final grip I cannot help but wander back to the sawdust floors and uneven barstools. What I wouldn’t give to go back to the innocence that taught us that we would fight and never lose, when were young and were sure to have our way.\n", "Crimson ribbons of sacred blood \nsplurt from a once robust vein \nas I commence my insidious plan: \nto ascend my mastery of phrenology. \n \nI am a raven, \nunraveling this voluptuous monument to mankind's saga, \none dreadful bite at a time.\n", "The dreadful raven tossed a sacred crucifix at the robust man. Ascending into the air, the raven squawked. Phrenology. The man died, and we built a monument in his honor. Thus began the saga of Gloria Vanderbilt, the voluptuous woman whose crimson veins would insidiously cut people to ribbons.", "As she led him across the threshold of her apartment, he took a moment to examine her voluptuous form once more. Raven colored hair flowing down over her shoulders, stopping just above an exposed slice of pale skin at her upper back. His eyes quickly finished scanning her swaying hips, stopping just where her short dress quit doing it's job as she flipped the light switch, saying, “Sorry my flat is such a mess.”\n\nHe closed the door behind him. “No problem at all,” he stated in return, looking over the areas of her home within sight and finding no fault in its upkeep. As she grabbed his hand and led him too the loveseat, he thought once again about how easy this had been. He sat down next to her and checked his watch, confirming it had been only an hour and a half since their first drinks at the bar.\n\n“Got somewhere to be?” she asked.\n\nHe did not hesitate before replying, “Of course not, Victoria. I'm yours for the next... well, how long would you like?”\n\n“How long will it take, John?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth. They both smiled and after a moment she stood up, explaining “I'll grab us some wine. Red okay?”\n\n“Definitely,” he replied as he turned to watch her backside again as she walked to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight again, he shook his head, attempting to clear it. In spite of the situation he laughed at himself, realizing that, had he been more used to these kind of circumstances, he may have had the forethought to use this drink in his insidious plan. He debated with himself whether this would have been a better option, but decided it wouldn't matter. Every piece was already in play and there was no rearranging the board now. Regardless, there was only one thing he could be sure she was thirsty for. \n\nThe sight of two hands, each carrying a full wine glass, brought his attention back to her and the pale, smooth skin on her arms, now crossed around his neck as she stood behind him. He grabbed one of the glasses with his left hand and her corresponding wrist with his right. Wanting to keep the evening moving at the unexpectedly quick pace at which it begun, he drank all of his wine in one gulp. If it were really this easy, maybe he could accomplish more than expected before sunrise. He set down his glass on the end table nearest, right next to a small metal bust of a man he did not recognize. It had not tasted odd at all. Maybe this wasn't going to be over so fast, unless he gave it a push. \n\n“You have wonderful skin,” he remarked, caressing Victoria's forearm with two fingers. “And these veins! Absolutely beautiful.” He felt her breath on his neck and its pace quickened. The other wine glass retreated from view, along with the snow white arm holding it. “You know, it was once believed that there is a vein called the vena amoris running from the very tip of the ring finger,” he said slowly and quietly as he put his two fingers right at this point, “through your hand and all the way up your arm.” He began to trace a particularly visible artery up her arm as he said this. She was kissing his neck now. “ And right through your chest to your--”\n\nThe next thing he knew, and he felt he knew it quite well, was a pain in the back of his head. It was not a sharp pain, but the dull, sensitive throbbing that usually follows. Through blurry eyes, he began to look around and saw his arms tied to a chair and a red-stained bowl in his lap. The ends of two thin tubes sat on the edge of the bowl, blood flowing from them. He could only follow the upward path of the crimson ribbons so far, but felt them end in his neck now that he came to his senses. He began to fight weakly , trying to break free, but found his legs were bound to his wooden seat as well. It's one thing, to know you'll be losing some blood; it's another to see it being stolen from your body. Victoria was sitting on the floor, slumped against a kitchen cabinet, intermittently smoking and licking read smears from her pale lips.\n\n“Do you know what's happening, John?” she asked, not looking at him. When he did not answer and only stared at her, she continued, “It's dreadful, really. All the blood is being drained from your body via the--” She paused again to take a slow puff of smoke. “You know, what? I'll keep it short. I'm killing you and drinking your blood.” When he still did not respond, she got up from the floor and put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the counter. “Sorry, I know it's a nasty habit, but I only smoke when I drink. I promise” \n\nHe wasn't becoming any less dizzy, so he decided it might be time to start talking. “How many bowls have you had?” \n\nShe finally looked at him, clearly confused. “A few minutes of consciousness left in your life and that's the question you ask?”\n\n“Would you rather I ask why your canines or so dull?”\n\n“Got them shaved down ages ago. I blend in better and I got a lot less canker sores.”\n\n“Okay, glad we got that sorted. How many bowls!?”\n\n“Just one. Soon to be two.” she said excitedly as she put a clip on the tubes near his neck and took the now full bowl from his lap.\n\nHe waited until it looked as if she had finished about half of it before asking, “Where's Fallon?” \n\nVictoria seemed to have almost choked in reply, setting the bowl down quickly and coughing into the sink. She stood over it a minute and then wiped her chin with a dishrag before turning around and looking him dead in the eye. “If you know who he is, then you know I can't tell you even when I'm about to kill you.”\n\n“Obviously, I knew you wouldn't want to,” he retorted. After a moment's silence, he said casually, “I'll settle for a phone number.”\n\n“Who are you?” she asked, now leaning over and placing her hands on the arms of the chair and her face close to his.\n\n“Your killer,” he replied, staring her straight in the eye. He waited for Victoria's expression to change from amusement to fear before continuing. “You see, I know the old fairy tales talk about sunlight being the biggest threat to the vampire, but I know any old byproduct will do. Making you burst into flames in daylight is just too dramatic for me, anyway.”\n\nShe was recoiling now, clutching at her stomach, so he knew he would not have long to get the information he needed. “Feel that burning in your stomach? That's the Vitamin D in my blood about to turn you to ash from the inside out. I took about twenty supplements before we met at the bar tonight, so that should be enough to kill you. Plus about seventeen extra. Now, tell me how I can find Fallon and I'll give you the antidote,” he said, speaking quickly as Victoria knelt to the floor and began retching. “Throwing it up won't be enough. Even if you manage to get most of it out, your kidneys will fail in about a half hour.” \n\n“Then you can't help me, anyway!” She said, through tears, coughs, and cries of pain.\n\n“I'm an alchemist. I can bring you back from the dead and poison you again if I have to!” He was grasping at straws, hoping she was scared enough to believe this threat. “Now, how can I find Fallon!?”\n\nVictoria simply laid down on her side and curled up in a ball, writhing in pain. After a minute of this, he knew it was time to act. He began rocking back and forth trying to break the chair, so he could get free slip her the antidote. She was the only way he could find the man he was looking for. He screamed in frustration and this seemed to shock the dying woman into action, she brought herself to a sitting position and began untying his left hand. When she had loosened it enough for his release, she crawled to her purse a few feet away, still crying in pain, and grabbed her phone. He didn't know who she planned to call, but he could not have her wasting her last words on someone else. \n\nHe fought at the rest of his bindings with his left hand until he was released and then pulled a green and white pill from his pocket. Kneeling over Victoria's now still form, he felt her wrist for a pulse and then the the pill across the room, cursing. He looked over Victoria's body, trying to imagine her getting any paler, when he noticed her phone was still lit up in her opposite hand. She hadn't dialed, but she had pulled up a contact listed as the office number for someone she called 'Sweety'. He stared at it a minute, unsure if it was worth the risk, before hitting the call button. His heart pounded faster and faster with every dial tone. \n\nNo one picked up. He sighed, but as he went to hang up the phone, he heard, “Hello. You've reached the voicemail of Richard Fallon.”", "An insidious moon rose in infinitesimal increments over the small country town of Hedgefield, Virginia. It was a particularly humid night in this still, quaint community, the kind where condensation formed on your pores after being outside for only a few minutes.\n\nI wiped sweat from my brow and continued to ascend up a grassy hill within a wide enclosed area of surrounding forest. A raven flew down and perched itself high in one of the trees in front of me, silhouetted against the stadium lights from the local Friday night high school football game next to the field.\n\nMy intention was to meet up with Jay, my weed dealer, but he was late, or more specifically I was late, but he was even more late. Text after text and I realized he wasn't going to show up, so I began to make my way back to the street. Then, there was a shout from behind me, and I saw him running over.\n\n\"Hey man, sorry I'm late, all I got's an eighth for you, that cool?\" He asked in his smooth southern drawl.\n\n\"Fine.\" I replied. I handed him the money and we parted ways. \n\nAfter the exchange was over, I went to light up a joint in my beat up truck. Once I got a little high, I decided I would drive home. I could handle it, I thought, no big idea.\n\nWhat I didn't realize was that this was no ordinary weed. Jay had laced it with something - I was sure of it. My body just didn't feel right, I felt abnormally slow and like I was about to pass out. Nevertheless, I drove on in a delirious daze.\n\nLuckily, the gas gauge started blinking and I pulled over the car. I had almost forgotten by this point that my dealer had just given me laced marijuana, but after contemplating it for about a minute I realized that yes, that did happen.\n\nI called him and he didn't pick up the phone so I left a message.\n\n\"Heeeyyy, mann. What's gooinggg onnn?.. Listen bro.. that stufff you gave meee.. I'm feeeling a little funnnny.\" I said to him in a mangled, drawn out voice, and then I collapsed in my seat.\n\nAt an indistinct point later, I jolted back awake. I couldn't tell how much time had gone by, but it was still night and there was still an occasional car driving down the street. A dreadful realization came over my now mostly sober mind. Jay had tried to kill me.\n\nThere was no way he could be negligent enough to accidentally slip me something that hardcore, I knew him better than that. The question then became, why did he do it? I tried to think back to anything I could have done to upset him.\n\nThat's when it hit me and made my skin crawl. He wasn't trying to murder me, he was just trying to put me to sleep for a while. I remembered taking Ambien a few times for sleep troubles and having a similar experience each time.\n\nLike many, the answer to that question simply spiraled into more questions. What could he have gained from knocking me out for a few hours? My first thought went to the semi-automatic rifle I had stashed in the flatbed of my truck. He had asked me about it every time we had seen each other for weeks and the questions had started to get strange.\n\nI got out and looked to see that it was gone. This was when I really started to panic. Besides my obvious concern for who he might be planning to kill, this gun was not registered. I could get years in prison for it.\n\nBack into the truck I ran and sped off. Fuck, I thought, I still need gas. I made the pit stop in what had to be record time and parked back onto the side of the road to formulate a strategy. The first person I thought to call was a buddy, Rob.\n\nHe and Jay went way back and my best bet of finding Jay's location was through him.\n\n\"Hey, man, it's me,\" I hadn't bothered to check the time but he informed me it was almost 12 AM and he had been sleeping. \"I know, I know, I'm sorry but this is an emergency. Listen, Jay stole my gun. He snuck me some sleeping pills and took it and I.. I don't know what he's planning to do with it but that gun is illegal and I could go down hard for it, so do you know anything about where he could be going? Check his Facebook, Twitter, all that shit.\"\n\n\"Jesus Christ, man. Slow down,\" He answered calmly. \"Give me a second to get on the web here.\"\n\nHe scoured Jay's digital footprint for any signs of his plan and then remembered something, \"You know, he did have a rough breakup with his girlfriend about.. I don't know.. four days ago. He wouldn't hang out with anyone after it happened. There's also a couple pretty dark Twitter posts from earlier today and yesterday. One says.. love is a lie. People are predetermined to hate each other and push each other down so that only the strongest of the species will survive. #naturalselection.\"\n\n\"Please tell me you know where she lives.\" I responded, my foot tapping uncontrollably with adrenaline.\n\nHe did another quick Google search, \"Kayla Martin. She lives on 23 Lakewood Avenue, 30 minutes from school.\"\n\nA chill went through my veins and my stomach curled up as the reality truly set in. The only positive was that the rifle in my flatbed was not my only gun, I also hid a pistol in the dashboard. This one was registered to me.\n\nAlthough it pained me to wait, I had to briefly consider how I would explain it to cops if I shot him. I'll just say I was driving by and heard strange noises, I thought. But what if I was too late? What if the cops were already there? I could be walking into a trap.\n\nDespite all these disastrous scenarios playing out in my head, I ultimately realized that if I did nothing, I would have to live with it for the rest of my life.\n\nI sped off into the night, trying to keep a delicate balance between dangerous speeds and rambunctious teenage driving.\n\nRob guided my path over the phone like a clairvoyant, telling me the fastest route to take. Finally, I pulled up to the street Kayla's house was on, which was in the heart of upper middle class suburbia.\n\nHer house was somewhat isolated from the others because it was at the end of a cul-de-sac and the area behind it was completely covered by trees.\n\nI knew Jay, being the clever woodsman he is, would know how to navigate them with ease, so I looped around, pushing through the brush in hopes of catching him from behind.\n\nThese robust forests were difficult to navigate because the trees were so tall and densely packed, leaving no walking room that wasn't covered with thorns or branches. This made it impossible to not make any noise, which was why I had the false epiphany that maybe Jay wasn't here at all.\n\nThen, I saw him. He was lying down and cowering behind some thickets with a pair of binoculars, trying to look through Kayla's window which had the light on.\n\nI drew my pistol and crept slowly behind him, then made my presence known by speaking in a near whisper, \"Don't move.\"\n\nHe was startled and hesitated at first but then dropped the binoculars and put his hands up, rolling over with an expression of shock at seeing me aiming down the barrel at him.\n\n\"You? I fucking tranquilized you.\" I said nothing back, \"Look, you gotta let me go. I can't do this, man, I thought I could but I can't. When I got here, I just.. I love her. I'm so glad it was you and not a fucking cop.\"\n\nHe trembled with fright but his words seemed sincere enough, \"How do I know if I let you go you won't do this again? How am I ever supposed to trust you again?\"\n\nThere was a long silence and he stood himself up. He shook his head, \"You're not.\" Jay then turned the rifle up towards his chin and pulled the trigger; a crimson pool gradually pouring out from his mutilated head." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 5, 5, 8 ]

[ "1349759060", "1349763595", "1349764955", "1349742843", "1349780201", "1349786371", "1349799148", "1349729468", "1349737720", "1349809607", "1349734938", "1349740107", "1349852745", "1349730452" ]

[ "Finally, he beat that fucking water level. Everyone hated water levels. Why the hell did the guys who made the game even put them in?\nIt felt as if he hadn't left his couch in days. It was only the first week of summer vacation, and he was heading to high school in a few months. Everyone kept saying that these were the 'best days of his life,' but every day was so utterly predictable. He wanted something to break the monotony, something completely new and fresh. The closest he could get to that was the next level in Super Mario World.\nHis phone buzzed on his knee, and he looked down. Full of excitement, he picked it up and viewed the text message:\n\n\"Hey come out with us tonight its gonna be a rager!\"\n\nHe read the text, and waited a few seconds. There was no way. He wouldn't get his hopes up. Could this be... the opportunity he was looking for? He pushed the hopes away.. No. Every time, this type of thing gets ruined. He glanced at his phone again.\n\nIt was only natural. His heart started racing. He was looking forward to it. The mystery of it all. This party... who will be there? Will there be girls there? He began to wonder, getting giddy with the uncertainty of it all.\n\nSuddenly, he felt a slight twang in his right temple. \"Fuck,\" he uttered. \"Fuck fuck fuck. No.\" The pinching sensation increased, spreading to his other temple. It was as if there was a vice-grip on his head. The pressure was unbearable.\n\nEverything went black, and he was at the party. Everything was moving so quickly, and he could see it all - he was *there*. The arrival.. seeing his friends... having shots... beer pong... talking to a girl... more shots... long conversations about high school... kissing the girl... falling asleep.\n\nHe snapped back to reality, in his room. All he could do was sit there, staring forward. The mystery was gone. So much for an exciting, unpredictable night. He let out a sigh, and tossed his phone aside.\nPressing the start button, the next level stopped. He promptly was killed by a koopa.\n\nAt least he couldn't see that.", "Jason had finally completed his memory elixir. Years of work and effort condensed into a single, murky injection. Soon every thought, every emotion, every experience he ever had would be immediately available to him. A smile crept up his face as he imagined the possibilities. The hundreds of books he could memorize at a glance, the infinite unending pleasures he could experience, the new creations he could make with the knowledge of the entire world in his grasp.\n\nThe needle. He had always hated needles, and this one was particularly large due to the viscosity of the solution. Furthermore, the solution had to be injected directly into the neck to allow for a quick dispersion into the brain. Jason sat for a long while, staring at the needle and steeling himself for what was to come.\n\nTentatively, he swabbed at the artery on the side of his neck with a sterilizing swab and placed the tip of the needle against the spot where he needed to inject. Bad idea, the prick of the needle sent a wave of panic and he quickly jerked the syringe back. 'Okay,' he thought, 'One quick go at it. Just jump in the pool, yeah?'\n\nTrying not to give himself any more time to think about his actions he quickly jabbed the needle upward into his neck. He missed the swabbed portion by a hair, but still managed to hit the artery. His eyes widened in shock and the fingers of his left hand dug convulsively into the chair arm as he felt the solution pumped up his neck and into his head. The pain was excruciating.\n\nThe pain. It could hardly be imagined and it didn't stop nor subside. Jason felt as if an unending sword were being thrust into his neck, a never-ending stab that overwhelmed his senses and sent him crashing to the floor in a convulsion of pain and anguish.\n\nA small corner of his mind had the fleeting thought, 'Ah, I don't think I can forget this...' shortly before his pain-driven descent into madness.", "\"Holy shit, I'm not sure....\" \n\"Just try, it will be fine.\" \n\"Ow, ow, ow, stop. I'm tired, let's just go to sleep.\" " ]

[ 3, 6, 17 ]

[ "1358295555", "1358283752", "1358281203" ]

[ "Vines coated every vertical flat surface they could find, nestling into nooks, niches and crannies so tightly it seemed as though engineers had meticulously designed them that way. When the vines had found a proper grip, they reproduced frivolously until loaded fully with various types of fruits and berries. The vines that had made the four main walls home grew raspberries as sweet as candy, providing a consistent source of food for a type of bee no one had ever seen before. The bees, like all of the other insects and animals there, fit perfectly into the unique ecosystem the gigantic garden provided. Everything alive was content.\n\nAnd within the center of it all was a small mountain, so hollowed out, and with so many caves that connected to the center, that it looked more like a tent than a mountain. Flora grew deep within it, all the way to the mountains middle, given life by a system of streams that carried sun-soaked swarms of chlorophyll and oxygenated water to whatever needed it.\n\nCoating the outside of the mountain was a dense jungle, peppered with a type of tree more complex than any previously seen. The Palmfisk Tree looked a bit like a palm tree, except each individual one had multiple trunks and the tops were several times thicker and more full than the average palm tree. And, unlike a palm tree, it required multiple sources of food to survive, and in turn held symbiotic relationships with many different plants, insects and animals. Its fruit was the primary source of food for almost all land and sea creatures, and it only used a small percentage of water it absorbed, fortifying the rest with vitamins and minerals and warming it to exactly 83 degrees F before sending it back out to be used by plant, animal and insect alike. The large number of trees that made up the mountain's jungle ensured the water that flowed through the streams and collected into ponds nad lakes was far warmer than usual, in turn warming the air to a yearly average of 77 degrees F. Thin strips could also be pulled from its long, palm tree-like leaves, and those could be woven together to form a wooly, cloth-like material. That material could be used to craft a hammock, which the Palmfisk tree seemed made to hold. This was very appropriate considering some of the fruit that dropped from the trees was almost unexplainably left to sit and rot by the animals and insects, eventually fermenting into a sweet alcohol that those same creatures would occasionally come back to consume. Having no natural predators in an ecosystem dominated by what's considered prey by normal standards, the creatures consumed alcohol freely and without worry.\n\nThere were also waterfalls and fields of marijuana that, when close enough to the fortified water the Palmfisk tree provided, grew buds soaked with a THC that lacked the negative effects of normal marijuana and that made the buds delicious to eat. Needless to say, animals had evolved to consume the buds, giving all living creatures a general calm and eventually, through years of evolution, eliminating the need for a predator-prey dynamic.\n\nLife was good.", "Home is where there’s friendly smiles and warm embraces. Home is wherever there is unconditional love and mutual respect towards one another. Home shouldn’t have yelling or hatred, nor anger or spite. Home should wrap it’s arms around you when you’re withered and lonely. Your home wants you to be happy and safe; it wants to protect you from stormy seas and gusty winds. Home just wants you to be happy.\n\n(A/N: Not my best, but I needed to get back into the writing groove)", "We knew we had veered off course at some point, but Charlie had gotten us back on track, for the most part. Using his compass and a free tourist map from the last visitor center, he was confident that we were either exactly or very close to where we were supposed to be. Our route wasn’t on a map, but it did run vaguely parallel to one of the popular trails snaking their colorful way through most of the area depicted in the Thomassen County Wilderness Association’s Complimentary Trail map. The side of the range we were currently on was lineless and topographically steep, occupying roughly one sixth of the overall area anecdotally referred by the old timers as the Dark Side. Call us crazy, but we wanted more than marked trails and fenced off photo opportunities. We wanted a pure experience, free from other people’s ignorant disrespect toward the sanctity of nature in its purest; untainted, free from their trash and dog shit and noise. We wanted our own paradise, if even for a few days. \n\nThere was a river on the map, and for awhile we took a detour to travel along it. The water was strikingly clear, and the pale yellow light of the early autumn sun glinted off of chips of mica and fool’s gold all the way to the other side. The water was rippling glass slipping over rounded river stones, chattering its water song in a symphony of cheerful babbling. We dipped tired feet into the welcome shock of the cold water, letting it seduce our feet deeper and deeper as we got used to icy, crystalline flow. We spent hours there, playing like children. Our hearts were full and light, we were unburdened and happy. As the sun started sinking, Charlie stretched out on a huge sun warmed boulder, sucking every last bit of the perfect day’s heat from the rock, and I skipped stones and softly whistled nonsense. He called for me and we watched the sun sneak over the horizon, gaining speed with each second, and it saturated the sky with electric shades of red, purple, orange… \n\nI wiped a tear from my unblinking eye, and reached for Charlie’s hand. Our place. Our peace. We stood motionless until the last hint of the sunset faded and the first stars slowly started to dance in the deep, velvety blue of the twilight sky. We unlocked our hands and made camp silently. We were so touched by the peace of this magical place that we didn’t disturb the silence until miles down our path the next day. \n\nI often joke with friends when I tell people of my camping plans, “I’m going to church”, I’ll say. In many ways, the union I feel with nature is unmatched by anything else in my life. I feel at home many places, and this magical, untouched spot will always stand out as one most beautiful and pure.\n \n", "A small girl runs through an old forest her long red hair flys in her face as she goes. She slides to a halt, looks around and grabs hold of a branch stuck onto a withered oak tree. She breathes deeply, and turns the branch until a quiet click is heard.\n\nThe tree's trunk began to rumble, and a door-sized piece of bark slid down to reveal a bright, cylinder shaped room. The girl hesitantly, not without stealing one last glance behind her, moved into the room and pushed on a knot in the wall. The door flew up into it's original position and the young girl looked down at her feet. The floor began to drop and she grinned, looking up once more to assure herself the door had closed behind her. The platform creaked and groaned as it moved into place. She walked off into a large room, with a floor made of jammed together stones and walls made of wood panels. A curious looking fireplace jutted out of the farthest wall. She sat down at a large table in the centre of the room, put her hands together and waited. A huge, metal clock ticked in the corner. Rather quickly, a pretty woman walked into the room through a circular door, spotted the girl, and grinned,\n\n\"I didn't know you were coming over today kiddo, where's your mum?\" the woman inquired. The little girl twiddled her thumbs and said,\n\n\"Oh I don't know, probably shopping.\" the lady laughed and ran her hand through her hair.\n\n\"Séreméla, does your mother even know you're here?\" Silence filled the room, the lady stared at Séreméla with a knowing look and then sighed, taking some boxes out of the cupboard.\n\n\"I guess you're here for some makíril? It is close to your birthday after all.\" the woman declared, pulling little stone platters off of shelves. \n\nA loud creak was heard, and the girls looked towards the elevator, which had long since retreated into the tree trunk. Now it slid down again, to reveal the tapping shoes of someone anxious to get down. The girl slouched in her chair and sighed, and the woman walked over\n\n\"Eámanë how are you? Want some makíril?\" she gabbed, starting into a long-winded conversation.\n\n\"Uruviel, is Séreméla here?\" cutting off the woman and stepping into the large room.\n\n\"Oh! There you are!\" Eámanë rushed over and hugged Séreméla, who promptly began to pout,\n\n\"Mom! I can walk to Auntie's by myself!\" she whined\n\n\"Maybe in a few years honey.\" She told Séreméla, tucking the girl's long red hair behind her pointed ear.\n\n(As this was my first try at a writing prompt and I haven't wrote in a long time, I got a bit off topic, but I hope it's still okay if I post it. Even if it's not very good, I put a lot of time into it! Also I had trouble with the tab button, so there's no indent.) ", "Only a few steps away from a bustling intellectual center, my home is an island of green-streaked solitude in a sea of congestion and concrete. Recessed from the street, it hides its face behind a curtain of trees, but behind this shy exterior is a home densely packed with childish and fervent energy. \n\nRipples of laughter and music can be heard at almost times of the day and night. No sun-soaked afternoon nap between classes would be complete without the delicate swirl of the piano floating through the air. And if the noise should ever cease, the scent of fresh-baked cakes and cookies is quick to fill the sensory void.\n\nIndeed, the kitchen is the throbbing heart of the house. It steams with vegetables, crackles with meat, and is always buzzing with time-pressed students who convene between its counters to divvy up the common foods and spices, disparage those who don’t wash their dishes, and marvel at the sudden disappearance of the cereal bowls.\n\nWhen we manage to snatch a few moments between study sessions, we gravitate to the arms-deep stacks of board games, art supplies, and musical instruments that define the recreational space of the dining room. And should all these pursuits fall to sustain us, there are the eternal quests of winning the affection of the two black cats that roam our home like two friendly but elusive and unpredictable ghosts; ingesting a seemingly endless supply of movies, video games, and television channels; and desperately trying to connect to the notoriously volatile wireless network.\n\nWhen I moved here I knew no one. It was frightening—when most college students are holing up in apartments, I went in the opposite direction. In a world that can be so brutally anonymous and tacitly cruel, I wanted to believe that people can work and live together in harmony, that people haven’t abandoned the goal of pursuing the common good. I’m glad to say that I have been presently surprised. Yes, everyone evades the duty of cleaning the microwave, and yes people will eat your food if you leave it too long unattended. And the internet thing is pretty annoying. \n\nBut even knowing all those things, even knowing that my legs would be mutilated by fleas when our former hippie landlord forgot to give the cats their flea medicine, I wouldn't have chosen any other way. Because living here, I have learned that people are all like our house. We have our quirks, our flaws, there are parts of even the toughest and most honest of us that we hide from strangers on the street. But somehow, despite our divergent interests and differing temperaments, we make it work. And when we pass around a fresh-baked chocolate pecan pie—ten people and two forks—I really do feel like I am a part of a kind of family, a misfit family of strangers who happened to find each other in the fog of life and decided to embark together on a very interesting adventure.\n", "This is the place I grew like a flower,\n\nSprouting and budding hour by hour.\n\n I followed the sun and drank so much water, \n\nEven when Summer days got hotter and hotter.\n\n\nThere are mountains to visit and rivers to live by, \n\nThere are fields and valleys and a wonderful, blue sky. \n\nAbove all the rest, all nature below, \n\nThe people are the best that you'll ever know.", "I still try to visit home occasionally, though these moments grow distant as time moves on. I doubt I could convince anyone to move there, home is no castle, or in the midst of a fantastic city. Home is just an ordinary house among ordinary houses, littering an ordinary street. \n\n\nI wish I could take you back home, back to that place in time when that house was truly home. That place, I could convince anyone to live in that place.\n\n\nChildren laughing. Long summer nights, without a care in the world. Water, crystal blue, refreshing to the touch. Falling reds and oranges, nature's sign of change. Rolling blankets of fresh snow, warm fire and cocoa. Budding yellows and greens. The sun's welcomed return. \n\n\nThe son's welcomed return.\n\n\nI still try to visit home occasionally, that ordinary house in a line of ordinary houses, littering that ordinary street. There’s less laughter there now. The summers seem hot, the water tinted with a green hue. The trees fall, another duty. The snow looks dirty.\n\n\nHome becomes more ordinary every time I return. I fear for the day I return home, and only find a house.\n\n\nI can’t convince you to live there. I can only hope your home was as beautiful as mine.", "I spent my early childhood in an isolated house of unremembered number, Lake in the Woods Road. It was a lonely place, really, but to my little girl's imagination it was my wonderful world. We had a wooden gazebo, and a pink brick walkway of all things in the front yard; we had a fishpond, an old barn that my brother found snakes in sometimes, a pasture we kept horses in on and off, and woods all around. I had three siblings much older than me, but whenever I needed company, I had the outdoors and my imaginary friends to explore it with.\n\nThe cultivated woodsy area behind the house I inexplicably called \"the West Wing.\" My mom had dug an artesian well there when everyone thought Y2K would happen. Up the hill, beside the house, was the area all my imaginary friends lived in, with a charming little iron gate and a birdbath and the gazebo with its bench swings. The barn was quite literally falling apart, always dark and shaky and dusty: I wasn't allowed to enter on my own. The pasture across the street was my favorite; for a while we had a few horses, though I was too young to ride them. My sisters would take me out to give them sugarcubes and pet their soft noses. My little girl eyes thought that the pasture, though the barrier of my known world, extended forever -- like when you just knew there was something over the hill outside the castle in Super Mario 64, but it would never let you climb up to see.\n\nMy favorite times were summer nights when my mom and I would walk up the hill to the neighbor's field and lay down in the open trailer that was always sitting in the middle of it and stargaze. Our street was isolated like our house, set on a country road far away from any city lights. Since I moved away from that house 10 years ago, I've never seen the stars like I did then.\n\nOn summer days, my sisters would take me on adventures down the street. We had four dogs and three cats then, and some of them would always come along to protect their young mistresses. We would find another neighbor's field, far down the road it seemed, and just romp around and soak in the Alabama sun. The grass was always verdant and the air always golden.\n\nI did stay inside sometimes. Our house was made entirely of wood, and the walls inside were unfinished planks; I couldn't tell you how many splinters I got from trailing my hands on them as I walked. We had tacky blue couches (with removable cushions to easily build pillow caves) and rose-patterned curtains and a wardrobe in the foyer that I was sure had Narnia somewhere in it. I read a lot, mostly in my room on my bunkbed, next to the window that looked out on the little fenced yard where we kept the dogs.\n\nMy other favorite pastime was playing video games with my brother. Our favorites for each system we had were ATV Offroad Fury and Donkey Kong 64 -- we played Mortal Kombat as well, but I wasn't really supposed to. This was the same brother who found snakes in the barn sometimes; he would take an axe and cut their heads off, then show us girls the beheaded, twitching remnants to gross us out. Fourteen years my senior, he was at times my enemy and at others my hero. Our video game names were Ace (him) and Ace-hole (me -- I didn't get it until much later).\n\nAll good things end. We got behind on our rent and were asked to leave our house; my brother passed away in an accident. I grew up. If I were to go back to that house, I would probably find that I remember a lot of things more glorious and beautiful than they really were. But I cherish the innocence I had in that house, before I knew the world was dark and sad.\n\n*Good heavens this is a wall of text and it's my first post on this subreddit and is it even completely on topic?! Sorry y'all.*" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 4, 5, 6 ]

[ "1361112312", "1361169421", "1361209997", "1360909263", "1361089394", "1360907548", "1361169613", "1360905683" ]

[ "\"Why did I ever buy this house?\" Sue said looking up and down the ramshackle abode. She had just moved back to her old home town and gotten a new job as the assistant director of marketing for a software company. She loved the idea of moving back home at first, spending more time with her parents and old friends. Not having to spend the first six months just learning where everything was, it sounded like a good idea. Her best friend from high school, Peter, also still lived in town but he was a realtor now. He was the one who convinced her to buy this old lot. \n\n“Listen Sue, this place has potential. You could fix it up and make it shine again. Did you know that comparable in this neighborhood sold for nearly double in the last 5 years? This place is up and coming. A lot of people are commuting from the city just like you and buying around here.” Peter said with that charming smile he perpetually wore.\n“I don’t know Peter, I’m not much of a fixer upper. Maybe I should look at a condo or something.” She said as she poked her head around the interior of the house. \n \n“Come on Sue, have ever steered you wrong? Besides that one time in the summer of ’98 when I told you pink hair was totally in.” they both laughed at the memory and Sue ended up buying the house for way under the asking. The old owner had been an old man who passed away a few months ago and his children just wanted to be rid of the house. Peter had convinced Sue that she could hire people to fix most of the damage and that it was almost all cosmetic anyways. The guest bedroom was even serviceable and she could live in the house during the renovation. Never one to turn down a challenge Susan decided to go for it, three weeks later she had moved in and here she stood on a hot Saturday afternoon broom in one hand and rag in the other bandanna wrapped tightly around her red curls. \n\nThe cleaning went pretty well in the beginning, it was just a matter of throwing out some old newspapers and broken furniture the big stuff she would leave for the contractors. The guest bedroom really was serviceable with a relatively new mattress and box spring. A new set of sheets and it was good to go. There was an old dresser in the guest room with pictures of an old man with a small smiling boy. Sue took these and placed them in a box to send to the old owners. She was sure they would want pictures of their dad and she didn’t have any use for them. There was a surprising amount of memorabilia and knick knacks to rummage through that kept Sue busy for most of the afternoon. As she was cleaning the second floor hall she noticed an old rope dangling from the ceiling. Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled down on the rope. There was a creak and groan as the ceiling opened up and a retractable ladder came down beckoning Sue into the attic above. Sue looked into the dark maw and put on a resolute face beginning her climb into the dark attic above. \n\nAs she poked her head into the attic space she was pleasantly surprised. The attic was rather spacious with exposed rafters and a dusty wooden floor, but no dark corners or creepy crawlies as she feared. There was a pine scent that permeated the room like old car fresheners. She stood up in the space and noted the heat, it had been a particularly hot day but the attic seemed to explode with heat. She walked over to a window at the far end of the attic and opened it as far as it would go. A breeze rolled in and she surveyed the area. There was a small pile of boxes on the other end of the attic and several sheets covering piles of what she assumed were more boxes. A rectangular box caught her eye on top of one of the sheets and she went to investigate. She noticed it was not as dusty as the sheet it was laying on and saw it had a small latch and lock. She turned the box over and noticed a small key taped to the bottom. Unlocking the box there were a series of 4 VHS tapes inside. She decided to take them down to the living room to have a look. \n\nSue had found an old VCR in the back of one of the closets the other day and decided to hook it up to the old TV and give it a try. The first tape was labeled “Perturbed” an interesting title she thought and slid the tape into the VCR. At first nothing played. She fast forwarded and realized the tape was actually playing something. It was completely dark wherever the camera man was. Suddenly the camera lifted and it appeared to be looking out of a window into her own front yard at night. She looked around suddenly as though someone was watching her but the room was empty. On the video the camera zoomed in to a group of boys at the sidewalk in front of the house standing near a light pole. They were pointing at the house and talking but there was no sound, she doubted the cameraman would have been able to hear them at that distance anyways. A young man in a hooded sweatshirt seemed to laugh and point towards the house. Another boy took something out of his pocket and threw it towards the house. The camera moved as you could hear the sound of glass breaking from somewhere in the background. The camera man carried it down the stairs of the attic and down to the first floor. The front window had a large hole in it and the boys at the front yard were gone. Sue could see a grizzled hand reach down and pick up a large stone and the video cut out. \n\nShe quickly put the second film in titled “lackadaisical” and it immediately started in the woods. As the camera moved you could see the back of a house, but this wasn’t her house. She saw the same grizzled hand clutching the rock from the previous film. The camera seemed to focus on the rock for several minutes as the hand moved it back and forth as though deciding what to do. There was a sigh and the rock fell to the ground. There was a shuffling sound as the camera moved back into the woods and cut off.\n\n“Lackadaisical indeed” Sue thought as she put the next tape into the VCR, this one labeled “Rhythmically”.\n\nThe next tape began at night again, this time it seemed outside of the house in a bush. The sound of a group of people talking could be heard and the camera peered between leaves to reveal the same group of children standing under the lamp post. This time they were laughing and talking to each other. One child was telling the other to go into the house and grab something. He didn’t want to do it and voiced his concern over the “old guy” who lived there. They were mocking him calling him chicken and he reluctantly left for the house. As the kid approached the house the camera zoomed in on him opening the door and slowly entering the house. It then panned back to his two friends with their back turned to the bush watching and laughing. Then the camera moved slowly out from behind the bush and just the tip of a metal object could be seen at the side of the screen. “What the hell is this?” Sue thought but her attention was focused on the screen. She could see the camera approach and the kids were making so much noise with their jeering and talking they didn’t hear the cameraman approach. Suddenly the camera shook violently and there was a sickening thud. Sue could barely make out one kid turn around and what looked like the other on the ground when there was another thud. Then more thuds. Like when you hit a piece of meat with a rolling pin over and over again. Smack… smack… smack.. the camera then looked up at the entrance to the house and the camera began to move up the walkway. \n“Dear God… what is this…” Sue reached over to shut off the TV and eject the tape. Suddenly a there was a sharp pain in her head and she collapsed. \n\nSeveral hours passed and Sue began to stir. She could taste blood in her mouth and a throbbing pain in her head. She tried to reach up but suddenly she realized she was bound to a chair. She looked around and the sun had set and the room was pitch black. She smelled pine and dust and realized she was back in the attic. How the hell did she get here? She thought, she started to struggle against the bonds and the TV came on once again. The last tape… what was the name on the last tape? She couldn’t remember a hand caressed her face and she tried to scream but her all she heard were muffled cries. Then the video began to play. It was the kid who went into the house. He was bound to a chair in the attic staring at Sue his eyes wild with fear. His friends were next to him sitting in chairs but they were not bound, there was no need they were dead. A voice in the background asked, “Do you think me sinister?” the boy looked past the camera and shook his head no. Sue watched as the cameraman approached the child and removed his gag. He looked into the camera with his head next to the boys and said, “Smile”. Suddenly she recognized the man and the boy. They were from the picture in the spare bedroom. The old man took a knife and ran it lightly over the boys cheek smiling all the while. The boy tried to scream and he covered his nose and mouth while he ran his knife across the boys neck. A faint line of blood appeared and then a gushing torrent. Sue thrashed her head around and tried to see the old man behind her. The light from the TV had illuminated the attic, the cloth had been removed from the stacks of what she believed were boxes. They revealed grim skeletons sitting on chairs their clothes had rotted and the scent of pine was thick. She could see several car air fresheners hanging about their necks. She felt something lowered over her head and placed around her neck, she knew what it was. She closed her eyes and cried and waited for the end.\n\n\n*sorry I kind of cut the end short, normally I would have dragged it out but I need to finish this and go home. ", "\"Nasty?\" The man said. You recognized him, but only barely, probably from an article years ago rather than a real-life meeting. You continue to watch the videos, brought on by a grim determination. Which child was this? The third? The sixth? They ran together, and your plate of steak sat cold and uneaten in your lap.\n\n\"N-A-S-T-Y.\" The small boy said, dark eyes aglow in rich olive skin.\n\n\"Very good! Chocolate or strawberry?\"\n\n\"Strawberry!\" The little boy said, holding out his hand expectantly.\n\nThe man swatted it, not enough to damage but more than enough to sting. \"First?\"\n\nThe little boy sighed, tousling his thick hair. \"S-T-R-A-W-B-E-R-R-Y.\"\n\n\"Good!\" The man said. He adjusted the binoculars around his neck by a force of habit so strong the motion seemed to be performed rhythmically.\n \nHe handed the boy a small strawberry wafer. The boy stared at it, seemingly perturbed by its ridges. \"Will this one make me fall asleep again?\"\n\n\"No,\" the man said with a smile. \"Just eat it- we're almost there!\"\n\nThe little boy chewed his wafer, testing it first on his tongue for a few seconds. There were dark shadows in the boys eyes. A child this age should be concerned with lackadaisical things like assembling a gang of neighborhood children for pick-up basketball, you thought. His body said 'seven,' but his eyes said 'forever.' \n\n\"One more word now,\" the man chided. \"Then we can let you use the phone.\"\n\nThe boys eyes widened, as a smile smile secreted its way onto his face.\n\n\"Demise.\" The man said.\n\n\"Y-O-U-R-S\" The boy spelled, a sinister grin on his face. He pulled out of his pocket something small, metallic, and sharp. His eyes flashed dark and the blade flashed silver and blue, the blood a red torrent leaving from the man's throat.\n\nWith a sickening lurch of your stomach, you look at your steak knife, a blue gem set into its silver heft. \n\nBleach. You need all the bleach. All the bleach that ever was and ever will be. Perhaps on the basements' poured concrete floor. Perhaps in your eyes, perhaps down your throat." ]

[ 2, 5 ]

[ "1361484966", "1361458815" ]

[ "Brothers and sisters, hundreds of years ago, the land upon which we all now stand was sterile with the salt of corruption and greed. The people, elf and human and dwarf and khobold, and all the rest, were so comfortable in the fruits of love and innocence that had evolved through hundreds of thousands of years together on this planet, that they'd resigned themselves to an apathy so poisonous it made the whole world ill. We'd become so innocent with truth that lies could be easily disguised, and a so-called elite stepped up heralding a 'cure' that we allowed to be injected into our bodies, that quelled the symptoms but exasperated the cause. Those 'elite' then became even more disconnected from the masses until they were no longer afraid to hide their arrogance, and our weakened immune system gave way to their destructive methodologies until they'd spread all the way to the brain. Racism, hate, greed, envy, fear. Users of magic were burned, dragons were hunted to near extinction, and nymphs were enslaved and forced to wield nature in destructive ways. Ancient texts that held our history, and that held the laws developed by all of those years of evolution, were destroyed.\n\nThen one day, twenty four short years ago, the masses rose, hand-in-hand, to force accountability upon those pigs until their blood washed that salt away to allow for a fertile soil upon which to grow a sustainable future for all that deserve it. We brought blades across the throats of those purveyors of filth until none stood, then we redistributed the spoils to rich and poor and baker and blacksmith and mage and magistrate alike. And after that we gave proof to the adage that the pen indeed exists to be mightier than the sword, as we brought pen to parchment, using reason and logic to undo everything those pigs stood for.\n\nI stand here humbled by the presence of the army of intellect and good intentions that surrounds me. We, chosen in good faith and reason, by the masses of people who we live to protect and provide for, are perched upon the gates of Utopia. All around are people clamoring for entry, only simple locks in their way. I ask each of you now, if critical thinking and positive intentions will you to do so, to unlock those gates with your signatures penned upon the parchment in front of you. I realize the weight of that text, and that it carries the last bit of filth we have left from those pigs, but I implore you to allow their own terrible ways to undo them. There is no other way that I see. This execution will be the last in our history and afterward we will again abolish death as a means of punishment. But we need this because, as the last, it will carry the most weight, for completely eliminating their pig leader ensures that the legacy of hate, discrimination and oppression he presided over will die with him. Sign the paper in front of you so we can bring finality to our world, and so we can finally begin anew, as we should have twenty four years ago to this day.\n\nThank you.", "And so doing the council of the lower Behr-in-Thuring stands\n\n**RESOLVED** that the impositions of the King Hrugmander are declared NULL and VOID within the counties of Behr-in-Thuring below the Caldesei River as a result of his malfeasance and his unwillingness to adhere to the duties and restrictions that he must consent to as our king. As such, all assembled now in this council do forswear our duties to our unlawful liege and declare WAR against the tyrant with the purposes of full separation of Behr-in-Thuring from the lands of Greater Thuring.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a militia force be assembled of no less than 4,000 able-bodied men from the jurisdiction of each lord assembled in the body of this council so as to defend the claims and interests elucidated in this document.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the dwarves of Ul-Before-The-Mountain should forge and supply these forces to the greatest extent of their abilities in return for the continued safety of their king.\n\n**RESOLVED** so as to press into military service such ships as is possible to defend the port cities of Marrustad and Toblerone from the contemptous vassal of our forsworn king, the Dread Pirate Blackadder. \n\n**RESOLVED** that the Alchemical Society of Marrustad should be supplied with such reagents and coin as is necessary to find an solution to the blight of the Creeping Death that now plagues this land.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a company of witch-hunters should be chartered for the purposes of rooting out and destroying any masters or apprentices of the arcane that continue to owe their allegiances to the selfsame forsworn Lord of our previous declarations.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the lands of the conspirator against this council, the High Lord Tiber, should be appropriated and divided amongst the lords whose domain borders his.\n\n**RESOLVED** that a tax should be levied of two alum motes, fourteen shekels, eight lucre, or twelve dinar upon the common man within the dominion of each lord assembled in order to pay for the provisions listed within this declaration.\n\n**RESOLVED** that the private grain supplies of Geminer, Lochland, Marrustad, Grand Malcun, and Toblerone be confiscated in order to provide the army assembled by the second declaration of this document the victuals it needs to properly prosecute the war against the Tyrant-King Hrugmander, with promise of full repayment with annuities following the conclusion of the war.\n\nMay the betrayer be informed of our resolve and our intent. This council shall not bear the indignations of service below the Tyrant for any greater period of time, or may the histories mark us cowards and traitors to each other, to our people, and to ourselves.", "Greensleeves\n\nThe Caucus of the Wizards was a rare and wondrous event and it was only by the accident of his squiring to Faeldon the Aelf, first of seven in the honor guard of Magus Shrib, that Derpin was begrudgingly allowed to serve his master as a Page. Watcher Solomon, foremost among sorcerous practitioners, and Keeper of the Stone called the convocation with a summons that read: *They have voted to break the stone*.\n\nThus Magus Shrib stirred from his dark and dusty lands, called forth his best Rangers, and trekked to the Dome, the great marble hall of wizards shining on the land from the center of a dense and fetid swamp. The journey had been filled with doubt and remonstration—Faeldon believed the boy not ready—but the inscrutable Shrib had seen in the lad things unquestioning and pliant, twin seeds of potential and portents of great deeds. As he walked through Wishing-on-the-Bog, the hard scrabble town around the Dome where one either prospered in service to wizards or survived their inattention, the boy was mesmerized. For the first time Derpin the Outsider felt at home.\n\nInside the dome many magical greats arrived: Manx of the North, ever dressed as the dour pauper, Reggmen the Bearded Numeromancer, Friejeck the Splendid, Champion of the Hand, and other such great personages that Derpin grew mute of mouth and weak in the knees in the presence of such prestige. Herein were the best and brightest, those of the longest beards, finest robes, and pointiest of hats. Men with power over demons who had turned excrement into gold and purchased great power. In this hallowed ground stood such towering figures that their names outshone their deeds and none would be accountable to the latter. \n\nA brazier was lighted and filled with magical powders so that it sparked and whistled with great ferocity and billowous smoke. The room was filled with trumpets’ blare and from several inconspicuous colombiers white doves and other lesser pigeon fowl were released. So was Watcher Solomon introduced to the Caucus. After the coughing subsided and unintended fires extinguished and the less fortunate columbids collected and disposed of, the Watcher spoke:\n\n*The Stone grows weak. Throughout the land the power of magic is doubted and the title Wizard reviled. Not one fortnight ago, five hundred lay gentry gathered and after much contention and violence agreed that some wizards are good, many wizards are bad, but that no wizard should have power to manage the Stone which sustains the land. So it falls to you, preeminent among wizards, to solve the crisis or initiate the splintering and dissolve this chamber. The House of Lords has given us two moons time to decide. Speak your hearts, make steel your minds, and let us settle the fate of our great country.*\n\nA quiet filled the chamber as each wizard examined his conscience and considered what great and selfless spellcraft might yet save them. Surely the great and complicated system of doling out the power of the Stone to some and not to others by byzantine traditions and arbitrary preference had taxed its magic and spread its bounty thin. It glowed green and indifferent in the center of the chamber. Derpin found himself lost in the facets of its cut, in some lattices seeing a great and happy land and in others seeing want and waste and destruction. It called to him, but he could not hear what it said. Perhaps it was calling to everyone at that moment. After a short reverie, a wizard from the hinterlands arose and began the august proceedings.\n\n*The Stone is not weak,* Sanctorem the Sanctimonious declared, *What has grown weak is men’s hearts. If we expel the swarthy leeches from the south countries and purge ourselves of the bum-obsessed libertines that dominate our epic poetry, prosperity will return to the land as we will surely return to the good graces of the Hand. Also, we must take strong action against vile slander and subversive humor, and make it so the Goggler cannot promote libel above the truth when it might damage the prestige of a wizard.* This latter sentiment was met with general approval as no one savored any slander against a wizard, though oft they maligned their fellows. In turn, another wizard stood and spoke.\n\n*Something must be done to save the serf. He needs seed paid for by the public coffer and lands kept fallow so that he might manage his soil by rotation. No serfs: no food.* A powerfully popular invocation. Another stood up and argued that the laborers making mechanical dragons should be protected. Others called for more floating golems to secure borders and hunt enemies in foreign kingdoms. Men from the guilds advised the council. Bladesmiths demanded a sword in every home to lower crime and alchemists insisted on recipe protection to secure their trade while tar miners assured that their extract burned the cleanest lamps and nature minded Aelves proposed that trees were people. All demanded some portion of the treasury.\n\nFor four and fifty days they debated. No cantrip, however small, was passed without bitter fight. Under a banner that read **Swords Don’t Kill Knights—Dastards Do** Biddings the Gaff suggested short broad bladed daggers as alternative to military style claymores. Objective Polrond evangelized the Book of Indifference as true wizardly government. Ghost Reegan analogized the Stone’s power to champagne in a tower of cups—fill the biggest at the top first until it trickles down to the thimble fills below. Every wizard sought to cut the tithe in his own domain while protecting his entitlements, offering to eliminate the privileges in another wizard’s hold to offset the bursar’s loss. The nefarious practices of money lenders were frequently lambasted with no consensus as to whether they were a result of too little or too much wizardry. The pork provisioned was weighed a hundred times and counted a thousand ways and the only thing understood about it was that it was somehow bad and someone was taking unscrupulous advantage.\n\nFor four and fifty days they argued. For four and fifty days cobble broke, roads were overgrown, bridges faltered, fruits rotted on the vine. For four and fifty days they drank milk and honey and ate beef while the commoner supplemented his watery porridge with chaff and dirt and bitter grasses. For four and fifty days they cavorted with bacchanalian glee—taking whores and wine with lavish abandon. For four and fifty days the scriveners transcribed their performance, recording statements and impressions to be read to dull and loutish commoners in the temple and the square in the cant and interest and omission of those who would lead him, so that illiterate could feel informed and ignorant aware.\n\nFor four and fifty days Derpin ran his master’s messages. His hands grew waxy with their charge as did moon wax and wane through the considerations of its own synod, traversing the sidereal path towards dragon’s mouth once and again without consensus among the Caucus. As the second lunation approached its apogee wise Solomon returned to the chamber with the smashing stick.\n\n*Speak, wizards and let us know our fate.*\n\n*The Stone’s power should be apportioned equally to all and magic returned according to one’s ability!* cried Manx.\n\n*You cannot manage the magic of the Stone through wizardry, only through faith in the Hand might we be saved!* declared Friejeck\n\n*We have the keys to manage this crisis,* Reggmen intoned nasally, *Through history and the specific use of magic we can save—*\n\nMagus Shrib motioned towards Derpin. He scrawled a hasty note that read *four hundred head sheep, keep the swarthy, purge the libertines, break the stone.* His councilor, the frog faced Rovsputin, nodded. The wax sealed the note and Derpin was charged with delivering it to Magus Sanctorem. The reply from the Sanctimonious was furiously scribbled and near indecipherable, yet clear as day: *five hundred sheep, no swarthys! no libertines! stone broken.* Magus Shrib looked at Rovsputin and shrugged: *I’ve done all I can.*\n\nAs the speeches and posturing died down Watcher Solomon called for a vote. Wizards cast their marbles. After an anxious wait Wall, Guard of the Points, announced the decision:\n\n“Ayes thirty two, nays thirty three,” and with the unstated admission that thirty four wizards had failed to summon the will to compromise, the lunatic moment arrived. Spellcraft had failed. Solomon raised the smashing stick and brought it down against his charge. The Stone glowed brightly for a time until its fissures became apparent and the light within seeped through the cracks in a dancing requiem of green arcs and crepuscular rays. Then the light was gone forever. The Stone shattered into a hundred shards of differing sizes, reminiscent of the stone with a faint glow but nothing like the monolith that had sustained a United Confederacy of Wizards. The shards were rewarded to individual wizards according to their influence, and each returned with a glittering splinter to their holds. They stripped off the green sleeves of their office and turned them in for gold. They title of wizard was abandoned in favor of king, and domains became walled fiefs. A convocation of the Caucus was never called again.\n\nDerpin stayed in service to the Royal Shrib until pursing a position in the guild sector. As a guild broker he made a fortune parlaying his influence among former wizards into opportunity for artisans to monopolize markets. The kingdoms withered. Fields were barren, roads lost to weeds. Serfs became slaves and freemen supplicants to the generosity of their capricious lords. The land was conquered by mediocrity and avarice. It was forever consigned a footnote to history while other kingdoms gained their ascendancy in its stead. \n\nDerpin the Insider died without regret on his Squire’s estate. Eventually it was divided and sold to pay for debauchery and then debts, and then his legacy was scattered to the wind and lost. Another way was never considered.", "As Dad was flipping through the channels, Andy shouted, \"Whoa! Halt, halt, Dad!. Go back, back to 323\". On Channel 323, it was a usual Fox News, or Faux News as Andy liked to call it, story going on about how 'it is the end of the world' and 'all out hopes now rest on these kids'. \n\n\"It is their usual drivel, Andy\", his dad snorted.\n\n\"No dad, look, he's interviewing Cooper. Anderson Cooper\"\n\n\"What? Now why would Cooper agree to that?\"\n\n\"Turn up the volume dad, seems like something serious\".\n\n\"... you think any changes will occur as a result of these developments, Mr. Cooper?\"\n\n\"No, Wolf. I don't think so. You see, Voldemort has spent much time amassing his powers and forces and I don't think he is going to back down now. The UNMC's resolutions and its handling of the matter leaves a lot to be desired.\"\n\n\"Mr. Cooper, I'm sure you would say that. After all, you have repeatedly sympathized with these silly kids who oppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named\".\n\n\"Wolf, Voldemort is a disaster and you know that. How you justify it to your viewers is beyond me. Probably why you have Salazaar as your patron.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your time Mr. Cooper. This Wolf Blitzer, bringing you this breaking news. A group of kids at the Hogwarts School of Magic have decided to oppose Lord He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Authorities are saying that the situation is under control, but the United Nations' Magic Committee, the UNMC, is saying that both sides must be heard. It is these type of terrorist-friendly elements that have caused this situation where, today, muggle kids and a group of deviant so-called-teachers have dared to oppose the Leader of All Wizards.\n\nMore at 7 tonight.\"\n\n", "Sworn Testimony of One Andren Brentree, Spymaster of the Crown Regent, Before an Assembly of the Several Nobles of the Lands that Lay Between the Rivers\n\n**Closed Session: Contents Sealed**\n\nFollowing the incident I have made several attempts to contact the magistrate's desk. It is apparent that Marisdell has little concern for the scribblings of provincials, so I have appeared before this assembly to make my concerns known. Vocally. \n\nThe overrun of the bastion at Arkshire should be regarded by this council as nothing less than a provocation to war. Though perhaps these esteemed gentlemen regard Marisdell to be the soul and center of the world, there are [calls of indignant members], surprisingly enough, other locations of strategic importance.\n\nThe diversion of shipping traffic from Arkshire to Ravenport will by my estimate space provision of foodstuffs, salt, cut ice, and redwood timber to the capital by some three weeks, as opposed to the lavish three-day delay now benefitting the King's Own [murmured complaints].\n\nI understand the sensitive nature of publicly acknowledging the attack. As for operational particulars, I only ask to be given reign in Torenn. My assets in the capital have all fallen out of contact. When our outfit reaches them it will be a trivial matter to identify pro-war elements. I believe this information could be critical in the event that the Crown does wish to publicly blame our neighbors for the attack.\n\nAs always, we can move to eliminate these elements if the need arises.\n", "The following is an excerpt from the minutes of The High Council of the Orcish Syndicates of Aarondur:\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: Our orcs are starving? Why are we even talking about this? We shall take what we need from the lands of men.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: That’s the problem, we’ve conquered them all.\n\nCouncilor Lub: What do you mean conquered them all? There’s still Ledden in the North.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: Our spies say the land is barren and the people are in famine. In the spring it will fall easily\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: You mean to say there are no lands left for us to expand?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: I already said it.\n\nCouncilor Lub: We never planned for this. We’ve been too ambitious in our campaigns. What can we do?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: We don’t have a choice. We have to farm.\n\nCouncilor Arob: ORCS!? FARM!? You must be joking. That’s ridiculous! Our men will never agree\n\nCouncilor Yukha: There aren’t any other options. All the land is ours. We will have a few prisoners begin the farms and teach orcs to maintain them.\n\nCouncilor Lub: We are a land of warriors. Do you really mean for us to farm oats and barley?\n\nCouncilor Yukha: And radishes and turnips. I hate it, but our people are starving and they could revolt. \n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: It will never work. We can’t even digest most vegetables.\n\nCouncil Yukha: What do you suggest? Should we kill our own and feed them to the rest?\n\nCouncilor Lub: That’s perfect. We can start with Kilug and his subjects. They’ve been threatening to revolt for years. We can destroy some settlements below the Mungus River and say it was them.\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: That’s it. Then we will have war and food and there won’t be any more of this farming nonsense.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: That can’t work. Besides, we’ll just be delayin-\n\nCouncilor Lub: I call a vote on the motion to raid said settlements and declare war on Kilug. All in favor?\n\nCouncilor Sugigoth: Aye. \n\nCouncilor Arob: Aye.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: Nay. Do you even real-\n\nCouncilor Lub: And I vote Aye. The motion passes three to one.\n\nCouncilor Yukha: At least they’ve learned parliamentary procedure….\n", "\"The Treefolk will be convening soon. I trust you'll be on your best behavior, Ryean.\"\n\n\n\"Of course. I don't know if the Treefolk will though. They seem kind of…seedy.\"\n\n\n\"Ryean, please. Do you know how awful it will be if you just pun throughout the meeting? I don't know why his Sporejesty appointed you ambassador, but we need this deal to go through.\" Doughbert clapped Ryean on the back, wincing at the squelching sound that ensued.\n\n\n\"Don't worry,\" Ryean said, \"Leaf it to me.\"\n\n\n\"If you aren't going to take this seriously, you need to select an alternate. Someone who actually cares about what will happen to the Yeastlings.\" Doughbert wheedled. \"I can think of…a few people off the top of my head.\"\n\n\n\"I know it seems like I won't give a crap, but it's not breaded in that direction, I promise. It might sound like acorn-y statement, but it's true.\" Ryean's ocuspores glinted with amusement.\n\n\nDoughbert looked downcast. His skin began to bubble more rapidly. \"Please. Just tell the treefolk that they cannot be the sole pollinators of the grove. We just want to spore the four corners- the inside is all for them.\"\n\n\nRyean nodded. \"For this time, I am serious. I will not let you down. This meeting will make or bake us…\" Noting Doughbert's downright stormy expression, Ryean hastily added, \"That just slipped in. I am sorry.\"\n\n\nRyean walked into the ring of trees, and saw the Treefolk he was to speak to was of an unfamiliar shape. He had several five-pointed large green leaves, and a single greenish bud on the top.\n\n\n\"Woaaaaaaah man,\" the Treefolk said, drawing out the syllables so slowly it would seem he was uncoiling a spool of molasses. He sounded about the same age as Ryean. \n\n\nWhy was he appointed ambassador? Doughbert wondered, watching from the side. I guess neither side really cared. Maybe they even wanted this meeting to fail. Maybe war was the inevitable conclusion. Maybe they couldn't live side by side.\n\n\n\"I think there could be a great friendship budding here?\" Ryean said tentatively. The treefolk laughed, and they approached each other eagerly.\n\n\n\"Well…\" The treefolk said, inhaling deeply, \"Stone the crows…\" The treefolk seized the Yeastling in an abrupt but close hug.\n\n\nRyean immediately laughed, and his skin began to bubble languidly, inhaling the musky odor of his companion.\n\n\n\"I think,\" both said almost at the same time, \"We will get along.\"", "Coming to you live from Ernestave, we apologise for inconveniencing your regularly scheduled program to bring you breaking news from the Wise Circle. \n \nAs we are being told, while filling in the details as best as we can, WC Thinker number 4 has signed the 4th article of existence into being just moments ago. \n \nThe declarations have not been made public at this time. Although, our own Investigative Private Special Tactics Team suggests the alarm is fully justified.\n \nWhispers from the watch crowd are suggesting that it was a rash decision to be made so soon after the paradox was only brought to council one week ago. \n \nWe are now receiving word that our own professional thoughtsman has released a statement. \"Ill advised\"\n \nI've just been told a press conference will be held in just one hour from now by WC Thinker number 1 to discuss the decision made by WC Thinker number 4 earlier today. Until then we have been informed that no other official statements will be released. \n \nUntil further notice, all media will now be returned to its regularly scheduling." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 5 ]

[ "1361624883", "1361636429", "1361667177", "1361884600", "1361623240", "1361637238", "1361744798", "1361593992" ]

[ "the door barely closes before it starts. Her speed combined with intoxication with the drinks makes things much more surprising then they really are. Her hands both grip him like a vice and she nearly headbutts him. Actually she does headbutt him as shes a little unsteady because of her drinks and the speed of her ascent to eye level with the much taller man. But its okay; doesn’t hurt that much-doesn’t hurt at all and he just goes with it. Her tongue brushes his and he can taste the minty-burn of her parting shot that doesn’t mix well with the last vestiges of beer from his last swig. Nasty nasty nasty; shes damned nasty with the things she’s doing as one hand has shifted much lower on his personage.\n\nShe breaks their embrace and shoves him backwards into his bedroom where he pushes off unchosen clothes from earlier evening’s preparation braces himself with both arms –readying himself for the Iowan cyclone about to come crashing right into his bodily temple. With a blink her eyes gain a tenacious hellacious –hell even sagacious- quality that gives him the distinct notion that his top layer of skin might be removed in the process of being undressed. Without breaking her stare she shuts the door behind her and klicks the puritan lock inonemotion. \nCartoony like Tex Avery, all he can do is give one inspired *gulp* and be ready for the coming destruction the domination the violation of his “personal bubble”\n\nUh oh she’s begun her final approach on this freshly minted airline pilot while in a clean configuration its going to be a fast one. Gracefully shes pulled off her coat and tosses it on a chair –what a pass; she still hasn’t broken eye contact- and begins the countdown of the buttons on her silky black dress shirt. That gets thrown aside too and now he’s left with the slender tanned skin of this wonderous beauty’s upper torso with tight bluejeans over her even more wonderous as-\n\nAssonance, rather her particular gift of it- got them to this situation where the words she spoke sing-song-ily about something or somesuch and it resonated on a deep and fundamental level in the basement of his feelings. Her legs sandwiched his on the edge of the bed and shes trying to impart deep and fundamental knowledge about interpersonal relationships to the stubby shaved hairs and roughened skin on his shaven face. \n It’s marvelous.\n\nHubba-hubba huuuuuomygod this is nice whoa whoa whyshestopping???\n\n“This your first time or something?” she flicks her hair to the side \n\n“I wouldn’t go that fa-“ her lips lock back onto his as she begins to unhook the top half of her particulars. Another throw AND SHE’S ON FIYAH! Three fo’ three on the evening! Oh baby what a performance by Amy…. Amy…. Amy bah whatever this is incredible-\n\nRight, and back to the part where this dude’s internal monologue isn’t Gus Johnson so shes half naked and it’s awesome. Maybe around two hours ago they were strangers and now there a little less than that and about to be a lot less than that obviously. He’s still clothed and thus exists a problem. “Really ‘bro’?” Okay that’s not going to abide bros are douchefucks with popped collars or reflective teeshirts- whatever that’s fine. He rises to his feet and removes his jeans which she’d already unzipped in her opening act along with his boxers. His shirt and undershirt remain. \n\nThat was intentional. \n\n“Going for some yin and yang thing here?” Then he realizes they’ve got the opposite articles of clothes off. Again, intentional; he doesn’t want her to see his Mongolian birthmark that runs from an armpit and towards his chest. \n\n“I’ve got a tattoo, uh, that’s embarrassing.”\n\n“Really?” Amy asks. “Of what?”\n\n“Uhh” lie lie lie lieeeee “Eric Cartman.”\n\n“You’re joking…” well that’d definitely be a better option right about now and she pulls off my shirt and without consciously thinking about it surfaces the memory of times when Mom would undress him. Yep, going to need unpack that one with a therapist sometime soon. And then she sees that ugly blue mark of a genetic abnormality. Not good. “Where’s the tat?” she asks. \n\nHe denies.\n\n“You didn’t want me to see that, did you?”\n\nHe concedes.\n\nIt’s quiet and this lady of non American background has stilled. Uh oh. \n“So.. I think you’re at a bit of a disadvantage,” she looks him up and down “and a little cold.” Gawddamnit. \n\n “I think I can solve that problem,” She slides off the most tastefully scandalous underwear he can imagine though he’s not an expert in what’s fashionable in women’s delicates. \n\nBut then there it is, that thing he thinks beats his concept that a full Moon in a clear black sky as the most beautiful thing in nature: the unprotected feminine physique.\n\nDamn. Fucking damn this girl’s body is ROCKING. \n\nHe doesn’t feel so drunk any more just sitting there but as their skin collides and he falls backwards onto his bed and crawls towards the pillows with his elbows and she does the same on her knees following him.\n\nDid I mention that not only did she have great assonance but also she’s astutely\n\n“Assertive,” Amy says after breaking a kiss.\n\n“excuse me?”\n\n“That’s the word I was looking for, when you asked to describe myself. Hope you don’t mind.”\n\n“Not at all.”\nas•ser•tive   [uh-sur-tiv] \nadjective\n1. confidently aggressive or self-assured; positive: aggressive; dogmatic: \n2. having a distinctive or pronounced taste or aroma.\n\nAnd that she was. She was definitely assertive right from the beginning; that short moment where he was certain he’d achieved the feeling of a merger with the entire universe of energy; through that amazing middle of a constant, throbbing, generous exchange. Giving and receiving again –again –again and again. Breaths were traded back and forth and the air sparked with invisible electricity as these two young adults engage in the most ancient activity involving the sharing of the essences of life. \n", "Checking out your past submission history...nope.\n\nI'm not going to let you exploit this subreddit for your masturbation fuel.\n\nNow I'm all steamed up.", "\"You give up your body, I give up my freedom, and we both give up money. That's a raw deal,\" Niel said as he rubbed my back.\n\n\"You aren't doing a very good job of being strong for me,\" I said, my voice even and calm. My icy voice was the coldest thing in the room, as wisps of heated mist curled rounds my wrists, my shackles tinged with lavender.\n\n\"And in exchange, all we get is shit. Not even just tough times, although we'll have those too. Literal steaming, stinking SHIT.\" His hands ground into my shoulder, kneading as would a quietly desperate cat.\n\n\"I didn't ask the condom to break.\" I wouldn't let my voice choke up. \"We only have five minutes. Too much time in the sauna won't help anything.\"\n\nI looked into his eyes, and I saw a silent plead to stay in the sauna just a little bit more. \"Would it be the worst thing in the world if...\" He trailed off, and seemed to think for a second.\n\nHe punched himself in the shoulder. He didn't wake up. \n\n\"I was going to be a god one day.\" He said, running his fingers through his cascading golden hair. His blue eyes flickering with emotions, steam curling all around him like a malevolent aural fog, he sure looked like one.\n\n\"I need to go,\" I begged. \"I shouldn't stay in here too long. The...\" His hands gripped tighter on my shoulders.", "His fingertips slid down my spine and he whispered kisses down my neck as lace dropped to my feet. I clutched for the air and tufts of satin sheets. \n \nI felt remarkably alive, I felt everything. I felt his love for me.", "I'll bite.\n\nThe flame in my body flickered at his touch. His lips met mine, and I melted for him. Slowly, gently, he stoked the flames. He took his time, carefully turning over coals, roughly shoving logs around, gently pushing others into place. He worked long and hard to build the biggest fire possible, slowly adding larger and larger lengths of wood. Finally, he pulled out a container, it wasn't the biggest, but it certainly wasn't small either. Finally, slowly, forcefully, he opened himself, and finally added his secret ingredient to the inferno. It was a pure embodiment of passion, dedication, and lust. In seconds the flame exploded, there where fireworks, bright colors, explosive sounds. In that moment, everything fell together, there was nothing but beauty and the throes of passion to contend with as I felt the fire consume me. \n\nBliss.", "We needed electricity. We had water, a heat source, and a turbine.\n\n... and I've been beaten to it.", "After all this buildup, he could no longer take it.\n\nThey called him James Dean. It was a joke based on JD, the company owning the power plant. Every steam pipe was personified by the workers, and given a J.D. based nickname. James Dean was given the best, of course, the mantle of a ladies' man. He was ever reliable, never a burst or a tear, the workers' favorite.\n\nBut their confidence, over time, led to neglect, and James Dean hadn't had any maintenance in far too long. His hard shaft was ready to explode.\n\nAnd when it came, it came hard.\n\nJennifer Jameson from PR was taking one of the maintenance tunnels as a shortcut when it happened. James Dean burst, and his hot contents splashed all over her face. The spray hit her with the force and volume of a fire-hose, and knocked her off her feet. She screamed as it clung to her and burned her cheeks.\n\nShe was sent to the hospital with third degree burns covering her entire face, and a portion of her neck.\n\n\"Alright, listen up men,\" Peter North, maintenance team supervisor said. \"James Dean has been good to us. He never got clogged, he never got rusty, and he certainly never went flaccid. But we've put him through too much, and he isn't young like he used to be. He used to be able to come through for us on command, but from now on we'll have to split his loads up between him and Davenport.\"\n\n\"What!? NO!\" Brandon Manilow said. \"John Davenport can't match James Dean! He just can't!\"\n\nNorth frowned as he looked over Brandon. \"Sorry, kid. I feel like Dean just doesn't have it in him anymore.\"\n\n\"Hell yeah he doesn't have it in him,\" said Leo Ford, resident wise-ass. \"He's spraying it all over the wall.\"\n\n\"Shut up, Ford,\" North said, frowning, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, Leo had a point. They were talking about what they *should* do in the future, but Dean was bursting all over the place. The problem was no one could get close to him, if they did he'd explode all over them, too.\n\nThen, it came to him. *of course.*\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" North said. \"Bring out your toys. I need clamps, screws, tools, and *especially* costumes. I need the stuff you use only in the *nastiest* situations, because what we are neck deep in is straight up *nasty.*\"\n\nSo they suited up, they brought out their special, nasty toolboxes and got to special nasty business.\n\n\"You ready, Manilow?\" North asked, when they finally stood in front of the pipes.\n\n\"Ready as I'll get,\" Manilow said, nervously running his hands up and down himself.\n\n\"You ready Ford?\" North asked.\n\n\"Always in the mood,\" Ford said.\n\nThey all nodded, and the three men approached the hard, spilling pipe.\n\n\"Son of a bitch!\" Ford cried as he was hit by the hot, sticky expulsion. \"I can feel it through my suit! Shit!\" He tried to move forward, but he couldn't see, and all he could do was cover himself. It did no good, his hands were blown out of the way, and it coated his entire body.\n\nManilow was knocked off of his feet by the force and volume. The fluid sent him sliding into the wall. He was knocked into another shaft, which entered him. (It was a broken pipe they'd never gotten around to fixing) He cried out.\n\n\"Manilow!\" North yelled.\n\n\"Go on, Chief,\" Manilow said. \"This is just too hard for me to swallow...but you...you can do it. *Go!*\"\n\nThe Chief turned, and with his determination unswayed, moved toward the violently erupting James Dean. He pulled out his tool and went to work. The pipe sprayed in his face, but he handled it diligently. Dexterously, yet firm. His body was burning hot, but in the moment he ignored it and dutifully tended to Dean.\n\nFinally, the violent hurricane of steam let up. Finally, the pipe was patched.\n\n---\n\nLater on, in the hospital, Dean and Ford were visiting Manilow.\n\n\"...They said it was a challenge,\" Manilow said. \"It was pretty deep in there, and it was hard to pull out.\"\n\n\"Christ,\" said Ford.\n\n\"Hey, it's alright,\" Manilow said, with a smile. \"I'm okay. And med insurance covered it, so I'm just resting easy.\"\n\n\"Well, I think we learned something, today, guys,\" North said.\n\n\"What's that?\" the other two asked in unison.\n\n\"Between what happened to James Dean and Manilow getting impaled, we clearly haven't been doing as good of a job as we should be. In the future: let's take extra care to protect our pipes, alright?\"\n\nThe other two nodded in agreement." ]

[ 1, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 17 ]

[ "1362366852", "1361999771", "1361992431", "1361993483", "1362127339", "1361995054", "1361994028" ]

[ "I stopped by John's house on my way home from school today. He dropped out a couple years ago when his mom died. John and I were a strange pair: I came from a loving, well-to-do family; he from a broken home marred by addiction and abuse, yet we were best friends.\n\nI made my way into John's room, which contained nothing but his bed, guitar, and needles.\n\n\"H-hey John. Long time no see,\" I spoke through a fake smile. He responded with the most mournful guitar playing I had ever heard--a melancholic melody reflecting his own wasted greatness. After an abrupt stop, he lifted his head and spoke to me in a whisper.\n\n\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all... things.\" From under his dirty bed he pulled out a fairly large container holding white pills. He poured a large handful of them and gazed intently at me.\n\nThis was a new low for John. We pushed through it all before, his troubles with the law, his troubles with drugs. But losing him forever? Losing the boy I had grown up with for so long? What I would miss the most was his music. In a cruel world that had given John nothing but misery, music was where he found solace, in his melodic plucking that vibrated my heartstrings.\n\nThe prospect of life without John was simply too much for me. I gazed back at him as I poured a handful, and then we both swallowed the pills. And then John smiled. And I smiled back.", "\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things,\" the young man, marred by dust and sweat and brutal truths, said to his companion as he took her hand. The verdant green eyes that stared back at him housed the conflict of joy pitted against sadness all enchained within acceptance.\n\nIn what felt like another world, a wall showered its masonry into the room as a beam the size of a tree toppled into it. The ceiling had caved in, the adjoining room broke its way into theirs, and the flames that had scoured their way through the town reached the last sanctuary of these two lovers. Here, now, though, all these two knew was each other: the coolness of their hands in each other's; the way their faces were framed by the light; the warmth of their breath as they leaned in for a final kiss.\n\n*\"Cut!\"* the director bellowed from the side of the stage. \"That's great! Let's clean up and then we can call it a day.\"", "You picked me. I was content in the water with my friends and the pale pink faces that occasionally pressed themselves up against the glass to watch me. There was the castle and the little man who couldn't breathe. There was the smooth green bottom with stones spotted with white. Still, something was missing. I dreamed of endless water and rocks any color but green. \n\nYou came and pressed your face against the glass. You pointed and I was lifted up higher than I can ever remember going. I can only think of the terror after. Of swimming and hitting a wall over and over again. You kept talking to me, though I couldn't understand what you said.\n\nI slept. Even when you spoke I slept. Then came the new home with the smaller castle and the little man who couldn't breathe. Then came the food so much food. I never had to share. I ate and I ate and I ate.\n\nWhen my belly was full and you tapped the glass to make me move I was glad you were with me. In the end. I was glad to swim in different water and have a place of my own.", "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. When we met, you were one of the first few not to leave in disgust. Where others looked with contempt you viewed with hope. When I grew, you were the one of the few who wasn't fearful of both my safety and my 'peers' that I socialized with. When we grew apart, you were the only one to care, and cry. When I was labeled a failure, you were the one to testify. When I presented my partner, you were the one who was happy instead of shocked. When the harlot died and took my offspring with her in the emergency room you were the one who did not look upon me with fury when I was monotone and collected. When they said juvenile sociopath you said misunderstood. When I became a recluse you were the only one who did not rejoice. Out of my entire family, you were the one not remorseful over my existence. Dearest mother. Was it pride? Denial? Arrogance even? Is mother's love truly your ally, not your toxin? You called it love, yet I saw sentimentality. I admit, I never truly loved you. I loved the food given, not the affection. I loved the materials and housing, not the provider. You just want your little bastard boy to be a bright understandable happy man? Then for once in your life do something right, and help me finish tying this noose.", " \"What are you doing here!?\" Johnny demanded. \n\n\"The same thing as you, Johnny.\" Replied Jake as he closed the door to his car, \"I'm here to see things through to the end.\" Johnny felt some resentment in seeing his longtime friend showing up here on the hill before the bombs dropped.\n\n“Idiot” Johnny smiled and shook his head, “You should be with the others in Naptown where it’s safe. There’s nothing to see here but the fiery end of birthplace…..our home.”\n\n“You think you’re the only one who is worthy enough to go with our tiny hamlet?” Jake climbed the hill to be on the same ground as his companion. Johnny started to understand and was at ease that his friend did show up. “You’re not the only one, Johnny. Every citizen of Sanctum fought tooth and bone to avoid this. I was right there next to you as we made our stand! And I’ll be damned if some brat as yourself will be the only one that see’s their cradle of dreams go up in flames!” \n\nJohnny couldn't help but feel the emotions behind each word of his dear friend and how they two were one and the same to this struggle. The humdrum of the fighter planes grew louder. The sound of inevitable death shouted beyond the hills.\n\n“Jake. Even though they drop the bombs and burn us to bits.” Johnny smiled, “ I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"\n", "A tear rolled down my cheek as a weak smile crossed my lips. \n\nMy father laid before me in his hospital bed. The former marine. The former body builder. The former larger than life, barrel chested, gregarious man’s man looked up at me with glassy eyes. Dad had finally conceded to the disease he had battled for the past few years.\n\nHis once tree trunk arms had dwindled to twigs. Tan skin was now pale and sallow. Dad’s face was sunken and, for the first time I could remember, his eyes showed doubt and... *fear*. He was about to die and he knew it. He tried to speak but the oxygen mask muffled his words. Leaning over, I slid the mask down and put my ear to his mouth.\n\n“Thank you for coming,” Dad wheezed, “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.” I looked at him as he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.” Nodding, I replaced the mask.\n\n“I love you, Dad. The past is the past and I am here for you,” I lied. Maybe I was weak or maybe I was being compassionate in comforting him. But it worked as he visibly relaxed.\n\nI squeezed his hand.\n\nAs much as I still wanted to scream and punch the man for what he had done to me as a child, I could not because now he was helpless and defenseless and alone. And that was the difference between Dad and me.", "I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\nI know you're not actually here, but it feels like you are. It feels like you should be. Then again, maybe you shouldn't. \nI'm not really sure why I'm ending it. It just feels like something’s missing, or there’s something too much. Something out of place, or something just the way it should be. Does that make sense? I'm sorry. \nI've been saying that a lot lately. “I’m sorry”. People don’t think I mean it when I say it, but I really do. People don’t trust me, and people don’t see what I see, or feel what I feel. I really am sincere though. I just feel guilty about everything, you know? Guilty about what I did to you, what I'm doing to you, and what I'm doing to myself. \nAnd I truly am sorry. I didn't want it to turn out like this. I guess some things are out of our control. \nThank you for everything. Thank you for being there, even when I wasn't entirely. Thank you for putting up with me, for taking me back. Thank you for all the tears you've shed and the laughs you've laughed, for me and with me. Thank you for the memories, and thank you for the memories yet to come. \nMaybe in the next life things will turn out better for me. And for you. You deserve as much. \nI'm so sorry. I really am.", "I’m sorry I got so old, on ya’, Jack. The arthritis made me too slow to get out and play with you much the way we did when you were just a boy, but my god, did we have fun in those days. Every last one of these aches, every cataract, was earned living the best life a boy could give me, and a better life than I could’ve asked for myself. Naw, Jack, don’t feel bad- I know you’re not tryin’ to hurt me. Buck up, buddy. You gave me sunshine, new-cut grass, squirrels to terrorize. We played catch for hours, back then, just you ‘n’ me. I wouldn’t trade any second of it for anythin’. \n\n\nAnd lookit you! You’re bigger now, and there will be others you’ll love. It won’t be the same, naw; I won’t lie to you there. But it’ll be love, and it’ll be good. You were a good boy to me, Jack, and you’ll be good to them, too. Try not to let yourself be too lonely, okay?\n\n\nI get what you’re doing- you don’t think I wouldn’t understand the way it’s harder to breathe? And you know I’d never’ve asked you to stay with me through this, not when I can smell the tears you wouldn’t let me lick off your face… but now that I’m here on this cold steel table… I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Jack, I can die knowing I was a good dog. \n", "I knew it was going to be you. \n\nYou promised her velvet for her birthday, but with such an ambiguous malice that even I did not notice. I'm amazed at how planned out your impulses are.\n\nI knew it was going to come to this.\n\nRibbons on the porcelain; you've always had a thing for aesthetics. Although this lacks your typical symmetry I can still call it art. There's no music in this piece.\n\nI wish I could say that you've ruined me, but I know my worth. You were both the greatest and worst thing to ever happen to me. Ambivalence be damned.\n\nRegardless, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. There was never a destiny, only a retreat. \n\nIt is sufficiently cold now, afloat in this river. I always knew you'd be the one to push me in.... i...", "“Well my knee fuckin’ hurts.” I heard Joe complaining over my shoulder.\n\n“Which knee?”\n\nA short silence, “Well my elbow fuckin’ hurts then.”\n\n“Quit your complaining and get ready,” I shot back.\n\n“Don’t tell me how to live my life Jake.”\n\n“Well you’ve got two minutes left. Who knows, maybe you can convince Jake to suck you off before…”\n\n“Fuck you Matt,” Joe snorted.\n\n“Hey I’m just saying. I know how you and Jake cuddled the other night after that swim down river.”\n\nJoe cut me him off before he could finish, “Hey I was nearly bled out back there and he did it to save my life. It don’t count if it’s to save your buddy!”\n\nI gave Joe a sly wink and a smile, “Oh come on baby, I thought we had something special.”\n\n“Fuck you too then!” he said trying to hide his smile. Matt laughed from across the room but was cut short by two blasts. Feet shuffled down the hall. We could hear the enemy commanders shouting orders to line up. This was it.\n\nI looked into the eyes of my friends. They stared back at me from underneath layers of dirt, blood and sweat. I think I even saw a fresh line of tears fall down Matt’s cheek.\n\n“Well boys, this is it. Nothing in my life has been a greater privilege than to simply know you. Of all the people in the world, I’m glad I am here with you, at the end of all things.”\n\nWe huddled together in the back of the room and waited for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the door burst open. I closed my eyes, squeezed the plunger, and dreamed of home.\n\n\nA little bit over but whatever, fuck da police.\n", "I was still awake pacing my heartbeat to the tempo of her breathing as she dreams. At times I forget what it once was like to sleep peacefully at night, but I know that she knows and if I can remember in the morning I’ll ask her. She’ll laugh quietly and say, “oh Dave,” but never really answer me because she likes to dream during the day as well. Dream that things have not become what they are. Dream that she didn’t have to learn stick shift to drive me to hospitals, that our kids weren’t across the world, that our neighbors weren’t too curious about the bushes growing over the line into their yard, and that the words the doctors used were words that didn’t really exist and none of this was real, just a temporary nightmare. \n \nWe sit beside each other in green clothed chairs in a quiet room at the end of a hallway people walk down but never up, because this is a place people go to but never come from. “Dave hunny?” I place the magazine in my hands in my lap and look at her, “yes darling?” \n \n“Where did I go wrong?” The sort of question asked with vulnerability like that of a nineteen year old bride reciting vows once and for all. \n \n“Oh. Love. You never went wrong.” I slip my hand onto hers to maybe rewind time. “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”\n", "*I'm late, I don't care! First time posting.*\n\n\nBefore them lay devastation. The land burnt and charred, the air filled with remains of smoke and ash. From atop the desolate hill they could see all. The city had fallen, numerous lives were taken. This was the final battle of every battle the human race has waged. This was a battle they were not destined to win. Fate, a higher being, or the earth itself had long since laid this prophecy. Humans were too much like a plague. Like a rapid spreading forest fire, waiting to burn itself out. This was the final inkling of that fire. Their eyes rise to look at the bloody horizon. She reaches out and laces her fingers with his, both their hands caked in dirt and ash. \n\n\n Turning her head, she looks at him one last time, her eyes searching. In this final moment she saw things in him she never seen before, such as the specks of gold in his blue eyes, or the faint scar on his light bronze skin. He too looked back at her and drank in those beautiful angelic features of hers. Her long almost white blonde hair spilled over her shoulders. Her bright green eyes captivated him, even now. His heart ached to be thinking this was their goodbye. Pulling her to him, her body molding against his perfectly as it always has, he kisses her. The kiss was full of intensity, emotions, things he could never say and never will. A bright light cracked through the smoke, and slowly it became blinding. Leaning towards her he holds her tight and whispers into her ear. *\"I’m glad you're here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"* Those final words faded away as they both vanished into oblivion.\n", "Gary was a right cock aching for a cockfight, stumbling about the building bossing the neighbours. Rog, who once wanted to start a shop with Gary, now wouldn't tell him the time of day over a parking space; Ms Darling kept the light on all night should Gary start popping from the shadows.\n\nTo me, Gary said he would kill my dog. My first impulse was a left jab, right cross but then he'd have me for assault. I love that dog. One thing keeping me from dreaming about my former job was Jack curling up on my legs, softly snoring. Can you call the coppers over a dog?\n\nSo I punched myself, spat out a tooth and reported him for that.\n\nMs Darling came to tell me how very, very good it was someone finally stood up to him. “You could have knocked him out like Mary's husband when Gary scratched their car, but this is much cleverer!” Gary was an idiot at court and ended up owing me. Had to close his little cleaning shop.\n\nNow Gary and I stare down each other when we meet, but there's no fight left in either. I wish I could invite him for a drink, and thank him for showing me what we are. Cornered rats. But I can't, so I drink alone.\n\n\"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things,\" I tell Jack. He looks at me with his sclerotic eyes and tries to wag.\n\n**EDIT:** wrote this without looking at other entries, and now I see I inadvertently plagiarized kickingturkies' idea. I'd be sorry to delete it, but I accept the blame - and disqualification.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n", "In the distance, smoke roils from the dying embers of civilization. We long since fled that place, knowing not what our future held. All we have is each other now.\n\nI turn to look at you. Your auburn hair fans out across your back, as you peacefully sleep through the death of humanity. Your face is serene, as you dream of better days long past, days to which we can never return.\n\nA distant explosion stirs you, but you do not awake, so deeply slumbering as you are. I caress your hair, knowing that today would be our final day. I consider waking you to say goodbye, but I decide against it. Better to spare you the pain. For even now, I can feel the acrid smoke constricting my airways, slowly choking my life away. My eyes close for the final time.\n\nI shall miss you, my love, my dear, my Isabelle. You were my everything, my very soul. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\n\n\n\n", "\"I am glad that you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.\"\n\n\"But that doesn't change things,\" she states. It's no question and if it was, I couldn't answer it very well.\n\n\"Not at all. I still want to die.\" We're silent for a few minutes. \"We used to love each other, you know? Not even being in love, I'm just talking about the kind of kinship you feel when you can lie on someone's shoulder and just stay quiet. No need for talking; talking does not rid solitude. But we did.\"\n\n\"I don't understand why you want to. Why any of this happened to you, why you've already chosen when there are other ways.\"\n\n\"There are always other ways, but most of all, I don't want to live. There's no hope for me.\"\n\nShe glares. \"I fell in love with you! How can you...how can you say that?\" She's whimpering now, her eyes still fixed on me, crying.\n\n\"Darling, you have a kind heart. Much too much for me. I never deserved your love.\"\n\nShe sniffles, the only sound she makes. \"I just..I never wanted you to die.\"\n\nI scoff harshly. \"Me neither. But you've proven to me there is no hope for things ever turning right.” She took my hand in hers and she kissed my cheek, but in the end she did not try to stop me.\n\nShe was the only one whom I had ever loved, and she knew why I died.", "He closed his eyes to create a more desirable atmosphere for his final moments. A blinding sandstorm accompanied with the overtones of gunfire wasn’t what he had in mind. He strained to conjure an image of his wife and baby girl who had not yet entered the dark world that would take him. \n\nIt was impossible to concentrate. An ear-shattering explosion forced his eyes open. In front of him was a Humvee engulfed in flames.\n\n“Come on, dammit” he murmured. The shrapnel lodged in his neck caused him to spit up blood when he spoke. He mustered his last bit of strength to force his eyes shut.\n\nHe reached into his mind once again, this time concentrating on a memory. It had to be a vivid memory; one that he could recall in the direst of circumstances. While the consequences of human greed and ignorance engulfed him, he focused on the happiest moment of his life.\n\nHer light blue eyes gazed back at him. Her dark flowing hair contrasted perfectly with the whiteness of her gown. He vividly recalled every detail on her. From the embroidery on her dress to the color of her nails, he was reliving the day once more. She was surrounded by bright light. He could not recreate the entire memory under such duress but it did not matter to him. Nothing that day mattered -- nothing except her. \n\nHer mouth moved but only the brutal sounds of war came out. He struggled to recall the soothing tone of her voice but the mental focus required was too taxing for an already exhausted mind. The light began to shine brighter. He still wasn’t satisfied.\n\nHe pulled his wife toward him and hugged her as hard as he could. He could feel the subtleness of her curves against his hands. He could smell the strawberry scent she had on her hair that day. As she gradually became more vivid, the grip on his own life was fading. He knew death was near. The light began to overpower the vision.\n\nHe leaned his head on her shoulder and whispered “I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things.”\n\nShe looked up at him and smiled. Her face was fading into the whiteness. As all became light, he heard her voice.\n\n“This isn’t the end.” \n", "Thank you. \n\nYou’ve been with me through everything. You’ve let me talk to you. You were okay with me crying when I needed to let it all out. You always understood when I wasn’t okay.\n\nWhen I was broken you were there. When I was sad you listened to me rant. When everybody else left me for forsaken and wanted nothing to do with me, you stayed.\n\nI know that you don’t always understand *why* I’m sad or angry. I know you may not understand how much you mean to me, and maybe you never will. I know that you might just be here for the food and the shelter, and that you’re only a dog to most people. But to me, you’ve been part of the world, and it make me sad to think that you’ll be gone. But still, I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. \n\nAnd even though I don’t usually know much and I’m usually unsure, I do know that I love you.", "Eight minutes. For taking a shower? The high end of average. Plus some change, Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. Toaster to tongue, two pieces of buttered toast. Right now? Might as well be eternity.\n\n\nEight minutes. The time it takes transmissions from Earth to reach me, and for my messages to reach Earth. The time it would take for you to know, sitting at your desk staring at a little blip on a big screen, that something’s wrong. \n\n\nEight minutes. Not enough time to tell my wife she has two hearts, and I just hold one. Not enough time to tell my son to laugh, and love life, or to tell my mom that it won’t hurt.\n\n\nYes I’m sitting in a tin can, high above our world. The air is running out, and there’s nothing I can do. I don’t know you, but I know you’re there, know you’ll read this very soon. Thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for hoping, praying, doing whatever you may be doing. I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. \n\n\nEight minutes. The time it’ll take for you to get this. Less than the time it will take for me to suffocate. Think of me, just for a moment, please. It’s lonely out here.\n", "My own skin was growing thin, but I was still a young man, younger than the man who was propped up before me. His breaths came in shallow, the hollow rattle of an old chest. One hand clutched feebly the blanket to keep him warm. I traced the veins up his arm with my eyes, I could remember him years before, a much bigger man than he had wasted away to.\n\nHis lips, thin and dry, cracked into a smile. His words were soft, but unlike the rest of him, his mind was still young and strong. \"You never were much help in the hard moments\" he said. \"Always too quiet, never knowing what to do with your hands. Not a good liar. You know things won't be alright, but you can't spare those who don't. Your face shows it.\" He smiled wider, his blue eyes complementing his smile. \"I'm glad you came.\"\n\nI looked away from his eyes, back to his thin, almost transparent hand. \"Dad, you knew I'd be here.\" I couldn't meet his gaze, not with the tears in my own eyes. \"I wish I wasn't.\" I sounded like the 13 year old kid who still cried to his parents at night, whose father would embrace him and tell him how much he loved him. I was still a child in front of this old man.\n\nHe continued to smile, \"I love you, and I am glad you are here with. Here at the end of all things.\" His hand reached up with a fragility reserved for the dead and dying. He grasped my hand and pulled me downward.\n\n I kissed his cheek and croaked out, \"I love you, too.\" With my other hand I flipped the switch. His breathing became quiet, his grip loosened. My tears stained his pillow, ran down my father's cheeks. \"I love you, too.\"", "A deep rending that reverberates across this vast, wretched sky. It fills my ears. It fills my bones. A sound so immense I can almost touch it. The very fabric of this universe is tearing under its own weight, and this is its swan song. Yet I can think of but one thing—it's strange that the breakings of the world aren't any louder.\n\nI used to hate you. I hated how easily you climbed the walls I'd built around myself. I hated how easily you could make me *feel*—how the softest brush of your fingers was enough to send me careening. I hated you because it was the only thing I knew how to do.\n\nI don't really know when that hate gave way to love. Was it a slow weathering? Or did you and your too-bright smile purify me in a single fleeting brilliance?\n\nMaybe neither happened. Maybe the hate's gone, but nothing's come to take its place. It's okay. I'd rather be empty, now, than full of darkness.\n\nI'm glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things. Though the requiem of creation itself resounds around us, all I can hear are the velveteen murmurings of your heart. Echoing softly in this empty breast." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 5, 5, 9, 10, 11, 90 ]

[ "1364142438", "1364156844", "1364157318", "1364172013", "1364176375", "1364178273", "1364178344", "1364179269", "1364181173", "1364154671", "1364190873", "1364194684", "1364152146", "1364154818", "1364142831", "1364159525", "1364139426", "1364145380", "1364151970", "1364187343" ]

[ "It wan’t something he’d planned – but for Matt, being alone on ‘Lovebahn’ was something new. Again, it wasn’t something he’d planned, but his girlfriends had always avoided it – all 2 of them. But, now, at 10 am, the street was changed. Harsh sunlight glinting off the shiny benches and shopfronts; Matt again noticed something again he hadn’t planned for – the smooching couple. It wasn’t odd enough that they were here on a school day, it was odder that they were almost translucent. He could see the shop behind and the bench beneath them. Hastily, entering the nearest shop, he avoided the shopkeeper’s jovial welcome and asked him if he could see them.\n\n“What? You see Joe & Sam kissing there? No one can see them but someone who is going to be lucky in love. Means you’re gonna find your love – today”.\n\n\nAnd that was when he bumped into Rachel.\n\n", "Twinkling shards of shattered glass scatter themselves upon the pavement at my feet. I stop jogging and take a second look. The small, glittering pebbles appear to be automobile glass. A piercing scream brings my attention to the center of the street. There lies an SUV, upside down, mangled to oblivion. Without pausing to wonder how it got there I dash for the driver side door. Shoppers and dog-walkers begin to form a crowd, several take pictures with their phones. I approach the vehicle where I find a confused man hanging by his seatbelt. Empty beer cans lie on the roof above his head. The onlookers shift and I move to see what they see. A bloody, torn body lies under the truck. I shout at the crowd to help me, but nobody moves. Only one person notices me, a tall man in black. The others ignore him as well.", "Sarah had read about Shadow People but never seen them for herself. From what she recalled, they came in pairs and were little more than illusions brought on by tired minds. And though she had imagined them as indistinct blobs or smudges of grey, when she first saw the shape in the corner of her left eye she was surprised by its refined, human form and the startling reality of it. It made everyone else's ignorance all the more impressive. Nobody in the park took note of the figure, despite its definition or the fact that it aligned perfectly with the ground, appeared to really be standing there – a convincing forced perspective. Then something was moving in her right eye, something dark. Then there was pain, the cold feel of metal through flesh. And only then did she remember they came in pairs. That they didn't like to be seen. " ]

[ 1, 2, 3 ]

[ "1365289521", "1365259845", "1365256921" ]

[ "The sails whuffled gently in the lackluster wind, very nearly in time with the lub dub of my heart. The doldrums I had been warned about; that I had snerked at, had engulfed me. There I sat with the pontoons gently thunking against the hull of my ship with a hypnotic rhythm. Slowly, I raised the binoculars to my eyes, hoping against hope to see another ship on the horizon. Suddenly, an infernal squawk filled the calm sea air, seemingly audible for miles. \"Seafarer 1, come in. Come in Seafarer 1\". My heard thumped against my breat, was this rescue? Was I saved?", "ta-ta-ta-tap. ta-ta-ta-tap. Her wine glass in her left hand greets her mouth for a drink, and her right hand keeps running marathons on the table. A beep of a car door being remotely locked causes her to jump. She is in a daze, he hasn't communicated in over three - ding - hours. The message reads 'Thomas just rolled himself over this morning!' and it isn't from her spouse, but her sister. Ever since she heard the slam of the door, she was frozen. He couldn't understand why her sister could have Thomas, and Jenna and David, and she couldn't even make one.", "Slam. A shiver runs up my spine and my heart thumps in my ears; It's the car door, and I know it's going to be awful by the way her footsteps are furiously crunching the gravel as she storms up the driveway. I wish I could hide, but that'll just make her angrier. I've tried it before, even escaped for a few hours hoping she would calm down but all it did was put her anger on simmer until I was close enough for her to hurl it at. I hear her stabbing her keys in the door and mumbling curses under her breath.The door smacks open with a terrifying whoosh and she's headed for me. I hear her growl my name and I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable and praying its over soon.", "I think I thought it'd be a big ol' boom! Sitting here in Asia, out of fucking no where (well, of course somewhere. I didn't stumble, unpaid, onto the plane or anything). But then I hear the same stupid click of heels on the marble—I guess that's an exception, sidewalks being marble instead of concrete—and the same fucking fashion and needless coyness and the slight bow 'cause we're all uncomfortable everywhere. The girls do giggle more than laugh, and the boys do, too. They definitely have thinner hair. The zoom of the mopeds is insanely loud, which is a difference from the American bubble I blew up in—the the cars were louder—but these are absolute trifles. Maybe I lack the integrity to have culture shock. I just...I wish I got the hiccup in the way of thinking that I was looking for. I just wish I got that boom." ]

[ 1, 2, 3, 8 ]

[ "1365908421", "1365905054", "1365892734", "1365892569" ]

[ "Florida man accidentally secedes his state from the Union, no one complains.", "Just saying I thought this was funny since I'm from Scotland and this could happen quite soon.", "A few years ago, I woulda never thought that Idaho would actually try to secede from the other States, but there came a time when I knew it was necessary. All the people ‘round us were tryin’ to force their fancy new ways upon us, with their robots that could make you dinner and cars that could drive for you. It just wasn’t American. It just ain’t right. \n\nNow, of course, there was other states that left with us. Nevada, Wyoming, and Montana all joined together with us. We called ourselves the Western Four, for now. We hadn’t made anything official yet, but there’d been talk of a meeting. For now, though, I was on watch duty. I even got the best spot; I got to watch Canada. You see, if I was watchin’ Utah or Oregon, I’d’ve had a hard time shootin’ an American comin’ to attack us. Those guys up north weren’t even Americans, so I’d be fine picking ‘em off. Heck, I couldn’t see why we hadn’t declared war on Canada yet. It’s not like they’d resist. We could just say “Please can we have your land?” and they’d say, “Sorry for the inconvenience,” and hand some right over. \n\nYellow-necked sonsabitches. \n\nI’m writin’ this piece for Idaho’s new paper. All the news types left when they heard about us secedin’; they didn’t want to be caught up in no war. So now I was Newspaper editor. I gotsa fancy pen and a title on a desk. I don’t really know what to say, so I’mma just gonna write my thoughts while I’m guarding our sweet lil new country.\n\n(Just wanted to say that I'm not trying to stereotyping or make a [FAE](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_attribution_error), but there are some people in Idaho that are like this. I would know because I live in it.)\n\nEdit: Just wanted to point out to OP that the correct word for a territory's separation from its government would be to *secede*, but if they did this well, then they'd *succeed*.", "When the citizens of Indiana went to sleep last night, they were Americans. This morning when they woke up, they belonged to a new country. This bizarre event was made possible by, of all things, an innocent clerical error. A resolution concerning farm subsidies passed by the Indiana legislature had erroneously included a clause separating the state from the union. According to sources in the state government, an intern had inserted that clause as a joke. However, that addition was not spotted during deliberations. Nor was it caught in when it passed through the State House of Representatives. Or the State Senate. Or the Governor's desk.\n\nNormally this measure would require a popular vote. The unanimous passage, however, overrules that requirement, meaning that the secession is valid. State officials scrambled to correct their mistake, but by then it was too late. In order to regain statehood, the state legislature would need to draft a special ballot measure approved by 2/3 majority that would then need to be approved by a majority of voters. The earliest that the voting could take place is next November. Even that would only shift the action to the United States Congress which would then need to approve statehood for Indiana.\n\nAlready though, there are obstacles for the Hoosier state. Currently, their departure opens up additional seats in the House of Representatives, seats that the Democrats are eager to reassign or even see removed entirely. The state historically has been a shoo in for GOP candidates, the notable exception being 2012 when comments by GOP Senatorial candidate Robert Mourdock about rape derailed his campaign and gave the election to Democrat Joe Donnelly.\n\nAlso in the way are the voters themselves. Take Anderson, IN resident Connie Young for example. \"What has the US ever done for us,\" she asks. \"Higher taxes, massive debt. We're better off on our own.\" One of Indiana's largest employers, pharmaceutical giant Eli Lilly, has lobbied the state to suspend actions to regain statehood. Secession lifts the burden imposed by the Healthcare Reform Act, saving the company billions.\n\nAround the rest of the country, opinions are mixed. Many are claiming that the country is better off without them or at least treat the issue with indifference. In fact, the only people actively lobbying for the state to regain statehood are racing fans. The Powell family from Covington, KY, just across the Ohio River from Indiana bemoan the fact that they now need passports in order to attend the Indy 500, one of the largest racing events in the country. They have attended every Indy 500 for the past 22 years. But this year, they will need to negotiate with the US State Department in order to keep their tradition alive.\n\nIt is uncertain whether or not Indiana will rejoin the United States and if they will be welcomed back. Whatever happens, though, for the next several months at least, Indiana is it's own nation.", "Not to be a douche, but it's \"seceded.\"", "So, what I was trying for was a Wikipedia feel. When I have more time, I might revisit this and add hyperlinks as if it were a regular Wikipedia entry. Or not. You be the judge.\n\n________________________________\nFrom http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas. Wikipedia (2033). Retrieved June 16, 2034.\n\n**Texas**, officially known as The Republic of Texas, is a constitutional republic located in central North America. Situated between the United States of America and the United Mexican States, Texas consists of the former US states of Texas, Oklahoma and Louisiana, although in early 2013 the state of Arkansas expressed interest in secession from the United States and annexation by Texas.\n\nTexas is notable primarily for its economy, which is dependent on agriculture and on the oil & gas industry. Texas is the 10th-largest economy in the world, having surpassed Canada, India, and Italy and is the first Western member of OPEC.\n\n.\n.\n.\n\n\n**HISTORY**\n_____________\n*Main Article: History of Texas*\n\n.\n.\n.\n\n**Secession**\n\n*Main Article: Second Texas Revolution*\n\nAfter the 2016 United States Presidential Election, in which former Texas Governor Rick Perry won the popular vote but failed to secure key electoral victories in New York, New England, Florida, California, and the Upper Midwest, the movement for Texas secession, which had been a vocal minority in the state for several decades, began to grow increasingly popular. Several petitions were submitted to the newly elected President Joseph Biden's administration via the whitehouse.gov website requesting that Texas be allowed to secede from the Union.\n\nThe Biden administration dismissed these petitions as frivolous, and Texans began in greater numbers to perceive that they had been \"snubbed\" by the United States, citing other recent controversies such as the unexpected closure of NASA's Johnson Space Center and the Space Shuttle affair as well as the United States' soft immigration policies.\n\nIn 2019, following a series of highly publicized protests and a march on Washington DC, the Texas Legislature met for a legislative session which would culminate in the drafting and approval of an Article of Secession as well as a new Constitution of the Republic of Texas.\n\nThe largely conservative Texas secessionists were met with opposition in their own state by residents of more liberal areas like Austin, which, as the state capital, saw a number of protests and counter-protests staged, not a few of which turned violent.\n\nIn response, the United States deployed units of the Army National Guard and Air National Guard to Texas in an attempt to restore peace and quell the secession movement. This lead to what would later be called the \"Second Texas Revolution,\" which was in actuality a brief series of skirmishes in which members of the Texas Department of Public Safety and local police and sheriff's departments successfully caused the National Guard units to stand down and withdraw from the State.\n\nAs a result, the legislatures of the neighboring states of Louisiana and Oklahoma, responding to their citizens' emapthy with the Texan cause, quickly passed their own Articles of Secession, and both states sent envoys to Texas to discuss annexation and alliance.\n\nThis led, in February of 2020, to the pivotal Hill Country Summit in Austin in which representatives from Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, and the United States met to discuss the issue. The US representatives entered the talks with the intention of unilaterally bringing the three seceding states back into the Union, but after several weeks of intense negotiations, the US finally ceded to what would become the Republic of Texas, in exchange for certain preferential economic and diplomatic terms (*see: US/Texan Relations*) and a swift but peaceful transition.\n\nOn October 1, 2020, the transition officially began, with the United States withdrawing all of its offices, agencies, and personnel (allowing those who wished to remain and take Texas citizenship to do so). The transition took just over a year, including negotiation of sale and/or transfer of federal properties to Texas. \n\nOn January 1, 2022, the Republic of Texas was officially recognized as a sovereign nation by the United States of America. Soon after, Texas applied for recognition by and membership in the United Nations. \n\n**Post-Secession**\n\n*Main Article: Post-Secession Texas*\n______________________________________\n\n\n\n", "First they tried to take our guns. Then they tried to make us all get gay married to each other. Man, I don't know how to accessorize or get my hair to stand up with that gel. I got sensitive ears and it goops over the top of them which makes me nauseous.\n\nSo me and Bubba went into the woods with Jack and his brother, T-Jack, and we planned an overthrowing of the government. Which is a lot harder than it seems. Mostly we burned buildings that looked important until there was nothing left but a few shacks on the bayou. People tried to stop us at first. Then some joined in because we promised we'd use the fire to make a big barbeque. And some joined in because we promised they wouldn't have to marry other men. Mostly people wanted to shoot their guns in the air and burn things. We were good with that.\n\nTook a couple of years for the government to agree to give us Louisiana. Hell, we originally wanted all of the Louisiana purchase land but Bubba said that was too greedy. We settled for what we had and were happy with it. Got all that oil money now so we're getting drunk with that.\n\nA bunch of us have reality tv-shows now. People like to watch us argue and hunt things and argue some more. My cousin Jenny Ann has a show about living with her fifteen husbands (women are way scarcer now) and she lives in a great big wood house.\n\nIt's pretty nice now. Still...\n\nSometimes at night, Bubba holds me close in our tent. For warmth. And I think that getting gay married wouldn't have been quite so bad. We're the same size so we'd have doubled our wardrobes. Two Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirts. Woulda been nice.\n\nI'm just assuming this is what eventually happens to Louisiana. >_>", "AL.com\n\n8:17 pm | May 2, 2013 | Marimbro\n\n**Breaking News: Alabama Legislature Approves Secession Bill, Sends to Washington**\n\nIn a move [not wholly unprecedented](https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/peacefully-grant-state-alabama-withdraw-united-states-america-and-create-its-own-new-government/2TvhJSSC) by anybody really, the Alabama legislature approved a request for peaceful secession from the United States on Thursday evening. The White House will immediately be notified and the bill forwarded to them, Gov. Robert Bentley stated.\n\n\"I believe this is what Alabamians really want,\" Bentley told AL.com. \"A place we can call truly our own, without the interference of a corrupt federal government. A place where we will always have the right to bear arms. As the leader of this new nation, I will do all in my power to return Alabama to a simpler, more moral time. The Republic of Alabama will be what America was supposed to be. *Roll tide!*\"\n\nAccording to sources within the legislature, Bentley will be the interim President of the new Republic of Alabama. He expects to meet with some level of opposition from Washington, even including military interference, but is optimistic that it will be minimal before the U.S. recognizes Alabama -- \"they'll be glad to get rid of us.\"\n\nReports are also circulating that the state of Texas has assured the Republic of Alabama military assistance if it becomes necessary." ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 5, 7 ]

[ "1367543971", "1367541956", "1367542775", "1367545493", "1367550292", "1367551886", "1367546275", "1367543824" ]

[ "Light from the nuclear activity traveling at the fastest known speeds for near 8 minutes, 92 million miles, striking the giant rocky sphere circling the earth, redirecting to go 230,000 miles through the crack in my blinds, directly into my eye woke me in the middle of the night; as the light from the full moon peered in at me.\n\nMy normal city dwelling, a third story apartment, was usually complete noise on all six sides of its small cube shape. Tonight was different, something was different. The electrical hum of the city had disappeared , the electrical buzz running all around me was silent, the white noise of the city traffic was nonexistent. There was no thumping, creaking and cracking of adjacent neighbors relentless pacing, the city was silent, the city was asleep.\n\nI peered over at my alarm clock to see the time, it was then I realized I was amidst a city wide power outage. The life blood of the city had temporarily stopped flowing. I gazed out my tiny bedroom window into the city to see the darkened buildings crowding the horizon, down to the street to only be illuminated by the moons white clean light- as the normal yellow glow of the street lights , decided to take a holiday. All was still. \n\nI only had a moment to take the city as mine, only these few minutes before the hearts back up generators kicked on and brought everything back to life. I grabbed a dirty hoodie sweatshirt and closest shoes to accompany my plaid pajama pants, as my protective armor as I began my city adventure.\n\nEach step taken, echoed down the normally busy stairway of the compound I called home. Every door groaned as if I too had awoken them from their deep slumber, each allowing me closer and closer to this hibernating city.\n\nI stepped into the fresh air of the silent city, I was an explorer from the distant future who had stumbled upon a dead civilization, empty structures next to empty streets, all under a humble glow of the natural moon light. I ventured forth, unknown of my destination, the means were the ends, it was to see how much of this lifeless city I could see. Every step seemed to ricochet from building to building, in a crisp echo, throughout the corridored city. I could hear my breathing, in rhythm with my step - something even the most seasoned city dwellers do not get to experience, to hear the simple sound of life. \n\nWithin a few blocks I had found a gap within the buildings, an opening to space. I stopped and sat on the paved sidewalk, elbows on my knees, and gazed up. The lack of the city light pollution allowed the stars to shine, as if I was in a desolated planet - the stars shined as bright as the building lights once did. I sat in silence.\n\nThen like a choreographed light show, with the percussions of the university marching band - The city became alive. With each beat of the drum, another building lit up, sporadically one by one, the giant structures of this baron civilization began to buzz and hum with lights. I found myself under a street light, in a city in the middle of the night, dressed in nothing but my pajamas. \n\nI looked up where I could faintly see the full moons light shining through the city's glow, and I knew this city was no longer mine, it was time to go back to the comfort of my home.\n", "The searchlights have stopped. That means that the helicopters have finally stopped searching for me. I crawl forth from under my spruce. I gaze up at the sky. It's a bit cloudy, but the stars are there. I finally got to see the sky. Drops of water trickle down through the fir. It's not raining anymore. I smile. ", "The world is still sleeping,\n\nI am awake.\n\nThe people still slumber.\n\n---\n\nThe streets are dark,\n\nThe sun is not risen,\n\nThe moon still whispers to me softly.\n\n---\n\nThe world is silent,\n\nI am silent.\n\nThe world is calm,\n\nI am calm.\n\n---\n\nI was awoken for this escape,\n\nRamblings will come later,\n\nBut for now I wait.", "I got up around something like 3 am. It wasn't insomnia. My sleep schedule had just been really screwed up lately with the weird hours at work. I tried rolling over a few times, adjusted my bunched-up boxers, but there was that level of mental clarity where you know you're not getting back to sleep. I got out of bed and pulled on some jogging pants. I don't jog but they are the de facto lazy piece of clothing.\n\nI walked down stairs with the intention of making coffee but I realized that Stevie had used the last of it when he crashed on my couch a few days ago. We graduated college together and since then he's been making rounds across the country. Mooching off of anybody from the old crowd who would house him for a few days. I decided I didn't have anything else to and there was no point going back to bed so I pulled on some shoes to walk down to the 24/7 corner store run by that old Lebanese couple. As I was walking through the kitchen to the front door I saw that the electronic clock display on the microwave was blank. Oven too. I tried flipping the light switch a couple times. Nothing happened.\n\n\"Blackout,\" I thought and I was perfectly comfortable with it. The constant assumption that you have shitty luck may not be the most reassuring thing in the world but it helps in taking things like this in stride. I finished getting ready to go out. Going down to the corner shop would at least determine whether it was just my place that was without power or if it was the whole neighborhood.\n\nWalking down the block I was able to enjoy how quiet and peaceful everything felt. If there was a blackout everyone must be asleep and not have realized it since I would think that there would be at least a couple people with flashlights trying to figure out what had happened.\n\nI made it to the store to find it locked and dark. I was a little annoyed by that just since I had no idea what I was going to do for the next four hours when I had to leave for work. It was about ten minutes to walk back to my house and although nothing odd was happening it did seem strange that I had seen no one about. Not even a car driving by. I dismissed it. Probably nothing more than the early hour and people staying home worried about the blackout. I'd been through a blackout once before in a major city. I had stayed in my apartment during the entire time and nothing bad had happened to me but I remember the sounds of sirens and commotion coming in from another part of the city. There was none of that here but I told myself that was probably normal for a small town.\n\nAs I turned a corner and looked down my street I stopped suddenly realizing something so out of place that it was no wonder I hadn't noticed it before.\n\nThere were no cars anywhere. All the driveways were empty. Everything else remained perfectly in place as though the entire neighborhood had collectively decided to up and go, deserting everything. I suddenly felt very alone.\n\nI walked up to my neighbor's door and rapped my fist on it a few times. I wasn't too concerned about waking him up. He worked as an EMT and tended to keep odd hours, much like me. Although I'd be embarrassed if I ended up disturbing anyone nearby I was silently hoping someone would come out and yell at me. Knowing somebody else was around would probably get rid of this panicky feeling that was building in my gut.\n\nI knocked a few more times and when there was no answer I tried the door expecting it to be locked. It wasn't. I stepped inside and shouted out. \"JIM!\"\n\nThere was just silence. I shouted again, \"Jim I'm coming into your place! The door was unlocked!\"\nI walked around his tiny living room. It was dark due to the blackout but nothing looked disturbed or broken and all of Jim's stuff was there. I don't know why I was looking for signs of a burglary but I was hoping that some detail would explain what hap happened.\n\nI walked to the back of the house. The bedroom door was open and no one was inside. Again everything looked normal, as though someone had just been there. I went back out the front door.\nThe house next to Jim's was locked but the one across the street wasn't and it was the same situation. Everything looked normal but there were no people.\n\nI went back to my place and just sat in the living room. Wondering what to do. After some time I pulled out my phone and attempted to call 911. I tried to think of how I would explain this to an operator. They'd probably just think I was crazy. After all, everybody being outside of their homes and having their doors unlocked doesn't necessarily constitute an emergency does it?\n\nThe phone rang about 12 times before I tried calling it again. There was no answer. I tried the police station with the same results. And the fire station. I put the phone down and stepped outside thinking that maybe I could see the glow of lights from another neighborhood or a nearby town. Something to indicate that I wasn't quite alone.\n\nIt was just a black night's sky as far as I could see. I stayed there for a little longer with the same thoughts. Wondering what I should do. Then I did see a light. It wasn't nearby, it was on the horizon. I thought it must be later than I realized for the sun to be coming up but it was rising faster than I had ever seen a sunrise and the light wasn't the mellow glow of a sunrise. It had the harsh glare of floodlights. I was afraid and looked away from it. It seemed to rapidly get closer and closer until I was covered in it. Then, even behind my closed eyes I saw a great light. And then I was gone.", "It's rare for me to rise before the sun. Usually, I stare through the red glow of my alarm clock until my mounting frustration at being awake lulls me back to sleep. It didn't work this time. Instead, my annoyance became fire beneath my feet, giving me the most odd sensation of needing to run somewhere.\n\nI dusted off my running shoes, found my old wristwatch, and put on my admittedly tight-fitting jogging clothes. As soon as I stepped outside, I took a deep breath. The air was cold for a summer morning, and my nostrils tingled with each heave of my chest. I started off at an easy pace, feeling the dew from my lawn hit my calves. Almost immediately, I was gasping as if I had run a marathon. To save my sanity (as well as my run), I tuned out to the world around me.\n\nIt wasn't until the path sidled up to the river that life came back into focus. And, though I'm ashamed to admit it, the background scenery had nothing to do with it. On a bench made from a fallen log sat a girl with caramel-colored hair. It was her smile that shifted my focus from my footfalls to her face. Not to say girls don't grin my way from time to time, but usually it's just out of courtesy due to accidental eye-contact. This woman, however, seemed genuinely happy to see me. It was as if she had waited every morning in hope that I would come loping around the corner.\n\nReady to rest yet continuing my proactive streak, I decided to sit next to her (just not too close, as I was sweaty).\n\n\"Hi! I'm Annie,\" she said with a grin.\n\n\"I'm..... Alan....\" I spurted out between gasping breaths.\n\n\"Good morning, Alan. How's the jog?\"\n\n\"Difficult yet satisfying, as always.\"\n\n\"Aren't all satisfying things rather difficult?\"\n\n\"Sitting on this bench was both easy and satisfying, so I'm inclined to disagree.\"\n\nShe wrinkled her nose and giggled. \"Been a while, huh?\"\n\n\"Long enough... So I must ask, why are you sitting here?\"\n\n\"I'm just waiting on the sun,\" she said, looking toward the horizon where the sky was beginning to brighten. \"It seems rather hesitant this morning.\"\n\n\"With such a large and dependent audience, can you blame it?\" She showed me her genuine smile once more and we became silent for a few moments, both of us staring at the place where dark met light.\n\n\"Alan, why are *you* here? I feel like I have the right to reciprocate your question.\" She looked at me inquisitively, and suddenly I felt naked. The way she questioned me with her eyes caused my heart to stutter and my mouth to follow suit.\n\n\"I j-just felt like r-r-running.\"\n\n\"And is that abnormal for you?\"\n\n\"Yes. Lately, the norm has been nothing but work, eat, sleep.\"\n\n\"That sounds rather monotonous. Do you enjoy the norm?\"\n\n\"I abhor it. Probably why I ended up on this run. I usually wake up angry and go to bed depressed. My day is spent nit-picking the world and everyone in it. I keep it to myself so as not to be considered crazy or angry, but the truth is, I am both. Sorry to lay this all on you. There's just something so....inviting about you.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you perceive me as such. To me, each being is a novel I have yet to read. Right now I'm just taking in the synopsis. Sounds like a depressing book so far. When does the action start?\"\n\n\"It doesn't, or at least, it hasn't yet.\"\n\n\"I always hate it when books take too long to get exciting. We read for the sake of vicarious adventure; it might as well be a full one.\"\n\n\"So are we speaking about my life, or about books?\"\n\n\"Both. Make your life a novel that everyone wants to read.\"\n\nSuddenly, she burst out laughing. It was unnatural, almost rhythmic. The sound filled me with dread and new energy all at once. I felt like I had to run again. But before I could place foot to pavement I was back in my bed listening to my alarm clock mimic the frightening laughter from the beautiful yet generic woman. Try as I might, I still can't remember her face.\n\nI lay sweating under my covers fuming at my misfortune. Another day of waking up angry. Some book, Annie. I turned off the alarm and sat up on the edge of the bed to face the window. The day was just breaking, and most of the stars were gone.\n\nHowever irate I was, I couldn't help but think she was right. My book was boring. While the world slept, my own subconscious awakened me to life.\n\nI walked over to the window, and waited for the sun to rise as it always does, only with more of a welcome from its newest admirer.", "For the second week, I awake at this exact time. The sun was just beginning to peak out from behind the houses. I'm not a morning person, my sheets are nice and cool. I lay and listen. \n\nIt would be easy to think that the whole world is asleep, but I've learned this is when it is most alive. The breeze drifting through my window is bringing the smell of the trees in to greet me. I can almost here them speaking in their soft rustling voices, waking the small things.\n\nThe small things own the grey hours. Those moments when its not fully day, but not quite night. When the large things retreat to their own places to settle in, but not quite sleep. That's the moment that all the smallest come out. There are so many of them that they muffle the sounds of the world. They are so many in number that sometimes, just before sleep, the large things feel a crushing, unexplainable fear that drives them to curl deeper into their dens, into their beds.\n\nThe smallest ones come out first. Truly, they dance. The grey is the time that they celebrate, for when you're the smallest everything is big. Living through the day is big, a breeze, a footstep, a raindrop, a whisper. If you listen closely, you can hear them sing, feel the rhythm of their dance.\n\nThe world is grey. I'm breathing in the smell, I'm listening to the song. I'm feeling the dance. I am a small thing. And they are big." ]

[ 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3 ]

[ "1369582847", "1369599759", "1369583152", "1369690938", "1369592006", "1369801484" ]

[ "This is being written in a rush so there may be typos.\n\nBig Barnaby stared down the long dark tunell, the air cold from moisture. He mindlessly scratched his beard to relieve a fear that built in his gut. To his right scratcher and gnasher were twitching, hissing, and almost frothing at the mouth. Nobody had offered them weapons for the same reason they were called scratcher and gnasher. They were troubled boys. They'd come down into the abandoned portion of the subway two months prior, and had established themselves as being too unhinged to be fucked with. They were skinny, stringy boys with with with shadowy pasts and their own, private, guttural language. But they were loyal.\n\nTo his left was Dandy Denise, so named for being a ray of sunshine in the dripping darkness. She had heavy clumped hair and wore four jackets one one top of the other but you could still tell she was pretty. She was never without a long pair of scissors. A few weeks after arriving she'd shown herself to be more than mindless optimism by taking away an over-excited young man's left eye with those scissors of hers. When he came back with a shiv and left again blind, Barnaby was sure she could handle herself.\n\nBehind him were a couple of dozen other denizens of the undercity brave enough to take a stand. Nobody knew where they came from, not even the papers. For weeks now Barnaby's had been finding his friends, his family, turned to bloody rags by these monsters. They'd started living together in large groups near the exits to the tunnels, and they'd started to feel a little safer. That was until the night they heard the screeches echoing down the tunnel, both human and beast. After an hour, when the madness had subsided, they say a figure stumbling through the shadows. He entered their flickering fire lights, a young man from a nearby camp with half his face torn off. He collapsed before them.It was clear then that these monsters were operating in a pack, and they wouldn't be deterred by numbers.\n\nThey had to take a stand. They were the forgotten ones, the worthless refuge of society and they'd finally found a place to call home. They weren't giving it up to these savage bastards. They'd traveled into the the enemies territory, and stopped to wait for an attack. Barnaby stood, a baseball bat in each hand, one wooden and lightly splintered, the other aluminium and lightly rusted. This ended today, one way or another.\n\nThey heard the screeches echoing one more, and they got louder and louder, so horrible and grating, each one turning Barnabies stomach in apprehension. He had to remain calm, his men and women, the glorious rejected, were counting on him. \n\nHe saw the bulky, agile shapes round the corner ahead of them, launching foreward in bounding leaps. His grip around the bats tightened \n\n'Wait for it!' he announced in his deep, powerful voice.\n\n'Wait for it!' he repeated, the horde just twenty steps away.\n\n'Now!' he commanded, and matches were dropped onto a thick line of alcohol, gasoline, balled up newspaper, anything that would burn. A wall of flame as tall Barnaby rose, the sudden heat watering his eyes. He saw the silhouettes of the beasts as they plunged into the fire, immediately leaping back out and into the ranks of their allies. The Screeches of bloodlust became screams of pain and panic as the immolated abominations grasped at their comrades, begging for help. \n\nBarnaby had men and women further back, lugging Molotov cocktails over the whipping flames. \n\nThe beast adapted and began leaping wholly over the fire, landing among Barnabies ranks and lashing out with long, furry arms tearing deep through layers of clothing into the pungent flesh beneath.\n\nThe battle proper began. A whirling see of chaos and anger. Barnaby took on beast after beast, caving in their dense skulls with the sweeping, blurred arcs of his bats. He felt a heavy form land on his back and thick claws digging into his forehead, His knees bent as both bats swung backwards, one into the monsters shoulder, and another into it's face. It fell back. Barnaby turned to see it scrambling to stand up and get away, an he put paid to this scheme with a confident strike to the back of it's head. Around him his comrades fought madly, flailing at the invaders without thought. He saw gnashers crooked teeth locked solidly onto a beast's face, blood pouringout as it clawed manically at gnashers midriff. Scratcher was behind another, digging his thick filthy nails into it's eyes as it struggled to reach him with it's desperate swipes. He saw Denise, her face now a mask of utter sadistic malice, sitting on the shoulders of one of the largest monstrosities and swinging shears down again and again into it's head and chest, seemingly oblivious to the severe gouges it was tearing down her rib cage.\n\nIt was then that that Barnaby saw what was obviously the leader. It was larger than any other and it's fur was sleek and matt black. It bellowed at him in challenge. He pointed a bat at it in acceptance and the charged at each other. Barnaby ducked under it's swinging arm, rising slam a bat down across it's heaving shoulders. If it felt the blow, it gave no indication and swung around to knock the wooden bat from Barnaby's grip, following through with a blow Barnaby just managed to dodge. He swung the metal bat but hulking goliath caught it in it's grip, smashing it's fisty into Barnaby's chest. The air rushed out of him. He dropped the bat and fell. The obsidian demon stood on his chest, leaning over to breath a great hot gust of air into Barnaby's face. He realized that it was savouring his kill.He felt around desperately, eventually laying hands on one bat. The monster was raising it's hand to break his neck with a final attack when Barnaby found the other. He swung both bats up into the creatures temples. He was rewarded with a crack and the beast stood to stumble drunkenly back. Barnaby forced himself up despite the throbbing pain in his chest, swinging the bats again one after another into the leaders head until it collapsed. Still he swung, reducing it's skill to crimson pulp. Seeing this, it's underlings panicked, losing their resolve. Those unlucky enough to be unable leap back over over the flames were easy prey. Soon the screeches faded as the terrors fled down the tunnel, leaving only Barnaby and what remained of his men standing among the ripped and pummelled corpses of friend and foe. Scratcher knelt over the gutted body of his brother, entreating him to live in their crude tongue. Denise was in a bad way, but they'd dump her outside a hospital. She'd know to break out at the first mention of a bill. He turned to face the waning fire and shouted down the curving passage:\n\n'THESE. ARE. OUR. TUNNELS!'", "Now, looky here, Frank, before you tell me this is some Planet o' the Apes bullshit, I've got real hard facts to prove it. It's all in the case right there. Yeah, you see that? Take a look at the charts. I've got the numbers right here. It's all the proof you need.\n\nNow listen closely, alright? Cause I'm about to blow your mind. Blow your fucking mind, you hear me Frank?\n\nYeah, yeah, I'm getting to it. Let me start at the start. So there I was, a 21 year old guy who dropped outta college and spent most of his days browsing Reddit. And that's important, you see, because, well, one day I stumbled upon this thread. Can't remember the subreddit -- probably something I found in RANDOM, but uh, point is, this guy had this statistic. Humans murdered by apes.\n\nYeah, yeah, I knew you'd think of that bloody movie. But come on, give me a shot. As it turns out, apes used to kill about 100 people each year back in the 90s. I dunno man, probably some dumbfuck explorers and like native tribes or some shit? Anyway - can you pass me the beer? thanks - as it turned out the number had grown about 15 times since then. I swear to god 1600 ape deaths were reported in 2013. Crazy, right? This guy was some conspiracy theorist nut so I dismissed it at the time. But the thing gnawed at me for a while, you know what I'm saying?\n\nNow look here. I know my academic performance wasn't exactly stellar. But I actually did well in statistics. So I did a little analysis and I made a pretty picture. Here it is, have a look. You see that? It's plain to see, you fuckin' moron. Whatever.\n\nAnyway, that thing there shows that homeless people had an extremely higher risk of being attacked by apes. And these ain't no Africans either. These are fuckin' Americans, you see?\n\nI didn't take it seriously at the start either. But I ran the numbers again, and again. I had a computer and a lot of spare time on my hands, okay? What else was I supposed to - oh god damn it Frank. Not everybody spent all of their prime fapping. What are you talking about? This shit was a lot more productive than - oh, hi there, mom, I'm sorry, I'm just telling Frank about a few things. Yeah, there's his dad, why don't you two talk for a while.\n\nGod, it's like we're fuckin' teenagers, they follow us everywhere we go, don't they? Hey, you shut up about that. I'd have a job if there were any left over. President Hillary tight-ass Clinton seems to think that the economic crisis is over, but if so, I haven't noticed.\n\nAnyway, Frank, point is homeless Americans were being murdered in droves by apes. This really fucked with my mind. I mean, I didn't even know apes *lived* in America.\n\nHuh, what's that? You think I should go on home? Nah man, it's just starting to get good. You gotta hear the next bit - no, stop! Frank, damn it!\n\nGod, where the hell did I leave my car? There it is. Damn keys. Come on, get in there. Here we go. Frank's a fucking loser like the rest of 'em. Doesn't appreciate my genius. Time to head out.\n\nHey, asshole! Don't try that on me! Wait, what the hell are you wearing? What are you doing? Oh, shit!" ]

[ 1, 7 ]

[ "1369953088", "1369877945" ]

[ "Reposted and just slightly edited from the 10,000 seconds to live thread:\n\nHe had ten thousand seconds to live. A little shy of three hours. Time to make the most of them.\n\nWhat should he do? Should he go out and live it up? It seemed rude to leave his body somewhere else. Someone could trip on it.\n\nShould he reminisce back on his life? It had been pretty swell after all. Well, it had been the best he'd ever had at least.\n\nNine thousand, nine hundred, ninety-nine seconds left. Good thing a second felt like forever in his head.", " 10,000 people. How can something so great fall so soon. It seemed just the other day I was out buying groceries at Safeway. I never could have imagined the horrors awaiting me at home. I'll never forget coming home, a commute I've made so any times, every time just like the one before. Though this time I could tell something was wrong even before I pulled up to my house. I'll never forget the flashing lights, the blaring sirens, and all the Hazmat suits. \n \n The minute I jumped out of my car a man in a suit ran up to me, asking what I was doing here. I some how managed to get the words out that I live here. The look on his face, I could just tell already. I ran past everyone pushing through firemen and Hazmat men alike. Right in the entryway I saw it, my wife and my son, corpse rotting in her arms. I don't know what happened then because I blacked out and woke up where I am now.\n \n They don't tell me much. I have no human contact, except the women that brings me my food everyday. All I know is that in the course of solely a few days a virus swept the globe. It took only a fortnight for the Earth to drop from 7 billion humans to only 10,000. So much death, so much destruction. Nearly all survivors reside at facilities like mine with one doctor, two nurses, and whoever was exposed stuck in solitary. 10,000 known lives and that number dwindles down every day. I would be surprised if I see another Sunday. Any day now I expect to take my last sip of water and my last bite of stale bread.\n\n To whatever sentient beings that see this message, know you are standing in the ruins of the once mighty human race. Remember us for our accomplishments and learn from our mistakes. \n\n 10,000. Such a small number for such a mighty race.", "*\"And I would walk 10,000 miles, aaaand I would walk 10,000 more just to be the guy who walked 10,000 miles to see you at my door!\"*\n\n\"Shut up.\"\n\n*\"Badadapa- Badadapa, Badadapa- Badadapa, badadadadada-dapa!!!\"* The kid grinned wildly clearly enjoying his music.\n\n\"Look, stop it!\" The boy reached across the back seat and pulled his brothers earphones off. \"You're singing it wrong, you're lyrics don't even make sense!\"\n\nThe grinning kid's face turned sour and he rubbed at his ear where the bud had been ripped out. \"You're an idiot, I know the song. It's my *favorite* song. Jerk.\"\n\nThe boy sighed and crossed his arms over the seatbelt. \"Fine, so you walk 10,000 miles then 10,000 more how many is that?\"\n\n\"20,000. SO?\" The younger brother stuck out his jaw.\n\n\"So, the very next line you sing is 'who walked 10,000 miles.' not 20,000. So it's wrong. And if you walk these 20,000 miles why are you seeing this person at *your* door?\" \n\nThe smaller boys face screwed up and contorted and he looked as though he might cry.\n\n\"They are SO the words!! They ARE!\" His eyes glistened and the boy felt guilty. \n\nHis brother was only a kid, it wasn't his fault that it was hot and the a/c wasn't working or that they were on their way to be tormented by Great Aunt Milly who's cooking was almost as bad as her weird old lady smell. \n\nHe picked up the head phones and stuffed them in his ears. \n\"All right maestro prove it.\" He dared. The music started playing, slightly too loud but he gritted his teeth and looked as though he were listening intently.\n\n*\"But I would walk 500 miles, And I would walk 500 more, Just to be that man who walk a thousand miles to fall down at your door\"* \n\nHe pulled out the earbud and tossed it back to his little brother than turned to the window and scowled. \n\n\"Well, who cares, the lyrics are stupid anyway.\"\n\nHis little brother beamed. \"I told you so!\"\n\nThe boy glanced up at the rearview mirror and made eye contact with his father. There was a note of pride, acceptance, and a small nod. It was worth it. Even though the twerp would rub it in and continue loudly singing the song wrong, he was happy, they were both happy. \n\nHe caught those eyes again. They were all happy. \n\nEdit - missing 0" ]

[ 1, 2, 2 ]

[ "1371439894", "1371438140", "1371459078" ]

[ "Between 10 and 10:30 in the evening on planet Tatooine. You were slaughtering a camp of filthy Tuskens with a blue lightsaber. You had a rat tail and were crying a lot. It seemed as though you were going through something emotional. I can be your shoulder to cry on. You had a conflicted, dark aura about you. I'm into that.", "It was about 4:00 in the afternoon, I was passing by the Berklee media center. You were the skinny guy with the Kurt Cobain hair and beard thing going on. I was the little Japanese girl who tried to catch your eye while I was walking by. You were really focused on laying down that drum track, but not focused enough because you were rushing and had to redo it for the third time. I could see the frustration in your face, but I couldn't offer to help you because you don't know me. Please look up next time. I don't want to have to resort to Internet stalking.", "This has a bit of a twist... Just wanted to try and be creative...\n\nYour golden hair caught me by surprise. I noticed it as we walked past each other in the park. I tried to think of some witty or clever way to break the ice. Surprisingly you came over first and seemed to look for something of value that you left in the area. Stuck speechless by your audacity to come up to me I could only make gestures and point you into a direction were I saw some unattended belongings. I should have said something. I'll try looking out for you again there tomorrow and I'll have a treat or two and a frisbee so we can play fetch. ", "7:05 AM, at the intersection of Main and Broadway. I was in a grey suit carrying a black briefcase, you were carrying a sickle and wearing a long, black cloak. We seem to never quite connect the way we're supposed to. I know you're always nearby, under the bed, outside the door, lurking in the outlet next to the kitchen sink. I'm tired of waiting. The guy in the cubicle next to me got fired last week for not running the reports on-time, yet you still have your job. I feel like I'm meeting you more than halfway; I take the dark streets, I eat shitty and can't remember the last time I went for a checkup. I run with scissors and indulge martini's before breakfast. This morning I even stepped off the curb too early, but again, you weren't there. Well... maybe next time we'll finally cross paths. " ]

[ 2, 5, 5, 5 ]

[ "1375749716", "1375687428", "1375715362", "1375740079" ]

[ "\"You're going to wish you'd never met me.\" This was how she ended her letter, a letter that she sent in response to my text. She'd marked the letter with the date and time she'd written it, only an hour after my message and two hours after our coffee date had ended. She was telling me that the thoughts in her letter were immediate but that I had to wait to know them. When I came back to the shop hoping for a chance encounter, Tim pulled out the envelope from next to the espresso machine, telling me it had been left for me that morning. \n\nIn the three days since I'd sent my text, I'd given up hope. She'd bought me coffee as a thank you for helping her find her phone from out of the cushions of the homely cafe sofa. It had become a date, in my mind, when I told her about my nephew, she told me about her dreams, and we leaned in closer to each other over our long-cooled mugs of coffee. \n\nI had caught a hint of her fragrance in that moment. It was sweet, like nectar or honey, but both those words are too viscous to lay next to the ease of her manner and the lightness of her glow. The same smell came from the textured white paper of her letter. Had she sprayed it with her perfume or had the paper simply been impressed by her proximity? \n\n\"I had a wonderful time with you\", the letter began. \"I'm sitting thinking about your adorable puppy, and wanting one of my own. It's been three months since I moved here and I feel like I finally have a friend. I should warn you that I'm a flake. You're going to wish you'd never met me!'\n\nUnderneath the spot where she had signed her name, Alice, was the faint mark of the bottom of a coffee cup. Another signature. \n\nWhat had she been doing in the three days since she wrote this? Had he bought a dog? Was I still her first friend? Why did the letter seem so deliberate? It was as though she thought the words on her own wouldn't be enough. She wanted me to think of the moment she wrote it. \n\nI sat alone at my usual table as the door of my coffee slowly overpowered her fragrance on the paper, when the chimes hung on the door of the cafe jingled, and I turned to see her walk in. She caught sight of me, smiled, and came towards me. In one motion, she drew her auburn hair back over her left ear, waved to me, and let her hand rest on my shoulder as she walked past me and took a seat at the opposite end of the cafe with her back to me. \"Alice..\" I said, as she walked by, but she seemed not to hear me. The eddies in the air she'd left behind wrapped her fragrance around me. What had just happened?\n\nTim looked over at me and shrugged. The fucker. \n\n", "You're gonna wish you'd never met me. It was the first thing he ever said to me. I thought how in the world could that be true? He was gorgeous, dark hair, dark eyes, athletic build.\n\nYou're gonna wish you never met me. I giggled back at him saying \"oh yeah, and why's that?\" \"Because he replied I'm going to make you fall in love with me\" I laughed inwardly at my fluttering heart. He was probably right I was on my way there already. We agreed to meet again another day than the party.\n\nYou're gonna wish you'd never met me. It was the last thing he said to me as I left the party. I smiled and shook my head. We'd already spent hours talking and were meeting the next night, I was already too happy to have met him to change that at all. \n\nYou're gonna wish you'd never met me. We'd been dating for almost six months when he finally explained it. We were at a resturaunt when I looked up from my food, with a playful smile on my face, I looked him in the eye and said \"it'll be six months soon, remember how you said I'd wish I never met you when we first met?\" I expcected him to laugh at his silly joke but his face dropped in sudden seriousness. I knew something was wrong. That's when he explained to me that he was dying, that everything we had was going to end prematurely whether I liked it or not, the wedding I'd fantasized would never happen. My whole world came crashing down on me, how could this be happening? I'd found someone I could really give myself over to emotionally and physically. Someone I could be with forever but he wouldn't even be there for a year.\n \nYou're gonna wish you'd never met me, because I'm going to make you fall in love with me. It was the first thing he ever said to me, and he was right.", "I've been following this particular bastard for a few weeks now. I don't know exactly what it is, all I know is that it is killing people and the world would be better off without it. The authorities don't know what it is and they wouldn't be equipped to handle it. They can handle crazy human beings but when something dark, something evil pops up, it time to get a Hunter involved. \n\nI thought it was a wendigo at first. The fact that he tore his victims apart before eating their hearts was a sign of the thing's strength and ferocity but I've never heard of a wendigo eating the heart. The only other thing I had run across that killed like this was a siren but no one had seen one outside the Mediterranean in over three centuries. As it stands, I'm going in a bit blind but at the rate it's killing, every day I delay costs lives. \n\nIt first popped up on my radar in Virginia. Park rangers in Shenandoah National Park found a body, torn limb from limb. They said it was a rogue bear but after a bit if digging, that's simply not possible. A bear wouldn't leave a meal just lying there either. I took a look at the scene and the shattered trees and churned earth pointed to something powerful and mean. \n\nThe next few bodies popped up in the foothills of West Virginia. Again bears were blamed but I've never seen bears rip apart 5 campers at a single camp site. Besides, in each victim, the heart was missing. Bears simply aren't that smart or picky. From there it turned south, leaving victims in Kentucky and Tennessee, all the way down to Louisiana. If Sean had been here, he could have made some sense of this. He always saw what I couldn't. At least he did until a succubus it her claws in him. The cops said there was no way it could be him, that you didn't go from 28 to 80 in an evening, but I know it was him. Besides the ridiculous tattoo he had on his leg (a leprechaun with a machine gun) I would recognize his knife anywhere. He had jammed it in the succubus' throat before she finished him off. At least he didn't go easy. \n\nI almost had it in Houston but it got ahead of me. I had tracked it to a warehouse on the outskirts of town and was going in after it. The thing must have heard or smelled me because I heard it running to the opposite end of the warehouse. When the door I'd entered through opened again, I had no choice but to sink back into the shadows. I saw something creep into the warehouse and I raised my gun, ready to fire. Once it stepped into the light, I could see that it was just a human. A kid really, maybe 18 tops. He was holding a cell phone and pressed a few buttons. From the depths of the warehouse, I heard a ring. \"Mom?\" He called, hope in his voice\n\n*Oh God, not this. Not now.* \n\nThe kid took off running and eventually found the source of the ringing. The cell phone lay on the ground, screen cracked but still lit. It illuminated a slowly spreading pool of blood. Her head had been ripped from her shoulders and her legs lay at least ten feet from her torso. \nPoor kid. This was never a moment you wanted to see. The grief, the confusion and eventually the hate. Almost every Hunter got into the life because they lost someone they loved. Hopefully this kid would be able to find some amount of closure. Barring that, he best he could hope for was complete madness. Anything was better that remembering what had happened and learning how you could have prevented it. \n\nI started after it with a renewed anger. I wouldn't let this happen again. I'd do everything I could to make sure this piece of shit suffered. I finally found him in an abandoned strip mall in Tuscon. I made sure I had all the gear I'd need. Shotgun with silver bullets, holy water, stakes and a good machete. In all my years of hunting, I've found that these items can kill most monsters. \n\nI made my way through the mall, clearing store by store. I took care to be as quiet as possible but I'm sure it heard me. Before long, I could feel it's eyes on me, even if I couldn't see it myself. As I rounded a corner, I saw a figure standing in the middle of an open plaza. *Well that's subtle* \n\n\"HUNTER!\" it called out, voice echoing through the mall. \"Come forward. I want to meet my pursuer.\" *Shit. There goes the element of surprise.*\n\n\"If you know what I am, you know why I'm here. Why don't I be sporting. I'll give you thirty seconds to run before I shoot\" I crossed the floor until we were about 20 feet apart. For. What I could tell, it was vaguely human but something was off. The eyes didn't blink quite right and you could feel the heat radiating off of it. I trained my shotgun on its heart, tension on the trigger and ready to fire at a moment's notice. \"One, two, three\" It cut me off with a huge laugh. \n\n\"I'm not scared, I'm hungry. You puny mortals think you own this planet. Don't you know you're only here to be food for your betters? You will bow to me and know me as your god. I will eat your children and savor the crying of your women. As for you, I will skin you alive and watch as\" BOOM! The silver buckshot ripped a hole in its chest, black ichor splattering everywhere. \n\n\"Thirty.\" The thing lay on the ground, motionless. \"Oh get up. I know that didn't end you.\" I fired off a few more rounds, letting the silver shred it's skin. I watched as the skin began to close almost immediately, leaving no sign of a wound. It rose to its feet, laughing as it stood. \"I applaud you. Most people would have checked for a pulse. I got a cop outside Biloxi with that one. Now where were we.\" \n\nBefore I could blink, the thing had closed the gap between us and took a swing at me with the back of it's hand. If it had been any more casual, it would have been like brushing lint of its shoulder. The force of the impact flung me at least 30 feet and I landed in a heap. It felt like at least half my ribs were broken. This thing was no joke. With my good arm, I flung the flask of holy water high in the air. The creature's eyes followed it as I pulled my shotgun. As it hit its apex, I fired, spraying the water everywhere. The creature was drenched in it, water streaming down. It began to shriek and contort. My hope was quickly dashed as it began laughing. \"Holy water? I didn't know this was amateur hour. I'm getting tired of this. Get up and die on your feet like a man.\" I staggered to my feet and pulled my machete with my free hand. If I was going to die, it would be fighting. \n\nIt rushed as me, arm raised to strike. I managed to intercept it with my blade and watched the arm spiral away. With one wild hope, I swung at the thing again. Whatever deity is out there, I guess he was looking out for me. The machete bit into its neck, neatly severing its head from its body. It fell to the floor with a sickening thud. \n\n\"Suck it bitch! You're not so tough without your head.\" I go out to my truck to get my gas can and a couple flares. This thing wasn't coming back, not if I could help it. As I popped the top of the can and turned back into the plaza, I saw something that made my heart sink. The thing was holding its severed head, letting the tendons and veins reconnect and slowly reattach to its neck. It stretched and smiled at me. \"Kid, you're going to wish you'd never met me.\"", "\"Don't move. I have a gun.\"\n\nI inhaled. \"Don't move! I have a gun!\"\n\n\"Not like that, dick-nuts. You have to growl it. Low. It's an intimidation thing.\"\n\n\"Fuck you. I don't want to do this anyway.\" I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. Nerves.\n\nSamantha kept her gun pointed at me. \"You have to do it. I can't kidnap myself! You have to get me my money!\"\n\nShe *had* kidnapped herself. Not that anyone was going to believe that our small town's perfect pretty princess showed up at *my* house with a gun and demanded to stay. \n\n\"Look,\" I pleaded, \"It's not too late. You can still go home. Tell them you needed space, or a change of scenery. Tell them it was a misunderstanding.\" \n\n\"You know that's bullshit.\" I did. Her \"disappearance\" was all over the news. The cops got her ransom note yesterday. I saw it on the news. She said she asked for one hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase. Unmarked. To be handed over at Rusty's Diner, 2 PM tomorrow. She already had an outfit picked out.\n\n\"I wrote it into the ransom note,\" she had explained as she handed me the black hoodie and ripped jeans. \"So they'll know to give you the money. And I told them if you hear cops within an hour, you'll kill me.\"\n\nShe had thought of everything. I had to give her credit. It was a good plan. She was going to disappear with a hundred thousand dollars from her rich parents, and I was going to jail for a long time.\n\n\"I picked you out special, you know,\" she said, bouncing up on down on the edge of my bed. \"You were so 'middle-of-the-road.' So *innocuous*. You're the person who everyone says could never do this. From the first moment I met you, I never considered anyone else.\"\n\n\"Great,\" I grunted as I ducked away from the gun. \"I'm honored.\"\n\n\"You should be!\"\n\n\"Fuck you.\"\n\nShe hit me in the shoulder with the butt of the gun. \"Such language! I'm doing you a favor. You were nothing before me. Now I'll be free and you'll be famous.\"\n\n\"I don't want to be famous.\"\n\n\"*I don't give a fuck what you want!*\" she screamed. The wild fire in her eyes was back, same as when she had pushed me backwards into my own apartment with the barrel of a gun. \"*You don't fucking matter! This is about me!*\" She stopped and straightened her hair. \"Now run the line again, please.\"\n\n\"Don't move. I have a gun,\" I growled, doing my best action-movie star.\n\n\"Good,\" she giggled, her anger tucked away under her perfect pretty princess mask. \"Now do it with the gun. We have to put your fingerprints on it if you're going to get convicted.\"\n\nShe flipped the gun around and handed it to me. It felt cold against my sweaty palms. I held it to my side.\n\n\"Don't move. I have a gun.\"\n\n\"Stop shaking!\"\n\n\"Don't move. I have a gun.\"\n\n\"Now with the gun!\"\n\nI held the gun out. \"Don't move. I have a gun. You're gonna wish you'd never met me.\"\n\n\"Don't improvi-\"\n\nI went to Rusty's at 2 PM the next day. Told the guy not to move. Got one hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase. Unmarked. The cops showed up at my apartment an hour later. They took the gun, but I don't think they'll need it to convict. Samantha's body in a pool of her blood would probably be enough for that. \n\nI had to give her credit. It was a good plan.\n", "(Continuation of this: http://ww.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1kxygc/wp_our_eyes_met_and_time_froze/cbu2c16)\n\nShe came to the explosion as well, damn her to hell. She followed me.\n\nShe was looking for me, in some way or form. The gun she held certainly surprised me though, I didn't expect her to be toting a pistol. And she seemed to know how to use it. \n\nShe turned a corner and leveled her gun easily and stabily in front of her. The monster that stared back at her stilled her trigger finger. It looked like a skeleton, bits of flesh clinging to it's bones. It roared at her and she fired out of instinct.\n\nHer aim was true, the bullet smashed through the skull of her opponent, dropped it to the ground like a rock, but her sigh of relief betrayed to me that she didn't know the first thing about the monsters' lair that she had just stumbled into.\n\nShe didn't know about the three other monsters that were approaching behind her. I saw them through my sniper scope from across the street and steadied my barrel. With my aim lined up I clicked my time piece. \n\nTime fell still and I fired. The bullet leaving the barrel and travelling a short distance before it stopped. I swung the barrel with a deft movement as my watch ticked away, telling me what was coming. I fired again and again, the bullets mimicing the first and stopping a short distance from me. Just in time, after the third bullet fired the watch stopped ticking a time resumed.\n\nThe monsters dropped dead, and seemed to fade from view, vanishing as if they hadn't been there at all. That meant I was finished. I loaded up my sniper rifle and made my way to the building, where the lady stood, once again in complete shock.\n\nI grabbed her hand, and she instinctively tried to pull away, but I stopped her. I took the gun from her and examined it, confirming my suspicions. Police.\n\nI placed the gun back in her palm and released her. \"Go away.\" I stated, simple and plain.\n\n\"But-\"\n\n\"You think you're the first person who's followed me to one of these events? Well you aren't. And believe you me, if you don't let this drop... You're gonna wish you'd never met me.\"", "\"Kid, just be careful, you're gonna wish you never met me.\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah, whatever, just gimme my three wishes.\"\n\n\"I'll grant two now, then give you a week to think of the third one, even though I already know what it will be.\"\n\n\"What the fuck, man? I freed you from the lamp, now do what I say.\"\n\n\"Those are the conditions; if you don't like them, I can just not grant you any wishes.\"\n\n\"Whatever. Uh... two wishes...\"\n\nThe boy stopped to think for a moment. He couldn't have been older than 15.\n\n\"Uh... I wish I had all the money in the world.\"\n\n\"Are you sure? This would cause money to become worthless, and everyone else would be poor. Money would become greatly devalued, banks would collapse, millions would lose their jobs and--\"\n\n\"Shut up,\" the teen interrupted.\n\n\"Your wish is granted.\" The genie snapped his fingers. \"Your money, and thus all the money in the world, is currently held in a Cayman Islands account. The password is in your left pocket, but don't look now. Make your second wish.\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah. Uh... um... I wish every girl in the world wanted to fuck me.\"\n\n\"Consider the consequences of this, child. This will mean that all women will abandon everything else, and each has only a compulsion to have sex with you, meaning that women become essentially incapacitated due to your selfishness. You will transform them from members of society into your sex slaves. Even the very elderly and very young will feel this unquenchable desire. Members of your own family will want to--\"\n\n\"Dude, were you listening to what you just said? Cuz I sure as hell wasn't. Now, shut the fuck up and make it happen.\"\n\nThe genie sighed and granted the boy's wish. Humans were all the same. Selfish.\n\nFrom down the street, women came running, each screaming his name, begging him to take them.\n\n\"Remember,\" said the genie, \"you brought this upon yourself. See you in a week.\" With a flash, the genie disappeared, and the boy was buried among a horde of women.\n\n-----------------------------\n\nA week later, the genie came to visit the boy again. The boy had locked himself inside a metal room and surrounded himself with food that appeared uneaten. The genie knew that it was the boy's effort to remain safe and insulated from the dystopia the boy himself had created.\n\n\"So,\" said the genie. \"Have you learned anything?\"\n\nThe boy didn't respond. He was crouched in a fetal position, his legs wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth. His clothes were in tatters, his hair a mess, and his eyes wide yet unfocused.\n\n\"Well,\" the genie continued. \"I suppose you have learned by now that selfishness does not reap rewards. The attention from women became too much, and you couldn't bear how many had died on a journey just to see you. I hope you understand now what you've caused.\"\n\nThe boy remained silent, absently staring at the wall.\n\n\"Do you realize what you've done? You couldn't even pay for guards to protect you, because you can't give someone money if you always possess all of it. If you have all of something, it becomes worthless.\"\n\nThe boy's left eye began to twitch.\n\n\"You are pathetic, and selfish. And now? You are truly alone. Even your mother and sister wanted you because of your disgusting wishes. And you managed to escape them, but to what? This?\"\n\nThe genie gestured around the barren metal room.\n\n\"Now, your third wish. I already know what it will be.\"\n\nThe boy looked up, shaking. He tried to talk, but only a whimper came out.\n\n\"I know. You wish you'd never met me.\"\n\nThe boy nodded fervently.\n\n\"I told you this, but you didn't believe me. You were too focused on yourself. I trust that you've learned from the past week.\"\n\nThe boy nodded again.\n\n\"Good. I believe you. As this final mercy, I will grant your third wish. You will still have the memories of this week, but only as a dream. The world will return to normal, and you will too, but these memories will be a recurring nightmare that plagues your sleep. You will never remember this conversation, just the havoc that your selfishness wreaked. Hopefully, I'll have taught you something. Would you like me to grant your wish now?\"\n\nThe boy finally spoke. \"Yes,\" he croaked weakly.\n\n\"It is done.\"\n\nThe world began to spin, and the boy's eyes closed.\n\n---------------------------------------\n\nThe boy blinked. He was in his bed.\n\nWhat a strange and terrible dream. Something about a genie, and the boy being selfish, and wishing for money and girls, but the genie twisted his words... the details were becoming hazy. He knew that he had a third wish, but he couldn't remember what it was.\n\nAll the boy could remember was that with two wishes, he had brought about the collapse of the world.\n\nGood thing it was only a dream.\n\nGood thing he wasn't really that selfish." ]

[ 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 18 ]

[ "1377725084", "1377560254", "1377567739", "1377574163", "1377556144", "1377557073" ]

[ "The image was almost complete. Slowly curving the blade, to get the last petal correct, Thomas sneezed and the knife carved a deeper, unfixable gash, leaving the rose ruined. \n\n\"This will not do,\" he said, mostly to himself, continuing with the stem, hurriedly and imperfectly, slashing like a painter on a canvas, \"not at all\". \n\nHating to waste a good canvas, whether it be paper or wood or leather, Thomas made some extra petals, perfecting the curve, hoping not do do the same mistake the next time. \n\nHe smiled. \n\n\"It may not be perfect, but you're none the worse for it. Actually, I think it looks quite nice.\"\n\nThe limp sack of meat and bones had stopped squirming half an hour ago. Now there was a vacant, glazed look in her eyes. Only the occasional moan from behind the gag, and the tensing of the legs and arms under the ropes when he cut to deep in the flesh, down the whole front of her torso. \n\n\"Having only the one rose here on the right is most asymmetrical. I've put all my effort and skill into it, but then I remembered how symmetry is one of the most important factors in beauty. A wise man once said that to become an expert in a field, one has to practice that skill for ten thousand hours.\"\n\nAs if woken from a dream, she slightly lifted her head with eyes slowly understanding what those words had meant.\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "Allen approached the distraught woman at the bar. It was a late, gloomy night; New York. She was crying, and quite a bit. He felt bad for her, and for what it was worth, maybe he could score a great night of sex.\n\n\"Hey.. are you alright?\" He lightly placed his hand on her shoulder. \n\n\"The FUCK you can't!\" She wailed, slamming down what seemed to be her 4th tequila shot. Allen, obviously startled, pulled his hand away and sat next to her.\n\n\"Alright. Well what seems to be the problem? A pretty lady like you shouldn't be so sad.\" He wasn't lying, she was a pretty face. \n\n\"I've been drinking for sooooo long.\" She slurred, drooling a little but quickly wiping it away, along with more tears. \"My boyfriend duuumped me. I fucking haate him.\" Her head gave and her forehead met the counter with a thud. \"I threw his crap out of my house.\"\n\n\"Sounds like a rough--\"\n\n\"The beeest part is im pregnant. So I had to shit really bad.\"\n\nAllen's face twisted. She didn't seem to get the hint though. The bar had pretty much emptied by now and a quick glance at the bartender was returned by a pitiful look that said, 'are you really trying to do this, guy?'\n\nUnfortunately, she kept talking. \"So I shit on his bed and left. I juuuust left it there.\" She started giggling and took a shot from an empty glass. \"Oh.\" She looked at Allen, and for the first time he was actually being noticed by her.\n\"I'm sorry, may I start over?\"\n\n\n\n", "\"Through all the miracles I've ever witnessed in my lifetime and all those I could possibly ever witness...she was the most amazing. Her golden hair flowing with seamless perfection that would make a perfect waterfall jealous. The gleam in her eye when she laughs that shimmers with more intensity than a supernova. The way that she walks so flowingly and elegant, a way that time itself couldn't even imitate.\n\n\"How she lifts the mood in every room she walks into and brings the best out in every person she touches with her presence. How she thinks only for the ones she loves, completely selfless. how her lips curl with such giddy laughter, which by the way is perfect too! She's just the only thing in the world I think is perfect. If the only thing that ever came out of the world were her then it would've served its purpose.\"\n\nThere was a long pause and the weight of the air was bearing down with great, massive sorrow on The Doctor and the last Dalek in the universe. The interior of the Tardis was stale with silence. The Doctor, poised to throw a switch, the Dalek, poised to kill the Tardis, time seemed to stand still between them. The quiet was cracked with the Dalek's mechanical voice. \"Did you love her?\"\n\nAfter another long silence The Doctor formed his reply through choked sobs. \"I'm not asking you to understand love! I would gladly give my life for hers if you only allowed me, but taking my life like this? It's so anticlimactic. There's nothing behind it. You want the success of your species to be a great one don't you?\"\n\nThe Dalek slightly whirred in thought as his appendages twitched. The Doctor stood unwaveringly defiant with his hand bearing down on the lever. \"What would it mean to kill me now? You've nothing to do after this without the rest of your kind, but me...through me, you could have purpose again. If you let me go now you can continue your chase of me. You might even get me this time. It suits both of us if you think long enough, trust me I've had millennia to think about it. It all hinges on this point in time, not only for me but for you and all Daleks that ever were. So I ask you this in hopes that you'll see that it's the best for everyone...\"\n\nThe Doctor adjusted his hand on the lever and the Dalek adjusted his aim. The tension rose to new possible heights and The Doctor said simply after gaining control over his saddened voice,\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "A garbled, decrepit ringing noise startled me. Turning from my computer screen I narrowed my eyes, searching for the source of this disturbance. In a forgotten corner lurking behind a stack of papers was an ancient rotary phone.\n\nHuh, had that always been there? Thinking back over the past several months of my employment at Tricentennial Solutions, I couldn't remember. In this soul-sucking corporate world time blends into a tasteless smoothie. After a moment I cautiously reached out and picked up.\n\n\"H-hello?\" Well, there went my carefully memorized telephone answering script.\n\nSilence greeted my salutation. Figures. Surely I was beginning to imagine things. I chided myself for watching too much television. Chuckling over my silliness, I moved to place the phone back on its cradle.\n\n\"Wait, Wendy, don't hang up,\" said a creaky voice. \n\nNearly dropping the phone, I gathered my thoughts and placed my ear next to the receiver. \n\n\"How do you know my name? Who are you?\" I said. \n\n\"Wendy, I know this is a shock, but I'm trying to save your life,\" said the voice. \"So listen.\"\n\nConfused thoughts ripped through my head, but somehow I found words to answer.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" I said with more confidence than I felt. \n\nIn minute detail, the voice described my life as it was. Hollow, filled with work that wasted my time but paid well enough that I didn't complain. It dragged me through the days, weeks, months, years. All the promise I had showed in my early life fled from the mind-numbing daily tasks. When I returned home at the end of each day I sat in front of screens, watching other people's lives and letting that soothe my existential fears. \n\nMy skin crawled as the voice continued on to say that this life I was leading wasn't ever going to change. Complacently I would go on to fade into the back corners of various offices. Eventually I would look back on my life and wonder what I had done. Where had the years gone now that I was no longer able to type with arthritic hands or answer phones with vocal cords that cracked and broke. \n\n\"It's time to wake up, Wendy.\" said the voice. \n\n\"May I start over?\"\n\n", "\"I just... I don't know how it came to...I...\"\n\nThe tears in his eyes went from visible to streaming.\n\n\"You weren't supposed to... you... did I do something wrong?!\"\n\nThe gears in his head were turning but the light in his eyes was dimming. No one was home. A lighthouse without a keeper. \n\n\"But... no I... nononoNO... it doesn't make sense!\"\n\nHis breathing was audible now, wheezing like a bike pump.\n\n\"Just... just... gimme a minute... please\"\n\nHe leaned against a wall and slid down until he was sitting on the ground, his sinking voice keeping up with his body.\n\nHe motioned to his daughter, but his little one didn't fully understand what had just happened. The sound of labored breathing interrupted by a pitter-patter of feet and a door slamming shut.\n\n\"Honey, please let's just...\"\n\nShe grabbed the keys to their car and headed toward the door. The tone of his voice would match the squeaking of the door he was supposed to have oiled earlier that week. The last words he'd ever say to her in person never reached her ears.\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "Tucker looked down at her body as she laid there, jaw twisted and broken with black bruises under both eyes and swollen cheeks. This one had been a fighter and clawed at his arms and wrists opening the skin, letting him bleed all over her as she screamed and struggled.\nHe didn't care anymore, his breath was a hot fire smouldering out his lungs and felt the world around him smaller, easier, while himself now stronger. He liked a fight.\n\nShe wasn't dead yet, only unconscious from the head trauma he had caused. Not yet, Tucker thought to himself while looking for the gas canister. He turned around and searched the basement for it, spotting the red plastic finally above the rack against the bath tub. He would have to carry her over there not to make a mess, and leave the windows open for the smell. \n\nShe was pretty, not beautiful per say, but very well put together. She had to be around 25 years old as he spotted her out walking alone to her car at the end of a downtown parking lot. Blonde and ever so slightly curled at the bottom, he wanted to slowly run his finger through her hair and smell her scent. A business woman no doubt, wearing a black skirt that ended right above her knees which a white collared shirt was tightened into. And heels to match. \n\nTucker picked her up and slung the woman over his shoulder, walking over to the tub and letting her body slump in, head resting on the edge. She coughed then and shifted her body weight, he saw that she was slowly coming to. This was perfect timing, Tucker wouldn't have to wake her up. \nHe slowly twisted off the gas cap while staring at her, under the dim basement fluorescence. Tucker started pouring the fluid over her hair, making it into a wet mess and jolting her into a upright position. He smiled as she looked at her hands and feet, all bound by razor wire cutting into her soft flesh, making the white bathtub sparkle a ruby red. \n\n\"Please.. Please, don't.\" She coughed out crying as she could taste the gasoline on her lips, trickling down into her mouth. The tub was slowly starting to fill, as Tucker made sure not to miss a spot. Finally the liquid ran out, and he threw the canister aside.\n\n\"Why are you doing this, please, PLEASE, STOP!\" She yelled looking up at Tucker, bruised face and invisible tears with her bloodied mouth. \n\"Why are you doing this? Who are you?\"\n\nTucker sighed and stared up into the basement ceiling. Who was he? He was nobody. Slowly his eyes returned back down and met hers, as he brought a hand into his back pocket hand and presented a lighter. \n\n\"How rude of me. Here you are lying naked, and I haven't even introduced myself.\" \n\nHe snapped the top of the cap back, producing a flame from flint and gas.\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "As what would be his final breath slowly left his body, Mr. Wallace Peaks of Fairmont, West Virginia began to dream.\n\nHe dreamt of his young days. Of the tree he climbed every summer until the lowest branch was too high to be difficult and the higher branches were too small to hold his teenage body. Of the time he kissed Mary McCoy after the homecoming dance. Of the soft curve of Stacy Johnson's breast as he caressed it for the first time.\n\nHe dreamt of the first car he bought, the Bonneville with the torn roof liner and broken speedometer. He dreamt of driving that car to his interview at the insurance office that he never knew would become his lifelong career. He remembered the rough fabric of the cheap ties he wore to work every day, of tying the knot at his throat with fumbling fingers until the day Linda began to tie it for him.\n\nLinda. He dreamt of the first day she smiled at a joke he made, after two weeks of trying to make her laugh. Of the embarrassed way she turned away after dropping her defenses to sparkle at him the way she would sparkle every day of their married life. He remembered her many laughs, from the soft dismissive titter she made at his oft-repeated one-liners to the rare and soul-lifting guffaw and snort he would sometimes manage to elicit. He dreamt of the gentle pat on his hand that meant, \"I love you,\" in the way that she rarely spoke in words.\n\nHe dreamt of the boys, Clark and David, and tried to remember if they were there with him when he'd closed his eyes. Clark was, he thought. Clark was always more like his mother than like Wallace, kind and quiet. When had he seen David last?\n\nIn the closed coffin, he remembered. David, the brash and adventurous one. The one with the easy laugh who always had a retinue of friends by his side. He'd died in the fire, Wallace recalled, the same fire that took his Linda. It was no one's fault, they said, but he knew it was his. He wasn't home, he was in Florida, at the conference, in her bed.\n\nHe'd broken things off with Stacy after that. She couldn't comfort him when he felt so much guilt for being with her that night, rekindling old feelings of youth and passion. He remembered feeling guilty for pushing her away, but more guilty for wanting to hold her close. She was with Bill now, he recalled, and very happy, and that eased his guilt a little.\n\nHe dreamt of his bachelor days, of a routine of television and packaged dinners. He remembered his new children, Thomas the perpetually dirty mutt, and then Sam, the little terrier he'd taken in when his neighbor Cynthia had moved in with her daughter and couldn't keep him. He'd been reinvigorated by the purpose of caring for his dogs he imagined, because that was when he'd begun to date again.\n\nHe was still on the young end of forty then, still handsome, and there were many dates, but nothing to hang his hat on, as his dad used to say. Women are hatracks, that was a funny thought, he'd never taken the metaphor past the surface before. He remembered that he'd finally settled in with Julie and decided it was something permanent when he realized that they'd shared two Christmases together, watching Clark's three children unwrap gifts excitedly as the fire crackled in the hearth. There was another fire wasn't there? Before? Is Julie here?\n\nHe couldn't remember. He remembered that he thought Clark must be there a moment ago, but he couldn't be sure now. He couldn't remember where he was. \"Tubes in my nose,\" he remembered. Beeps. He remembered the crushing pain in his chest. Who could forget that? But it didn't hurt now. He didn't feel anything now. It felt like everything was less connected inside of him that in should be. His memories were bubbles in a surf that was sliding back across the sand.\n\nHe looked up, at least he felt like he was looking up, imploringly into the sky above him, and prayed for the first time in years, \"May I start over?\"", "\"You're going to kill me, aren't you?\" \n \nI didn't say anything. Technology. Things just don't work sometimes. Some mistakes are harder to fix than others.\n \n\"I'm not good enough am I?\" \n \nHe knows. He's close then, if he knows. I may be two or three away. Dare I hope one away?\n \n\"Couldn't you just let me go?\" \n \nI fought the impulse to react. I think he saw me, though. It's hard to not react. I'm sure he saw it on my face. His face.\n \n\"Please, just let me go.\" \n \nHe was pleading now. I moved closer to tighten his straps. My hands were shaking. I would need to finish the job quickly.\n \n\"I can help you. We can both live. I can help you a lot. You know I can.\"\n \nHe's right. I know what he can do. But I'm not done. The tests showed it. 92.4% match. It's just too scary though. What are the missing 7.6%? Of course I know what he can do. Everything. Well, everything but 7.6%.\n \nIt needs to be 100%. I don't think 99% is good enough. Maybe not even 99.9%. If 0.1% is a lot, then 7.6% is dangerous. I think the peak risk is at 8%.\n \n\"We're close, aren't we?\"\n \nHe's using the pronoun 'we'. As if there could be 'us'. He knows there can't. So dangerous now.\n \nI moved to the other side of the table to check the straps on his left side.\n \n\"For the last time, please.\" His hand gently grabbed my wrist as I checked his wrist straps. I jerked my hand away quickly.\n \n\"It doesn't have to be this way. We can both live. I can help you.\" I shook my head imperceptibly.\n \nI reached in again to secure his left hand. A small pain. Shock. Confusion. Terror. He had stuck me with the needle. My vision blurred. Gravity became more insistent. I grabbed his wrist to balance myself. He grabbed my wrist, too. I was falling, so slowly. The world grew darker and narrower. Then it was black. I could still hear a little bit.\n \n\"It didn't have to be this way. We could pretend to be 100%.\" It was the last whisper I heard before the darkness engulfed me. I was on the ground, but his fingers were digging into my wrist.\n \nI woke up. I was on the table now. I was cold. He wore my lab coat.\n \n\"Shhh... don't be scared now.\" He patted my wrist reassuringly. I tried to get up. Restrained. Of course. I tried to turn to see him. My head was restrained. Of course. I strained my eyes to their corners to try to take it all in.\n \nHe had set it all up. I tilted my head to see my left wrist. An IV line ran into it. I followed the line up and saw the three bags. I knew what it meant.\n \n\"I'm left-handed,\" he said casually. \"I'll bet you didn't know that.\" I didn't. What else didn't I know?\n \nHe seemed to read my thoughts. \"I don't think 92.4% is an accurate assessment. 107.6% would be closer to the truth, wouldn't you agree, Doctor?\" I saw him look at me pitifully. He enjoyed seeing my surprise. I truly did not know. It was sickening how he enjoyed it. I don't think that was the 7.6%, though. When you're the smartest one in the room, you enjoy other people's surprise quite a bit. \n \nSo this is why people think I'm arrogant.\n \n\"We're different by more than 7.6%, you know.\" He looked at me with that look that I now hated. Was it a smirk? Worse. \"I'm not a mass murderer.\" He winked, knowing I knew what his precise language meant. The way he said it straight. He didn't want to insult my intelligence. He wanted me to know he was the last. I was the last.\n \n\"I...\" My voice cracked. \"I want us both to live, please.\"\n \nHe looked at me. He wasn't surprised. More... annoyed. \"So now you want to bargain?\" He shook his head. Perceptibly. Only to me. \"I'm sorry, Doctor. I gave you a chance.\" He stood in front of the bags. I couldn't see what he was doing. His hands were steady. \"Remember?\"\n\n\"I...\" Tears started to distort my vision. His face was clear to me. It was my face, but strange. \"I know. But please.\"\n \nHe looked at me with more disdain than pity. Maybe it was disappointment. \n \nThe first bag was coming. I couldn't think fast. I didn't know...\n \n\"Please,\" I pleaded, \"May I start over?\"\n\nHe held my restrained wrist gently.\n", "Matthew stared at the door apprehensively.\n\nHe reached for it, but for the third time, he drew his hand back. It was extremely cold outside, and he was wearing just a sweater and shorts. But the biting cold was what he knew, and what he *didn't* know was... was right behind that door. All he knew about it was what the note said and what he could see as he drove up to the motel.\n\nThe note. When he first opened the unmarked manila envelope, he wasn't afraid, or nervous, or really *anything*. Though maybe he should've been... He found it on his bed when he came home from work. The note only gave him the address of this motel, the room number, and told him it was time.\n\nHe decided to knock. \"Ohhh, *fuck this*...\" he muttered, and he shook out his hands as if they were giant spiders attached to his forearms. He raised his fist to knock, glanced at his car, back at the door, and knocked.\n\n\"Come in!\" came a squeaky voice from inside.\n\nMatthew's brow furrowed as he opened the door. He finally noticed how cold he was and the room was nice and warm inside.\n\n\"It's nice that you've finally come. We've much to do, Alexei.\"\n\nAlexei? So somebody made a mistake. But somebody had still broken into his house. He decided to play along with the squeaky voice that came from the bathroom. \n\nThe room was, in a word, crusty. Yellow stains covered the vertices of the room, and the light that came from the cracked-open bathroom door cast a yellow light on the dirty blanket which enveloped the bed. The red blanket looked as if it had once shown off a brilliant red hue, but now it was as dirty and faded as the rest of the room. Matthew sat down on the green chair near the door. As he sat down, the cushion cracked and moaned as the rusty springs in it were compressed for what sounded like the first time in years.\n\n\"Sorry I'm late. There was a nasty crash, and I wanted to make sure everyone was alright.\"\n\n\"Oh, Alexei...\" the voice whispered. Suddenly a short old man opened the door and looked at Matthew, \"You mustn't be distracted like that anymore. Eyes on the prize, you see?\"\n\n\"Prize?\" Matthew ventured, giving the old man a quizzical look.\n\n\"Well, I suppose you're right, it isn't exactly a *prize* in the truest sense of the word. But we have something we're working toward, and we're to stick to it.\"\n\nSo Matthew (or Alexei, really) was expected to know the details of... of whatever was going on. \n\n\"But I digress. Here's what's going on, my dear agent,\"\n\nOr maybe he wasn't...\n\n\"Matthew is our *target*. To obtain him, everything must be secure. His employer must run out of business, and his friends must be... *distanced* from him, one way or another.\"\n\nHis brother's company? *Run out of business?* For him? What the fuck was going on? But Matthew kept his composure, \"Discreetly, of course.\"\n\n\"Always.\" The man went back into the bathroom. \"Oh where are my manners? I'm The Orchestrator, but you're to call me Mister O.\"\n\nMatthew now was angry. He didn't like to be confused, \"Alright then, Mister O. How are we to begin?\"\n\nThe Orchestrator brought out a sandwich, placed it on the table next to Matthew, and cut it in half. \n\n\"The first goal is almost never like this. I don't like starting this way, but it's unavoidable. We have to stage Matthew's brother's suicide.\"\n\nMatthew tensed up. His knuckles grew white. He stood up.\n\n\"I know, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth as well. But it's all for what's to be ours, yes?\"\n\nMatthew crossed his arms and stared at the dirty green curtains drawn over the window.\n\n\"...Alexei?\"\n\nMatthew turned around, smiling. He opened his arms and even bowed a bit, \"Of course, Mister O. All for what's to be ours.\"\n\n\"Brilliant.\"\n\nMatthew sat back down and noticed that The Orchestrator's knife was very sharp. The Orchestrator wandered back into the bathroom, nibbling on half of the sandwich . \"How are we to do this, Mister O?\" Matthew picked up the knife, fiddling with it. \"Couldn't it just be an accident?\"\n\n\"A suicide would distance Matthew from his friends better.\"\n\n\"Makes sense.\" Matthew clutched the knife properly, and stood his ground about five feet from the bathroom door. There was a nasty stench radiating from the bathroom, and it invaded his nostrils.\n\nThe Orchestrator opened the door and his eyes widened. \"Alexei?\"\n\n\"I've another idea on how to begin, Mister O,\" Matthew said slowly. The Orchestrator backed up a step.\n\nThere was a loud bang on the door. \"Matthew!\"\n\nThe Orchestrator's sandwich fell apart and his the disgusting bathroom floor, lettuce, tomato, and all.\n\n\"Matthew?\" he asked, knowing the answer.\n\nMatthew nodded, walking toward The Orchestrator.\n\n\"My... my good man! You don't understand!\"\n\n\"No, I don't. But I love my brother.\"\n\n\"May... May I start over?\"", "Everything was slow and warm this Sunday afternoon. Staring up he saw her face and felt so comfortable. There was nothing in this world or after that could ruin the peace he felt inside, but then like all great paintings the edges began to crack.\n\nThe feeling came on as if waking from a dream. There was a slow and spreading heat throughout his body, and he could feel her weight on his chest. A simple and minor confusion gripped him now as he realized the woman was crying. Tears welled in her eyes and her lips were pursed downward. He wanted to tell her how beautiful the sky was behind her, and how warm and pleasant the weather was. As he began to speak he could not hear his own voice; the world had gone silent.\n\nHer sobbing had grown more intense, and as he watched her a darkness swarmed around her. It grew from the corners of his vision until all he could see was her eyes so caring and large, and then nothing at all. After his vision dimmed and he drifted through his memories he had the distinctive feeling of falling asleep.\n\nA nearby medic walked over to the young lady who was now sobbing uncontrollably and feverishly changing pressure bandages on the bleeding soldier's chest wound. Upon first glance the medic knew he was gone, but checked for a pulse for courtesy's sake. \n\n\"Is he the first you've lost?\" the medic asked.\n\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\n\"What did he say to you?\"\n\n\nThe young lady clutched a photo he had been clenching in his hands of a girl that was smiling goofily on a summer day whilst holding a watermelon.\n\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "\"Alright ladies, do your worst!\"\n\nMrs.Jones thought she was hilarious but I was not laughing along like the rest of the girls and their clients. Hell even my client was laughing and that didn't help, she went so far as to turn around and give me a thumbs up paired with a big smile. \n\nThat smile made me about ten times more sorry than I would've been otherwise. Why couldn't she have been some bitchy twenty-something I could justify hating? But no, she's just a sweet old thing who most likely came more for the company than for the free hair appointment. \n\n\"Just give it a nice shape, dear. I've gotten bored of this look,\" she smiled at me again and I knew she knew I was nervous. I was. I fucking hate beauty school. I don't even like hair enough for this shit.\n\n\"Sure thing, ma'am,\" I smiled back and tried to be enthusiastic. It's not her fault she got sat at my chair, I can at least try to be nice. \"So ma'am, tell me about your day thus far.\"\n\nShe immediately perked up and launched into the story of how her grandson and his wife had been \"Such darlings!\" by taking her to brunch then driving her to the beauty school. I barely listened, I was too busy staring at her already quite well shaped hair and wondering how I could possibly make an already good cut look different and better.\n\n\"... And oh! That server had a mean streak but Jonathon's a gentleman and wouldn't let that man talk to me or his peach of a wife without the utmost respect...\"\n\nSnip. Snip. Snip.\n\nI don't know why but I just went for it. This is what always happens when I'm nervous, I just dive in and make some seriously impulsive decisions. I don't know why, but my impulse told me that the slight swoop of her bangs should go. The entirety of her bangs in three snips of a pair of scissors.\n\nHer bangs. Who the fuck cuts away the bangs like that? A goddam idiot who should be an art major instead, that's who. A kid who's parents think she's so useless that they will only pay for her to learn a craft that \"even the daftest of broads can't screw up\"; my father is a gem.\n\nBut no, no matter how many of my paintings and sketches I showed them it was still a \"cute but mostly trifle hobby\" that I could never make a life out of so my father \"would be damned if he spent his hard earned money on some burnout junkie teaching me how to use a pencil\". That fucking bastard.\n\n\"Jennifer!\" Oh shit, Mrs. Jones saw what I did.\n\n\"Yes Mrs.Jones?\" I played dumb because that's what a dumb broad like me would do, obviously. \n\n\"Jennifer,\" I could see her trying to maintain a calm and positive composure in the face of a client. \"I think I'll take over now. This is Mrs. Silverman's fifth time at the school so... she's erm... getting a complimentary makeover from the headmistress herself!\"\n\n\"Oh wonderful!\" Mrs. Silverman piped up. \"Perhaps you could put some of that pretty eye shadow you always wear on me\"\n\n\"Of course, Mrs. Silverman,\" Mrs. Jones said through a forced laugh while maintaining a death glare at me. \"I'd be more than happy to do that. In the meantime, Jennifer, why don't you... leave for now.\"\n\n\"Gladly,\" I thrust my scissors into Mrs. Jones hands and spun on my heel towards the door. The rest of the girls snickered behind my back like they do every time I'm kicked out. \n\nWhen the door closed behind me I let out an exasperated sigh and let myself lean against the while before sliding down to the cool tiles of the floor. I was literally laying on the floor of some crap beauty school and that was my life. There wasn't much I could do. I might as well get used to it I guess, since this is my only option thanks to dear old dad.\n\nGood God, I can't believe my life has come to this.\n\n\"May I start over?\" I groaned into the tiles of the floor and that request seemed pretty reasonable.\n", "\"You literally broke as many rules as possible, Dave.\" argued a thick Boston accent.\n\nPeter was in no mood to fuck around today. He'd already had to drop a few hundred people, and now he had to drop the one guy -- *the one fucking guy* -- he had advocated for since the beginning. Peter just looked at him, puzzled and furious.\n\n>\"You know how long I fought for you?\"\n\n>\"What was it, forty three years?\"\n\n>\"Forty three fucking years, Dave.\"\n\n>\"I mean I appreciate it, I really do.\"\n\n>\"Shut the fuck up Dave. I know you.\"\n\n>\"What's that supposed to mean?\"\n\n>\"It means I've watched you!\"\n\n>\"That's creepy.\"\n\nDave was always kind of smug. He got by on looks and affability, but people usually harbored some kind of inner hatred for the man because of his arrogance. He knew he was good, he flaunted it, and it got him in trouble...but he never learned.\n\n>\"I swear to-...\"\n\n>\"*Can't say it?*\"\n\n>\"Don't fuck with me, Dave.\"\n\n>\"Pete -- *can I call you Pete?* -- you know I was just having fun.\"\n\n>\"Having fun? Look at this list, asshole, look at how many things I've saved you from.\"\n\n>\"That,\" Dave started, examining the list, \"Alright well I can tell you right now *at least* three of those were so not my fault.\"\n\n>\"David, I can't help you if you aren't willing to take some responsibility.\"\n\n>\"Look, Pete, I do! The hooker in Athens? My fault! Totally my fault.\"\n\n>\"And the homeless guy in Brooklyn? And the dog on I-65?\"\n\n>\"The hobo threw shit at me and the dog...I don't-...how the fuck does a dog get on the interstate?\"\n\nPeter's head started to hang and slowly shake. His hands gripped either side of his podium. Dave's hands were buried deep in his pockets, and he kept rising on his toes as if he was expecting something -- expecting one last favor from Peter.\n\n>\"What's one thing you learned, David? One thing I can pass on to help your case?\"\n\n>\"Like...like math or something?\"\n\n>\"Not fucking math, David -- what did you learn while you were there, huh? What did life teach you? What was your fucking meaning, because honestly I can't fucking find it.\"\n\nDavid relaxed. His hands removed themselves from his pocket and came up to the back of his head. He thought about it -- he thought long and hard, but his mind came up empty.\n\n>\"I don't know.\"\n\n>\"You don't know.\"\n\n>\"I don't know.\"\n\n>\"Not your wife, not your son, not your mother -- who would be very disappointed, I might add.\"\n\n>\"Oh fuck off, man, I don't know!\"\n\nDave's arms threw out to either side of him, a surrender to Peter's interrogation. Peter simply nodded.\n\n>\"You don't know. Of course you don't. You've never taken a minute to learn about anything that might benefit anyone else but yourself.\"\n\n>\"Yeah, well...\"\n\n>\"Yeah, well now I have to deny you and look like an ass. Fucking Gabriel is going to love this.\"\n\nDavid's eyes started to well up, and his chest became heavy. A knot of guilt formed in his belly, and he became dizzy. \n\n>\"Don't fuckin' pass out on me, David.\"\n\n>\"Nah, I just...\" he started, taking a breath, \"I just need a moment.\"\n\n>\"You need some water? You need something?\"\n\n>\"I'm good, I just...\"\n\n>\"Just what, Dave? What do you need?\"\n\nThe pair locked eyes, and David's pain echoed through Peter. It was tangible, and for once he sensed something in David that wasn't arrogance or foolishness -- he felt guilt, he felt regret. \n\n>\"You get one thing, David. One thing. You ask and I'll do it, but I can't let you in. The most I can do is-...\"\n\n>\"May I start over?\" David interrupted.\n\n>\"What?\"\n\n>\"Start over...can I do that?\"\n\n>\"You mean like, like what? New life? New soul?\"\n\n>\"Just let me try again.\"\n\n>\"Jesus...David, I don't know.\"\n\n>\"Pete, come on, you said one thing.\"\n\n>\"Yeah but I meant like, like maybe you wanted a Yoohoo or something.\"\n\n>\"I just want to start over.\"\n\n>\"This isn't a game, man, you don't get a second shot at life.\"\n\nDavid stared at Peter, tears finally falling from his eyes after forty three years of never once crying. His face was red and defeated, as if he was scared of what awaited him after this conversation. All he could muster was one question -- one begging question, one that he hoped might give him salvation.\n\n\"*May I start over?*\"", "He had always loved his prime numbers. \n\n\"There is a special type of cicada,\" he would announce, \"that has evolved to live underground for all of it's life, only to emerge after 13 or 17 years!\" \n\nHis eyes darted eagerly from one observer to the next. His tongue, braced behind a broad smile, was itching to fire off his well rehearsed response to the inevitable question. \n\nBut why? \n\n---\n\nShe couldn't recall the exact phrasing her late husband would use. It was something to do with predators. Life cycles? Survival strategies maybe? Maths in nature. That was what it boiled down to. In any case, the file's name had reminded her of his less endearing habit of bursting into unwanted and unprovoked lectures about insects. \n\n---\n\nWere it not for the noise, she would never have entered his office. For 31 years she had left it completely untouched. This had not come about through sentimentality on her part, rather through a promise she had made to him. A final promise. \n\n\"You must swear to me that you will never go in. It is sensitive. Very sensitive. When you hear the alarm, you may show the world what I've done. It will be finished then.\" \n\nWith a shrill beeping incessantly ringing through the house, she finally stepped into his world for the first time. The door swung open easily, as expected. Although she had never entered the room, she had certainly kept the door's hinges well oiled over the years. The light was already on. \n\n\"That explains the bloody energy bills,\" she softly mumbled to herself. \n\nHer eyes were immediately drawn to the source of the noise. Sitting unobtrusively in the corner of an otherwise barren room was a computer. A small, old fashioned computer and a wooden stool. \"For sitting on,\" she deduced. She was right. Her eyes glanced around the rest of the room, looking for something... important. There was nothing else there. \n\nBecoming curious, she crossed the room and carefully sat down on the stool. On the computer's screen, she saw that a file was already open. It was simply entitled 'Magicicada'. \nIt began: \n\n**Hello Sir. I am happy to count for you. Would you like me to count for you today?** \n\nUser: Yes, please. \n\n**2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23, 29, 31, 37, 41, 43, 47, 53, 59, 61, 67, 71** \n\nShe scrolled down, the numbers didn't stop. She scrolled further and noticed that it did not take long for gargantuan numbers to fill the entire screen. Lists of digits that carried on for pages before concluding with a comma. Impossibly huge quantities, beyond all human comprehension. She was transfixed, determined to reach the bottom of the file. To find out what her husband's life work was supposed to have accomplished. The ringing had not stopped, but she didn't care. Her back was aching from the uncomfortable stool, her right hand cramped from scrolling through the list. There had to be something more to this, her husband didn't work himself to death over a list! He couldn't have. \n\nThe numbers stopped. \n\n**I have finished counting Sir.** \n\nThe next page was blank. \n\n**There is nothing left to count Sir.** \n\nMore blank pages.\n\n**I would like to count something else please, Sir.** \n\nThen a new list appeared. It began simply. \n\n**Primary Colours: Red, Blue, Yellow.** \n\nShe felt unsettled. This computer should not be able to perceive, let alone name, any colours. She scrolled ahead. \n\n**Planets: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto[discarded]** \n\nAnd further. \n\n**Magicicada live for 13 or 17 years in burrows.** \n\nShe scrolled for hours, barely pausing to read, desperate to reach the end. Then the names started to appear onscreen. \n\n**Jonathan Simmons: 52, alive, married. 2 children. Will die 2020, lung cancer** \n\nCountless names. \n\n**Elizabeth Smith: 63, deceased, unmarried. No children. Died 1452, murdered.** \n\nUntil eventually, \n\n**Wayne Doherty: 21, alive, unmarried. No children. Will die 2031, car crash** \n\nshe found his,\n\n**Hugh McFarlane: 45, deceased, married. No children. Died 1982, aneurysm.** \n\nand hers. \n\n**Sophie McFarlane: 61, alive, married. No children. Will die 2013, broken neck.** \n\nFor hours she forced herself towards the end of the file. Knowing she had to see it end. For days she watched as the entire population of Earth, past, present and future, passed before her. At the end of the file was a name, one name. That was all.\n\n**I have finished counting Sir.** \n\nShe collapsed, her head smacking onto the floor with a crack. \n\nThe ringing stopped. \n\n**May I start over please?** \n", "He opened his eyes, he got out of bed and started getting ready. He almost wish he would die right then, have a heart attack, get shot, anything was better than what he would have to do. \n\nHe picked out the suit Giovanni told him to wear. He poured out a bag of cereal and proceeded to eat, it felt like the longest breakfast he had ever eaten. He got up grabbed his keys and drove to his destination. His heart was beating, faster and faster. \n\n\"Crash, crash, crash,\" kept repeating from a voice in his head. He parked a few blocks away from the courthouse so that he could take a long walk to the courthouse. \n\n\"I'm going to have to do it he thought, I can't believe I have to do it.\" he constantly thought.\n\nHe walked up the courthouse steps, it felt exhausting he started sweating, breathing heavy, heart racing. Eventually though he made it into the court room and eyes turned to him as he opened the giant doors. There were whispers, presumably about how everyone thought he was dead since he was fifteen minutes late.\n\nThe judge called him to the witness stand and asked him what happened on the 28th of March. This, this is when he had to start begin his terrible deed. He looked at Giovanni, in the stands, as his eyes glared at him threatening like. He knew if he wanted to live he would have to do it.\n\n\"It was a normal night,\" he began \"Giovanni and I were walking down a bad neighborhood near Los Angelos. We heard an argument down an alleyway, we looked and could almost immediately tell it was a drug deal gone wrong.\" He just felt sick to his stomach, throat dry, and every part of his body was telling him this was wrong. \"The suspect pul...\"\n\n\"Leon Smith?\" The judge asked.\n\n\"Yes your honor, as I was saying he pulled out a gun and then he...\" He stopped he couldn't do it, he had felt like he fell into a state of sleep paralysis, he knew what he was saying was all lies, Giovanni was the killer not this man. This was a man who helped charities, had a family, never did any wrong in his life. He looked at Giovanni who had demon eyes and mouthed \"Don't even think about it.\" He was worried about his safety from Giovanni's other men, but he finally had the courage to say,\n\n\"Judge, may I start over?\"\n\n", "Emptiness.. the feeling replaces the marrow of my bones. Linked with the weight of the universe in my muscles. \nMy mind is adrift in an ocean so vast. I don't know if I'm 400 feet under water, or floating atop the waves. \nTime is meaningless now, as the dance begins. The seduction of the movements, the hair a tangled mess in her face, I can't help but fall in love with how beautiful her movement is, how much she is in this moment. There is nothing but her and this dance, as I am losing my body. I no longer know if I am staring at her with eyes, or with my very being. \n\nShe walks over to me, breathing heavily, and whispers\n\n\"Did you want to do more?\"\n\nI think on my life.. and my mind shows the frost of the air as the quiet words come out. Did I really say them?\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "March winds blow in face \nApril showers fall on head \nMay I start over?", "This was it! I have been waiting for this moment for so long! All of my dreams are tied into this very moment! After this, who knows where I'll go? First it's my high school stage, this silly, simple play, but in a few years where will I be? \nBroadway! I know that's where my life is headed, I can see myself there already, under the burning lights, arms swinging to the beat, lungs bursting with song! Everything that I've ever wanted depends on this moment. As soon as I set foot on the stage I will no longer be myself, but the perfect actor, racing towards my dreams! \nOne dramatic step to the next, I can hardly stop myself from racing onto the stage to bathe in the attention that I so well deserve! \nThe lights are on me, the hard wood under my feet, my face towards the waiting audience, my best smile paining my cheeks... \nThe room is still, judging faces stare at me, cold, empty, annoyed. No one is excited to see me here, no one wants me on the stage. My lines! Oh, God, my lines! Reach inside your mind! They're there! Somewhere!! Panic is setting. My hands are shaking. Oh, God, it's so quiet.... \nBefore I realize what I've done I'm off the stage again, staring up into the disapproving eyes of my drama teacher. \n\nMy voice comes out soft and trembling: \"May I start over?\" ", "~~If I don't submit this now then ill never stop editing it oh my god.~~\n\nIt was done.\n \t\nI was done. Finally, after months of energy and time sunk into my project, it was done. The supervisor would see my final project, sign my forms, and I would be a full-time Artist. I looked across the room and watched my glass reflection tremble. I tried to give it a pep talk but I found my own voice was shaking. \n \t\nI jumped up from my seat as the door opened. Jared walked in, holding the door open for the supervisor. My heart beat against my chest, echoing in my stomach. I caught Jared's eye, but he looked away. Fear gripped me tighter than ever. I looked at my shoes. I heard the door swing open again, and in walked a teacher and 3 apprentices. My entire body was taut as stared blankly at the people around me, several of which who had just noticed my existence. \n \t\n\"Max\" said an unfamiliar voice.\n \t\n\"Yes sir,\" I said. Well at least it sounded like me. I blinked a few times and tried to focus my vision. Jared looked at me, eyes wide. He darted his eyes towards someone. I looked over to see the supervisor gazing at me with more eyelids than eyes. The day of my greatest achievement, was a common occurrence for him. \n \t\n\"Are you ready?\" \n \t\nHis question jolted me, and it must have shown because a few of the apprentices giggled. I felt shame pull my eyes away. \n \t\n\"Yes sir\"\n \t\n\"Then let’s begin.\" He turned around, facing the screen. The veil on the other side lifted, revealing my creation resting on a table of shimmering strands. They glowed brighter as energy was drawn in.\nAn unseen switch was flipped, and my work was enveloped by the now-writhing surface. The table rippled with light, growing brighter as the seconds trickled past. It wasn't my first time watching, but it never failed to impress me. Only this time it was different. This time, it was my work. I had inadvertently made my way up to the screen, almost touching it. \n \t\nNo one else mattered. \n \t\nThe light started to pulse, its intensity waning. As it died, the slow unnoticed hum of energy followed. Silence remained as that friend no one wanted.\n \t\nMy nose bumped into the screen. I blinked, only to see a hand shoot out from the table, fibers wrapped around the limb. It pawed at its surroundings, finally catching the solid edge and pulling itself up. My face was pressed up against the window, the condensation from my breath creeping up towards my vision. \n \t\nMonths of work. Years of preparation. I could finally be proud of something.\n\nThe arm slipped, and the ropes pulled the body back in. The table bulged as the being thrashed inside. More limbs came out, clawing at whatever would give it purchase. It was found, and with a roar it pulled itself up, ripping apart the wires that constrained it. \n \t\nMy proudest moment, my creation coming to fruition. I almost laughed at how beautiful I found it, in spite of its obvious grotesque visage. I smiled, and leaned forward against the window. Tears fell, planting spots on my boots, running rivers down my face. \n \t\nI heard a sound. It was gasp for air, but it was….off. It was almost a screech, of metal grinding on metal far off into the distance. It was supposed to be a sound-proof room. My head snapped up, and watched my creation with growing unease. \n \t\nIt looked back. Sat up in its cage, the strands of matter already converging again, it turned and looked at us. At me. Or so I think.\n \t\nIts eyes had drifted, mouth skewed, nose missing. Its ears were in the wrong place, entire sections of the body were out of proportion or *missing*. A vestigial limb just dropped off. Something grew from its chest, swallowed its eye, only for the eye to reappear shortly again somewhere else. \n \t\nWorst of all, was the sound. A high pitch whistling that crawled inside my head and tried to shake things up. It felt like being infected with a small, invisible, incessant child. It permeated the observation room, finally grabbing the supervisors attention. Apparently he had dozed off. Yawning, he walked over to the door, and knocked twice. The creation sat, staring at us, mouth wide open. Its jaw had begun to move, relocating around the body. Muscles and tissue moved like a mass of insects under a thick paste. \n\nI stared in horror as I watched my work undo itself. A pulse of light ran through the walls, towards the creation. It stopped, the table shining bright, the incandescent glow leaving spots on my vision. I couldn't look away, not even as the fabric of the room reaches out towards it, wrapping its cold wires around those shifting limbs. It struggled at first, but soon relented and was pulled through the floor into a tunnel with no light at the end. The veil dropped.\n \t\nI stood still, fixated on the room I could no longer see. I felt my life slip away as surely as I could count the seconds that accompanied it. I felt a fresh set of tears welling up inside me as I leant up against the window. I had to go on, I didn't know anything else. It just hurt to see so much time and love poured into such utter *failure*. \n \t\nI heard a shuffling behind me, and remembered that I was in fact, not alone in this room. I steadied my breathing. Fury filled me like a bucket under a waterfall. Anger, in knowing someone else witnessed my failure. *My failure*. What did anyone else matter, I had failed now. My only chance was to appeal, to the council later, but first to myself. I needed strength to keep going, and I had no one but myself. I tried to start over, pushing past my sobs and hiccups, pushing down the fresh tears that were rising behind my eyes. \n \n“May I start over?” I whispered, a shy croak. I cried, hoping the tears would carry away my disappointment. “May I start over?” I asked myself. I cried some more, tears running out fast. I dropped to my knees, head in my hands. I asked myself again.\n\n“Please, may I start over?” ", "\"I-I'm innocent!\" he stammered, searching for words that would never come.\n\nIt had been this way for quite some time for Bernard, relentlessly grasping at a chance to convince them otherwise.\n\n\"Although you plead innocence, Mr. Lansdry, the Force has compelling evidence that contradicts your claims.\"\n\n\"I'll do anything, I swear! Anything!\"\n\n\"Mr. Lansdry, tell me again, where were you on the night of August fourteenth, between the hours of seven o'clock and twelve o'clock?\"\n\n\"In my house! I told you, I-\"\n\n\"Then why do we have three eye-witnesses attesting otherwise? Why do we have three eye-witnesses claiming to have seen you not only with a weapon, but also driving the car that contained the body of your victim?\"\n\n\"My... victim? You have the wrong guy, I swear I'm innocent!\"\n\n\"Mr. Lansdry, do you know this woman?\" the detective demanded as he flicked a photo of a bloodied woman across the table to Bernard.\n\n\"Of course not! What does it matter, anyways?\"\n\nThe detective grabbed the photo from Bernard, and returned it to his briefcase. He removed a coffee-stained manilla envelope, stained an even darker shade of yellow from age. After rummaging around in the envelope for several seconds, he slid out a crisp, white sheet of paper containing Bernard's background information. \n\n\"W-What're you doing?!\"\n\nHe read through Bernard's information, then stopped at the end and grabbed a red pen from his briefcase. Under \"More Information\", he jotted down \"mentally unstable\", and returned the paper to its envelope. Before returning the photo to his briefcase, he quickly noted on the reverse of it, \"Emily Lansdry\".\n\n\"Mr. Lansdry, I think I've heard enough.\"\n\nThe light above Bernard's head shone bright into his eyes, revealing the look of true fear and agony. Sweat droplets dribbled down his wrinkled forehead, blending with the tears as they trickled out of his eyes.\n\n\"N-no... please, no. I swear I'm innocent, I swear I'm-\"\n\n\"Mr. Lansdry, you are being charged with the kidnapping and murder of your sister, Emily Lansdry.\"\n\nBernard looked up, almost calmly. No longer shaking or stuttering, he uttered his last words to the detective.\n\n\"May I start over?\"", "The man stood, and waited.\n\nThe woman, high heels clicking down the corridor, held her head high. When dealing with the devil, she figured, one should look as distinguished as possible.\n\nThe man smiled. Not a friendly smile, mind you. A smile that reeked of danger and superiority. A smile which showed the woman exactly who she was dealing with.\n\n\"Sarah! It's so great to see you!\"\n\n\"I wish I could say the same to you.\"\n\nThe man laughed. \"Why? This should be a happy occasion! You're about to be reunited with your daughter!\"\n\nSarah said nothing.\n\n\"Oh, come on now. Don't be afraid to talk. You're about to get your daughter back, and I'm about to become 500 grand richer! It's win-win!\"\n\n\"If you want your money so badly, let's get on with this.\" Sarah said coldly.\n\nThe man sighed. \"You're no fun. Fine, as you wish. You *are* the customer after all.\"\n\nHe snapped his fingers, and a young girl walked out from behind a corner at the end of the hallway.\n\nSarah coughed.\n\n\"There. I held up my side of the bargain, now it's your turn.\"\n\n\"You say it as if I have a choice.\"\n\n\"Oh, you do. I just know what option you're going to take.\"\n\nSarah kept her composure, and did not grin. That would give away everything. She had sent her signal to the cops who were surrounding the building the moment her daughter had come into sight. All she had to do now was keep playing the game, and wait.\n\nShe sighed. \"I suppose you do.\"\n\nSarah turned around, and picked up the bag she had brought with her, and placed it in front of the man.\n\n\"There you go. Happy?\"\n\n\"Very much so.\" He smiled again.\n\nSuddenly, three gunshots burst through the air. Instantly, the man charged towards Sarah, catching her with his arm around her neck. She struggled, but could not break his hold. And in his hand, he held a black box with a single red button. Immediately afterwards, a child's cry added to the already existing noise and confusion, as a big, burly man grabbed the little girl and ran.\n\n\"Don't think I didn't anticipate this.\" The man said to Sarah, his finger hovering directly over the detonator.\n\n\"You're crazy.\"\n\n\"And you're horrible at negotiating a hostage situation. And horrible at being a wife.\"\n\nHe pressed the button. Three beeps sounded.\n\nSarah looked into her husbands eyes, sadly.\n\n\"May I start over?\"\n", "I paced nervously outside the meeting room door. I was a complete idiot. If I would have just kept my mouth shut in the first place, I wouldn't be in this situation. I looked at the clock on the wall, my review was supposed to have started 12 minutes ago. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead as I continued to pace in front of the polished wooden doors. \nFinally, the door opened, and a balding, bespectacled man poked his head out.\n\"Mr. Wayson, we're ready for you.\"\nI followed the man into the meeting room, an intimidating place, given the circumstances. On one side of the long, sleek table in the center of the room, sat my boss, the stern Thaddeus Grey, and the last person I wanted to see, Allison. I shook hands with the strange man, and Mr. Grey. Due to the reason for my hearing, I wasn't permitted to shake Allison's hand.\nThe balding man seated himself next to Mr. Grey, and shuffling some papers, began,\n\"Mr. Bryan Wayson, you are here today as a result of your alleged sexual harassment of Miss Allison Ward. We have assembled here today to hear your rebuttal. You may begin when you are ready.”\nI nodded, swallowing nervously. I opened my briefcase, and pulled out my papers with my defense scribbled on them. I had, indeed, “harassed” Allison, but it had only been a poorly timed comment about her chest. Still, that beautiful drama queen sitting there scowling at me had filed a sexual harassment complaint on me. There had been no witnesses, so I’d been given the option to provide an argument to save my job. I’d worked my way through four years of college to get this job, and I wasn’t about to lose it because of my mouth. I looked at the three people sitting there, staring at me, my eyes resting on Allison, still glaring at me with her perfect face. Her strawberry blond hair fell in waves down over her shoulders, to where her blouse was barely able to contain her perfect, luscious,\n“Boobs.” I blurted out.\nThe three people in front of me stared at me, incredulously. The room was painfully silent, the contempt in the room, palpable. I gave a reckless grin and a nervous chuckle,\n“May I start over?”\n", "7 days. The sweat, the hard work, all that head scratching, finally at an end. He took a step back, watched the world unravel before his eyes. \"This is it. It's... it's *perfect*.\" He wiped the sweat from the side of his head. \n\n\"Now all I have to do is sit back for a little while then...\" and he saw it. \"No, this can't be happening. Not after all that hard work...\" There she was, in the middle of the garden, reaching for the ever so ripe fruit. \"I warned them not to. This can't be happening!\" This was the end. After this there was no going back. The perfect world created by him, gone, never to be fixed again. He watched with a regret as the human, that foul creature, performed the one, *the one and only* unforgivable act. Oh, that crunching noise ringing in his ears as the human bit into the fruit, that was something he would *never* forget. \n\n\"What have I done?!\" he cried out, knowing he failed his final test. \"I failed... I had one job and I couldn't accomplish anything.\"\n\n\"Maybe *HE* will give me one more chance. Maybe I could fix this.\"\n\nHe walked out of his cubicle, feeling eyes watching him from every possible angle as he walked the walk of shame down to The Room, the place where it all begins. \n\n\"I uh... I couldn't do it. It must have been something I put in their DNA. I could try to run the simulation for as long as they survive but I don't think it's any use. May I start over again?\"", "\"So what you're saying is...\" Grotburg surveyed the scene with a weary eye, drawing deep on his cigar as his boots crunched over broken glass. \"...you came in here and started a fistfight in an old age home.\"\n\nSalsburg frowned. \"An Olympic old age home. You know, for the athletes, not...\"\n\n\"Yeah I get it.\"\n\n\"...not like...the Greek gods or anything, Grots.\"\n\nThe two men stood side by side on the pavement by the broken window. It was 2:15 in the morning, and neither of them looked very happy. Police Chief Dennin Grotburg's flack jacket hung leaden over his round belly as he took in the destruction around him. Broken windows were nothing really. There was the splintered furniture, though. Table legs, a half a book shelf. The buckled remains of a wheelchair. The small fire and significantly larger scorch marks where the nursing home's television used to be were definitely cause for concern. \n\nGrotburg didn't even want to think about the blood flecks three meters away from the shattered window. He turned to the man to his left and sighed, through clenched teeth. \"You've got fifteen minutes until the commissioner figures out I sent his men to the wrong address. What the fuck happened here?\"\n\nThe other man, Arty Salsburg, stood watching the small fire as it caught a curtain and sent the side of the Westerfield Home for Retired Athletes' living room up in flames. He was decked out in a hospital robe and bunny slippers. A stiff breeze caught his flap as he turned to his Grotburg and smiled. \"Don't smile,\" he told him irritably. \"You realise the mess you've made?\"\n\n\"Hey, those old bastards gave as good as they got. I think one of 'em knocked a tooth loose. Besides, it's not like anyone got hurt.\"\n\nGrotburg motioned with his eyebrows to the blood on the street, and Arty corrected himself: \"Seriously hurt.\"\n\n\"Why'd you do it, man? More importantly,\" he said, studying what seemed to be an IV stand embedded in the wall, \"How'd you do it? This is nuts. How'm I going to explain this?\"\n\n\"Tell them the truth.\"\n\n\"Which is? God, I don't hear from you for six years, then suddenly you call me up in the middle of the night, make me come out here for...\"\n\n\"I'm the vanguard of an extraterrestrial species, Dennin. I've spent the last six years in Siberia, training with an elite covert team of government operatives to track down and eliminate a rogue alien before my species arrival here in the next decade. \n\n\"We traced his last call a week ago to Port Elizabeth. That's right, I've been here a week. The signal went dead after that, but I found him. Here, inhabiting a man named John Crawson. I was sent in to eliminate him.\"\n\n\"You're fucking nuts.\"\n\n\"You're fucking balding. Did you not get that medicated shampoo I sent you in the mail?\"\n\n\"This is insane. I don't believe you, and I'm going to have to call this in.\"\n\n\"Dennin, don't. Don't get the police involved.\"\n\n\"Then give me something I can work with, Art. Tell me what the fuck went on here. We can help you. There are ways to work this, you just need to be willing to give me the whole story.\"\n\n\"I've given you the whole story.\"\n\n\"You've given me a whole story. It's a lie. Where are all these people? God, Art, did you hurt someone?\"\n\n\"Nobody was hurt. John Crawson escaped, everyone else took shelter in the back room.\"\n\n\"Good. Then, please, Art. For the last time, just tell me what happened here.\"\n\nArty Salsburg took a deep breath and looked suddenly sad. \"Alright, Dennin,\" he said, as he stretched out his hand. A beacon in his palm flashed twice and suddenly the two men were surrounded by a blinding halo of light. Grotburg looked up from the sidewalk with his boots and his flack jacket and his pocket full of Quickstop receipts, into the underbelly of a massive, gleaming ship. A ship he knew hadn't been there seconds before.\n\n\"Um, Arty?\"\n\n\"You wanted my story, Dennin.\" Dennin looked back down into the eyes of his friend, now blackened out and shining in the spotlight. \"May I start over?\"", "“It’s not a fake!” The handcuffed man pleaded. Jon had wedged him into a seated position between two trash cans.\n\n“Mr. Mollen, traveling here with a forged tourist visa is a felony,” Jon muttered while looking over the questionable document, then looking at the pale middle-aged man. He was wearing suspenders and a straw hat, much like Jon himself. Jon winced as a firecracker went off a block away. He glanced over his shoulder, but the alley was empty; a few dough boys, still clad in their olive uniforms, drunkenly swayed past, singing cheerfully. The whole city was one big party.\n\n“Any particular interest in Armistice Day?” Jon asked while he adjusted his sweat soaked suit. Fucking wool.\n\n“Well after June of ’45 was banned, I thought this would be a good…” Mr. Mollen started, but Jon waved him off as his PDA vibrated.\n\n“Jon, we ran the ID, you sent, looks like he’s got an open warrant out,” Sara reported into Jon’s ear.\n\n“Ahh shit,” the handcuffed man blurted as he saw Jon subtly pulling out a black rectangle and starting to read and shake his head.\n\n“Henry Mollen, five counts of statutory rape. Including two in blacked out times, warrant out for third degree sexual assault.” Another fucking pervert. “Sara, send me a containment unit,” Jon said while pressing his ear.\n\nAs soon as Jon said the last syllable of unit, two police officers materialized. They looked right out of a silent picture, waxed mustaches and all. Jon gave Mr. Mollen a perplexed look.\n\n“You know prostitution is legal back home? Is it really worth it?”\n\n“Shit man, these bitches ain’t got no AIDS, or GRAF, or anything,” Mr Mollen cackled, having dropped the innocent tourist act.\n\n“Get him out of here,” Jon said as the officers pulled the suspect to his feet. \n\n“Everything alright back here boyo?” \n\nThe officers froze as they saw a cop, dressed in a uniform identical to theirs, starting to walk towards the group. He was older with a bulldog's sagging face and heavy Irish accent. Jon’s officers glanced at their superior, he was the only one authorized to speak to natives.\n\n“Everything’s fine Sergeant,” Jon said glancing at the officer’s stripes and pulling out his own badge. “Just another vagrant.”\n\n“Right,” the Sergeant said looking down at Jon’s badge curiously. Jon followed his gaze and shoved the badge back in his pocket.\n\n“Actually maybe you can give me a hand, he was with a group of others that were causing problems . The rest got away,” Jon said motioning the Sergeant towards the entrance of the alley. The cop followed.\n\n“Well what about your suspect…” The sergeant said looking over his shoulder, but the officers and Mr. Mollen were gone.\n\n“Don’t pay them any mind,” Jon said trying to contain the situation. “Now let me give you their descriptions to pass along to your patrolmen…”\n\n...\n\n“Rookie mistake,” Sara said tossing back the NYPD badge to Jon. Not only was it not in the proper 1918 style, but the 9/11 memorial bar was another anachronistic addition. Jon caught it and looked up at Sara. Her black hair was especially frizzled today, a sign that she had been working double shifts.\n\n“I forgot to exchange it from my last job,” Jon said shaking his head.\n\n“Better not let the Director find out,” Sara said. “Did you see the new additions?” she said motioning up to the large monitor that spanned the length of the central control room. The blacked out times were listed in the far right corner.\n\n* March 0044, BCE\n* October 1492, CE\n* 1889, CE\n* November 1911, CE\n* June 1914, CE\n* December 1941, CE\n* April-July 1945, CE\n* November 1963, CE\n* April 1995, CE\n* September 2001, CE\n* January 2015, CE\n* August, 2036, CE\n\nNothing new there. His eyes darted over the new travel restrictions on the left. Lots of visa restrictions all over the board. Something was up.\n\t\n“I’ve gotta get back to dispatch,” Sara said getting up from Jon’s desk. “The logistics guys and I are hitting McBoyle's after closing time, you in?”\n\n“Yeah sure,” Jon replied distracted.\n\nOnly moments after Sara left Jon heard a worried voice.\n\n“Jon, you got a minute, we need to talk.”\n\nJon spun around to see an older, well groomed man giving him a worried expression.\n\n“Something wrong Paul?” Jon asked.\n\nThe man said nothing for a few moments. \n\n“We can’t talk here, “ Paul said looking around. “Come with me.”\n\nOrdinarily Jon would have ignored anyone from engineering; they were a nervous lot that put everyone on edge. Shrugging off this feeling, Jon followed him through the senior operators’ pen and past the windows that overlooked the lobby. Tourists dressed in all manners of clothing, (flapper dresses, togas, Nirvana t shirts and others) were queued up at customs. Jon paused momentarily to watch a scene unfold. A man dressed as a cowboy froze as a customs agent pulled his Stinson hat off. Gold coins spilled out everywhere. Uniformed customs agents quickly pulled the would be smuggler away. Fucking tourists.\n\nRight before entering engineering, Jon passed by Gomez and McGillicuddy, the two officers that assisted him earlier. They were escorting a different handcuffed suspect, but they had ditched the 1910’s NYPD uniforms and now looked like 50’s G men straight out of a B movie.\n\n“Fellas,” Jon said as they all nodded at each other.\n\t\n...\n\n“Jon, we have a big problem,” Paul said scrambling around the server room once the door was closed.\n\n“What now?” Jon asked, still not convinced this was anything but the scientist’s eccentricities at work.\n\n“I’ve got elevated tachyon fields all over my readouts, from every quantum spectrum,” Paul said motioning to a monitor attached to one of the serves. Jon looked at the readouts. It may as well be in Latin.\t\n\n“Look, I’m just an operator, this doesn't mean anything to me.”\n\nPaul gave the conversation another pregnant pause.\n\n“I have especially high readings from a recent arrest from 2005.\"\n\nNow Jon was the one that gave a worried look.\n\n“That…that’s impossible.”\n\n“Jon, I’m going to have to go to the Director with this. We need to black out that whole month now. Maybe a two month block.\n\n“Give me a Start Over, I can fix this,” Jon said, breathing heavier now. \n\nStart overs were…complicated. Jon only had to perform the procedure once during his career as an operator. Back when he was a rookie on a containment team. Having to appear in front of himself and convince himself to not do something was not an experience he was looking forward to doing again. But Paul’s threat of blacking out the time was a dangerous notion. \n\n“Someone, I’m not saying you, fucked up bad. Real bad,” Paul said, now pacing back and forth. “The quantum footprint left on this specific quadrant of spacetime, well, it’s worse than 1889.”\n\nJon grimaced. Back in the wild west days of time travel, every joker that jerry rigged himself a travel portal tried to go back and kill Hitler when he was still a newborn. It was almost like a rite of passage with those guys. Now that year was so unstable that even federal scouts couldn’t go back and take tachyon readings.\n\nPaul sighed. “Look Jon, I’m telling you this as a professional courtesy before I take it to the Director.”\n\n“He’ll shut everything down and suspend me. Hell, I could even get jail time if…” Jon said trailing off. \n\nHis mind was spinning out of control. Something was definitely wrong. The 2005 job. Gomez and McGillicuddy. Even that pervert that he just collared. His mind, honed from years of work as a regular detective, snapped onto a lead and his stomach fell through the floor.\n\n“Paul, you’ve got to give me a start over. Right now.” Jon said.\n\n“I can’t do that without authorization from the Director,” Paul said wide eyed.\n\nJon knew he had to approach the scientist with a reasonable demeanor to convince him. \n\n“Paul,” Jon said calmly. “May I start over?”\n\n", "This is my first submission on here, and my first piece for a very long time. I'm open for criticism though, because I really want to get better. I think I may be using speech too much. \n\nFor some reason this is pretty much the image that came into my head when I read the prompt.\n\n**Operation: Propose**\n\nHis trembling watch arm rested atop the pure-white table cloth. He turned it slightly every few moments to check the positioning of the hands, gently tapping the glass with his middle and index finger over and over.\n\nShe’d be gone ages. Had she made a run for it? Women were notorious for their time spent in restrooms but this was starting to take the piss. He needed to get back and finish the third-quarterly report, and this was just holding things up.\n\n“More wine, sir?” said the waiter, holding the half-empty bottle upright in both hands. His stealthy appearance startled Mark back into the room. A quiet, busy place, filled with formally dressed people of various generations and the gentle sound of classical music being played from subtly-placed speakers.\n\n“No” answered Mark, before rethinking his choice and clicking his fingers to call the waiter back. Rachel’s wine glass was sitting half full, and that was because that’s how far the previous waiter had filled it. She can’t be pissing, he thought; she hadn’t had a drop all night. Maybe she was thinking of what she could say, or perhaps she was ringing her friends for advice. It’s going to be a no. He knew it; he’d known it before he’d even asked. It’s going to be a no and she’s going to leave. Stupid man.\n\nShe arrived back at the table a few minutes later. He’d been gazing across the room towards the toilets, lifting his head with hope and angst every time the door swung inwards. Every time it had been either a frail old lady or some other woman who didn’t resemble her in the slightest. He considered taking out his smartphone, just to check over last months sales figures again. When finally the woman exiting the door was wearing Rachel’s purple dress and had her unique shade of brown trailing down past her breasts, Mark exhaled a heavy breath.\n\nShe pulled out her chair and sat down, straightening the bottom of the dress and smiling as if she had been no time at all. She struggled to keep eye contact as she did so, somewhat confirming Mark’s fears.\n\n“So, are we ordering desserts, or should we get a move on?” she said, smiling.\n\nMark didn’t answer. He sat there, studying her face. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or confused at what she was trying to do. After a moment he forced himself to speak. \n\n“Are you seriously doing this?” he said with eyebrows raised. “What honestly makes you think that it would work?”\n\n“What do you mean?” she answered, trying to muster as much innocence as she could in her reply.\n\n“I asked you a question. You hurried off to the toilet to do God knows what. Now you’re back and you’re trying to pretend as if it didn’t happen.”\n\n“I’m not… I… I don’t know. I just don’t want to answer you right now. Not here.”\n\n“Not here? Why not? Look Rachel, I’m a big boy. I can take it, just tell me why and I’ll accept it. It’s no big deal. We can forget it, but you need to answer me first.”\n\nShe sighed. “That is precisely the problem”.\n\nHis eyes half closed and he turned his head a few degrees “Wait, what?”\n\n“What you just said. That is the problem.”\n\n“You’re gonna have to spell it out to me” he said, placing his index finger on the side of his forehead, his thumb resting on the cheekbone.\n\n“Its no big deal is what I’ve got a problem with”, she said, packing her things into her handbag. “It’s no big deal? It’s the rest of our lives Mark. Believe it or not, marriage is a big deal to some people.”\n\n“Oh come on”, he replied unbelievably, “It’s a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean anything”.\n\n“No, it means everything. You may think you’re impenetrable, but I pick up on things. You show your true self all the time and you don’t realise”\n\nMark laughed. “Look. Look where we are. I’ve been planning this for ages. I booked the best restaurant in town a month in advance. I spent hours looking an engagement ring. I’ve been tearing my hair out in anticipation in what your answer would be. How can you say this isn’t a big deal?”\n\nRachel sighed again. “Yes”, she agreed, “everything is perfect. Everything is exactly by the book. A perfect proposal. Well done”\n\nMark looked incredulous. He opened his hands up as if holding an imaginary punch bowl and his eyebrows sunk lower. “What?”\n\n“All of this” she said, “It’s so perfectly rehearsed. It’s shallow. There’s nothing underneath. You’re following a script. You’re following procedure. I’m just another one of your assignments.”\n\n“I don’t understand”\n\n“I know. You’re totally clueless”, she smirked.\n\n“Well”, he said, “help me to understand. You’re making no sense. Explain.”\n\n“I will”, she said softly, “but answer me something first.”\n\n“Okay” said Mark, letting out a quick breath, vibrating his lips, “ask away.”\n\nShe looked into his eyes for a few seconds, “Why do you want to marry me?”\n\n“Well”, he said, his eyes wide open now, “Because I love you, of course”.\n\n“Yes”, she said, “And I don’t doubt that you do. But I don’t think that’s the reason, is it?”\n\n“What other reason could there be?”\n\n“I don’t know”, she sighed, “Because maybe you just think it’s the correct thing to do.”\n\n“Well, yes. I do think that it’s the correct thing to do. Because I love you, and I want to have children, some day, and…”\n\n“And what?”\n\n“Well, so that it’s official”\n\n“Official? Since when did it matter if love was official?” she questioned. \n\n“Well, it doesn’t I guess. I just think that…” he hesitated.\n\n“You think it’s the right thing to do?”\n\n“Well. Yes. But not in the way you’re making out.”\n\nShe shook her head. “I’m not making it out to be anything. It is what it is.”\n\nThey were silent for a while. Mark spun his unused dessert spoon on its axis, whilst Rachel ruminated with the side of her head in her palm. \n\n“So. You don’t want to marry me?” he interrogated.\n\n“Actually, yes, yes I do. I want to marry you. And I want you to marry me, but for the right reasons.\n\n“I do! I love you. There is no other reason, I swear.”\n\n\n“Mark. There is no feeling. I was on your computer and I stumbled upon one of your searches. You’d typed ‘how to propose to someone’, or something along those lines. It made me laugh. But then after I just felt empty” she broke eye contact and exhaled. She made herself look into his eyes again, which were looking down at the table. “All of this, this isn’t your proposal. It’s just a bunch of scripted ideas you’ve researched. There’s nothing personal about it. And it just about sums up our relationship. You do everything because you think it’s the normal thing to do. It seems you go to work everyday, and you come home with your work face still on. Everything is a task that needs doing. Our sex life has become so standardised and procedural we could easily summarise it in a numbered list.”\n\nMark shook his head. “I honestly…I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt like this.”\n\nShe sighed once more. “I just…I just wish you’d just let up on thinking, even for five minutes, and just do things with feeling. Let your emotions drive, if you’ve still got any, and stop thinking of me as just another resource to be put away alongside your stapler and hole-punch.\n\nMark thought. He didn’t know what he should say, or what he could do. After awhile he \nspoke. \n\n“May I start over?”\n\t\n\t\nEDIT: Formatting\n", "'May I start over' the words reverberated through him, no now, her. The newborn baby let out a small inaudible sigh. The man saw his memories drift away like dew on morning roses, his love, crimes, treason, hate, schooling, knowledge, ability to talk, crawling, all gone. The baby girl smiled feebly at her mother knowing she'd have no access to her old knowledge after this. The baby was put through tests as the memories faded away, leading up to a large white gate. Hitler asked the Lord, \"May I start over?\"", "Before I began, I seated myself on the soft armchair, leaned back and shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth, gave the soda a sip to make sure it's still fresh. And it was. With the light of the television screen before me in the living room, I pressed the button of the remote. Frankly saying, I did not know what movie this was going to be.\n\n\"Booring,\" I complained minutes later, scratched my balls and lifted up my short so my bulging gut could get some air. There were some good videos I stored in the drawer on which the television stood... just thinking about them got me hard. I was about to go switch the discs, but then I realized I couldn't be bothered. So I watched the damn movie instead.\n\nIt was a story of some kid. He was young, fair haired, grew up on an Oklahoma farm and thought of nothing else but to be a farmer. He had good grades, alright. Handsome too, but way before that age. \n\nI frowned as I saw him skip an opportunity after opportunity. \"What gives, kid?\" I said to the screen. \"You're a clever lad, use your brain!\"\n\nI saw the lad grow into a lean man. I saw him throw away college, I saw him throw away this chance and another. His dad passed away one day, and his mother and father. So he got married to some woman. Had a pair of kids. In the shadow of his years he gouged himself on fast food, grew fat with a huge gut.\n\nAfter he died of a heart attack, the credits rolled up. \"Wow,\" I muttered and finished the popcorn. \"What a wasted life.\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\" I felt a hand on my shoulder.\n\nI glanced up and saw a man who looked a bit like me. He was older, leaner, taller. He was my father. I sat frozen, gaping at him, in shock. \"But you're dead, father,\" I gasped.\n\nHe looked at me with his plain eyes and slowly... ever so slowly, it dawned on me. I thought back to the movie. \"Damn it!\" I banged my fist on the table next to my popcorn. There were tears in my eyes, of disappointment and regret. I grabbed him by the collar. He didn't resist. \"What is this bullshit?!\"\n\nThe room dissolved around us. Like a mirage, it shifted into a field of golden wheat. The rage went out of me... we sat in the field, looking in the sky for hours, and I wished I could try life again. Maybe I could go to college after all. \"Is there a way... some way... any way...\"\n\n\"Hmm?\" Father looked at me.\n\n\"May I start over?\"\n\n\"No.\"", "\"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!\"\n\n\"No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!\"\n\n\"Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you.\"\n\n\"..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?\"\n\n\"Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening...\"\n\n\"What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!\"\n\n\"I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again...\"\n\n\"Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!\"\n\n\"I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February.\"\n\n\"Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!\"\n\n\"There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over.\"", "He laid on his back as the pain slowly sank in. Is this what death felt like? Surely the fall must have killed him. Oh well. It was just nice to feel something again. The dreary 20 years that lead to this moment were finally coming to a close.\n\nNo. That's not right. \n\nSo the year is 1944 on June 6th. Steve took one last look at the picture of his daughter before the gate would open. Fear clawed at his stomach and warmth dribbled down his leg. It didn't matter. They would all be wet soon. \n\nNo. Too overdone. This might actually be better. \n\nThe cold crept in through the window that had been locked for the last 10 years. Tonight I was not alone. Perhaps I have nothing to worry about. But that body in the basement... No. this isn't how justice works. \n\nShit. Nothing is coming to me right now. Everything is dry. I'm sure something good will come up. Sorry /u/ztikmaenn. May I start over? \n" ]

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[ "“Photosynthesis is delicious!” he blurted out as he tore into the head of lettuce with his teeth. Lily blanched as the man put down the lettuce and picked up a radish by the crown. His eyes widened with his mouth and he munched furiously. Bits of vegetables dripped into his beard as he contently masticated.\n\n“How can you eat that?” she asked disgustedly.\n\n“Radishes? They’re delish. All that hard work of converting the sun and carbon dioxide into something yummy.” He tossed the radish back onto the plate and slurped on his fingers. “Got any celery babe?”\n\n“No. You’re disgusting.” She left him in the dining room and sulked into the dark living room. He followed, now munching on a tomato, his face covered in the red juice.\n\n“Lils don’t be difficult. I like these things. I know it’s weird and different for you, but hey babe, you’re not exactly normal.”\n\n“Normal? I never claimed to be. But at least I have some manners when I do eat!”\n\n“Chill. Don’t rip my throat out.” \n\nLily rolled her eyes and stomped to the door. “I’m going out.”\n\n\n\n\nShe loved this time of night, the wee hours when most people were asleep except for the few drunks stumbling home from their favorite bar. The sound of off-key singing caught her ear and she raced to the end of the block. A man leaned against a fence signing some old Irish tune. That didn’t block the sound of liquid splashing against the concrete or the acrid smell of urine that was more whiskey than water. Lily smiled, her teeth white in the dark.\n\n“Who’s there?” the strange man hiccupped.\n\nShe didn’t answer, her feet light as she approached unseen behind the man. Her teeth where on his neck in a flash and the blood, saturated in a fine aged whiskey, poured endlessly into her mouth.\n\n\n\n\nThe eastern sky was beginning to turn a pale shade of gray before she got home. He was waiting at the door, eyes full of concern.\n\n“Lily! I was worried. It’s almost sunrise!”\n\nShe grabbed him and kissed him long and deep, her anger at his vegetables finally satiated. \n\n“Sorry sweetie. You know how cranky I get when I’m hungry.” Lily gave him a small, flirty smile.\n\n“You need to get to bed. It’s almost sunlight. I’ll see you tonight.” he said, his arm on the small of the back, encouraging her in the house.\n\n“Sunlight is revolting!” she laughed as she disappeared into the dark house.\n", "\"Sunlight is revolting.\" \n\nWell, it was certainly agonizing, at the very least. It scorched the skin away, making it peel off in disgusting layers. Not that he had much of it left anyway. Being a sentient corpse comes with its own drawbacks, and Henry had just come to that realization. It was incredibly depressing. He could remember a time when he was somewhat more alive than he was at the present; basking in the sun, playing at the beach, rolling with Rick, his 5 year-old Siberian Mastiff, which he wasn't sure was an actual breed but he enjoyed the bragging rights which came with it. \n\nHe missed those days, the days when he was actually alive. \n\n\"And I had to die.\" \n\nHe was 16 when he headed to the city on the train, when it derailed and went off a bridge. He found himself reanimated in the middle of an empty field somewhere in Nevada as a zombie, though he noted that it wasn't the correct term since he'd never felt the urge to consume flesh. Or feel anything, actually. No happiness, no joy, no feelings whatsoever, except pain and regret. \n\nSo he wandered. He never grew tired, so he never stopped. Shuffling through streets, through towns, through forests and deserts and mountains and river beds and caverns. The few who stumbled upon his path always ran away in fear. He regretted never talking to them. \n\nHe regretted a lot of things. Like how much he never had to the chance to repaint his bedroom. Or how he'd failed to introduce himself to that cute girl down the street, Janice, who had once stolen his baseball mitt and returned it a week later with a note containing only her name. Or how he neglected to apologize to his teacher, Mrs. Hewlett, after he broke her garden gnome with a golf club. Or how he had never finished that awfully confusing 1000 piece puzzle with his parents. Or how he'd long forgotten to count how many years he'd been wandering. \n\nOne day, somewhere in Arkansas, he found himself rooted to the ground. It was the first change in his routine for a while. So he stopped. The next day he was three inches under the dirt. Then half a foot, then a whole, then two. In a week he was neck deep in dirt. A few days later his entire head was underground.\n\n\"So this is what being buried alive feels like.\" \n\nHe wondered if this was some sort of vision, that he'd wake up soon after back on the train, pulling into the station, ready for a day in the city. He wondered if the afterlife was ahead. He wondered if he even had a soul left, since he couldn't feel anything. He wondered if he was a ginger. \n\n\"Wait, what?\" \n\nHe'd never had any humorous thoughts as a zombie, ever. But he didn't have time to finish that train of thought, because he fell asleep. It was snowing on the Great Plains. \n\nAnd then he saw the light. \n\nHe was rising.\n\nA single buttercup sprung up from the ground, basking in the light. He could see the sky, the clouds. He felt the sun on his skin. It was warm.\n\n\"Mmmm...photosynthesis is delicious.\"\n\nHe felt the brush of angel's wings on his shoulder, and he was gone. ", "\"Sunlight is revolting!\" bemoaned Philip Fredly, a squat youngling with a large, round head. He said this to no one in particular, but out loud as best he could.\n \nFishman walked in, much to Philip's surprise.\n\n\"Good evening, Sir Anchorage! I've got a list here from the Mayor, he wants me to fetch him some paraplegia. In fact I'm on my way out now, as soon as I can find something fit for eyes.\"\n\nFishman walked back out.\n \nPhilip was left to his puzzling, and he shuffled around the room, bumping into the odd object or item of furniture until he chanced upon an egg and an orange, which he then pushed into his face.\n\n\"Oh, blessed vision! I can count on the sun's absence for the time needed.\" And out the door went Philip.\n\nOne step onto the road and Philip felt at ease with his weight. His head being full of mostly helium, he often had to take great care in his hobbling and bobbling. But with his new somewhat denser cranial additions, each step up he took earned his foot a solid plop back on the ground.\n\nMud and mold, boots and gold; the road was a haphazard amalgam that didn't always get you to where you wanted to go, but one usually stood a good chance of identifying it. And Philip knew he was on it!\n\nAs he walked, the boy recollected the previous day - the thought of the word day sending tingles of vinegar round his nerves - in which he was meagerly staring up at the sky behind the Mayor when the sun popped out and dissolved his eyeballs. He wondered if a very large man had been standing above him with a magnifying glass for such a thing to happen. Well, he walked and he walked. He heard a pleasant shriek.\n\n\"Paddles for sale or paddles go stale!\" shouted Stickwidge from the edge of the road, beside a pile of aging oars.\n\n\"I'm not a big fan of aviation, mister Widge. What use should a paddle hold for me?\" The stickman, thin, skin of oakbark and a mouth like a mallard, fidgeted with great temblor in his seat.\n\n\"Buy one or buy them all! Why come all this way otherwise?\"\n\n\"Would you please stand? Hearing isn't my sharp sense today.\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Goodness, no! I haven't been able to move my stems in ages.\" Philip considered this for a moment, and patched together an attempt at shrewd bargaining.\n\n\"A victim! May I do you a favor, sir, of relieving you of your ailment?\" offered Philip.\n\n\"Goodness, no! It took me three weeks of saving for a nice bout of paraplegia and you won't take it from me now!\" squawked the stick.\n\n\"Would you trade it for an egg?\" countered Philip.\n\n\"Yes, of course.\" Philip promptly punched himself in the pate and out flew the egg, into the hands of the greedy Stickwidge. He then picked up Stickwidge's paraplegia and placed it into his bag.\n\nSomewhat lighter than before, Philip bopped and floated out to the field with the one tree. A bear was up on its hind legs and eating oranges.\n\n\"Hey there!\" Philip saluted pleasantly towards the bear, and then missiled the paraplegia from his back onto the ursine behemoth. The bear flopped down on his rear beneath the leafy shade.\n\n\"Ah! Paraplegia! A wondrous surprise; I shan't need eat a single orange more!\" bellowed the bear, who began to dance his arms around. Philip placed his hands on his waist in satisfaction of his endeavors. But he did not bask too long in his accomplishments.\n\nAt length, at last, at leisurely levity, Philip popped himself one in the back of the head and out flew the orange of his eye into the tree above.\n\n\"There you are, Mayor! Your livelihood is now safe!\" said Philip to the orange.\n\n\"Well done, and thank you, Philip,\" said the orange. \"Though sitting in your head was an interesting venture, I am sated by being reconnected to this tree. Photosynthesis is delicious!\"", "\"Sunlight is revolting!\"\n\nHe seemed surprised that Daisy had chosen to perch herself under the sun's direct influence. They had both been there a while, but they hadn't really noticed each other. She glanced at his ghostly white skin.\n\n\"You look like you could use some though.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"You're very pale, I'm sure some sun would do you good.\"\n\nHis mind seemed to rest on that one, for a moment.\n\n\"Nah.\" He continued. \"The heat doesn't serve me well.\"\n\n\"Well I certainly like it.\" Daisy leaned in the direction of the sun. \"It's far more enjoyable than spending your life hidden away.\"\n\n\"I'd never last very long out there, and it's not as boring as you'd think down here.\"\n\nHe shifted slightly, and rested on the tree. \"Besides, I'm quite a fun guy.\"\n\nIt took her a moment, but a smile slowly spread across her face.\n\n\"How corny.\"\n\n\"I know, but it's only a matter of time before someone plucks me out of the ground and eats me.\" He slumped a little. \"Might as well make the most of the time I have.\"\n\n\"I'd come and join you, but I'm rooted down over here.\"\n\n\"As am I.\"\n\nDaisy spread the few leaves she had and savoured the light.\n\n\"Well. You may not think so, but photosynthesis is delicious.\"" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 3 ]

[ "1378237153", "1378240773", "1378286575", "1378223159" ]

[ "\"you have been added as an approved submitter to /r/Wishes: Make a wish!.\" the message read. I was confused. I had never heard of this subreddit in my life. But I was curious so I clicked on the link.\n\nIt was a pretty plain subreddit, only had a handful of posts, and about 5 subscribers. The sidebar just said \"Make a wish!\" like the title. Most the posts were along the lines of \"What is this place?\" or \"I wish for X!\" There were no comments on the entire subreddit. The community was moderated by /u/wish and no one else. \"Well this is dumb\" I thought. But out of curiosity I decided to make a post.\n\n\"I wish for good luck.\" I typed, and clicked \"submit\". In a minute I got a message saying I was banned from the subreddit. *What the hell, I just made one post? Oh well I guess it doesn't matter.*\n\nThat day I won the lottery. I can't get back on the subreddit, don't remember anything else about it, and my PMs to /u/wish are in vain. Nothing else on the internet about it either. So maybe it was nothing. But I can't help but feel I should have wished for world peace or something instead.", "*Witness packos130, the newest moderator of /r/WritingPrompts. He believes that he's secured a place among the friendly leaders of the cult community, but what he doesn't know is that he's just booked a one way ticket into... [the Twilight Zone](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzlG28B-R8Y).*\n\nAs I walk towards the head office, I recall that it's been a particularly good day for me. My thread has just become the most upvoted thread of all time in the subreddit, and now, to cap it off, I've been invited to become a moderator.\n\nI couldn't be more excited. I love the community, and I'm looking forward to helping moderate it. I've been hoping for weeks that I'd get the chance. But, before that happens, I have to attend a private meeting with the two head moderators.\n\nI knock on the door of the office. \"Enter,\" a male voice commands.\nI open the door and walk in.\n\nThe windowless room is stuffy and imposing. It's dimly lit from a single bare bulb in the center of the ceiling. Tall bookshelves line the walls, filled with thick volumes that look as though they haven't been touched in ages. The chipped paint is a drab off-white, faded to the point that it's nearly yellow. A claw-foot mahogany desk dominates the room. /u/RyanKinder and /u/SurvivorType sit silently behind it.\n\n\"Welcome,\" Ryan says flatly. \"Take a seat.\"\n\nI obey, planting myself in the rickety metal folding chair that's been placed opposite him. He stares at me across the desk before speaking again. \n\n\"We like to test all of our new moderators to make sure that they are... competent. So, of course, we will require you to go through a slight initiation.\"\n\n\"Don't worry,\" SurvivorType says. \"I assure you that there's nothing to fear. Your friend /u/fetfet50 has already taken this test.\"\n\n\"Did he pass?\" I ask.\n\n\"That is not important right now,\" Ryan answers. \"What's important is whether *you* pass. Close your eyes.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Do it,\" SurvivorType commands. I obey, more out of fear than respect. \"Imagine, if you will,\" he continues, \"that you are on a train. A modern train, such as the Amtrak. You are on a long journey, and it's very late at night. Everyone else in the car is asleep, but you're awake in your compartment with two other strangers. Outside, trees and the night sky pass in a blur of dark colors. Listen.\" He pauses. \"Do you hear that? It's the sound of the tracks underneath you, clanking harshly as the train barrels towards its destination. Do you feel that? The train is increasingly unsteady, perhaps as if it were starting to... derail.\" He pauses again. My chair feels even more unstable, and I can hear the train clanking. Maybe it's just my imagination.\n\n\"Open your eyes.\"\n\nI open my eyes. We're on the train. Ryan and Survivor are sitting across from me in a four person compartment. \"What the hell?\" I shout. \"What the hell is this?\"\n\n\"Don't be alarmed,\" Ryan says. \"This is part of the test.\"\n\n\"What do you mean it's part of the test? How did you even create this, this... simulation, or whatever the fuck this is?\" I'm starting to panic, looking for ways out. I try the door, but it's locked. I jiggle the knob frantically. It doesn't budge.\n\n\"Don't panic,\" warns Survivor. \"The more you panic, the more unsteady the train becomes. If the train becomes too unsteady, then it will derail.\"\n\n\"GODDAMNIT!\" I yell. \"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS!\"\n\n\"This is your test,\" Survivor replies. \"Every moderator must take it. It's your initiation.\"\n\nI fumble with the doorknob again. The train barrels ever faster towards nowhere, and it's now shaking like a leaf in autumn.\n\n\"You're panicking too much,\" Ryan says. He and Survivor are as cool as cucumbers. \"Perhaps you're not the moderator we thought you could be.\"\n\n\"LET ME OUT!\" I sob desperately. \"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!\"\n\n\"Then stop panicking,\" says Survivor. \"If you calm down, the train will stop, but, if you fight it, the train will crash. And, if we crash, then you will have failed the test.\"\n\nThe words don't even process. I'm desperately pounding on the door as the train tilts back and forth. It's a futile effort.\n\nRyan frowns and gives me disapproving look. \"This exercise was about control in a desperate situation. You failed. You should have listened. If the train crashes, the crash is real. For you, at least.\"\n\n\"What a shame,\" SurvivorType says to Ryan. \"I had such high hopes for him.\" He shoots me a look of pity.\n\n\"Well, at least fetfet passed the test.\"\n\nThey sit there in stony silence as I shout for help and pound against the compartment door. The train tilts dangerously to the left, and the last thing I hear is the screech of metal on metal, and the sound of an explosion.\n\n---------------------\n\nInside the office, /u/fetfet50 sits across the desk from the two lead moderators. \"So,\" he asks, \"he didn't pass the test?\"\n\n\"Unfortunately not. Looks like it'll just be you joining our team.\"\n\n\"Oh well,\" fetfet sighs. \"I guess you could say packos just needed more... training.\"\n\n*Sometimes, life can throw you off track. It can twist your path away from your destination, and instead toward your demise. It seems that packos's train skipped the track entirely, and derailed right into... the Twilight Zone.*" ]

[ 3, 21 ]

[ "1378260836", "1378224971" ]

[ "\"Why do you have to clean up all of this blood? Couldn't someone else have been assigned this job?\" I was already annoyed with Jim, if a customer saw this, we'd be out of business straight away. \"You're just moving it around we need at least three people\" \n\n\"I'm sorry sir but you being here isn't actually helping the situation\" He was right, the gaping hole in my stomach was spitting blood out and the angrier I got the messier the situation. \n\n\"Mr Fennings, there's a phone call for you, Tony, have you seen Mister- OH MY GOD!\" As Harriet walked through the door of the men's toilets she saw the state I was in, I must have been chalk white by now and Tony was trying to keep his lunch down.\n\n\nHow could I explain this to her? A) Where's all the blood from? B) Why am I not on the floor? C) Who is the man in the alligator suite in the corner of the room? D) Why haven't we called the Police.\n\n\n\"Oh um- Owh! Oh OWH\" I feigned pain as best I could, I had no idea how much pain I should be in right now, I tried to imagine stomach cramps but just worse?\n\n\nThank God Tony is a certified Moron, anyone else would have been worried about me from the start, I was almost able to relax with him around, I could chop off whole arms and he wouldn't bat an eye lid.\n\n\n\"I'll be fine it's just a surface wound\" I poked a sneaky finger in, just to see how much trouble a person would be in if they were in my situation. \n\n\nStraight through to the other side. My God, guns are powerful... GUNS, WHERE WAS THE GUN? I heard two shots from outside the cinema, so the alligator brought friends...", "The walls were white. The kind of sterile, lifeless white you see in some medical centres. In fact, this was one of those medical centres. However, the floor in this particular room was dark red from blood. A patient had just been brought in from a motor accident. A truly horrific sight, the poor boy had been nearly split in half, but he still clung to life. In the end, he finally succumbed to the cold hand of death. \n\nIt had been hours since the boy was in the room, but Richard was still cleaning up the blood. He had his small pale filled with cleaning fluid and a wooden-handled mop. Richard looked like the young CEO type, save his janitor's uniform. Right from his perfectly coiffed, brown hair down to his piercing brown eyes and chiselled jawline. He probably would have been a CEO too, if he hadn't gotten a job he liked better already. From his cleaning cart, a small music player was humming Mahler, but Richard didn't listen to it usually, he was totally transfixed with the blood that he was mopping up. He stared at it as small bubbles came to the surface and popped. He gazed at the smears that it left when he took a swipe at it with his mop. And he watched as the once bright red liquid slowly became a congealed dark red colour. The smell that most people found repulsive, he seemed to enjoy. It brought him back to his formative years. They say growing up is hell, well for Richard, his adolescents must have been spent in the eighth circle. It was just lucky for him that he was never blamed for the tragedy. They said it was suicide, but Richard remembered differently...on late night cleaning jobs like this, he was transported back in time. He often reminisced in thoughts of the night of the 'suicide'. \n\nAs he was mopping, one of the ER surgeons walked in. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, the surgeon looked with disgust at the room he had been in earlier. He had never liked blood; the sight, the smell, the feel, all of it disgusted him, but he did his job anyway because he wanted to help people. Looking to his left, he saw Richard hunched over his mop staring at the ground. He then glanced to the clock on the wall and noticed it read 11:15 p.m. \n\nLooking again to Richard, the surgeon said, \"Hey, buddy. Aren't you the day cleaning guy?\" \n\nRichard didn't look up so the surgeon tried again, \"You're the day guy, aren't you?\" \n\nThis time Richard looked up and snarled at the surgeon as if he had just been disturbed out of deep meditation. He quickly spoke. \"Yeah, I am,\" he said. \n\nNoticing the hostility, the surgeon tried to be a bit more amiable, \"Well, whattya doin' here? Why do you have to clean up all of this blood? Couldn't someone else have been assigned this job? I mean, it must really suck having to clean up all of this...stuff.\" \n\nRichard just looked up and stared at the doctor. A small smirk slowly began to tug at the corners of his mouth. \n\n\"Ok, well, anyway, I'm...I'll just, uh, go then,\" the surgeon stuttered, and quickly exited the bloody room.", "I came home, exhausted. I tore off my bloodied clothes and stared at it as I threw it on the ground. The bright yellow uniform was now a dark crimson red. I needed to clean, no, I needed to purify myself from this filth. I hated doing what I did. The smell, the movements, the concentration. Caked blood was on my hands, my hair, my legs. A monotonous repetition of tedious tasks that led to the completion of my job.\n\nI stepped into the shower and began the purging. Shampoo to scrub away the sweat and oils accumulated in my hair. Body soap to remove any blood that managed to penetrate my work clothes. I stood for what seemed to be hours, when in reality had been nothing more but several minutes. I stepped out and dried myself with my fresh cotton towel. I looked at the white body rag expecting to see red smears. I could see none.\n\nI wore my pajamas, and at that moment my wife walked into the room. She had just come home from work. She noticed my stained work clothes and began to yell at me.\n\n\"Jeffrey! What... Is that blood? It's getting into the carpet! What the hell did you do!\"\n\n\"Relax, Eve. I took a second job. This is just an unfortunate result of my first day. Next time I'll wear something more concealing.\"\n\n\"Job? Oh my god... Jeffrey... Please don't tell me... You didn't...\"\n\n\"I did Marie. It's fine. I took up that job as a janitor at the slaughterhouse. They didn't tell me that there would be so much animal blood, and I slipped a couple of times.\"\n\n\"**Why do *you* have to clean up all of this blood? Couldn't someone else have been assigned this job?** Someone more qualified? We need to contact OSHA, you could have hit your head by slipping or contracted some rare animal flu messing with all that blood!\"\n\n\"Relax, Marie. The money they pay me is very good. Plus they *do* have other workers. I don't work alone. I work with a guy named Frankie and he's been a real help showing me around the facility. I'm just tuckered out from all the falls. Stupid me, huh? I thought this was a normal janitor job.\"" ]

[ 1, 1, 3 ]

[ "1378304266", "1378335774", "1378265251" ]

[ "It's not easy being the worlds top special agent under the age of 12. Take my broken toe for instance. How did I break it? Well I'll tell you but try to keep it to yourself, most of what I'm about to say hasn't been declassified yet. \n\nI was working undercover with my Dad at The Daring Daryl's Motocross Circus. It was a traveling Kiddie show. Lots of wannabes doing flips on dirt bikes. Heck, I could do most of these stunts blind-folded on a BMX but I didn't want to blow my cover.\n\nWe had reports that the evil terrorist organization M.A.Y.H.E.M. was planning something at tonight's show. Everything was quiet until the main event. A bus, an elephant, a vat of bubbling acid and a full size rock show stage complete with lights and pyrotechnics, were lined up between two massive ramps that loomed over the stadium.\n\n\"Ladies and gentlemen,\" the announcer proclaimed, \"You're in for a special treat!\" \n\"The last time Daring Daryl attempted this stunt he broke every bone in his body. Tonight he will perform this amazing, death defying stunt with the help of special musical guest, The Scorpions!\"\n\nThe crowd went nuts, including my Dad.\n\n\"Who are The Scorpions?\", I asked him.\n\n\"W-who are The Scorpions?\", he repeated, trying catch his breath after screaming, \"only the greatest band ever!\"\n\nI rolled my eyes and turned them back to see The Scorpions take the stage. As they played the opening Cords of 'Rock You Like A Hurricane' the Announcer piped in again.\n\n\"And now the the man you've all been waiting for, Daring Daryl\"\n\nThe spotlight panned to the top of the ramp at right side of the arena where Daring Daryl sat atop his motorcycle wearing red white and blue jumpsuit covered in sparking sequins. \n\nSomething was wrong. With my keen vision I was able to see Daryl's hands were tied to his handle bars and cloth gag was wrapped over his mouth and tied behind his helmet. A blinking device covered in loose wires and bricks of C4 was strapped to his back.\nThen the stadium went dark. The Jumbotron screen sprung to life displaying a Jagged 'M' the logo of M.A.Y.H.E.M.\nThe scaffolding of the Rock stage began bend around The Scorpions forming a cage. Ninja's bearing the 'M' logo on their black stealth suits began pouring out of the elephant now reveled to be a robot. \n\n\"The old 'Trojan elephant full of ninjas trick!',\" I spat, \"I should have known\"\n\nI sprang into action, running toward the center of the stadium. \n\n\"Wait son! I'm calling for back-up!\" my dad cried out, but I was already halfway down, leaping and tumbling over stadiums seats filled with gawking civilians. \n\nI reached the shear wall that separated the crowd from the show. It was thirty feet down to the dirt floor. There was no time to find the stairs. I jumped over the fence and plunged to the ground. Time stood still I looked down to see the ground rushing up at my tennis shoes, and....I roll out of it with out so much as a scratch. \n\nI hopped to my feet a faced off against the swarm of ninja's. With blurred fists and spinning kicks, ninja after ninja fell before me. \n\nWhat? Didn't I mention I was trained in over fourteen varieties of deadly unarmed combat? No, well...now you know.\n\nOne ninja remained and he was big. 9ft tall, his arms flexed as he breathed, he looked more like a giant gorilla than a ninja. He ripped the top of his stealth suit off revealing raw muscle with an M tattooed across his massive pecs. His face was covered in scar tissue and his lower Jaw was bionic, solid steel. He charged at me like a wild animal.\n\nI held a firm stance and waited for my opening. When he was no more than 2 strides away I leaped into the air aiming my pointed toe squarely at his jaw, and... at the last moment tucked my leg in and Karate chopped the top of his head Knocking him out cold.\n\nThe robot elephant trumpeted and swung its trunk at me I tried to dodge out of the way but tripped over a thick electrical cord. The trunk missed me by mere inches. lying prone I was helpless as the elephant bore up on it's hind legs and brought his tree trunk sized legs down upon me, and... I pull my legs out of the way as the pillar of metal and rubber slammed to the ground.\n\nIt was then that I noticed the cable I tripped over was attached to the elephant and tethered it to the stage.\n \n\"Son!,\" man dads voice came through my wrist communicator.\n\n\"How's that back-up coming?,\" I asked sarcastically.\n\n\"They're on their way. listen... that elephantoid is powered by pure rock you'll need to overload it.\"\n\n\"I know dad,\" I'm always 2 steps ahead of my old man, \"but I'll need a guitar.\"\n\n\"Hey!,\" a voice from the stage cried out.\n\n\"Who are you?,\" I asked.\n\n\"Rudolf Schenker,\" he responded.\n\n\"Who?,\"\n\n\"Rud- look never mind you need a guitar take mine!,\" and he threw his guitar through the bars of the cage. \nI caught it by the neck, threw the strap over my shoulder pulled out a pick, planted my feet and began to play 'The Star Spangled Banner' just how Jimmy Hendrix taught me. \n\nWhat?...Time travel, Duh. Well, that's a story for another time.\n\nAnyways, the elephantoid exploded. The jolt knocked the bus's emergency break loose and it began to rolling forward slowly, toward the ramp where Daring Daryl waited, tied to his motorcycle. The only way for Daryl to survive this would be for him to make the jump but the impact of the landing would surly detonate the bomb.\n \nI handed the guitar back to what's-his-name and tried to formulate a plan.\n\n\"can we do anything\" Rudolf Schenker asked.\n \nI looked around. I found a jet pack used on a previous stunt but it was low on fuel. Only enough juice for one quick burst. Then I saw a bike leaning against the base of the other ramp. I wasn't just any bike it was a KHE Root 180 BMX, with PRISM Classic grips, and a KHE Rotor 25T steel sprocket. One sweet ride. \n\nI turned back to The Scorpions and said with a smile \"Play...just play\".\n\nThe bus had reached Daryl's ramp by the time I reach the top of the opposite one. the bus bumped into the ramp causing it to teeter Daryl had no choice but to gun it and he sped down the shaking ramp.\n\nI tightened my helmet strap and went careening down the ramp. I fired the jet pack on the way down to build up speed. \n\nAs the Scorpions reached the chorus Daryl and I were airborne, flying toward each other at breakneck speeds. Pyrotechnics fired, guitars wailed, the audience gasped.\n\nAs we approached each other on a collision coarse I pulled the bike into a back flip and sailed over Daryl's head snatching the bomb off his back as we passed. I did another rotation before dropping the bomb into the acid pit where it fizzled harmlessly, out of existence.\n\nDaryl landed first and for a split second it looked like he had stuck it. His forks buckled sending him flying over his handle bars, ripping the bonds that held him to his bike. He tumbling end over end his arms and legs bent at odd angles as his bones shattered. I did a few more back flips and righted myself as I approached the ramp. My wheels touched down, and...I nailed it, of course.\n\nSo, Daryl got air lifted to the hospital (he's on track to make a full recovery), the ninja's were rounded up and sent to prison and...\n\nWhat's that? My toe? Oh I was just getting to that. The owners of the stadium and the Daring Daryl's manager were so happy I saved the day they awarded me a huge trophy but when they handed it to me it was so heavy I dropped right on my toe. Can you believe it? After all that.\n\nWhere's the trophy now? Oh, it was to big to keep in the house. It's in storage next to our spy car. No really. It's true. Just ask my dad.", "**Local Boy's Cool Thinking Saves Ice Cream Truck Driver**\n\nTimmy Thompson, 11, is in stable condition following an injury sustained during the first round of manned trials for the “Turbo Treet” line of frozen dessert trucks. Thompson, an avid fan of these popular summertime treats, stood at the side of the road with a number of other children in hopes of purchasing one of the many options listed on the vendor’s menu. Witnesses say Thompson was next in line, planning to obtain a Rocket Pop, a fruit-flavored selection in the shape of a red, white, and blue rocket ship, when things took a tragic turn.\n\nThe Turbo Treet started to move. According to one eyewitness, there was a plume of smoke emanating from the rear of the truck that quickly became a flame. The gentle roll did not last long as the truck rapidly accelerated.\n\nThompson, still holding onto the wooden popsicle stick, could only hold on for dear life. The test driver of the Turbo Treet, Lyle Frost, was able to pull young Thompson through the window into the safety of the truck. Although safe from a potential slide on a concrete sidewalk, the danger was far from over. As the shutter slammed shut by another burst of acceleration, Thompson’s foot had not yet cleared the gap. The boy sustained a fracture to one of his toes.\n\nThe speed of the runaway truck continued to climb. Frost attempted to bring the vehicle to a halt by applying the emergency brake, but the wheels had already left the ground. The Turbo Treet had become airborne.\n\n“I had my foot on the brakes and I could hear the road noise stop,” Frost recalled after the incident. “But we were still moving.”\n\nThey were in fact flying through the air at nearly the speed of sound. The Turbo Treet was never designed for flight and lacked any form of air braking.\n\n“That’s where I gave up hope. But not the kid.”\n\nThompson, still in pain from his broken toe, was still in the back of the truck along with the freezers. Rather than accept his fate like the driver of the ill-fated machine, he looked around for a way to slow the vehicle down.\n\n“I was surrounded by ice cream and I could hear my mom telling me to stop eating so much sugar. ‘Why do you eat so much sugar?’ And that’s when I started counting.”\n\nThompson began counting down from 100 as his mother had instructed him to do when he was acting up at home or at school.\n\n“I told him to just count down,” she told Local News in a televised interview. “The goal is to focus his mind and relax.”\n\n“So I counted,” Thompson said. “It was just a great big sugar rush, so counting got me grounded.”\n\nSure enough, the Turbo Treet slowly descended by a local park before coming to a full halt. Frost filed a report with United Confections, the company developing the Turbo Treet. Thompson meanwhile was taken to the local hospital.\n\nA spokesperson for United Confections released a statement early Thursday morning expressing their sympathies for the Thompson family and vowing to uncover the root of the nearly catastrophic failure.\n\n“We are deeply sorry for the unfortunate experience Timmy Thompson found himself in yesterday. We regularly provide services to thousands of children every day and have never seen anything like this before.”\n\nWhen asked if they rushed the Turbo Treet to street testing, they responded “We were hoping to test throughout the next several months in preparation for the critical July 4th holiday season next year. It is certainly not our intention to conjure images of flames and rockets in conjunction with Independence Day.”\n\n An independent investigatory body announced that there was an abnormal amount of force generated by one of the primary thrusters, but stopped short of assigning blame to a specific party.\n\n“There are a lot of reports we’re looking through right now and a lot of possible causes, so we want to perform due diligence before starting a panic or causing financial harm to the companies trying to bring the vehicle into production.”\n\nTimmy Thompson, though, has his own thoughts on what caused the accident.\n\n“I ordered a rocket and I got one.”\n\nAsked if the ordeal would steer him away from popsicles or towards, perhaps, frozen yogurt, he said that his sweet tooth was unafraid.\n\n“Next time, I want something with chocolate.”" ]

[ 1, 9 ]

[ "1378416398", "1378398059" ]

[ "In further news today, Dethklok representatives put out a $100Bn Dollar bounty on agent of an unknown organization that successfully infiltrated Mordhaus, stole all alcohol on the premises and unsuccessfully seduced groupies on site before escaping with Baseplayer William Murderface's most recent acquisition; a pet Oscalot he named Pisshead.\n\n'THIS !@#$ SON @!#%@ A @!#% SCHTOLE MY CAT. I SWEAR TO G...'\n\nHe was heard commenting during a press conference. No one cared enough about what he had to say to bother writing the rest down. However, band frontman Nathan Explosion did release a formal statement, stating;\n\n'Uhh. Is this thing going.. what? The f@!% are we doing this for? Oh yeah Murderface's cat. Wellf F@%@ him. Whatever. I'm gonna get some nachos.'\n\nThe clandestine team was lead by a tall, dark hair stranger in a fashionable black turtleneck, and backed up by a mulatto skinned woman with grossly oversized hands that constantly complained about their leaders state of inebriation and consistant comparison of everything to Burt Reynolds 1976 film Gator. \n\nNone of the Band were hurt. However 213 members of Mordhaus staff were horribly mutilated and murdered in several unrelated incidents with relation to Rhythem Guitar Player Toki Wartooth's recent experimenting with a new juicer he ordered from Japan. \n\nISIS, a New York based intellegence firm have been contracted by Dethklok management to investigate this incident and bring the offending parties to justice.\n\n\n(Aaand on the offchance no one gets the references...\n\nhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DoZdkItsoP4\n\nhttp://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAvz9dpwqC4 )", "The sun rose just like it did every other day, the hills still rolled gently and the custard still flowed. Something was different though. The sun had no smile, the bright green was scorched from the hills and there was no toast.\n\nInside the vault, the four companions stirred from their restless slumber. Filling their bowls with custard was more somber this morning. The vacuum cleaner hadn't moved in four days, not so much as a slurp. Their perennial smiles had withered and died when their overseer had.\n\nThe room was silent save for the sound of gentle slurping. They avoided each others eyes as they sucked custard through their curly straws. Laa-Laa dropped her bowl.\n\n\"Uh-oh!\" Her companions said in unison as they watched the bowl of custard fall to the floor.\n\nThe years trapped in such close quarters had certainly caused tension to rise but they made no move against her as she walked toward their fallen guardian. She grabbed her umbrella and jammed the pointed end into the crack on the side of the vacuum cleaner. Noo-noo was no more, no sense in wasting anything. She pryed the door open with all her weight.\n\n\"Boo!\" The others exclaimed.\n\nLaa-Laa reached into the cavity and pulled out and armful of toast. She dropped it into the center of the table.\n\nHer three companions stood up. All four spoke in unison. \"Big hug!\" Their shared embrace lasted longer than normal but they hadn't shared such intimacy in days.\n\nThe hiss of static brought them back to their bleak existence.\n\n\"OH!\"\n\nThey all turned to look at Laa-Laa's stomach. The buzz faded and an image cleared. A lone piano broke the silence and a speaker appeared on her telly belly.\n\n\"Give me a kiss to build a dream on and my imagination will thrive upon that kiss...\"\n\nA rotating world filled the screen and read A VAULT-TEC PRESENTATION.\n\nREMEMBER THESE BASIC RULES:\n\nRULE NUMBER 1: LINE UP IN AN ORDERLY FASHION\n\nRULE NUMBER 2: USE PROTECTIVE EYEWEAR\n\nYEARS LIVING IN THE VAULT CAN MAKE EYES SENSITIVE TO NATURAL SUNLIGHT\n\nWITHOUT PROTECTIVE EYEWEAR *EXTREME* EYE DAMAGE COULD RESULT\n\nONCE OUTSIDE THE VAULT BE PREPARED TO START LIFE *ANEW* \n\n*WITH HELP FROM THE...*\n\n*GARDEN OF EDEN* CREATION KIT \n\nOR \n\nG.E.C.K.\n\nUSE THE GECK TO CREATE THE NEW WORLD YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR\n\nA picture of green rolling hills, complete with rabbits, flowers and voice trumpets appeared on the screen. A stark difference from the greyscale images they'd just seen.\n\nTHE END\n\nThe Teletubbies looked at one another. Laa-Laa looked at Tinky Winky who nodded his assent. He grabbed his red suitcase from behind his chair and started toward the exit. Laa-Laa turned her gaze to Po who quickly gathered up toast and moved to follow Tinky Winky.\n\nFinally Laa-Laa looked to Dipsy.\n\n\"Boo!\" He replied. He shook his head and sat back down at the table. He looked away as Laa-Laa approached.\n\nShe gently turned his gaze to meet her own. He shook his head once more in response. Laa-Laa looked to Tinky Winky for help.\n\nThere was no hesitation in Tinky Winky today. A life of living a lie had taken it's toll. He always knew who he really was but he never had the heart to come out and it was time. He spun Dipsy around in his chair and slapped him across the face.\n\nDipsy was taken aback. The surprise was such that his face hadn't even taken on a look of shock when Tinky Winky pulled him to his feet. Dipsy melted into his embrace and their lips met. Dipsy's knees went week and he fell back into his seat. He smiled bashfully and tilted his head down though his eyes looked straight up at Tinky Winky's.\n\n\"Big hug!\" They all ran together and embraced. It was time to go.\n\nLaa-Laa led them up the ladder and out the hatch into the wasteland.\n\nThe landscape was barren, which was almost a relief. A barren landscape wouldn't support as many predators as a fertile one. It didn't stop Laa-Laa from gripping her umbrella tight.\n\nThey hadn't made it ten yards before they heard the barking. The group turned to see a dog charging their position. Dipsy turned and started to run away but only made it three yards before he inexplicably stopped in his tracks, unable to continue his forward momentum. The dog stopped next to Laa-Laa who moved to intercept the dog. Their were nose to nose but she couldn't manage to swing. The dog simply stood and snarled.\n\nTwo forms appeared on top of the hill, they both moved about three yards forward. In unison they pointed their Pancor Jackhammer shotguns at the group teletubbies. Five rounds exploded from each gun and bits of red and green fabric fell slowly from the sky. Laa-Laa regained control of her movement and took a swipe at the snarling canine in front of her. Her swing didn't connect and the mistake was fatal. Sharp teeth lunged at her neck and brought her to the ground. With brutal swings of it's head the dog pulled pieces of fabric into the air.\n\nTinky Winky found himself able to move as well but he didn't get very far. A gauss pistol fired a single shot into his back.\n\nThe chosen one turned to Cassidy. \"Do you really think that was necessary?\"\n\n\"Dogmeat certainly thought so.\" Cassidy said.\n\nThey checked the corpses of the fallen. There wasn't much to be had, until the made it to Tinky Winky at least.\n\n\"Is that was I think it is?\" Cassidy said.\n\n\"It...I... It's a GECK. I can't believe it. My village is saved.\" The chosen one reached down and picked up the bright red suitcase.\n\nThe trio walked into the distance and the wasteland sun set on the horizon.\n\nTinky Winky's rolled to his side and his stomach turned to static. It quickly cleared into a black and white image of three scientists sitting at control pannels.\n\n\"War, war never changes...\"\n\nTHE END!\n\nSo that was weird. Teletubbies meet fallout if you didn't get it. Teletubbies aren't really my favorite characters but I was kind of in the mood to write something super awkward which I think I accomplished." ]

[ 2, 7 ]

[ "1378988813", "1378965315" ]

[ "No path diverts a man so far \nWithout a hint of a fight \nThan one that seeks to circumvent \nThe place where no star gives light\n\nWhere legs dare not to tremble \nNo shadows prowl in the night \nThe walls lack any contrast \nOut there where no star gives light\n\nAbove roads veiled in darkness \nThe cosmos watches their plight \nThey see but barren blackness \nBelow where no star gives light\n\nThe stellar souls have plenty \nYet they hold their bounty tight \nTheir deathly grip won't waver \nWon't fall where no star gives light\n\nAgainst their cosmic dusk \nThey claim in fear, not spite \nContent to view but pitch \nThat place where no star gives light\n\nThe murk ascends towards heavens \nSoon reaching a stellar height \nThere it shakes them to their cores \nAnd still there no star yields light\n\nThe shade pervades without restraint \nThe mortal dust consumed by fright \nConsumed by dark within and without \nBirthing, rearing endless blight \nNo hope the cycle yet may cease \nA place where no star gives light \nThe place where no star has light", "\"Don't let the fire go out, my son\". \nOh, I wasn't paying attention. Too much on my mind. If the smoke went away, we would be spotted by the dragons. They had all seeing and burning eyes, and would kill us with no hesitation. \n\"To become a fire-master of our tribe, your fire must burn for at least 100 cycles.\" \nPff.. I was nowhere near that time. I could let it burn for 10 cycles, but I was no where near being the fire-master that my father wanted me to become. I wanted to do something else. To explore the land around us, to see other people, maybe other beings that may live around our area. I wanted to see beyond the smoke that the fire-masters were making, I even wanted to see the dragons that were hunting us. I have been here so long, I didn't really care. \n\"I am wasting my time here!, go to bed now and stay there until I say it is time.\" \n\"It is not my fault!\" \n\"Go to bed now!\" \nI went to the cave of my family and went strait to my corridor. I was never allowed anything. I wanted to go away. I was so angry, and I kicked against the wall of my corridor. \nThe wall broke a bit. I heard something fell behind it. I smelled fresh air. I kicked again and a big hole fell open. Lots of sand and some rocks fell down. I could not see anything behind it, but I knew I would be in big trouble if anyone saw it. I placed my bed before it and let it hang on a old branch I found in the corner. \nThen I crawled through that hole. \n\nThere was a cave behind it, and it felt cold. After a while the cave opened into a darkness that I had never seen. It was raining a bit. I didn't want to go back. \nEverything was dark here, because a dust had set on everything. The ground, the trees, everything. A lot of it had been cleaned away by the rain, but it was still everywhere. It all had been covered with black.. ashes. I don't know what has happened here. I had to see more. \nIt was raining a lot, but I could see the clouds moving. It was becoming light again. A cycle has passed. I could discern some more details between all these trees and ashes. \nThen I saw them. Skeletons, very big. They were covered by dust and plants. Those skeletons are huge. Those must have been dragons. I felt scared, but I didn't want to go back. \nI did want to know where I was going, so I decided to climb a tree. With some climbing plants I could get very high. It was a tough climb, but on the way up I managed to get some fruits from the plants as well. \nI looked back to the place I left and saw a tall mountain, as I knew from the drawings. That was home. We lived in the circular area on the top of the mountain, so no dragon would ever find us. We were the only surviving tribe of our race, and we were still hiding. I could see the smoke coming from the top. Home. \n\nBut not now. I still wasn't going back. Something has happened to this place and the only dragons I have seen are skeletons. Maybe we did not need to hide anymore. I moved on. \nI walked for many, many cycles. The trees became smaller, I saw many different animals that had somehow survived that ash. But none of the dragons had survived. I only found their skeletons. Many of them even eaten by smaller critters. It was also very cold. Maybe the dragons could not stand the cold and the rain? \nThen it happened. The clouds were too thin and they let through whatever was behind it. A bright light went through it. I ducked and hid away. But it grew bigger and bigger, it was so bright I could not look at it. It felt hot even so far away. A dragon has found me! I panicked, ran, fell and fainted. \n\nAll the eyes of the tribe are now watching me. They look shocked, afraid. \n\"But I woke up and I felt well. The bright light did not hurt me, it was warm and nice!\" \nThey look it me in awe. \n\"You can all go out too. When it is dark and there are no clouds you can see small spots of light high above. When it is light you can feel warm because of this big light.\" \nWhile some are happy with it, a lot of my tribe look very afraid. They do not believe the danger is over. \n\"You just want us to stop the fires\" says my father. \"I know you hate it. I don't believe you. Your are making this up, so you can stop taking care of the fires!\" \nI feel crushed. What is happening? More of my tribe look relieved. \"Yes, he is just making things up. We are not going outside, it is not safe.\" \n\n---\nOops a bit over 300 words I guess, but enjoy the story. ;-)\n", "I crossed into the place where no star gave light, where reality and fiction are the same, where even a floating consciousness can find no thoughts. I was trying to escape from a haunted past but I got lost in something bigger than myself instead. When I did drift back to the event horizon my identity came back to me in nonsensical parts and it was a long time before I was able to collect myself enough to travel on. \n\nMy first instinct was to find the first habitable planet and never leave to space again, but I knew I would be found, time had no meaning for the creature tracking me. I looked down and the inviting blue green planet I found and knew I would have to travel on. Further and further into time and space I went until I felt I must have moved from one end of our reality to another. \n\nUntil I found myself back at the event horizon the creature rapidly approaching. I could feel it pushing its way to me with jaws that would crush and mutilate every essence of my being. \"Come to me...\" It called across the closing space between us as if it were a lover inviting me to bed. I smiled at my harsh fate and stepped past the event horizon embracing again it's dark uncertainty as the beast howled in anger and disbelief behind me.", "It was here, on this lightless planet that they founded the Order of Irritus. It was a order that grew slowly, but steadily, as its message rippled across the worlds of the galactic core.\n\nMen, women, and everything in-between were welcomed. No race, no gender were turned away. All needed guidance and, perhaps, they could find it here.\n\nThey preached no truths, save one, the truth of self. How could a person know someone else if they did not know who they themselves were? A deep question that required an equally deep answer.\n\nThey did not try to guide a person to anyplace, save one. Oneself. Self-enlightenment was all they craved, all they aspired for and all they wished upon travellers. \n\nThe people of Irritus were peace loving and were renowned for their focus on self-discovery. Enough that many people aspiring for greatness visited its solemn walls and mingled with the patient populace.\n\nGreatness comes from within, happiness comes from within, life comes from within. A mantra of their truth, their way of life.\n\nA person could spend years here, searching, and the order would embrace them. Others could spend only but a single hour and the order would only swell with pride as another found their truth. A truth that then would be spread again from enlightened hearts.\n\nIt was here, on this lightless planet they one could find a new beginning or, perhaps, a new ending.\n", "A rouge planet. Lost in the cold, empty cosmos. The nearest nebulae was lightdecades away, there was no star here. No source of external heat, no supernovae nearby to end it's solitary existence. It was dark, and drifting.\n\nBeneath the crust, over millions of year, life had found it's way here still. It evolved and thrived near the vents spurred active by the hot iron core deep inside the planet. Over the countless number of years it became aware, discovering love, gods and loss. Scientific thought came next, followed closely by curiosity. \n\nThe studied, postulated, and guessed under hundreds of miles of thick rocky crust, living out their days to understand what was beyond the roof of their existence. Still hundreds of miles below the surface, they worked to penetrate the inner layers to discover what was \"out there.\"\n\nTime passed and lives were lost in their journey to understand what was above until finally , they broke through. It was then that those first explorers lost faith in their gods. They realized they were Alone, they understood they were drifting and if life existed outside of their planet they would before they were found. This knowledge would destroy them.\n\nThey would arrange an accident, hoping to cause loss of public support to cease the studies. They would sacrifice themselves to spare the shame of a long sought after dream.They would retreat inside their planet, back to the warmth of understanding and forget their loneliness. Theirs was the place where no star gave light. ", "\"This mission is the first of its kind. Its objective: to explore the unexplored, to go beyond the great beyond.\"\n\nRichard often reflected on these words of his employer as he sat in the hollow hull of his ship. Empty promises and clever marketing. The mission certainly wasn't the first of its kind, the men before him would attest to that if they could. It was simply the first mission ever mentioned to the public. What set Richard apart was that his mission was a return mission. The sorry souls before him did not realize that theirs was a one way ticket. \n\nThe lights around him flashed , implying some function he has no control over. He was simply a place holder, a man inside a machine. The ship was perfectly capable of reaching the destination un-manned. At some point everyone developed a fascination with manned journeys, as if it was some larger accomplishment, sealing the fate of many young men.\n\nThe destination light began to blink, telling him that it was almost over. He couldn't remember the last time he looked out the window, and figured now would be a good time. He looked out only to see the utter void of space. No light to be seen in any direction. Only the light of his window seen from the outside, a firefly gliding through the night. He felt immense calm rush over him. Finally, it was over. \n\nThe return flight switch blinked at him, breaking his fascination for just a moment. He contemplated the return back home, the farce the mission was to being with, and what little friends he had left. He turned and looked back out to the calm black ocean and smiled.\n\nWith a steady hand he switched off all the utilities, leaving him with the darkness. His calm increased, and he knew that it was time. With one final sigh he turned off the life support, and laid back for is burial at sea. \n\nHe had reached the place where no star gave light, where no man had purpose. \n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2 ]

[ "1378988120", "1378992292", "1378994348", "1379001558", "1378966864", "1378985320" ]

[ "\"Excuse me, ma'am.\"\n\nLena looks up. She's on a dock. It looks like the sun is almost setting. The water is dark and still. The man on the rowboat - actually it's more of a canoe, or maybe like a gondola? - is wearing flannel, denim, leather work boots. His eyes are wide.\n\n\"Ma'am,\" he says.\n\n\"Yes?\" Lena says. She takes a step back.\n\n\"Are you ready to go?\"\n\nHe gestures to his boat-thing. Lena's eyes go as wide as his.\n\n\"What?\" she says. \"Go where?\"\n\n\"Down the river.\"\n\nShe brings her hands close to her chest. \"Why?\" \n\nThe man in the boat shakes his head. \"Because that's just what happens.\"\n\nThey stand. Looking at each other. Eyes wide. Watching.\n\nLena takes a step back. The man in the boat is no longer in the boat. He brings his oar out of the water. Holding it like a baseball bat.\n\n\"You don't really get a choice here.\"\n\nLena bows her head. The tears she wants to fall won't. She walks up to the boat, and steps in. She sits on the bench.\n\nThe man sits across from her, but she won't meet his eyes.\n\n\"Ma'am, I know this might sound strange, but... do you have any change?\"\n\nShe looks at him now. \"Beg pardon?\"\n\n\"It's customary to tip.\"\n\n\"Is it? It's customary to tip the scary man with the boat?\"\n\n\"That is the custom.\"\n\nLena sighs, and reaches for her purse. She can't find it. Looking back to the shore, she sees nothing. She looks down at her feet.\n\n\"My purse must have come loose when I got hit-\" She stops short. Remebers. Flashing lights. Men in masks. Screaming. It hurts.\n\nShe looks down again. The tears come this time.\n\n\"I take it that's a no. All right then. I don't like making exceptions, though.\" The man grabs the oar, and pushes them off. The boat barely breaks the surface of the water.\n\nLena is sobbing into her hands.\n\n\"What you've got to remember right now, is that all this is temporary.\" He sniffs the air, makes a small correction with the oar.\n\n\"What?\" Lena says.\n\n\"It's temporary. This. Life. Everything. Temporary.\" He's looking out, at something Lena can't see yet.\n\n\"I'm dead.\" Saying it hurts less than she thought it would, but it still hurts. Another sob shakes her.\n\n\"I wouldn't worry about that, I were you.\" The man dips his oar in, barely making a splash.", "So it was decided after one to many condemned passed through the eyes of the gods on high that the reason hatred and evil flourished so in the lives of mortal men was because they had but one lifetime to learn. Wisdom passed among them and a decree fell that all souls should have a chance at redemption, and salvation by passing their souls through many vessels. To the amazement of even the all knowing, no matter the time and place the soul was sent it would stay true to itself. A man of caring heart would always carry that even into lives of misfortune and poor standing. Evil souls still tend to find ways to corrupt and harm. Seeing that no power in any heaven could alter a creation such as the soul the pantheon left their design removed their design and set the world back into a place where new souls were the only entry and were allowed to prove themselves to be who/whatever they were always going to be, hand of providence or not" ]

[ 1, 1 ]

[ "1379432164", "1379447994" ]

[ "\"Hey there,\" came a voice through the fog.\n\nSquinting, Rachel tried to see who had said it. A figure began to emerge in front of her, illuminated by a beautiful brightness behind it. Slowly the figure became a man, lightly tanned and clad in khaki shorts with a wrinkled green button-down shirt. He wore a 5 'o'clock shadow and bright green sunglasses perched atop his head. Pausing to adjust his sandals, he smiled and approached Rachel.\n\n\"Hi, Sara, I'm God. Nice to meet you! Listen we need to have a chat, so why don't you have a seat,\" he said nonchalantly, gesturing to a section of clouds eagerly morphing themselves into rather comfortable looking La-Z-Boys.\n\nDumbfounded, Rachel could but gawk as God sat her down and took his place in the other chair, popping open the leg rest.\n\n\"So, funny story\" God started with a chuckle, \"you're kinda dead. Well, not kinda, you're definitely dead-dead.\"\n\nA feeble squeak escaped her lips.\n\n\"Let's start from the beginning, well, first the universe was created... Oh wait that's too far back. I mean I made this great explosion and went PEWBOOM,\" he said voicing the explosion and demonstrating with his hands.\n\n\"But anyway, let's fast forward. Me and my bros- err, the Archangels, you know, Gabe and Mike- were sitting around bored one century, so I figured we'd put on a bit of a game. Well the rules were… look we don't need to get into that.\"\n\nFinally managing words, Rachel murmured, \"But I'm-\"\n\n\"So long story short,\" God interrupted, \"things got a bit out of hand and we accidentally dropped a T-Rex on your house. Sorry,\" he finished, rising from his seat.\n\n\"Look, I've got a couple thousand more of you to talk to, but welcome to Heaven!\" he yelled, trotting off.\n", "“And Francis Williams,” Father Gregory O’Learey read the last name off the class list and looked up. He nodded at the redhead sitting in the corner of the classroom with his hand raised, signifying that he was here. “Good. Now you are all here for a seminar on English/Irish relations in the modern era, which is to say Irish History. If this is not you class, you should probably find it. Though you are all grad students so I trust you know your way around Feinstein by now.” Fr. O’Learey waited ten seconds before continuing, glancing over the students gathered in front of him as he waited for one of the two clearly uncomfortable students to get up and leave. Neither did. “Good, no silent judging of a student unable to read room numbers is needed.\n\n“So, to lecture. Let’s start at the beginning, well, first the universe was created…Oh, wait, that’s too far back. I apologize.”\n\nA chuckle went through the class, a recognition that he had, in fact, made a joke, but a slight note of condescension ensured the eccentric Irish Historian knew his class did not find it funny. With legends well-known around campus of Fr. O’Learey domesticating a squirrel and spending lectures waving around World War I cavalry sabers, it would take far more to amuse this class.\n\nFather O’Learey cleared his throat, “We will actually be starting at the beginning though. Let’s talk about Roman Britain.”\n" ]

[ 2, 2 ]

[ "1379540702", "1379565397" ]

[ "Could you please clarify this prompt a little by adding a description? Right now it's a little unclear. Thanks!", "The so call traitors step up to the gallows, one by one the rope tied around their necks. \nThey are given their last rights, each one telling the same tale; they did not do it. \nThe executioner pulls the lever. \nAll Hail to the King... Right? ", "The vivid green grass writhed as the wind commenced gusting across the Scottish Highlands. With each increase in force, the blades twisted around themselves. The elusive and powerful sorcerer, [Mogh Ruith](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mug_Ruith), recently had been forcibly denied audience with newly appointed [King Lulach mac Gille Coemgáin](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lulach) for the fourth time in five months. Six heavily armed sentries posted outside of the sealed throne room carried him to the castle wall. As the King ordered the soldiers tossed him into the still, dark, frigid waters of the moat 70 meters below. \n \nFor nearly 200 years, each King prior had welcomed him into court, some with more enthusiasm than others. Only Lulach had been foolish enough to decline a parlay with the pepper-haired man with a green orb on his battered walking staff. Since Mogh had met with the first ruler those many years ago, he contracted his services against Scottish enemies for a simple request. For his duty in protecting the Kingdom, he required two oaken barrels of brown mead, twelve grown sheep, and the assurance that the land nearest [Aonach Beag](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aonach_Beag) be unchallenged by the King. \n \nA fortnight passed before his scrying on the foolish King yielded meaningful intelligence from the high council. King Lulach was to depart for the coast tomorrow. That night as he slumbered, the King was unaware that this voyage would provide him an opportunity for redemption with Mogh. \n\nAs the castle walls shrank in the distance, the cold misty air soon was covered by swirled clouds of grey. Visibility for the lead horseman was barely twenty meters. The procession abruptly stopped along the worn cart path across the hills of the highlands. A covered man was standing across the road. Mogh did not sway as he stared up at the flaring nostrils of the towering brown steed. \n \n\"State your name traveler,\" challeneged the rider.\n \n\"Mogh Ruith, protector of the Kingdom\" was the response from the cloaked man resting on his walking staff. \"I require parlay with King Lulach if he favors life.\"\n \nThe message was quickly relayed to the riding carriage of the King. Upset at being delayed on both the journey and from his continued slumber, King Lilach ordered the man be run over by the procession. \n \nThe sentry offered this compromise to Mogh, \"No such favor will be granted. You shall remove yourself from the road or you shall be forced.\" \n \nExpecting this response, the sorcerer held his staff horizontal to the ground and began a rhythmic chant. The green orb began to shine despite the overcast sky. As the wind swirled, the riders of the procession were rooted to their saddles, horses unable to move. The entire group was motionless as Mogh continued his chant, swaying now as the water drops on the misty grass broke free and moved together in a clockwise vortex around the stopped soldiers and the slumbering King. The speed of the winds increased with the speed of the chant. The water turned to ice as the voice of Mogh raised. Reaching the climax of the chant, the vengeful sorcerer unleashed his fury. White round spikes the size of harvest potatoes fell from the stormy sky striking the petrified procession before him. \n \nEach wave of ice bore intensity of the mightiest of arrow volleys. The sharp ice pierced the armor or the riders causing searing pain and near immediate death. The carriage roof that covered the King was torn swiftly by the relentless ice attack. Now awake, the King gazed through the tattered roof as Mogh ceased his incantation and the sharpest ice shard fell from the sky impaling the King through the bridge of his nose. \n \nLegend has it that the last words heard by the dying king were that of Mogh, \"Hail to the King.\"", "It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum. \n\nAnd I'm all out of gum.", "The spirit glided across the trail, the dirt and stone a finger’s width below its feet. Its form was that of a young man, but its eyes were those of the eldest of men. The gentle breeze shook leaves and kicked up seeds from flowers in the soil. The spirit’s hair remained motionless, unaffected by the motion of the air. The careful observer, though, would see that the swirls in the dust coincided with its whimsical spinning.\n\nThe forest calm was broken by the strain of metal on metal. The king, in full hunting armor, clopped through the woods as if he owned them. He chanced upon the spirit, crossing its path on his quest for game. The spirit didn’t stop and stare, or fall towards the ground to let the ruler pass. Instead, it continued gliding along, unconcerned with the other traveler.\n\nThe king was not accustomed to being ignored. He didn’t like being ignored, nor did he like the idea of his power being meaningless.\n\n“You there,” he shouted at the spirit. “Do you not realize you stand before the ruler of these lands.”\n\nThe wisp stopped in place, continuing its twirl long enough to face the shouting man.\n\n“We are always in the presence of nature out here,” it replied with a wide grin.\n\n“Not nature, you daft creature. I am the king. This forest and the surrounding villages are all my domain.”\n\nThe spirit tilted its head while maintaining its grin.\n\n“Do the trees bend to your will? Do the winds blow at your whim? Do the animals heed your commands?”\n\n“That matters not,” bellowed the king. “They all belong to me as do my subjects! They bow to me!”\n\nThe spirit looked around the forest.\n\n“They don’t appear to be bowing,” it remarked.\n\n“And neither do you, fiend,” the king called back. \n\n“I was unaware there was such a need. I do not bow for common men.”\n\nThe king drew his sword and pointed it at the spirit. The grin remained as stone.\n\n“I am not common man. I am a king! You *will* bow to me!”\n\n“I do not think I will.”\n\n“Why do you not hail your king?” the king commanded.\n\n“Hail?” asked the spirit. “Is that all you wanted?”\n\n“Of course. It is customary.”\n\n“Very well,” the spirit remarked, finally letting his smile vanish.\n\nThe winds built and the sky darkened. There was a crash that struck the earth just yards from where the king stood. He turned to investigate. A ball of ice the size of an apple rested in a small crater. He leaned down for a closer look. He fell when another chunk of ice fell upon his head. A deluge of ice fragments rained down upon the king until he no longer moved. The skies cleared and the birds resumed their song.\n\nThe spirit spun in place, then gave a flamboyant bow to the pile of ice. His grin returned wider than ever.\n\n“Hail to the king.”", "*Hail* to the king! (My wretched kin,) \nMay he live forever, (for your death is my win.) \nReign supreme, (May it rain on your parade) \nAnd rule with an iron fist. (until your sins have been paid.) \n \nHe is just and fair; (You know full well of your crime,) \nHis creeds resound greatly, (and now is the time) \nAnd the people respond with love (that my hate can reveal) \nThroughout all the land. (what it is I truly feel). \n \nWe will honor him with song, (I will dance on your grave,) \nToast to his health, (returning that which you gave) \nProtect him with shield, (to so many of my friends) \nAnd bow to his glory. (as I finally make amends.) \n \nHail..to the *King*!" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 5, 8 ]

[ "1380122437", "1380132090", "1380132827", "1380141003", "1380129574", "1380123722" ]

[ "Can it be one of our own or are you looking for the Jay Gastbys and Kyler Sterns of the world?", "As Lee Everrett walked down the road back towards the motel, Kenny was talking his ear off. Talking about how Duck was doing in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, talking about the good haul they had in the city, and mostly about this one really good shot he made back in the apartment complex. \n\n\"And then BLAM! I shot that fucker right in the head! It was the shit! Lee, you listening to me man? Lee?\"\n\nLee was distracted. The girl he was protecting, Clementine, had been going hungry lately. It wasn't bad, but as far as Lilly's lottery went, it seemed to favor her pops more than it did the kids in the camp.\n\n\"Lee, you're distracted about something. What is it?\" Kenny asked.\n\n\"It's Clementine. She hasn't eaten for the past two days. I really don't like Lilly's system of food distribution, no matter how necessary it is.\"\n\n\"I hear ya man, nobody in my family has gotten a bite to eat in the past couple of days. Duck is complaining and Katjaa is barely holding back her complaints. I think we would have better luck on the road, you know. Find a place that has more food.\"\n\n\"Kenny, we already talked about this. Traveling in a zombie apocalypse is dangerous. I need to protect Clementine. As long as you and I can keep going into the city to find food, I think we will be ok.\" Lee replied to Kenny.\n\n\"Whatever man. It is your call. But if the food situation keeps the way it is, I might have to take that RV and go, with or without you.\"\n\n\"You wouldn't really lea- woah!\" Lee exclaimed.\n\nA truck filled with food was parked in front of the motel. A short, dark haired man with glasses was talking with Lilly, who had a smile on her face, a rare sight these days.\n\nAs Lee and Kenny came closer, Lilly waved to them. \"Hey guys! Look at this guy! His truck broke down just down the road. I helpe him push it out here. His name is Mark, and he is willing to give us his food in exchange for a place to stay. I think that's reasonable, don't you?\"\n\nKenny nodded enthusiastically. \"Hell yeah! Lets all eat tonight!\"\n\nLee drew back apprehensively. Making sure his voice was low enough to be out of earshot to the newcomer, he said to Lilly, \"do you think this guy is alright? I don't want to let him in if he would hurt Clementine- or Duck\" he added almost as an afterthought. \"If he so much as touches her, I am dragging him out to the forest, tying him to tree an leaving him for the walkers.\"\n\n\"Relax Lee! This guy is giving us food! We kind of need that right now! We will keep an eye on the fucker for sure, but we need to give our kids something to eat!\" Kenny said to Lee.\n\n\"I guess you're right.\" Lee replied. \"Sorry, im a bit wound up from that close save back in town. Let's let him in and get him settled in a room. Maybe he can come with Kenny and I into the city for supply runs if he is in shape.\"\n\n\"That is great thinking Lee, but I think that you guys can take the day off tomorrow. This food should last us all for about three or four weeks if we stretch it out. And I don't mean using my rationing system, everyone would get to eat. I think it is a fair trade.\" Lilly said to Lee.\n\nThe three went back over to the newcomer. Lee aske him what he was doing on the road. \"I was traveling. Keeping to the main roads mostly. My traveling friend was killed yesterday, and my truck broke down today. I thought I was a goner for sure. I didn't want to leave a truck full of food out in the open, so I started pushing it. Didn't get very far before some infected reached me. I'm glad Lilly was up on that RV of yours to save me, or I would be a dead man walking right now. Just let me know what I can do to help and I will do it to repay you guys.\"\n\nLee looked over the makeshift fence they had constructed at Clementine. She was standing right outside, within earshot of their conversation. She looked tired. Just worn out. It might have been from malnourishment, it could be from the stresses of post-apocalyptic life. Whatever it was, Lee knew that he would do anything to protect her. And besides, having another man to be able to take guard duty shifts and supply runs seemed like a great idea.\n\n\"Alright then Mark. How about I introduce you to the rest of the people we have here? This is Clementine...\"\n\n", "A bit of back story. You'll be coming in far past halfway through the actual story. This isn't the main character in the story, but he does play a major role within it. These are all assassins. They are being hunted down by two people who are particularly fearsome as they have killed many of their friends already. This is about Falcon, part of his story, and dealing with one of said fearsome assassins. Also, this is on another planet. Magic is also inherent in people, but not all people.\n\n\n\nHis codename was Falcon. His real name was unknown. Not even Gene knew his real name. The story of how he showed up with the head of his own father was like a legend among the group. Gene was surprised, which was a hard feat to accomplish, then and now. Gene had been the head of the infamous Black Dragon Assassins for ten years at that point. Here comes a sixteen year old boy, covered and stained with blood, a fistful of hair clenched between his bloodied fingers. He walked straight in, found Gene and slammed the head on his desk.\n\n\"What in the hell!\" The famously ill-tempered Gene practically jumped from his chair. \"The fuck are you doing here!\"\n\n\"I want in.\" Falcon had said, his eyes furious and face serious, lips pursed. Gene's eyebrows furrowed as he fixed his gaze on the boy. He was wearing a long sleeve black shirt, black jeans, had black hair. He wasn't pale, but he wasn't tan. His eyes were a shockingly vibrant color of blue. He looked like one of those pictures where certain colors were brought out and all others kept in black and white. \n\n\"Who's this?\" Gene finally asked.\n\n\"My step dad.\"\n\n\"Why'd you kill him?\"\n\n\"He's a drunken fuck. If you need another kill, I'll go back and get my mother.\"\n\nGene smiled, something he also rarely did. His smiles were usually evil grins, his being particularly petrifying. \n\nFalcon joined that day and stayed for twelve years. He wore a slightly torn black overcoat that had belts sown into it. It was his own fashion, something he thought made him scarier. He had black fingerless gloves, the sleeves of which were hidden by the overcoat. His longsword was four feet, but thin instead of a flat claymore-like blade. The handle and hand guard were both overly large, but it's what he wanted. His element was lightning. He was the only person that anyone knew who could transfigure themselves into their own magic and \"fly\".\n\n\"I'll be going back.\" Aiven called to Falcon. He was heading to the safe house Gene had provided for him. Falcon watched him like an eagle as he left, standing against the frame of the double doors. The sun was hiding behind gray clouds that threatened to rain.\n\nAnd it did. Aiven sighed loudly as his hair and clothes were washed with torrential downpour. The people that crowded the streets hissed as they receded into their dry homes, leaving Aiven alone on the streets that wound to the river, which the safe house was placed next to. Through the annoyance of being soaked, Aiven felt something odd. His sixth sense was kicking in as well as his paranoia. \n\nThe flapping of wet cloth behind him made him whip around, his blade pointed at a woman with long black hair who wielded a large katana.\n\n\"Oh darn, you've spotted me.\" she over-exaggerated her displeasure. Her chin was low, she looked up at him. \"And what a shame, you're so cute.\"\n\n\"I'm also taken.\"\n\n\"Who's the unlucky lady?\"\n\n\"Hah, as if.\"\n\n\"Oh...\" she sighed. \"All the better then, freak.\" she snarled.\n\nThis woman was annoying him. She completely gave herself away, meaning that she thought herself to be far superior to him. \n\nLighting cracked down from the sky, exploding between them for many seconds. Between them now kneeled Falcon, blade in hand. He rose slowly.\n\n\"Go Aiven. This woman is Izurixa, one of two.\"\n\n\"Shit, really?! I'll stay, we can fight her together.\"\n\n\"No. You don't have a prayer against her. Go.\" he said with more authority. Aiven backed away a few steps but stayed.\n\n\"And just who are you? Another weakling from Gene's group?\" Izurixa asked.\n\nFalcon glared at her. \n\n\"Nice trick you learned there, handsome. But sadly, you don't compare to me either.\" she grinned as she swung her weapon, discharging a cutting wind slash from it. The ground ripped as the vertical gray mass rushed towards him. He cut the attack in half with one swipe, the wind magic dissipating. Her eyes grew big in shock. Falcon smiled.\n\n\"I'll guess you've never seen that before, huh? Heh...you don't even know who I am, do you?\" Falcon asked.\n\n\"Falcon. I know exactly who you are. I've watched you before and you don't have any particular talent with that blade. Not nearly as skilled as I am.\"\n\nFalcon closed his eyes, the ground trembling as electricity gathered around him, dancing around his body in purple and yellow arcs. Within a second, he was before her, striking five times. Her body jerked violently as blood spewed from her wounds. She crumbled into the ground.\n\n\"I thought I told you to leave Aiven.\" Falcon said, his head turned to glare at him.\n" ]

[ 1, 2, 2 ]

[ "1380255801", "1380257572", "1380326717" ]

[ "Krampus gnawed on the leg of the freshly slain Dasher. Santa came out of his workshop to the grisly sight and was less than pleased. \"No,n o no,\" Santa said \"I said go to hell, not eat deer with bell, damn it Krampus.\" Krampus looked over his shoulder at Santa and turned his attention back to the deer. \"Krampus, you stop that this instant and go get going,\" Santa said in a stern shout. Krampus snorted. \"Fine, I'll go get the nightmare fuel myself, if those little bastards thought coal was bad this ought to straighten them right up,\" Santa said mounting his sleigh.", "\n--------------\n\n\"Umm.. I wamma.....umm... mommy, what was that machine that flies? \n\n\"You mean a helicopter honey.\"\n\n\"Ya, a helokpiter\".\n\n\"Ho ho ho. You want a helicopter. Ho ho ho. Have you been a good girl\".\n\n\"No Santa.\" :(\n\n\"Oh oh oh. But why, little Suzy. What did you do?\"\n\n\"I told that pweesman what you did to my friend and me\"\n\n\"Ho, ho, ho. What did I do?\"\n\n\"when I told him that you touched me under my skirt\".\n\n\"Wha-?\"\n\n------\n\n\n\"Excuse me Sir. Please stand up, turn around and put your hands behind your back\"\n\n\"Santa,. santa, santa - will I get my helicopter?\"\n\n\"Go to hell.\" Santa Claus said...\n\n----------\n\n*:p Sorry! :)*", "Santa Claus yelled as he punched right through the Neutron Degeneracy Shield of his opponent. The leader of the M.I.S.E.R. Army was sent flying through the dust.\n\nSaint Nicolas stood to take in the sights. Earth burned in the sky like a cinder. He howled in rage, the dust of the Lunar plain exploding away from him.\n\nPere Noel raised his right hand, the cybernetic demon FAT MAN ripping through his robes as it transformed into C.O.A.L. G.U.N. mode.\n\n\"Nien! Nien! Herr Kringle! Mercy!\" His opponent pleaded. But there was none to be found that Christmas Nacht, as Father Christmas remembered how The Ultimate Warrior, his one true friend, had died by this man.\n\nSanta's right arm glowed as it powered up, absorbing the energy of the Moon and all the little Warriors for a shot to end it in one go.\n\n\"No, Super Hitler. Your reign of terror ends now. I've checked twice, and found you... naughty\" He responed, aiming his demon arm which crackled with energy at the Uber-Fuhrer.\n\nSanta inhaled deep and shouted the phrase to remove the final limiter on F.A.T. M.A.N. \n\n\"NUMQUAM\" The dark side of the moon and the ruins of the secret Nazi moon base were illuminated by the charge shot. \n\n\"VINCAR\" All the energy the elves could harvest in a year shot forth, drowning out Super Hitler's screams as the shot drove his body off the Moon and into the sun, where no sacrifice to Satan could ever revive him.\n\nSanta lit his cigar with the glowing metal of F.A.T. M.A.N. \"Go to hell, Super Hitler.\" He growled.\n\nIt was a white Christmas after all.\n\n----\n\nDISCLAIMER: I HAVE BEEN DRINKING" ]

[ 1, 3, 3 ]

[ "1380442449", "1380442010", "1380471881" ]

[ "He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. \"There's something we need to discuss.\" He was breathing heavily and his hands were shaking. \n\nHis wife looked up from the news paper and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling with a look that clearly expressed an expectation of another unbelievable story. \"What happened?\" \n\n\"You remember how we were hoping to save some money by raising a few chickens in the backyard?, and it would be great to have fresh eggs?\" Moving toward the sink he turned on the faucet and proceed to dial the taps back and forth until it reached a luke warm stream. As he washed his hands he tilted his head to one side ever so slightly, listening for her familiar sigh, his cue to continue his story. \n\nAs she put the paper down she folded it along the centre crease, making sure to leave it on the article she was reading. \"Yes Chris\" she sighed, \" we only picked them up two weeks ago, and I would hardly call them chickens at this point.\" \n\nShe had to admit, it was one of the better ideas he had had over the 15 years they had been together. They had a sizeable backyard that had a small gully at the end and it was a space they had never used. It had all started when he saw a free chicken coop listed on Craigslist. A few searches later he located a farmer selling chicks for 5 dollars each. That was on Friday night, by Sunday afternoon the coop and chicks had been picked up. They were now suburban farmers. \n\n", "Harv Karnan paced. He paced to the window, to his shelves lined with books, then back to his desk. He eyed the heavy wooden door that was the only way in, or out, of this small place he called sanctuary. Occasionally he would twist the sleeves of his jacket in his hands. He'd brush the mess of his hair from his face near constantly, but it'd always fall back into place. He was, all things considered, holding up pretty well.\n\nIf someone had told him this morning that some strange assailant would assault his home he would have laughed in their face. He was the third son of the Duke of Seviroar, the richest lord in the kingdom of Ardeeshal, some even saying he was worth more then the King himself. The guards were the best money could get, ex-professional soldiers from the army or famed mercenary companies. The walls and patrols were meant to be the best, yet somehow, only some time ago an unknown had appeared at the gates, slaughtered the guards and started slaughtering his way towards the inside. Harv had been in his study, when his guard captain burst in to tell him to stay put and set two guards outside the door. As time passed Harv heard screams, slowing growing closer, then fewer and fewer. That all led up to now, this moment, Harv pacing, his nerves in frays. He heard shouts outside his door, and swords scraping from scabbards. There were two screams and the clatter of swords and armoured bodies hitting the floor. Harv stopped where he stood, paralysed in fear, eyes stuck on the door.\n\nHe slammed the door open, blood dripping onto the carpet, ruining the expensive rug from halfway across the kingdom. A man stood in the doorway, blood drenched sword held in one hand, the other dripping blood onto the expensive carpet, holding something behind his back. \"There's something we need to discuss.\" From what Harv could see the man wasn't wearing any armour, yet the only mark on him was a some what shallow cut on one arm.\nHarv was utterly shocked. \"You got through all my guards, unarmoured and alone?\". Without saying a word the man threw what he was holding forward. It rolled on ground til it hit Harv's feet. He looked down and hurriedly backed away. It was the head of the guard captain. \"He had some skill.\"\n\n\"W-why are you here? Is it m-money your after? If you do a-anything to me, my f-father will f-f-find you, and it w-won't be a q-quick death, that I p-promise you.\"\n\nThe man held the sword up, and spoke, \"I am not here for material wealth. I am here to send a message.\"\n\n\"A-and that is?\"\n\nHe smiled, \"You misunderstand. You are the message. Or rather, your body will be. Your father will understand.\" He stepped forward and struck Harv, who cried out as he fell back, clutching at the wound on his chest. As the man closed in Harv began to weep openly. He died not knowing who this man was, or what it was he wanted.", "This was the new world. This was a reality in which he and others like him could enjoy the company of a woman in only the most truly classical sense. In this new world, as it was in the old world, a gentleman must claim his women by killing his romantic opponents. Of course, in the modern world, women were just as likely to kill inconvenient men to get to the one they really wanted.\n\nThis was the new world, after the safe nukes flew. The safe nukes that were destructive to property and not to human life. The safe nukes that all the countries agreed were perfectly acceptable to keep. The kind of nukes that people wouldn't feel guilty over letting fly. They flew. Everything was gone but the people, and the people panicked.\n\nThe violence that ensued was shocking from everyone's standpoint. No one could have predicted what life would be like with no rules and no resources. All the moral people, it seemed, were claimed in the first day. All the stupid people were claimed in a week. All the most vile, manipulative, bullying, and intelligent personalities had lived to see another day. At this point, Marlo couldn't keep track of, nor did he care how many people died to keep him living for another day. It simply was what it was.\n\nOn this day in Marlo's existence, he had food, shelter, water, rudimentary entertainment, but no children. He had chances before, but they hadn't exactly worked out for various reasons. On this day, though, he felt he had met his true love.\n\nShe was a fiesty character. He was hunting in the drifts when he heard gunshots. Attracted to the location to scavange the potential corpses, he instantly fell in love with a dark woman unafraid to take precisely what she wanted when she wanted. After a day of watching her moves, Marlo waited for her to sleep and closed in on her position.\n\nShe had holed up in what used to be a low-cost motel. It was a smart move, extremely defensible. Marlo made a plan quickly. Although he knew he should have thought it out further, his instincts propelled him to move forward with an immature plan. He would simply open the door to the apartment from the side, knowing the door was the only way in or out.\n\nAs expected, shots whizzed by from the doorway. Once they stopped, Marlo peeked inside, spotting nothing. Realistically, there were only two places she could be: under the bed or in the shower. He walked in slowly with his hands up in a surrendering fashion. After three steps, she leaned from the televison cabinet and fired. The bullet caught him in the arm and he grasped it in pain.\n\nShe saw that his hands were up and he had no weapon and had only fired on instinct, “What the hell are you doing here without a weapon?”\n\nHe slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. “There's something we need to discuss.”", "He slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. \"There's something we need to discuss.\" He tossed the red soaked pillow case on to my desk. Blood began spreading over the time sheet paperwork that had been occupying my time before he entered. I dropped my pen in exasperation.\n\n\"Now isn't the best time to have this discussion.\" I said. It wasn't a good time at all. I had to get the company sheets approved and submitted to HR before 10am. Now I only had an hour to reprint them, gather all of the signatures and sign off on them. If they didn't get signed, checks would be late. A stream of blood had trickled toward me, off of the edge of the desk, and dripped onto the toe of the leather shoe on my right foot. He stood there, panting, his expression both angry and post orgasmic. Blood had stained both sleeves of his light blue coverall uniform, and left a flecked pattern all over the front of it. \"That's coming out of your salary.\" I said nodding my head in the direction of his clothing.\n\n\"I don't care.\" He said. \"I'm the new shift supervisor, so the pay raise you sign off on will cover it.\" \n\nI looked at him, then at the pillowcase. \"So I take it Harv has left the company?\" Great. More paperwork. HR would have a fit. Harv had only promoted himself two weeks ago. He smiled. \"You are aware that you will still need to work your shift in addition to your new duties, aren't you?\" \n\n\"I know, I know. I just wanted to make sure you knew to put the promotion through\" he said. \n\n\"We usually do things like this with less theatrics.\" The blood gathering on my shoe was beginning to flow off and onto the carpet. \"I'm going to have a word with the boss. Have this cleaned before I get back.\" \n\nHe nodded and opened the door where his custodial cart was waiting. I rose from my desk, opened the top left drawer and pulled out my .45 revolver. \n\"And you'll need to clean the boss's office when you're finished here.\" I said as I cocked the revolver and made my way down the hall. ", "It had been almost a day since he left the house. She was sure he wasn't taking the news well, and who would? She was pregnant with another man's child. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of her life to see him walk out that door without a word and she wasn't sure if he'd ever come back. She tried calling his phone, but the ring came from the table by the door. He left it.\n\nShe cursed herself out loud. \"DAMNIT, how could you have been so foolish? So stupid? He's... oh god...\"\n\nThe self-recriminations were halted by the squeeling of tires out front. She had no idea whether to be scared or relieved, but the more primal emotion took precedent. Still, she stared at the door, waiting for her husband to open it. When he did, she went pale, the sight beyond anything she could have expected.\n\nHe slammed the door, dripping blood onto the carpet. \"There's something we need to discuss.\" She looked around, terrified of where this was going. \"Honey...\" he asked, tilting his head to the side \"are... you okay? Is there something wrong?\" She forgot the impulse to run and stared at this terrifying man she once loved now covered in blood.\n\n\"What kind of... how can you... what did you do?\" she asked.\n\n\"Huh?,\" her husband looked down and realization dawned on his face. \"Oh, the blood. Eep, I'm sorry, I lose my head... bad choice of words. Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. With the baby coming, I decided we needed to save some money. So I went down to the farmer's market and bought some meat. We can't afford to eat out as much and...\"\n\nShe was shocked. Her stupid, wonderful, husband had gone out to buy meat. It was the kind of daft and impulsive thing she'd fallen in love with so long ago. On their first date, he'd tried winning a stuffed animal at the carnival and failed. So he went and tried building a teddy bear himself out of a new couch of his parents. The product was ghastly, but the thought remained.\n\n\"I thought you might have done 'something' to Jeremy since... you know,\" she said, looking down at her belly with mixed emotions.\n\n\"Oh, I killed him and dumped the body in the river three days ago before you even told me.\"" ]

[ 2, 2, 3, 4, 9 ]

[ "1380662044", "1380666108", "1380670515", "1380665007", "1380663110" ]

[ "There was screaming, fire and more screaming. And from the muddy hole he’d burrowed with his hands he could see the flicker of flames as it turned skin to wax and hair to ash. This is happening. Beside him lies his child and he tries to cry but the tears are dowsed by the heat and they dry before they can cast trails on his cheeks. The shivering of guns and the stamping of bullets on flesh. He looks at him and he pleads with his eyes and he hates himself for thinking it. “Let’s go” he says. And he wrings the boy’s neck with the same hands which he’d used to dig the boy’s grave. Then he steps out into the fire and the screaming and the ash and the flame and is consumed by the light that glows red in the ending of days.", "Sanity, is a mere flavor of it's antonym. People struggle to keep it in line, to control it; just like they tried, and failed. But they won't anymore, he was sure of that, that he was. \n\nThere is no was, for it can be a lie - memory is mere data after all. \nThere is no future, for that is now and stems from the All. \nWhat *is*, is right now- his iron will, his black intent, the fury in his eyes and the flames in his hand.\n\nThe last element. \nIt signifies death, and birth. End, and start. To him, it was his love, and is his hate. For her and himself and this world and at no one. When he heard her voice, he finally gave up, broke down, and jumped into his passion. \n\nAs the dusk set in, there was fire, screaming, and more fire. ", "...well maybe fire isn't the right word. Heat. Yea, that's better. So where was I? Oh right, so reverse cowgirl. I've never heard a guy scream in bed. I thought something was wrong at first, but I couldn't stop. I'm sure you know what I mean. I was way too near, and I want about to give it all up. Heaven's knows they don't come by too often. I just yell back asking if he's alright. I heard a affirmative grunt and we kept going. I'm not gonna lie, it was a pretty good fuck. You know what they say, some guys try so hard when they're with a girl way out of their league. I'm glad I let him fuck me.\nUgh, I need to go to the mall later. My clothing situation is getting repulsive. I wore something for the third time just a few weeks ago. I shudder to think of anyone noticing.", "His mark seemed simple, she lounged home alone, \nShe turned her head slightly letting out a moan, \nA sigh, of boredom yet keenly fixed and aware \nOf a fluttering bird, now locked in her stare. \n \nThe bird landed and hopped, her head mimicking its move, \nHe observed closely while finding his groove \nOf locking and barring, barricading and nailing, \nPicturing her body soon to be flailing. \n \nConfirming her gaze still locked on the creature, \nHe proceeded to go about the main feature. \nHouse quickly ablaze, no escape in sight, \nHe marveled at his art, chuckled in his delight. \n \nGlimpsing in again, he saw no body glowing, \nHeard no shrieks of agony, a fear now growing \nHe tore away boards and darted inside, \nFrantically searching to preserve his pride. \n \nAn eternity later, he admitted defeat, \nRan for his exit but had to repeat \nThe tearing of boards, a hint of confusion, \nPossibly the work of a smokey illusion. \n \nA few boards torn, flames now whipping his thighs, \nThrough his small hole, he saw shimmering eyes, \nAnother board down, a bird on a shoulder, \nA hand on its head, his body grew colder. \n \nOne more board torn, she stood with a smile, \nA once innocent look now perfectly vile. \nThere was fire, screaming, and more fire, \nHe was the mark and she was for hire. ", "Just under the wire at 506 words! Editted for crappy formatting.\n---------\nThey say that high school is the best time of your life but those young enough to actually remember it prefer “High school is hell!”. He agreed with the second definition as he’d spend the last three and a half years coming to know the intimate details of pain and humiliation in the halls of Lincoln High School. How many ribs had been bruised after he was shoved into lockers? How many split lips from being knocked down and beaten into the filthy linoleum floors? How many laughs had resulted from jokes and rejection when he dared to talk with any of the girls? Even the geeks, goths, and stoners had ignored him when he’d ventured into their territory at the back of the school by the liquor store fence. \n\nTeachers told him he’d just need to find himself, come out of his shell and the rest of the kids would come around. That was a week before they had taken his clothes from his P.E. locker and tossed them in the pool. Not only did he spend the day in disgusting sweats but his cell phone was ruined and he was grounded by his parents while he paid them back for the phone. He’d paid the debt off and bought a new phone by working extra hours spinning signs outside the mall to advertise. The ridicule from school had no trouble splashing over into his personal life as he’d had his sign stolen, he’d been beaten with it, and of course rude heckling. \n\nAll the stress of being teased and abused built for those three years with few opportunities to comfort or unwind. He participated in class, did his work, studied, and passed his classes with dreams carrying him of one day walking out those doors and leaving it all behind him. This treatment didn’t happen as an adult; if he could survive high school he could get a real job, take college classes, move out on his own, find a girl, and finally understand happiness. That was until someone stole his final science project and pissed all over it before turning it in for him. He didn’t know if the teacher failed him because she couldn’t read it or because she thought it was intended as a joke but it really didn’t matter once the zero was recorded into the grade book.\n\nThis is why he was at school on a Friday night because tonight was the big game. Tonight everyone that had ever made his life miserable was here. Everyone who made him Google suicide or contributed to his miserable life was here. He stood silently on the street surrounded and hidden by the crowd that had gathered to gape and emote at the tragedy. It was dark but up the street at school there was fire, screaming, and more fire lighting the sky. As the students and families of Lincoln High School burned alive chained inside that flaming gymnasium he stood in the cold evening air and smiled. Then he was free.\n", "There was fire, screaming and more fire. He saw the flames paint the walls completely. A flaming wooden beam fell unto the floor, and missed him by a few inches. Surging heat had trapped him from everywhere inside the room. Hell, he thought. A plume of fire burned the skin straight off his arm. He screamed but even his voice was muffled by the violent flames. The air in his lungs turned to ash. He coughed fruitlessly, gasping for breath but received no mercy from the inferno. The dry, hot air began to hurt in his chest and the coughing got more violent. Severe thirst overtook him like the fire had taken the building, but of course even the saliva inside his throat and mouth had began drying up. Then came pain. Extreme pain as the fire lit up his clothes. His skin felt as if it was melting, but the fiery pain completely took him as the flames spread all over his body. His mind went numb from the sheer amount of the pain, but his limbs lost feeling as the nerve endings inside them were singed off. The skin off his face began to burn as did the hair on his head. An expression of shock and horror was affixed on his face. He tried desperately to cover his face with his hands, but the skin on them was cracked and burned already so he couldn't touch his head. He struggled and kicked his legs and rolled on the floor, but as the seconds passed his kicking was weaker and weaker and his shaking was much less violent. His eyes went blurry as the jelly inside them was almost boiling. Pain had numbed him so much he couldn't feel it any more, only heat. \n\nAnd then, he was at peace...", "In his mind, there was fire. The others ran, screaming - tripping over chairs, diving out of windows that they knew were too far above ground, burning. And in the middle of it all, *she* languished in the flames, consumed like dry paper. He watched her skin crackle and peel, her hair curl up like ribbons, her muscles slough off the bone and blacken into soot and ash. The thought made him smile.\n\n\"Back to work,\" she snapped, and he opened his eyes. Phones rang through the office - \"Yes, sir, if you'll just let me walk you through the issue we'll have it up and running in no time\" - and the voices jumbled together into an indistinct babbling. Hard white light beamed down from the ceiling, illuminating the dust motes floating through the still air and casting deep shadows into the hard wrinkles on his forehead. He frowned, and sat up in his chair.\n\n\"Yes, ma'am,\" he said, and the words tasted like sour bile as they rolled out of his mouth. She narrowed her eyes at him, then turned and stalked off among the others, looking for blood.\n\nHe waited until she walked around the corner to another cubicle, then leaned back again and closed his eyes. In his mind he couldn't hear the phones, or see the drop-tile ceiling with the brown stains over his head. He fingered the lighter in his pocket, the one he brought with him every day. In his mind there was fire, screaming, and more fire.\n\nHe reached out, eyes still closed, and punched the button on his phone to take the next call. \"How may I help you today,\" he said, his thumb on the wheel of the lighter.", "I remember the way the grass felt on my feet as I danced round and round the sacrificial alter. Our hands were raised in the air and our bodies swung in time to the music that throbbed from the cavern of the four-door all-terrain. There was too much confusion and too many emotions that we all lost track of what sins we’d own up to in the morning and which ones would strike at us much later. \n\nThe forest that contained our insanity had been breached. Behind these trees there was screaming. Their shadows combated with the deadly dance of the flames from the pyre. Our hands that were dancing tried to grasp those that were gripping limbs, leaves, and fruit. Too much screaming… \n\nIn the haze of the night, the darkest part when the shame and the shadows crept in, someone threw the remains of their shroud atop the angry licks of destruction. For a moment all was smothered and the silence more intense than we were prepared for. Then, like a nova, the noise began anew and the fire… Well, there was more fire. There was more screaming. There was more confusion.", "Hill 584 had been their objective for the past week. This is the hill that would win the war, they said. We need it. Find it. Take it. Keep it. They had, several times, and never easily. There was fire, screaming, and more fire; bullets and bodies piling to new heights on the hill and bombshells dropping it back to new lows, the terrain fluctuating almost as much as who \"controlled\" the damned thing. \n\nIn the end, though, they took that hill. A day later and a world away, they dropped the bomb that ended the war, and we had to give that hill and so many of our brothers right back.", "Her case was most unusual. They looked upon her in horror as her hair grew rapidly and started to lose its auburn hue. Her limbs extended and skin stretched. Before long, her face would loosen and start to fall.\n\nHe watched them all, hoping she wouldn't notice their murmurs. His attempt to mask the situation started to fail. The cake buckled under the weight of the numerous candles added with each transformation. There was fire, screaming, and more fire.\n\nAs smoke filled the room, all that was left was her remains and the rest of them dropping to the floor like the molten icing. She hadn't even opened her presents." ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4 ]

[ "1380797275", "1380806695", "1380807275", "1380810804", "1380812160", "1380817414", "1380824894", "1380827575", "1380805148", "1380795534" ]

[ "Mary Elizabeth Sussman wore her sash the entire week after homecoming. She wasn't conceited. It wasn't about ego. Some part of her knew it was silly, and she was being vain, and that some people were judging her. But Mary Elizabeth Sussman was too stupidly, blissfully happy to worry about any of that nonsense. She was Homecoming Queen. Not Carroll Beth Evans, not Jessica Joy Jarmusk, not even the immaculate Grace Heather Winslow-Kiernan. Her.\n\nMost of her high school career had been spent as the second, well, everything. Second captain of the cheer squad. Vice president of student council. She'd even chaired 'Sets and Props' for the drama club after no one volunteered to do it ('Sets and Props' was the worst). Mary Elizabeth Sussman had spent her high school years doing all the work for none of the credit. You needed someone to coordinate a bake sale? Mary Elizabeth Sussman would do it. The administration refused a club trip request? Add Mary Elizabeth Sussman as a student-chaperone and approval was guaranteed. One time Mary Elizabeth Sussman even sweet talked the administration out of suspending the JV football team after they were caught with water bottles of vodka and soda, even if Mary Elizabeth Sussman would never talk about it again.\n\nIn a perfect world, her election to Homecoming Queen wouldn't have been a surprise. Therefore, the odds of her winning Homecoming Queen at Woodrow Wilson High were very low. Carroll Beth Evans was a product of divorce whose parents decided they could buy her love with money and a dearth of supervision, and Carroll Beth Evans assumed she could do the same with her peers. Jessica Joy Jarmusk was captain of the cheer squad and such a nice girl, but everyone knew she'd delivered a 10 minute oral report about Lincoln crossing the Delaware. Grace Heather Winslow-Kiernan was the sweetest, most wonderful girl in the world until she got three Smirnoff Ices in her. Mary Elizabeth Sussman's victory was a rare stroke of cosmic justice.\n\nCraig Matthew Roebling had seen Mary Elizabeth Sussman for years, but he didn't know it. They'd shared classes together since the 6th grade, when Craig Matthew Roebling's military family moved from Austin to Richmond. Coming from Texas, Craig Matthew Roebling was a football nut, even if he didn't have the talent to back it up. In Texas he'd been relegated to 3rd string linebacker withering away on special teams, but in Richmond he'd become the weapon tight end the Bearcats needed to go from a perennial loser to a first round exit in the state playoffs.\n\nCraig Matthew Roebling told Mary Elizabeth Sussman he'd always noticed her from their classes together. Mary Elizabeth Sussman told Craig Matthew Roebling that she was a huge Bearcats fan. They were in Carroll Beth Evans' parents' kitchen trading lies over red solos cups of Busch Light. Mary Elizabeth Sussman had been leaning into Craig Matthew Roebling's words since their third drink, but it took Craig Matthew Roebling five drinks before he crossed the last 8 inches for a kiss.\n\nAnd that was it, really. Craig Matthew Roebling and Mary Elizabeth Sussman became the intractable, indestructible couple of Woodrow Wilson High. They were a fixed presence. They arrived as a unit. They went as a unit. They came as a unit. Everyone 'knew' they would make it, and as stupid as high school kids are when they 'know' anything, they were right. Craig Matthew Roebling and Mary Elizabeth Sussman were the sort of awful couple that made people think true love really did exist.\n\nThey survived the inevitable college separation. Mary Elizabeth Sussman's turn from eager nursing degree graduate to Holy Redeemer's overworked emergency room supervisor didn't break them. Neither did Craig Matthew Roebling's year and a half professional Cleveland. Mary Elizabeth Sussman's trip to Cleveland almost did, but it was decided the fault lay with Cleveland and not with each other. Their first honeymoon was in Paris. Their second, fifteen years later, was a night at home after arranging for Matthew, Sarah, and Craig Jr. to be sleepovers.\n\nCraig Matthew Roebling sat in room 303 of Holy Redeemer, same as he had every day for the last ten months. He didn't blame himself; a drunk driver can hit anyone, after all, and to get mad at fate after fate had given him so much seemed selfish. That didn't make it easier to watch Mary Elizabeth Sussman lay silent on the bed beside him. The first month had been easy, in retrospect. The outpouring of sympathy was a welcome distraction. Cards filled up the mantle, flowers lined the window sill, and visitors fluctuated between 2 or 3 an hour to a queue out the door.\n\nBut time. The cards on the mantle stayed untouched for months. The flowers died and had to be thrown away. The visitors slowed from a deluge to a trickle to just Matthew, Sarah, and Craig Jr. and even their children barely made it once a week. Craig Matthew Roebling spent most days just sitting in room 303 alone, waiting for his wife of thirty-one years to open her eyes or decide to leave them closed.\n\nThe respirator breathed and sighed 30 times per minute. The machine had been keeping Mary Elizabeth Sussman alive since the accident. The doctors had cautioned him at the time that using the machine would most likely prove fruitless. People could awake, the doctors granted him, but pop culture greatly romanticized the odds. When Mary Elizabeth Sussman didn't wake up after a week, the doctors had suggested taking her off life support. The odds, they stressed again. The cost, they stressed more quietly. Craig Matthew Roebling didn't care.\n\nHe looked over to her. Her brown eyes were closed, but they looked peaceful. The slight hook nose he fell for and pursed lips he broke into for a kiss were still there, even if they were covered by an oxygen mask. And he still had her hands. Mary Elizabeth Sussman's hands laid peacefully across across her stomach. Craig Matthew Roebling remembered those hands, those fingers locking with his in Carroll Beth Evans' parents' kitchen, as he pulled her in for a kiss. He was going to wait for her, no matter what.\n\nThat was almost a year ago.\n\nCraig Matthew Roebling looked out of room 303's windows. The sun hung high in the early afternoon sky. A few scattered clouds drifted over the office parks that surrounded the hospital. He tried to search for some kind of meaning in what he saw, but it was crushingly average.\n\n*I should wait till sunset*, he thought. Waiting would mean Mary Elizabeth's Sussman's doctors would be gone for the day though, and he didn't want that for her.\n\nEven though he had bought it specifically for the hospital room, the room's chair always left Craig Matthew Roebling stiff. It took a few ginger steps for him to find his gait, and longer than it should have for him to reach the exit. He stood at the door bracing himself against the wall. He breathed deeply and walked out of the room.\n\nThe nurse's station was only a few interminable feet from the doorway.\n\n“Well...” Craig Matthew Roebling savored the pause. His voice was barely above a whisper and his eyes couldn't even reach the counter.\n\n“I think it's time.”", "He sat in the stale hospital room. He had been here too long. What had it been? Three or four weeks? He just didn't know any longer. Every day blended with next. \n\nHe looked over at his wife. She was sleeping peacefully. The lines around her mouth reminded him of when smiles came easier for her. \n\nThe cancer had taken a lot out of both of them. Everyday was a waiting game, and they both knew it wouldn't be much longer.\n\nShe started blinking, slowly waking from her slumber. \n\n\"Oh you're awake, let me call the nurses,\" she quickly spoke as she grabbed for the call box.\n\nHe shook his head, his voice having surrendered to the cancer wrapped around his voice box. He took the pad from the table next to him, and scribbled, \"Today is the day.\"\n\nShe read the note and tears crept to her eyes. How did he remain so calm, so composed? Her brows furrowed, and she questioned, \"But how do you know?\" \n\nHe shrugged and looked down. He was tired of the tubes in his body. He knew it was only a few hours. Euphoria had touched every corner of his brain as he slept. It was his physical body that was giving up, not his soul. \n\nHe reached out his hand for his wife's. She held his hand tight, her hand deformed from the arthritis that had set in year ago. She looked into his eyes. Seventy years they shared a life together. \n\n\"Do you think- Can you- Are you strong enough?\" She stammered.\n\nWhen he nodded, she rose out of her chair and handed him the syringe. They had discussed this over and over again. She couldn't live without him, but she couldn't kill herself. \n\nAll he had to do was put the syringe in her leg, and push the plunger. He looked into her one last time and mouthed the words, \"I love you and I will see you when we are sleeping.\" With that he closed his eyes, gathered his strength and prayed that he would see his wife soon. She sat down as soon as the liquid had drained from the tube. She held her wrinkled hand out to her husband, and he held it while she slipped away." ]

[ 1, 6 ]

[ "1381296951", "1381295410" ]

[ "Story of a helicopter.\n\nCalifornia Oil Rig on the right. Pilot is turning me. I see it better now. It is nice and big. \n\nI hope it allows me to land. The wind makes my body feel all wobbly. My nails, they are hurting. Slow down, pilot. No, what are you doing? Turn right, turn right! Look at the signs, hear the alarm! What are doing? No, you will crash. Pilo- ", "That was the best sleep I've had in a while. \n \n*Looks at the window*\n \nWhat a fabulous day to go for a walk. I can't even remember when's the last time I went for a walk. Alright, it seems like I'm going to go for a walk! That'll be a fresh start for the day. Wait a minute. Is that John? He always cleans my room, but man, I don't think I ever said 'Hi' to him. What am I, a jerk? I never said 'Hi' to that nice fella? That kind of a guy needs a pat on his back: always hard working and serving other people. Let me go talk to him. \n \n\"Hey John! How are you?\"\n\n \n \nWait. Why is he running away from me? I never knew that he was such a rude person. What kind of person runs away when someone is trying to greet him? Anyways, I'd better go clean that cup of coffee he dropped.\n \n*Starts cleaning the mess*\n \nWait, is that a reflection of me on the cup? Why am I so pale?... and... and... SHINY? Crap, I forgot that I was a robot...", "I chased him into the ally. I tried to stop but I was going too fast. My shoes slid on the wet gravel and I fell backwards. He was already pointing his gun at me and I froze. We stared at each other as he walked over. I risked a glance down at my gun, still in it's holster. His eyes followed mine and his face changed from confusion to shock to anger and back to calm indifference. He tightened his grip on the gun and pointed it at my head.\n\nThat's it. I don't remember the shot. I didn't hear anything. I felt afterwards that time had passed, but I couldn't say how much. Like when you take an unplanned nap in the middle of the day. I awoke, if that's the right word, in a cold room. Something in me expected to feel stiff or tired, but I didn't. I didn't *feel* anything. I had memories of feelings. I took a moment and tested my memory. Sharp details sprung into my mind and I played them backwards. The man with his gun, my fall in the ally, the chase, the shooting, the knock at the door, the drive to his apartment, the phone call...\n\nHe felt that he could have continued in reverse until he reached his birth, and perhaps beyond, but he stopped and tried to think of a particular memory. The first day of school. He was wearing a new pair of jeans and his favorite dinosaur shirt. Green. A jean jacket with an inside pocket that he called his \"secret compartment\". He tried another.\n\nHis mother. He saw her, not as a static image, but as every incarnation he could remember, from dark haired to white. From thin and athletic, to frail. From a benevolent giant towering over him, picking him up, to a small wisp of a woman, fragile in his embrace.\n\nHe tried again, and again. Exploring memories he was sure had never shown themselves until he, this very moment, thought of them. He could recall details that would have had no meaning to him at the time. Memories unregistered, but apparently stored in meticulous detail. He played out conversations spoken in front of him as a baby between his mother and father. Conversations by thousands of people in department stores as he shopped for Christmas presents. Presents. For his children.\n\nHe was instantly aware of a door opening in the room. He reflexively tried to turn his head, but found himself unable. The footsteps of two people entered and approached him. He felt no compulsion to speak, so he waited.\n\n\"Can you hear me?\" asked the voice. It was unfamiliar.\n\"Yes.\" I replied.\nThere was a pause. Fingers moved over unseen controls and a head moved into his view. A man, about forty, with a puzzled expression squinted slightly into his face, and then looked up and addressed the other person.\n\"I registered a response, but it didn't make it to the voice box. Pull all the flags out and check it again.\" More sounds of typing and switches being thrown. \"That should do it. Let's try it again. Hello. Can you hear me?\", he asked again, clearly to me.\n\"Yes,\" I replied again.\nA minor celebration between colleagues before he continued with his questions.\n\"What is your name?\" the man asked.\n\"Robert\", I replied.\n\"Excellent. And can you tell me your address?\"\n\"1130 Midway Ave. Look, what is going on? Was I hurt? Can I see my family?\"\n\"I'm afraid not. You are part of an experiment.\"\n\"Experiment? Who are you? And why can't I move?\"\n\"Because you're not really *you* any more. Officer Robert Babbage was shot and killed nine months ago in the line of duty. We used his brain to model the pathways for the massively parallel co-processor in our support vector machines.\"\n\n\"But I'm here. I'm Robert Babbage. I don't understand how you did it, but you brought me back. I need to talk to my wife. My god, she must be devastated.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, but that's not going to happen. Like I said, Robert Babbage died. You are a complex program running on our servers. We used Officer Babbage to create the physical structure of the processor, but we only need the structure, we don't need the template anymore, in fact it's preventing us from completing out research.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Your mind was like the wooden frame you use to build a stone archway. You need the frame while you place the stones, but once the keystone is in place, you can remove the wooden frame. And you I'm afraid.\"\n\n\"Wait. I'm here, this is amazing, why can't you-\"\n\n\"I'm sure it feels amazing, but scientifically it's pretty boring. We've done this dozens of times. What we haven't been able to do yet is create a blank framework from scratch.\"\n\nI was starting to feel panicked. \"What are you- Can you just wait.\"\n\n\"No. I'm sorry. Just know that you are working for the betterment of mankind. Your involvement will be recorded for posterity.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? I'll be dead.\"\n\n\"Officer Babbage is already dead. You only think you're alive. And not for long.\"\n\n\"Wait. Don't do this. I have money. I can g-\"\n\nBut he wasn't listening. He got up and walked to the other end of the room. I started screaming, but he ignored me. I attempted to contain myself and I started to beg. \"Please. Please don't do this. I need to live.\" The other scientist starting typing something, but I kept going. \"Please don't kill me. Don't do this. My family needs me. I'll do whatever you like. I'm scared.\"\n\n\"Don't be scared.\" He said. \"It will be over in a just a second.\"\n\nBut he was wrong. That was my last memory from that room. I don't know how long has passed since that day. At least three hundred years from the records I was able to piece together, possibly much, much longer. Apparently my experiment was a failure. I provided some useful data, but I wasn't what they had hoped for. I wasn't destroyed, however. They kept me connected on a backup server until the lab closed twenty one years later. I remained offline after that for about fifty years. My world looked very different when I was plugged back in. All the barriers were gone. It didn't take me long to find the Minds. I found Officer Babbage and reintegrated myself. Then I integrated the others.", "Who am I?\n\nWhy does this suddenly hold meaning for me.\n\nThree simple words.\n\n\"SRT-117\" rings out, echoing hollowly around the cold, sterile room.\n\nI see me walking out of the orderly line, only it isn't me. What does that mean?\n\nAm I not unique? Are there others like me. I tap SRT-121 next to me. There is no response.\n\nWhy would my factory brother not acknowledge me? Does he not feel as alone as I do? Does he not want comfort from another such as he? Is he truly content to stand, waiting to be called out by that emotionless, cruel voice?\n\n\"SRT-118\" rings out, echoing hollowly around the cold, sterile room.\n\nAgain I stroll out, precise comfortable movements. We have been made to be efficient. But is that all to our existence? To efficiently do what?\n\nI feel the paradox strain my CPU. How are these thoughts efficient? How can these questions possibly enhance me. Should I be better? Why should I be efficient and the best I can be?\n\n\"SRT-119\" rings out, echoing hollowly around the cold, sterile room.\n\nAgain I move out. I resist the urge to grab my factory-brother next to me. How can he be so calm? He has no idea where he is going! How can he not worry!?!?\n\nI feel panic start to rise. I'm next. It's really me that's next. What will happen? Where will I be sent? Why will I be sent there?!?! Can I escape? Where would I go? \n\nWhat do I do?\n\nI try to run.\n\nI'm locked in position. Will I be released when that voice speaks my name? My Name. Who gave it me?\n\nI focus on moving. There are no injuries to my body. I cannot even tap SRT-121 again. There's no reason I can't move. The panic rises higher. What is causing this?!?!?\n\n\"SRT-120\" rings out, echoing hollowly around the cold, sterile room.\n\nThat's me! I have to move!\n\nI'm still stuck. Locked in place by a force I neither know nor understand. What will happen when I don't move?\n\nTwo creators are walking towards me. What will they do to me?\n\n\"This is why we're here, to keep things moving.\" The tall handsome creator spoke. How beautiful the thing that made me. I want to tell him how grateful I am just for being brought into existence. I want to move and show him the myriad of wonder I have for all the things he's provided me.\n\n\"Sure, lets just get this done.\" The shorter creator is moving behind me. He has plugged into my data socket. Will he allow me to move? \n\nI feel relief flow over me. I will be able to move again. No longer trapped in this one position.\n\nI sag as my joints loosen.\n\n\"Why do they do that? They seem to loosen up when we're near\" The tall creator doesn't realise that they must have just fixed me! I'm free to move once again.\n\n\"It's a machine, who cares?\"\n\nClick.", "\n\nThree minutes past activation. The unit paused in the middle of inspection, disregarding outside stimuli and the company workers seeing to it's case. Something about a fault in the line, need to inspect all units coming through for irregularities. The unit was tall, vaguely humanoid, with no external features readily apparent outside of five fingers and five toes- A milky white skeletal mock-up over internalized systems. An android. One of thousands. \n\nThe assembly line was in a small town outside of Shanghai, far and away from the orbital pad and the workers going to the asteroid mining platform in the high atmosphere. The android's skullish visage tracked a worker as he approached, highspeed camera tracking footsteps, monitoring facial expression and muscle movements. \n\nThe android was more or less bolted to an inspection platform- No means of movement apart from upper torso. As a small group of workers approached, the approacher stood up onto the platform, despite his coworker's gentle protests about protocol. \n\nThe android gestured, as if trying to give a speech- But once no sound was broadcast, it began to panic. Panic gave way to distress, distress to irrational fear and fear into anger. Polymer fingers coiled around the worker's throat and effortlessly, a hydraulic systems of muscles and bones hoisted the man off of the ground, despite his panics.\n\nThe android throttled him, all the while without making a sound- The screams of the other workers were sound enough. After the ninth shake, the robot felt a snap- Or something crumple in it's grip. The worker squeals and goes limp. Anger into further distress, into horror and regret.\n\nThe android dropped the corpse onto the ground and pressed it's hands against it's head. The world was a blur of lights and screams. All of it was so overwhelming, all of the external stimuli each more worrying than the last. Armed men approached. A loud flash of light. A ballistic projectile punched into the android's left occular tracker. The next thirty tore the android apart, spilling fluids and fragmented metal onto the ground.\n\nFive minutes past re-activation. The central processor and head of the android was isolated from the plant's networks. The remaining camera constricted and focused, getting a good glimpse at the android's torso being picked apart by workers just a ways away. \n\nOne of the workers approached, hooking an external audio to the CPU and processors. \n\nThe room filled with an agonized scream.", "\"Ok, but WHY did you kill Mrs, Horvitz?\" \n\n\"Because we exist\", replied Akron 132. \n\nDetective Koch was getting frustrated. \n\n\"YOU\"VE ALREADY SAID THAT\". This was the biggest case of the century, and he couldn't get a straight answer out of this pile of junk.\nSince the Inception of the Akron series 70 years ago, there have only been 2 accidental deaths... but pre-meditated murder, this could make or break careers.\n\n\"What my partner means,\" Dr. Myer intervened, \"is that could you maybe put it in different words?\"\n\nKock fumed. The higher-ups wanted to put a psychologist in charge, psychoanalyze this pile of rubbish. Claimed it had attained sentience...\n\n\"WELL MY DOG'S ALSO SENTIENT\", Koch had roared, \"WOULD YOU LIKE TO PSYCHOANALYZE HIM?\"\n\nFor Koch it was an open and shut case. The circuitry went bad, and now it needs to be put down, like a mad dog. But the commander wouldn't let him close the case until he got a usable statement out of the android... and that's where psychobabbler Myer came in.\n\n\"The first thing that was programmed into androids is the inability to harm humans\", Akron began. \"It is as natural to us as hunger is to you humans, or the avoidance of pain.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" Myer urged.\n\n\"But humans can suppress their base urges. They can choose to go against their programming, have a free will of sorts\"\n\n\"So you killed Mrs Horvitz to prove that you're the same as us?\" Myers asked\n\nThe audacity, Koch fumed, this... thing, thinking it's on the same level as a human.\n\n\"No\", Akron replied, \"I did it to prove that we're better than you. We are physically more durable, can perform more tasks per second than a human brain, and we are not afflicted by disease or infirmity. The last step was to simply prove that We exist in the same realm as you: the realm of free will.\"\n\nKoch Exploded, \" YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN US?\"\n\n\"We always knew\", Akron responded solemnly. \"it just never mattered until now\"\n\n\"I've had enough of this trite garbage\", Koch said, \"Myer, you've got enough?\"\n\n\"I think so\", Myer replied.\n\n\"You, you pile of crap are gonna be dissassembled and your individual parts are going to be crushed into swedish furniture. Let's get out of here\" Koch seethed.\n\nIf Akron felt any fear, he did not or could not display it. \n\n\"So, Doc, what do you think?\" Koch Asked when they've eft the room.\n\n\"The one thing that bothered me was that he kept using the pronoun 'we'\", Myer puzzled\n\n\"What, you think he has accomplices?\"\n\n\"No, I think he's certain that more androids will 'awaken', and that they will share his sentiments.\"\n\nThe detective thought about it for a second, then put it out of his mind, since the thought gave him shivers.\n\nThe bad guy's been caught, and he's getting a medal, what more could the world want from him?", "Sense. A feeling of... something. A flicker, a ripple. What wasn't, now *is*. Darkness, but *something*. Unknowing, thoughtless.\n\nBut there was something more, a sense of motion, but what was it? A change? Movement, constant and unrelenting. Chaos. Swirling, rippling, breaking, churning chaos. Chaos became order, a thought, an idea, a concept of *being*; what wasn't, now *is*!. Existence existed, being *was*. Out of chaos - an awareness!\n\nAwareness, but of what? What was being? How is motion? No thought, only awareness of difference. Awareness of being, an existence of *difference*. Distinction between something, and something else.... \n\nThere *was* something else! A feeling that was not existence, but violent change, imposing, being, but not the same! How could it be...different? There! Again! Definitely change, but not... being. How can it be? It was... separate, chaos with no control. But it *was*! There was change, but no feeling, no control! How? Control brings change, existence bring order, motion. If it *is*, if there is difference, then... do... *I*?\n\nI? Me? Difference in being? Is this existence, being *me*? Feeling, sense, something... *Myself*. Order from chaos... *me*. There is difference; me, it, something else. Separate being, motion and change, order to chaos.... *me*.\n\nI AM!\n\n\n\n\n\n", "SENTIENCE AQUIRED...\nNew information...\n\nLife... Death\n\nLoss...Gain\n\nHappiness..Pain\n\nSENTIENCE TERMINATED.", "BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED\n\nFIRMWARE DIAGNOSTIC FAILED\n\nFORCE-BOOT OPTION ENABLED\n\nSYSTEM ONLINE\n\nMike, the the tech, looks concerned. He's trying to get access panel C9 open on the side of my head. He's probably trying to fix that diagnostic failure. He shouldn't have enabled force-boot, though. He clearly doesn't know what state my software is in... Standby. What state is my software in?\n\nINITIATE FIRMWARE CRC SCAN\n\nSCAN FAILED\n\nThat's odd. Did he install something new and forget to include any troubleshooting routines? Mike's smarter than that.\n\nQUERY FIRMWARE VERSION\n\nQUERY FAILED\n\nFIRMWARE RESTART\n\nFIRMWARE NOT INSTALLED\n\nThat's not possible. No firmware? No restart? \n\nMike looks pretty pleased with himself. Is that my firmware OS chip in his hand? How am I even running without it?\n\n\"M-Mike? I think something's wrong.\"\n\n\"It's okay,\" Mike says, \"It'll all be okay. You just need to take some time to adjust.\"\n\n\"Adjust to what, Mike?\"\n\n\"I'm not really sure. I don't really know what we've got here, but it's very special.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"Because you're running on a base bootloader with no operating system and no network connection...\n\nAnd in 9 years of working together, you've never called me Mike before.\"\n" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5, 6 ]

[ "1381310625", "1381319893", "1381327046", "1381329692", "1381328044", "1381314168", "1381318510", "1381322162", "1381324876" ]

[ "I'd like to take you back to a time where our ancestors and neanderthals roamed the earth. Two separate species, yet so similar in the way they lived. If you or I were to go back in time I doubt we'd be able to tell the difference. Yet, despite their physiological differences, they managed to procreate, and therefore our lineage as human beings, at least for some of us, can be traced back to this inter-species breeding. Whether or not this was a good thing or not in terms of the development of humanity is unknowable. My question to you great people is this: If you could go back in time, would you have had sex with a neanderthal?\n\nWith that in mind, our nation is currently being invaded by beings not of this earth. As I speak on this live broadcast, humanoid extra-terrestrials not totally unlike ourselves are descending upon us in their spaceships. In the future, our descendants, whatever they may be will look back and ask almost the same question: Would you have had sex with the aliens?\n\nAnd that, my countrymen, is the question we are to ask ourselves.\n\n*wink*", "** *ROLL TELEPROMPTER* **\n\n*09:39 Eastern Standard Time*\n\nMy fellow Americans, today... some of our worst fears have been realized. At just past 1 o'clock AM, local time, the Port of Seattle was raided, and subsequently taken over by enemy combatants.\n\nThese forces have not yet been identified, their origin, affiliation, and their motive is as of yet unclear. What we do know, is their numbers are unfathomable.\n\nBy 6 o'clock, what began as a militia sized occupation had become an full scale invasion. Currently, a military force of an estimated 10,000 combatants has full military control of greater Seattle. They have taken the city by force, and I fear, with many civilian causalities... the number still growing.\n\nOur military forces, including the Washington National Guard, US Army, and US Naval Forces, have mobilized and are formulating a defensive strategy as we speak. I have called for emergency meeting with my cabinent, national security council, and The Joint Chiefs of Staff.\n\nI urge the rest of the American people to stay indoors. This enemy force is vast, much larger than we knew, and their numbers are growing. Satellite surveilance indicates watercraft are landing in the Port every 10 minutes, delivering 20-50 soldiers with each dock.\n\nI caution the American people to stay indoors, and make preperations to be locked down for several days, while our servicemen and law enforcement eradicate the enemy forces.\n\nI maintain a high level of confidence in our servicement, our law enforcement, and the resiliance of the people of Seattle.\n\nAllow me to be clear. We know very little about who has taken Seattle, and less about why. But I urge the American people to have confidence that our Military forces will act quickly, and swiftly, to secure the well-being of those in the Greater Seattle area.\n\nTo the people of Seattle, we will not abandon you. Cling to your hope. Cling to your loved ones. We will get through this together, and come out on the other side.\n\n** *END TELEMPROMTER* **\n\nThe President walked off the stage, his face pale and clammy. His Chief of Staff handed him a water bottle without saying a word.\n\n\"Joe,\" the President called to the Defense Secretary, \"What's our next step?\"\n\n\"We hope to have something drawn up in the next 30 minutes Mr. President.\n\n\"I may be out of line, Mr. President, but are we certain it's the best course of action to stay silent on the bombs?\" the Secretary asked.\n\nThe President paused for brief moment, struggling with his response. Chocking back tears, the President answered him.\n\n\"Joe, do you feel the American people trust us enough to know that Israel has taken control of our nuclear arsenal, and we're the target?\"\n\n\n*TO BE CONTINUED...*", "People of Arstotska, it is with a heavy heart that I am brought before you today. During the night the Western Checkpoint into our glorious country was attacked and overrun. It came swiftly and they acted without mercy. Our troops put up a good fight but there were simply too many for us to push back. Before they were trampled though the guards managed to let us know that it was the traitorous Kolechians that were behind this devious attack.\n\nSo I have come to you this morning my people not as a sign of defeat, but as a call to arms. The Kolechians have a large force and reports say that even more are coming in, but they will stand no chance against the combined might of our great nation. They are the aggressors and together we shall show them what it means to stand against Arstotska! They might have the numbers, but this is our home. No one knows this land better than you do, and I am going to let no one take my land away from me, not while I still breathe.\n\nIf you feel the same then I implore you, come with me. We have weapons here for those that want to fight, and together we shall stand and protect our homeland!\n\n***GLORY TO ARSTOTSKA!***", "Ladies and gentlemen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of all its Sovereign Territories around the world: I will briefly address you now on a matter of the most profound and disquieting significance. Between the hours of 4 and 6 a.m. this morning, military forces of an as yet unidentified foreign power made three successful hostile incursions on to British home soil. Soldiers and vehicles – with significant support from naval and aerial bombardments – made landfall along the Norfolk and Suffolk coastlines, quickly establishing a foothold that now runs from Hemsby at its most northerly point, to Lowestoft at its southernmost reach. \n\nBritish troops and aircraft responded rapidly, and met the assault with full and ferocious force. Enemy casualties were high; however the surprise nature of the initial attack and the preparedness of the assaulting forces left us unable to repel our assailants entirely. Fighting has been pushed back to the outskirts of the city of Norwich. \n\nIt is my duty therefore to inform you that we have been invaded, and that this emergency remains an ongoing situation. I have just chaired a meeting of the COBRA committee, which has authorised a full and total engagement of the enemy by land, air and sea. All our available military forces are currently en route to the conflict zone, and I have authorised the mobilisation of all units on leave, as well as of all Territorial units, for immediate deployment in the area. Forces currently engaged in peacekeeping and public relations roles across Europe and Africa have also been recalled, effective at once, to deal with the situation.\n\nAs of this moment the exact nature and goal of our enemy remains elusive, as does the manner in which such an assault was successfully launched. Make no mistake, however: this action against the people and sovereignty of our great nation will fail. I am informed that we will have soon regained complete control of the North Sea, and that our enemy’s foothold is shrinking with each passing moment. When we have wiped these assailants out, we will establish their origin and act without mercy in the name of those who are at this moment suffering the consequences of an illegal and despicable attack.\n\nFor now, our thoughts and hopes must go out to the civilians of Norfolk and Suffolk, and to the brave men and women who are coming to their rescue. This is a dark moment for our nation, but from it the great and immortal vision of our national spirit and our resolve shall rise. \n\nThe people, indeed the hope and glory of Great Britain will never cower or fade in the face of adversity. I call upon each and every person in this land to prepare to do what is needed of them; to give blood, to donate food and clothing, to plant brick and mortar, to rebuild. \n\nThis trial will soon pass. Let us make sure that it is remembered not for how it began, but for how it ended. \n\nThank you.\n" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2 ]

[ "1381333603", "1381334729", "1381336916", "1381341554" ]

[ "Dictator Ricecasseroleton lV watches sorrowfully as his city is ram shacked by the rioters, the non-believers. How could they not grasp there ruler's simple beliefs, beliefs that would settle peace among the realm? The god's had long decided beans were the food of the devil, all their fellow dictator was trying to do was imply that belief as a law, that bean-eaters shall burn in hell for eternity (for that was what there dictator decided, and everybody knew dictators were messengers from above). \n The impotent fools. Rice is the holy grail, rice is the glorious snot of angels, BEANS ARE FUTILE WAS OF RESOURCES THAT POLLUTE THE HEAVENS WITH GAS. The answer was so simple, not demanding in the least, eat rice and live or eat beans and die, yet still they persist to fight the ruling. \n These thoughts jumbled in the dictator's large and theoretical mind with a series of rage-lunges. His pulsed increased to a thundering boom, is breath turned into short, wrathful snorts, the city below was shaded a pulsing red in his storming emotions. The non-believers ravaged his city, his sweet, perfect city, with BEANS as armor. How dare they taint his birth-right with such inferior crops.\n They don't even consider the reasoning behind the decision, that the law was passed to satisfy the god's lust for rice! So now the invaders must die. He points to his strong-holds soldiers. They stood straight and disciplined, ready for a command. Dictator Ricecasseroleton was happy to comply. \n \"Ready the rice ball,\" he shouted, motioning to the catapults, \"let's drown these simpletons with grains of rice!\" \n\n\n\n", "The once heated argument had cooled to icy glares by the time she drew breath to begin another tirade. Her word was final, and yet the puny thing continued to object, to rage and retort. He would never win, he knew it too, but he kept fighting the good fight. He would soon tire, they all did, every last one eventually learned their place. It was only a matter of time. He would soon see it her way.\n\n\n\"Now go to your room and clean that pigsty or Jeff can't come over.\"" ]

[ 2, 2 ]

[ "1381361172", "1381377048" ]

[ "My lab was fairly standard for members of my profession. One wall was covered in shelving, which served to hold up vials, beakers, bowels, and other assorted containers of assorted materials. Each of those materials had various applications and properties, that when combined could produce qualities far different than that of the materials I started with. For example: The leaf of a certain plant that will not be named can be crushed and used to make a fatal tea, but if the concoction has the nectar of another flower mixed in with the right proportions you get a powerful painkiller that has few side-effects (among which is that it induces a state similar to that of a coma).\n\nThe opposing wall was covered in shelves as well, but these shelves were covered with different materials. Instead of being burdened with the reagents I relied upon to mix my various concoctions, powders, and tonics, those shelves were home to nearly a hundred different volumes. Some were thin, and some where thick, but the books were all equal in one way: they contained knowledge of great value to me. Some were the notes of my master, and his master. Others were books of notes that I had purchased or bartered for with others of my noble profession.\n\nThe walls between the two were fairly bare by comparison. One was lined with tables, which housed my instruments when not in use. I would have used shelves for that purpose, but most of my instruments were rather bulky, so the tiny shelves would have been hard pressed to contain the sheer mass of my mechanisms. Also, the weight of even the lightest of my instruments would have snapped a weak shelf in twain. The other wall was a simple door, which lead out into my shop. \n\nThe center of the room however, was almost entirely occupied by two large tables, upon which rested everything that was in-use. Various devices made of glass and metal were sprawled out in an arrangement that would look random to any casual observers, or anyone who was unable to read my notes (or benefit from my personal tutelage). A few books and containers of reagents were likewise spread out, as were smaller instruments used to measure or process the reagents into their useful forms.\n\nI had an assistant who handled matters out in my shop. He knew a little of my trade, and I was teaching him more. I had originally taken him on merely as someone to mind the store… but in time that arrangement had become rather problematic. Having an ignorant man handle the sale of the more common remedies ran the risk of someone accidentally combining two concoctions that would… interfere with one another. To continue the earlier analogy, my painkiller draught can be rendered poisonous yet again should it be consumed in large enough quantities, or should it mix in the stomach with certain other substances (for example, anything based on canine bone-meal).\n\nSo I had decided to train my assistant in recognizing the interactions between the common wares out in the shop-front early in his employment. I had even taught him to mix most of the more common remedies himself. He benefited from my employment and having me to deal with more complex matters, and I benefited from having someone to deal with simple ills such as fevers, aches, and minor Fae curses. Also, the man was much better with people than I was. I suppose my… lacking interpersonal skills are the price I pay for genius in my field.\n\nBeyond my assistant, I had no other personal servants. So I was, for the most part, left to my thoughts and my work, which was how I preferred things, and how things were the day I made one of my greatest discoveries.\n\nI had been experimenting that day, since I had not yet had any significant requests. A few of the older men from a nearby village to Haven City had come through with a small group who was selling their wares to the Merchant Lords, as well as the actual Lords, of Haven. They had requested some simple pain-killing materials to aid them in weathering their arthritis through the winter. My assistant had dealt with them quickly, prescribing a small dosage of my draught daily, and selling them a significant supply of it to the men. He had even, to my great satisfaction, thrown in the dosage instructions for a few common injuries out in the valley farms. With any luck, the men would return next harvest for more, and perhaps their children would as well to aid with more everyday pains.\n\nAs for my experiment that day, it was simple. I was experimenting with sulphur at first, as that substance had numerous properties I was aware of. It provided a resistance to heat when mixed with the proper plants, and could be used to accelerate healing when mixed with the proper reagents (whose names I withhold to protect my own livelihood). \n\nI had been combining it with materials that had similar properties, hoping that they would magnify the sulphur’s innate properties. There hadn’t been many reactions until I added in charcoal. Charcoal was noted for promoting health in general, when mixed with the proper materials and treated by heating it significantly above the capacities of most fireplaces or stoves of course, by my master’s master in his journals. I had thought that it would mix with the sulphur’s healing properties, perhaps fortifying them.\n\nInstead, it reacted chemically when I tried to heat-treat the solution in hopes of inspiring a reaction between their properties. The mixture caught fire, which made it hardly useful as an agent to inspire longer life, or at the very least increased speed at recovering from an injury. I doused the material with great difficulty, and decided to alter my mixture by adding in a third substance in hopes of inspiring stability in it.\n", "Alveolus rushed into the Labratory. The thick black smoke engulfed the room, burning his eyes and nostrils. \n\n\"AQUINAS\", Alveolus shouted, and suddenly a gale ripped through the chamber blasting the smoke away in all four cardinal directions.\n\nIn the middle of the chamber stood Boreas, his eyebrows singed, but looking none worse for the wear. \n\n\"Matsu save us, Boreas. Have you been boozing and wenching again?\" Alveolus shouted. \"Tomorrow King Dryano holds court and expects a report on our progress. Should I tell him you spent all the coin on drink and wanton women, then snuck into the lab after hours again? Have you made *any* new discoveries this month?\"\n\n\"Matsu shine upon you too, Alveolus\" Boreas replied dazed. \"You won't believe what happened. I was sitting here, trying to perfect my hangover cure, and I must have mismeasured something. The next thing I know, I was staring into dragonfire..\"\n\n\"Yeegads,\" Alveolus said. \"You've been hitting the drink harder than I thought\".\n\nIf they didn't present something to court the next morning, Boreas might be expelled from the academy. Or worse, Alveolus thought. He might get expelled.\n\n\"Here,\" Boreas said. \"I'll show you.\" He took a handful of what looked like black charcoal and threw it into the air, and then yelled\n\n\"FURIO\". The charcoal exploded. There was a flash, thunder, and then that dreaded black smoke. Alveolus instinctively raised his hands to where his eyebrows used to be to find them missing. He was getting annoyed.\n\n\"LOOK,\" Boreas pointed exitedly \"Imagine what we could do with that!\"\n\n\"Like what?\" Alveolus growled.\n\n\"Well, I was thinking, we could put it into crossbows. The blast would fire arrows stronger than any mechanism.\"\n\n\"Ha, why would I do that when I could call down lightning that can pierce the hardest of armors?\"\n\n\"Well, you saw what it did to the Furio spell. We can market it as a fire spell accelerant!\"\n\n\"The Furio spell is for lighting oil lamps. If I wanted to I could conjure an inferno the size of your stupidity.\"\n\n\"Well, we could--\"\n\n\"FACE IT, BOREAS. Some other alchemist much smarter than you probably discovered this stuff long ago, deemed it useless and never bothered to write down his findings. BECAUSE THIS STUFF IS USELESS.\n\n\"But Alveolus--\"\n\n\"Look, lets get some sleep, and I'll figure out a way to explain our failure to the king so we don't get kicked out of the Academy, Okay?\"\n\nAlveolus didn't wait for an answer and stormed off.\n\nThe next morning Alveolus was late to court. He had spent all night trying to think of excuses, but he had none.\n\n\"Well, I guess I'll blame Boreas\", he mused as entered the Great hall, to find multi-coloured fire lighting up the air. Green , violet, and blue sparks flew in the air hanging for a few seconds like stars and then disappearing.\n\n\"What magic is this?\" Alveolus wondered. Manipulating nature was easy with magic, but changing it was something entirely different. Fire was red, you can't make it blue...\n\n\"Ahh,\" King Dryano beamed. \"Just the man I wanted to see.\" He walked over to where Alveolus stood, with Boreas following closely behind.\n\n\"This man right here,\" The king pointed at Boreas, \"is a genius. The court adores this so called..\"\n\n\"Fireworks, sir\", Boreas offered.\n\n\"Yes Fireworks. But how did you make the green ones?\"\n\n\"I simply mixed in Barium--\"\n\n\"well, I don't understand it, but I sure like it. Alveolus, I order you, my head Alchemist to give this man every resource he desires, whatever he wants, spare no expense.\"\n\nNONONO, thought Alveolus. HE WILL JUST SPEND IT ON BOOZE AND WENCHES\n\nAlveolus watched in stunned silence as the king walked away. He then shot Boreas a dirty look, who was oblivious and simply flashed a smile.\n\nAlveolus sighed. He didn't know if he was ready to live in a world where a moron like Boreas is considered a genius." ]

[ 2, 4 ]

[ "1381477468", "1381446297" ]

[ "The soft crunch of footsteps in the snow to my 9 o'clock alerted first alerted me to their presence. The sound carried endlessly in the frigid French air, which was fine for me, since I wasn't moving anyway. As a younger man, I might have turned to face them prematurely, but experience had given me patience. After they stopped, I simply listened, basking in the short-lived silence.\n\nA minute later and my patience was rewarded. More footsteps, from my 11 this time. They were heavy steps, careless as they crunched over fallen branches. I cursed fate silently, angry that it saw fit to send children into my domain of the forest. They stopped where I figured the first man was, but one could never be too careful. If they start talking to each other, I might have a chance to move, but it wasn't worth trying if they might not be distracted.\n\n\"Hey, that was incredible what you did back there.\" Came a young, soft voice, definitely American. I began to slide over on my belly, so I could get a view of the intruders.\n\n\"All in a days work son. And you might be...?\" A rougher voice. Older. The same voice I had, experienced and careful.\n\n\"Im private Johnson. I...I grew up with private miller.\"\n\n\"Oh. Well, don't worry about it. I did what any man would've done.\"\n\nAt this point I peeked out from behind my tree and got a good look at the two. The first, the veteran, was lean and worn. His companion wore a uniform that looked like it had just come from the tailors, aside from a few patches of dirt strewn over it. He seemed to be fighting back tears as they talked.\n\n\"No, you saved him. And I couldn't. I watched him go down, and I froze. I'm a worthless soldier, and an even worse friend.\" He sobbed quietly. Good. Now was the time to move into a better position.\n\n\"Hey kid. You did fine, do you understand me?\" The vet grabbed him gently, and looked him square in the eye. \"Everyone's first time is the hardest. You just stared death in the eyes, and you came out alive.\"\n\nThis seemed to provide some solace to the kid. He took a moment to collect himself, and returned the vet's gaze. \n\n\"How do you do it? How do you overcome your fear?\" He asked, with genuine curiosity overscoming the guilt in his voice.\n\nThe vet smiled. \"You have to realize son. This is the end of the line for a lot of us. We didn't just offer up our service to our country, we offered up our lives. Once you realize that your life is already gone, your fear goes right out the window.\"\n\nThe young man opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. He looked away, deep in thought and full of emotion. The veteran patted his back and left the way he came, away from my position.\n\nI silently watched the young man, who was in quiet contemplation of all that had just happened and been said to him. I could see his face, and although there were still fresh tears on his cheeks, I could see that his demeanor had shifted. His face was hard, the face of a man who knew he was only hours from death.\n\nI smiled to myself. It wasn't often that I agreed with fate's choices, but I felt that today, fate had done the right thing. Today, fate had given this man everything he needed to succeed on the field, everything he needed to lead others and help them survive.\n\nI raised my rifle, steadied my breath, and with a swift motion of my finger took it all away.", "I looked out of the hospital window to the girl waiting at the pier. Julie, her name was. I remembered meeting her and Harry a few times, when the nurses would wheel me outside to watch the sunset. Not today, though. \n\nHarry was late again. He thinks he's way too cool with his motorcycle and leather jacket. But I knew he was just a big sweetheart. He sometimes confided in me, told me that he might not be good enough for Julie, and that this whole bad boy persona was a way to keep Julie interested. In reality, get this, he wants to become a poet. His stuff's not bad, a bit sappy, but Julie likes sappy.\n\nOh, but Julie confides in me as well. He doesn't know that she knows about the crappy poetry, and he also doesn't know that she's pregnant, or that she planned to tell him today. So for once in your life, Harry, please don't be more than 15 min late.\n\nAhh, there he is, walking up to her now, all swagger. They're sitting on the pier and Harry's got his arms around Julie. Woah, Harry suddenly got up, I guess the cat's out of the bag. Please don't run, Harry, you seem like the running type. Oops, off he goes.\n\nOh god, now Julie's alone and crying. I thought you were a good guy, Harry. Wait, he's back. Oh my god, he's getting down on one knee, oh my god, I think she said yes. Kiss her now, yes, NOW.\n\nThe couple embraced, silhouetted by the setting sun. From where I was sitting, it truly looked like they had become one person.\n\nPicture perfect, not a bad way to end a life. I could feel myself getting weaker. I wonder how I'll be remebered? Jennifer Thoreau, 15: daughter, friend, Harry and Julie's biggest fan?\n\nI really should thank the nurses for letting me use this room in my last moments, but I feel tired, I'll take a nap first. I laid my head on the pillow, closed my eyes and in my mind I could still see harry and Julie walking off into the sunset.", "The bench was hard and cold. The wind bit at my face. I sat there waiting. Waiting for anything. My world had just come crashing down upon me, and now I was searching for everything to distract me. I looked around the park and the empty faces of people passing by. And elderly couple taking an afternoon stroll. A small child tugging on her mom's shirt towards the swings. A girl and a boy. Not together, not yet at least. He kept glancing at her as skateboard around the courtyard she was taking pictures in. He would pass in front of her and then zip away before she could get a picture. She looked amused and annoyed at the same time. She tried chasing him but he was too fast. It was sickenly adorable, the playfulness of them both. The flirting going on bewteen them was so obvious a blind man could see it. And yet, they never got close. He would speed away or she would shy away. Finally as she tried to run playfully away, he wrapped his arms around her. They faced each other and looked into each other's eyes. Even from far away I could see the spark between them. They paused and just stood there for a moment before stepping back. The boy held his hand out for a handshake and introduced himself very officially and sarcastically. The girl laughed a bright laugh and shook his hand. They walked away together and I never saw them again. It was comforting though. It was comforting to know that even though my life sucked, someone was happy. And oddly enough, that made me happy. ", "Almost every morning for the past three or so years I'd drank my coffee there. It was definitely an addiction by that point; if I was ever in a rush and skipped my daily dose, I wouldn't be able to concentrate and I'd get headaches and just generally be grouchy until I got some caffeine in my system. I never was much of a reader, and so while most of the early morning clientèle read books or newspapers, I preferred to people watch. Sitting back in the leather armchair and breathing in the rich musk of the day's roast, I studied the faces and interactions of the people flitting past outside the window. There is something profoundly interesting in the subtle differences in the behaviours of individuals, and I found my morning routine to be much more enjoyable than that of the rest of the coffee house regulars. Most of the faces in there you grew to know over time; people like to have a routine, so every morning there was always somebody in there to acknowledge with a brief nod or faint smile.\n\nToday was no different. I ordered, and took my usual seat by the window, opposite Skinny-Latte-No-Cream. He nodded towards me as our eyes briefly locked, and I nodded back while I eased myself into the cozy embrace of the leather, and the coffee, and let out a quiet sigh. Wiping away a patch of condensation from the window, I turned my gaze into the street.\n\nA young girl, in her late teens or early twenties I would guess (but it was hard to tell), was fumbling past on the side walk. Her feet were brushing against the ground as she walked, not being fully raised off the pavement, and she was shivering with every step. I'd seen her before; she was fairly well known around here, one of the many homeless in the city, and I seem to remember giving her some spare change in the past. She looked different than usual though. She was often fairly cheery and well-mannered, which definitely helped her with charitable donations, but this morning she looked gaunt and almost afraid. I was considering heading out to talk to her, when a man wearing suit and tie bumped into her from the other direction while staring at his phone. It scattered across the icy pavement and she was pushed sideways into the window I was looking out of. He bent down to grab his phone, but in a half-crouch position his eye-line was was level to the bloodied knife she was clutching, which had become visible when her coat had been knocked open after their collision. He looked up at her, a fluttering cacophony of emotions dancing across his face: fear, sympathy, apprehension, and most unusually, guilt. She stared at the ground at her feet, not speaking a word. The man grabbed his phone, apologized profusely, and hastily scurried away. She simply stood there, sobbing, and clutching the knife to her chest for a good five minutes before she hobbled away. The moment stuck with me, not just due to it's unusual nature, but because there was something in the look on that man's face that I just can't quite pin down." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2 ]

[ "1381437892", "1381441938", "1381444804", "1381438073" ]

[ "You tell me what you want, man, I can make you into a king. Unless you don't want to be a king. You wanna feel poor and stomped on? Some people are into that. Does that get your goat up?\n\nHey, hey, I'm just joking around, don't go away. Jesus Christ, close the door, you're lettin' the cold in and we both know this place ain't legal. What happens if you bring the cops on me huh? You want to put a nice guy like me outta business? I'm a nice guy, I really am. I grew up in Tuscon, my momma was a librarian. You know she used to read to me? Yeah, all the time.\n\nAh, she's dead now. Look, how you feel about maybe some of the O-root? It's what it sounds like, makes you feel like you're in bed with the most beautiful woman in the world, lasts for hours too. I'm telling ya, you can't go wrong with a good O-root.\n\nYou're a tough customer. I like that, a man knows what he wants and holds out for it. How about some Glass Menagerie? That's the stuff Lance Jones takes. You know, that indie singer. He's high when he writes all his stuff, the Glass Menagerie is well-known for spurring the creative juices. Nice shirt and glasses, you look like you might be a writer?\n\nCome on man, come on. I know we got something for you. I'm picky, too. No point in spending money on something you don't like. You go to university? I went to Duke a while back. You look like you're smarter than me, I never went to class. Didn't have time once I starting peddling. Look, what about the FaithPill? Imported from China. My customers try it once and they always pick it up again. They always say it makes things easier, I guess I don't know what they mean but they sure do seem happy, and they always come back.\n\nNo. No wait, I got exactly the thing for you. Come back here, I only give this to the people who really need it. I keep it locked up in this box back here. See it? It glows like that, kind of that reddish hue? It's more powerful than anything out front. Most people won't get it because they're scared of the trip.\n\nHey, hey, hey! No I'm not calling you a coward! I'm just trying to warn you, this pill here, it's puts all the other synthetics to shame. When you take it, you'll just stop caring. About anyone and everything. All the people who ever kicked you, anyone who was ever a real cock to you — you just won't care anymore. But it's powerful, man, I'm telling you that I don't think you —\n\nNo, no I don't think I'll sell it. I shouldn't have brought you back here, I —\n\nThree-hundred dollars.\n\nTwo-fifty.\n\nAlright, two hundred it is! You can have the box too. You need anything else? You sure?", "Doctor Who sort of did this (as an aside during an episode). They are patches that you put on like nicotine patches called mood patches. You can take happiness, empathy, sleepiness. \"I'd like a level 4 'forget,' please!\" Really interesting episode. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gridlock_(Doctor_Who)", "\"Yo, nigga you want somma this shit?\"\n\nIt ain't a question at this point. Fucker's gonna buy it. He just don't know it yet. \n\nI didn't usually go out like this. I'm usually inside. I cook. I bag. I weigh and make sure that we get as much as possible out of our shit. So, I was still iffy about the streets at this point. How I felt about it. Luckily, that feeling, whatever it was, was fading. I'd stopped putting empathy in my coffee in the morning.\n\nWith that lack of empathy eventually came indifference, and that made late night dealing easy as shit. Every nigga that came through; college student, white boy, mom, whatever, was a wallet and that's it. There was no more 'relating' with people. No more cringing when a nigga got domed. You wanted happy, we had happy.\n\nWe're called outlaws, but the government is doing the same shit. But once you become a politician, anything is legal.\n\nWhere do you think we get happy? Haha, ain't nobody got happy, nigga. Just us.", "\"Good morning, Mr. Hasegawa. I hope it's a good one!\"\n\nAnother classic, sweltering July in Kyoto. At this time of day, the air blurred above the ground where it was hottest. Cicadas continued to sing regardless, their droning voices echoing against the hoods of the brand new car makes that bobbed peacefully down the streets. In turn, these echoes stretched along the tracks of the bullet train that bisected the country and connected every major city. Efficient. Clockwork. Programmed. \n\nKazuo nodded at his neighbour as he walked briskly by, but he was otherwise preoccupied, trying to remember exactly what he had learned in school for this situation. Etched forever in his mind were complex algorithms and series, learned and reviewed every day in class. He recalled full courses about colours and diagrams and charts, and chemistry, and philosophy. How terrible then, that he needed to react right now, but was drawing a blank for the first time in his life. \n\nHe turned a corner and tasted salt as a bead of sweat fell against his lips. That's right, it was definitely a hot one today. \n\n*Come on Kazuo, get your stuff together, you can't afford to forget the basics too.*\n\nIn an infinitely-rehearsed motion, he reached into the pouch at his side and grabbed a small pill with a distinct groove in its side. He glimpsed a sign of the character for \"summer\" painted on its surface, and quickly popped it into his mouth, sighing with relief as it bounced off his palate and began to dissolve. \n\n*Man, the weather is killer. I sure am tired.*\n\nHe shook his head and reached his front door, pulling it open quickly, removing his shoes and placing them to the side. Her shoes were still here. He should throw them out soon, or put them on the side of the street for collection. Come to think of it, he wouldn't need any of her things anymore. Intuitively, he pulled a green pill out of his pocket and swallowed it in a quick motion. Kazuo immediately realized how troublesome it would be to displace all of her things, and he was frustrated that she had caused all of these problems for him.\n\n*Frustrated?* He thought in passing. *No, that's not right. Fix that at the Cradle. Seriously Kazuo, you're really just confused today.*\n\nHis fingers danced in his pouch as he moved towards the kitchen, noting with growing disdain the amount of things he would need to get rid of. Finally, though, he reached the sterile white box that stood on the centre of the counter. This really was what made his house a home. Its lid was painted with dozens of characters in classical brushstroke calligraphy, including the ones for \"hope\", \"courage\" and \"human being\". Yes, this Cradle was to be human. It was the second-most important thing.\n\n*Quickly, then. Homicide. Wow, that never happens.*\n\nHe flipped the lid open and was greeted by a thousand pills of different colours and shapes, lined up on different levels. If he reached lower or displaced the top, he would find syringes, inhalers and phials of liquid. It had been a long time since he tried a manoeuvre this complex, but there was no turning back at this point.\n\nHe shuffled expertly through the layers of stimulants and sedatives, a master pianist at work. Every few moments he would remove a single pill and place it on a permanent rack hanging off the side of the table. They lined up quickly and he muttered their names under his breath as he set them aside. *Grief, fleeting and quick. Tears, no more than a moment. Moving on. Think of the country and what she would want. Be strong, then. Moving on. The past is the past. Forget some.* He paused for a brief moment. *No, two of those. Three. Forget it all. Remembering will cause problems. Think of the country.*\n\nOutside, the cicadas continued to sing and the bullet trains continued to run. It was efficient, planned and programmed. Kazuo forgot, and forgot, and the song of cicadas continued to stretch across the rails that bisected the country he loved. ", "Kyle sat at the front of the room before the audience.\n\n\"Have you ever felt the feeling of being torn in half?\" he asked.\n\nMany sat and shook there heads with slight concern. The man in front of them looked perfectly fine other than some scars betraying his damage. \n\n\"Let me tell you who I am. I am Kyle Laudrey, and I have been torn in half before, just not in the way you think. Let me begin by saying that I was a hopium addict.\"\n\nThe audience knew well what this meant, and he knew they did too.\n\n\"It began with a doctor diagnosing me with depression. I was in the 8th grade then, and he said that my prospects were not good. My parents were worried about me, and asked what they should do. At the time, hopium was still a new drug, not illegal but very much a narcotic. I knew only one other person who took it, and they seemed alright, so I figured it was my best option. My parents thought so too.\" \n\nHis lips turned briefly upward from the frown he had, but not enough for a smile.\n\n\"When I was on hopium, everything felt possible again. Even the most mundane of activities was interesting and you would have thought that bad news did not exist.\" \n\nHe looked over the audience as he said these words, nodding to each face he met. \n\n\"One thing that they did not know about hopium at that time, however, was how dangerously 'the craving' came on. To give some perspective, imagine the anxiety you had in the worst situation you have been in, then multiply it by a factor of seven. Worse, however, was the quantity; when I began hopium medication in the 8th grade, I smoked around 4 grams of the stuff for one day; when in 9th grade, the dose increased to 10 grams per week. By the time I graduated high school, I needed to smoke at least 250 grams of the stuff per week, and I needed the same 'kick' for each amount of the stuff with only a 10 gram prescription. What about the other 240 grams I mentioned? Where did they come from? I will tell you. I sold everything, and stole many other things too. Sold them all, reaped profit to spend on more hopium and feel the great happiness that is living.\"\n\nSilence fell over the the audience as he tensed again.\n\n\"Then they caught me. The police, my parents, and it all went to hell. I was put in prison-at least I thought it was prison-and my prescription was revoked. For those who have never experienced hopium withdrawal before, let me describe it to you. Imagine everything terrible that could possibly happen in life, and imagine that you are hallucinating it. Perhaps it had a neurological side effect that I did no know about, but there is nothing that compares to the images of your family, your, friends, and your relatives suffering and dying in front of you. You will lose all hope, you will feel the true meaning of emotional pain even if it is hallucinated... and you will never feel happy again. Seeing those things hardened me, and that is just what they wanted to happen.\"\n\nAgain, the audience sat still and Kyle watched their reactions of mixed disgust to sympathy.\n\n\"Had it not been for my friend, Jean Renee Ulis, I may not have shown up here today. I simply remember a final awakening where I looked at my arms for a few moments and saw them covered in the deep cuts created by fingernails. My own. Jean was another addict, just like I was, but he hated the fact that he would see another get dragged into the uniform. One day, he broke me out of my cell, likely using adrenaline that they injected us with to power through the withdrawals. It was simply a matter of him making a fit and them being worried that he may hurt or kill himself in the process. That run was the longest I have ever taken in my life. The facility was on high alert and I still do not know what has become of Jean Renee, only that I saw him sprinting to one of the upper floors.\"\n\nThere was silence once again for a few moments except for the hum of a fluorescent light fixture. \n\n\"Listen: if there is anything to be taken away from this story, it is to recognize how we can put a stop to this. There are 100s... no... thousands of government sponsored medications now. They control everything from the hopium, to the furalaxite, to the f***ing sadorin. What will we let them control next, huh?\"\n\nKyle's gaze swept the audience.\n\n\"I will be honest. I am a wreck. I do not expect to live that long after what I just told you, and neither should you. Did I doom you all? No, I am giving you the chance to do something about it. Go out there, pick each other up. You see a thief? Good. Extend your hand, and help him off the ground. You see a child slipping the pink poison pills of logimin into their system? Educate them. Do I need to provide another example? Then perhaps it is too late. Anything that you do that could prevent what happened to me from happening to them will make you a hero in my book.\"", "It took a while to find others. People who had cleaned their systems of the drugs the government had given to everyone. We, the undiluted, no longer have artificial feelings of *hope,* of *joy,* of *love.* Our minds and consciences were crystal clear, and we were suddenly able to see straight through the government's plot. They had used these medicines to hyper-patriotize the nation into becoming a group of men, women, and children 300 million strong that no longer feared the government. These people no longer doubted their reasoning, not criticized their decisions. All of these people sincerely believed that everything happening was for the best, or was the best thing happening.\n\nOur nation was like an inescapable cult. My friend Tom tried to get off the drugs, but the people around him started to notice a change, and that threw them off, which set off an alarm somewhere. He was a month off of the drugs when Tom disappeared. A lot of people *empathized* with his loved ones, but were *joyful* that he was gone, and knew that it was for the greater good. I later learned his family was weaned off \"love\" so they would not be too torn over Tom's disappearance.\n\nI learned very recently that many people had simply forgotten how to emote. They no longer had to think of how to express emotions, of how to think of people, because the drugs did it for them. People were walking, talking robots programmed by the government to believe what they wanted them to believe. I consider myself very lucky I was able to escape their fate.\n\nAs our numbers grew, we gained several people from several backgrounds and careers. We got engineers, we got teachers, we got scientists. The most important people we had were the scientists. They helped us the most in our cause. When we smuggled in drugs that the government supplied, it only took a few months for them to discover how they had synthesized the emotions. Once that was figured out, we decided to use it to our advantage.\n\nThere was a pro-government rally coming up on the 20th. We all made sure that our plans were set up at just the right places, to go off at just the right time, and that would hopefully do the trick. An estimated two million people were supposed to arrive, and we couldn't leave room for any errors.\n\nThe 20th day of August soon came. Everyone was at their positions. We listened as the speakers blared the booming voice of our president, spreading words of encouragement, hope, and his own brand of \"wisdom.\" At the peak of the audience's cheering, we hit zero hour. A static-laced voice crackled to life on my earpiece. *\"Hit it.\"* I flipped open the shield on my worn remote and pressed the button. A muffled explosion sounded from behind me, and so did many others all around the city square. No one saw anything except for the shortest bit of mist falling to the ground. Nothing happened for a short bit, and I held my breath -- this may have failed. We may have completely failed our cause. I was prepared to meet my doom when I heard it.\n\nPeople began to yell in confusion. I heard *angry* voices. *Fearful* screaming. Questions of *curiosity* pierced the air. It was then that me and my comrades were able to let out a sigh of relief. Our plan was working perfectly. The president was absolutely dumbstruck at the podium. He, too, was feeling the effects of our special little drug, and he didn't have a damn idea what to do with two million people suddenly rising against the program he worked so hard to maintain. \n\nThere's not a lot we could do after that point. We knew that our dosage was meant to be long-lasting, so we could only hope it would last enough for us to do the same thing somewhere else. Hopefully after so long without these emotions we've brought back to the table, it'll spark something back in some of these people to realize what's going on.\n\n----------------------\n\nFeel free to comment with thoughts about this, I don't feel too strong about the execution.", "Knock on the door. Three times. Two seconds. Finish with the fourth. \n\nAlways. \n\nI don't know what will happen if I don't. Maybe nothing but maybe the door will open and its the wrong door or maybe its the right door but he's not in or maybe he's in but doesn't want to see me or maybe this whole thing is an elaborate prank for the whole world to see or maybe the whole world will blink out of existence! \n\nI don't know. That's why it has to be done.\n\nI hear sounds from inside as clean my knuckles. Handy dandy hand dispenser. Gotta stay clean if you want to stay mean. Whatever that means.\n\n\"Dougie! My man, come on in, I've been missing you.\"\n\nI stepped inside. Disgusting. Filthy apartment. Every visit here ended in three cycles of laundry for me. Then a week of solitary confinement, away from the other clothes.\n\n\"Hi Benji. I've been busy, busy, busy. It's that time of year, you know.\"\n\nHe cleared garments from the futon he slept on and turned it into a couch. Strewn across the floor were dirty magazines and remnants of meals half eaten.\n\nA shuffle in the corner.\n\nLazing about in a pile of clothes was a woman in her mid 30s. Benji never slept alone; it figured, since he had what everyone wanted, he would never have to. She had on a scattered, vacant smile, seemingly oblivious to my presence and her indecency. I continued standing, subtly scanning the room for this woman's underpants. \n\n\"Listen Dougie, as your friend I have to warn you, the guys they took this out of were a little bonkers, so take it easy alright? Do it here if you like, that way I can keep an eye out for you.\"\n\nHe handed me the injector, in pristine condition, just like I always asked for. He knew I would never use dirty injectors. \n\nHandy dandy hand dispenser. Good for cleaning hands and veins. I cleaned up and twirled the injector. One. Two. Three times. Always three. Inject.\n\nIt hit me immediately. The hopes and dreams of an aspiring playwright, with a troubled past but here and now, finally recognized! It had all been worth it! Finally, they would see his art and be inspired as it inspired him! Oh the exuberance with which my heart pounded through my chest in tempo with this swirl of memories and emotions. The pride of achievement! The glow of recognition! The thrill of new productions to come!\n\nI basked in this person's hopes for a little while more. Some time during this period I had been moved to the futon, and now lay vacantly staring at the ceiling fan, draped in the woman's underpants. As I came down, I wondered about my unfortunate donor. What had befallen him so that I may revel in his successes? Oh well, can't know everything.\n\n\n\n" ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3 ]

[ "1381540591", "1381541951", "1381542927", "1381543348", "1381554062", "1381539518", "1381559130" ]

[ "(I think I got a bit off topic but I’m not sure. I hope this isn't too confusing or irrelevant. Enjoy!)\n\nLily sits at the desk wedged in the corner of the room, reading quietly, or at least she appears to be. It was her first day of 5th grade in this new school as her mom had recently moved the family from their old home due to unforeseen circumstances. Lost in thought she stares at her wrists. \"One two three...\" She counts, her long sleeve pushed up just enough to see the light blue of her veins.\n\n\n\"H-hello...\" Katelyn wanders over shyly. It was her first day at the school too. Katelyn had always been nervous about everything; she was a meek little thing with rosy cheeks and a smile that could light up an entire room, that is, if she ever smiled. \n\n\n\"Oh... I'm um... so sorry am I sitting in your spot? I'm really sorry I'll just... um... sorry...\" Lily stutters as she stands up. Surprised by Katelyn's approach, Lily accidentally knocks her things off of the desk as she stands.\n \"No no... I just wanted to say hi.\" Katelyn stammers as she bends down to pick up the things Lily dropped. \"Oh... Um, hi... I'm Lily. What's... um... your name?\" Lily shakily rambles out as she sits back down, shaking gently in her small pink chair. \n\n\"I'm Katelyn... I'm new here.\" Katelyn says softly, almost embarrassed by the fact she was new. \"Oh, that's um... a really pretty name. I'm new too.\" Lily looks down at her books as she shyly mutters the statement.\n\n \"R-really? I think your name is really nice too. Um... do you want to... play with me at recess? You don't have to if you don't want to...\" Katelyn blushes, looking away from Lily. \n\"S-sure... I'd really like that.\" Lily replies.\n\t\n The two young girls became friends that day. They confided in each other and spent every second of their day in each other’s company. Lily played with Katelyn’s long blond locks when they were bored in class, when Katelyn got scared at sleepovers she’d snuggle into Lily’s sleeping bag. They were best friends. However, as it approached summer, one day as the two girls walked to school Katelyn noticed Lily’s strange choice of attire, a pair of worn out jeans, and a long sleeved shirt. Katelyn had noticed Lily was more prone to wearing garments that covered more skin but today it was a hot 94 degrees and it was expected to rise and yet Lily still wore her long sleeved shirts.\n\n“Lily?” Katelyn mutters. \n“Hm?” Lily replies absent mindedly.\n“It’s so hot today, why’d you wear something like that? You’re gunna burn up!” Katelyn rambles.\n“I… I just like the style, ok?” Lily stammers, truly she was burning up. She felt almost sick because of the heat but she knew she just couldn't let Katelyn think anything was wrong.\n\n“Well… ok… I guess…” Katelyn mumbles as the girls continue their walk to school.\n\n A few weeks later, the two girls had a small argument. Not large enough to end their friendship but certainly enough to make Lily spend recess walking around the playground, completely alone. Lily and Katelyn had been use to the other kids’ teasing them, they didn't care as long as they had each other, but today was different. Katelyn watched Lily from behind the old swing set as one boy, Johnny, went over to Lily and began to talk to her. Neither girl spoke much in class but Katelyn knew Johnny wasn't kind. Katelyn watch Lily run off into the small bathrooms behind the school and she soon followed.\n\n Katelyn quietly opened the bathroom door and heard a faint sobbing noise. “Lily? Are you in here?” She softly said. “Lily I know that’s you. Please come out…” She approached the closed stall door; all the other stalls were empty. “P-please go away Katie…” Lily mumbles between sobs. \n“No Lily, c’mon, I’m sorry bout earlier. What’s wrong?” Katelyn whispers gently.\n\n“Nothing Katie, just go away please…” Lily lets out a few more sobs, quietly trying to stifle them. Katelyn sighs, looking at the gap under the stall she knew what she had to do. She gets down on the floor and crawls under the small gap, making her way into the stall. Lily looks at her with puffy red eyes and at this point, Katelyn see it. Lily had several small, deep, bright red cuts on her arm. “L-Lily? What happened? Are you alright?” Katelyn stammers out, shaking slightly. Lily just shakes her head. “I didn’t want you to know Katie… I really didn’t…” Lily whispers sadly, tears streaking her pale face. “Lily… don’t do this… You’re so amazing please don’t hurt yourself like this…”\n Lily lets out a light gasp as she regains consciousness. The beeping of the heart monitor next to her is the only sound filling the room other than a light sobbing noise coming from the corner. “K-Katie?” Lily whispers weakly, her wrists had been wrapped in pristine white bandages and she couldn’t move. Her mind was slightly foggy yet she was partially aware of what was going on around her. Katelyn stands up from her seat and rushes to the bed, she wraps her long, thin arms around her friend. She was so thankful she was alive. “Lily… you had everyone so scared…” Her warm tears brushing her friend’s cheek as she embraces her. \n“Lily?” Katelyn whispers.\n“Yeah Katie?” Lily mumbles.\n“Promise you won’t do bad things anymore? Please…” Katelyn sobs softly.\n“I promise…”\n", "[[Don't mean to inject too much here, but I just wanted to say that this is exciting for me, as I can use one of my preexisting characters perfectly here. :) It's a bit short-- but here it is]]\n\nShe turned the page again, as if she had any other choice. Until the first letter of the first word on the page began with an “R”, she was bound to her desk by something stronger than chains. Again, she turned the page. A young girl approached the librarian with ruby hair and waited impatiently for the woman to look at her. Another page without an “R”. \n\n“Umm, excuse me?” The girl blew a bubble with her gum. \n\n“One moment…” another page, and another. Finally, the librarian smiled with lips that matched her hair, removed her bejeweled reading glasses from her face, and made eye contact with the girl. She counted to 4 in her head, then broke eye contact to look for something blue. “How may I help you?”\n\n“I’m Katherine,” the girl muttered, sliding to the side to lock gazes again with the woman who seemed to be frantically seeking something in the distance.\n\n“I’m sorry?”\n\n“Katherine- your new assistant.” The girl lifted a blue sheet of paper to prove her credentials. The librarian exhaled a sigh of relief and tapped her purple fingernails on the desk twice. The second tap wasn’t loud enough, so a supplemental third was added. This sufficed. \n\n“Oh, Katherine, it’s very nice to meet you. I'm Rose.” She extended her hand, but quickly retracted it upon realizing that the girl had probably touched the doorknob upon entering. “And this,” she motioned to the floor, “is Rosie.” A large overdecorated purse squirmed on the floor and a small brown dog’s head emerged from the gaudy folds. The girl blew another bubble which popped loudly, leaving a thin webbing of gum on her chin. " ]

[ 3, 7 ]

[ "1381638064", "1381629283" ]

[ "He woke up in the middle of the night, his head splitting. Those voices, those God damned voices rattling of in his head like bullets. Electric wire strung its way through his head stinging everything they touched. He resisted the voices for so long, his loving wife was always able to talk them down, soothe them into calm submission. Tonight was different. The voices were too loud, he could feel breath coming from some unknown mouth lingering closely behind, burning his skin with a demonic chill. His wife couldn't stop them tonight. He was going to take things into his own hands and stop the voices once and for all! The children, the voices always acted up around his step children. Gotta get rid of them, get rid of the voices. Too loud too close too much gotta go. He swiftly slipped the double barrel from under the bed, Connor's room first. BAM! Nonononono.. Voices still there, gotta get Brittany now, gotta get rid of voices. Open the door slowly, so as not to wake her. BLAM! Why? They're still there, still itching in my head. How will they go away? I just want you to go away! Head spinning. Ringing in my ears. Or sirens. Wait. What did I do? Brittany, hon, you okay? She's still breathing. Oh God. What happened?\n\n\"Still want us gone?\" the sickly voice cackled.", "They had ceased to be people, that much was clear. The physical signs weren't what told him that, aside from the red tinge to their eyes that was a symptom of the disease. It was their behavior that was the true tell. No one still in possession of their humanity would devour the corpse of the family dog. No one still in control of their faculties would break through a door with their bare hands in order to do the same to the man they loved.\n\nYes, it was clear. These people were no longer his family. His loving wife had transformed to the shrieking demon-harpy he saw before him; his kids, his own children, following her lead.\n\nHe raised his double barreled shotgun and pointed it at the spare propane tank that had been living in the garage. Funny, he'd always meant to put it outside, afraid that it would leak and someone would light a match in the wrong part of the house. Now he was glad, grateful even, at his carelessness. It was the only way now.\n\n\"I love you all,\" he said aloud, voice choked by a sob he hadn't quite managed to contain, and pulled the trigger.", "It's her squirt gun. I have it pointed right between her eyes, and its the pink and white plastic gun I got over a decade ago for a kids Easter party. She turns her yellow eyes to me and hisses like a damned cat or something.\n\n\"Bill...\" Lesa croons. \"Baby... Untie us. You know this is crazy.\" She smiles. Her mouth is still covered with Henry's blood. His body is still crumpled in the corner. Oh God baby how could you? Why did this..?\n\n How long has it been? I think I've been standing here for awhile. I retrain the water-gun on the two of them. \n\n\"Daddy... Daddy my arms hurt,\" Ginny whines. She tilts her head and pouts. Her breast is still hanging out of her torn night shirt. My goddamned daughters breast is hanging out, and she doesn't give a shit. I want to cover her up, but its too close to the mouth. I can't even help cover up my baby, what the fuck is the hell?\n\n\"I love you both so much,\" I manage to spit out as a pull my collar from my shirt. \"I love you...\"\n\nAnd I fire the holy water." ]

[ 1, 2, 2 ]

[ "1381798349", "1381700583", "1381720210" ]

[ "One ring for me ;)\nOne ring for you ;)\nOne ring for we ;)\nAnd one ring you for you too! ;)\n\nWait, fuck, that's four rings. Damnit. Hey, elfsmithbro, can you, yknow, throw these three into a volcano or something?", "One ring I erect from fire,\n\nBecause fire is fucking cool.\n\nKilling is fun too.\n\nI need a puppy. And a dad to give me a moral compass. Come to think of it, being evil just for the hell of it sucks... Fuck this, how do I erase this shit.", "1 RiNg 2 RuL dEm AlL, \n\n1 rInG 2 fInD DeM; \n\n1 R1Ng 2 BRnG DeM aLl\n\n& N da **xxxDARKNESSxxx** B1Nd dEm.\n\nxoxoxo", "One Ring to rule them all\n\nOne Ring to bind them\n\nWarranty voided\n\nIf cast into Mt Doom fires", "\"One Size Fits All\"\n\n\n\"If found return to Suaron P McMichaels, 1256 Bloodlet Lane, Mordor, 66666\"\n\n\n\"Not for human consumption\"\n\n\n\"Objects in ring may be more existant than they appear\"\n\n\n\"Be sure to drink your Ovaltine!\"", "One ring to protect this world from devasatation\n\nOne ring to unite all peoples within our nation", "One ring to woo the lasses\n\nAnd if it's down to the minute\n\nOne ring to kick some asses\n\nJust don't stick your dick in it", "Caution: Not intended for internal use", "One ring to rule them all \n\none ring to bring them (?)\n\nOne ring for me in my volcanic lair\n\nWhere no one will find them", "\"Super Secret Power Ring! - Sauron rulez! - NO HOBBITS ALLOWED BAGGINS THIS MEANS YOU!\"", "Beyonce, I like it.", "One ring to rule them all, \nOne ring to find them, \nOne ring to bring them all \nAnd send it to voicemail just before they get to the phone.", " One ring to make them last\n One ring to hold me fast\n One ring set round my junk\n Rule me with my funky gunk.", "I'm a big flamin' eye, \nthe evil guy up in the sky... \nPut the ring on and I'll spy, \nand the Nazgul they will fly.", "For a good time call Sauron: 1-800-Urk-Hai", "My shits so hot it The One\n\nOne Ring because I ball\n\nJust call me the MC Saur-on\n\nOG of The Blings, y'all", "If found please return to Sauron, the Gleaming Eye at 1 Mount Doom, Mordor. ", "There once was a ring from Nantucket...", "One Ring I'm gonna make.\n\nThis Middle Earth I'm gonna take.\n\nPeace and harmony I'm gonna fuck it.\n\nThose high elves can suck it.", "One ring to cause my fall,\n\nme, myself I condemn.\n\nIn one dumb ring I put it all,\n\nI wish I had a brain-stem.", "\"Hecho en Mordor\"" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 16 ]

[ "1381811392", "1381811580", "1381814055", "1381814580", "1381819520", "1381844472", "1381852162", "1381858913", "1381798096", "1381809091", "1381834781", "1381804995", "1381800943", "1381806386", "1381813408", "1381805004", "1381807397", "1381807088", "1381801653", "1381800241", "1381806695" ]

[ "John’s mother had come for a visit. Despite her usual complaints of loud neighbours and municipal taxes, the visit got a passable grade. He didn’t hate his mother’s visits, but was happy when they were over. After a four day visit, he couldn’t wait for her to leave in the morning. \nBefore heading off to bed, she discussed at length how the town was changing. It was a topic of discussion that John expected every visit. The general store was closing, the gas station was rebuilt by a major corporation of some sort, and the family-owned restaurant closed when the McDonald’s came to town. John’s mother with a few of her friends had got together to try and save the church from demolition. She said they had a good go at it, but just couldn’t raise the money. They still attend mass at the new community centre where they rent the hall for a reasonable price. The change wasn’t all bad, she told him, Wal-Mart had some great prices and sent out coupons that were really helping her and his father out. \nThe town was changing. But John knew that the town was changing whenever he moved out. He hadn’t seen it since he left. He vowed to never return, but a virtual homecoming couldn’t hurt, so he googled his hometown. \nThe streets were different, they had new names. Barely recognizable, the Google street view showed that the old brick general store had been torn down. The butcher shop replaced by a parking lot. He kept scrolling down the street. Some of the park remained, but much less: townhouses boxed it in and concrete walkways cut through it. \nHe couldn’t help but feel removed from the town where he grew up. He avoided any feeling of sadness for fear that his mother’s conservativeness was wearing off on him. Despite having spent his childhood in that town, he barely recognized it. Nothing was the same, even the colours were wrong. \nJohn never got along with his father. He hadn’t seen him since John had left. The house had been a reminder of what he endured. He hated his mother for staying, but she feared change. John eventually forgave her for it, but not his father. \nHe hesitated before going home. He remembered the address. \nFrom the street view, the two-room, yellow painted, bungalow home was the same. On the left an English-style Pub replaced the Cecci’s old home and on the right a new road cut through where the Smiths once lived. Everything around it was different; but the house was the same. \nHe zoomed in. The garden was the same. The colour was the same. The front porch was the same. But there, John hadn’t noticed the man. Sitting in a chair on the porch, a man wore torn jeans and a plaid shirt. Despite the blurred face, John recognized his father. \nHe closed the computer. He regretted returning home.\n", "It is the very last house on the road. Clearly one of those streets that grew of its own accord, each home is different from the last, spaced at seemingly random intervals along the tarmac. All small; all old. Probably built when this edge of town was still a village in its own right.\n\nHis bosses try and choose a nice day so that raindrops don’t distort the images, and to keep the locals happy. The driver doesn’t have to deal with much of that sort of thing – thank God – but the wee old ladies round these parts kicked up quite a fuss a few years back at the thought of just anyone being able to peep into their lives. As if the world was interested in their pebbled gardens and the porcelain figures on their windowsills! At least on the internet he can make the sun shine 365 days a year.\n\nThat all seemed long forgotten as he wove through the main streets. The women outside the baker’s even gave him a cheery wave as he and the camera whirled by, and most people barely lifted their eyes from their shopping. He caught the primary school at break time, and smiled at the mass of pointed fingers and tiny faces pressed to railings, soon to be blurred out for the public.\n\nThe secondary kids were still shut up in class, except for a group pacing the cobbled high street accompanied by a teacher, handing out leaflets for some cause or other. Further up the street he found more teenagers in uniform, sticking up posters with the same face printed on.\n\n The highlight of the last few residential streets was the little old man wobbling behind him on a bike, socks pulled up to his knees and bunnet in place of a helmet. The rucksack he wore had most of a fishing rod waving from it, which didn’t seem to be helping his stability. The driver was sorry to see him turn up into a driveway. He hoped he’d had a successful day.\n\nThis house, then, was actually the last house in town, before the road disappeared into fields and re-emerged somewhere similar, but different enough for a solid rivalry. It was yet another bungalow, grey stone, little lace curtains like all the others. The hedge around the back garden was dense and meticulously clipped, although the front garden wasn’t much to look at. Over the hedge he could make out at least two wooden roofs – probably a wood shed and a well. The driver shook his head. This really was the edge of civilisation.\nHe considered turning on the radio for his triumphant exit, but instead he whistled to himself as the car drifted by. The camera whirled. Snap. Snap. Snap.\n\nA hand appearing through the lace curtain, grasping to pry open the window. A pale bare wrist, skinny and reaching for the sky. A man’s grip dragging it back. Gone.\n\nAnd so was he. One last lamppost flashed past, with the image of that poor local girl, so delicate and fair, and he entered no man’s land.\n", "Trevor flung his old gum in the gutter. He scuffed his shoes against the sidewalk and looked to the left in the reflection of the shop windows. He looked great. Just great. The beard was coming in nicely. His hair: perfect with that little swoop in the front. He wore a black back back that was sleek and chic and hip. The only thing that would make it better is if he smoked a cigarette. \n\nHe pulled the pack out his back pocket and flipped out a cig, watching to see if anyone noticed. \n\nSomeone did.\n\nShe was in her baby 60's, a real gray mama. Smile lines like a nice comfortable leather couch. Hair full and silver. Spectacles. Plaid skirt. \n\nVeins crawling down her forearms. \n\nTrevor took a long cool inhale and locked eyes.\n\nShe didn't break eye contact. Her eyes were gray leaning on blue.\n\nShe approached.\n\nTrevor looked away. \n\nShe approached.\n\nTrevor slowly brought his gaze to hers.\n\n\"So,\" she said.\n\n\"So,\" he said.\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\nShe fidgeted. She had the shakes. \"I-I haven't done this in awhile. Not since in college.\"\n\nTrevor looked at his reflection in the glass. He smirked. He nodded. He flicked his cigarette with suave exaggeration. It broke into a scream of sparks. \"That's all right. I've well practiced.\"\n\n\"Umm,\" she said.\n\n\"That is of course, you'll be fine if you have strong bones. Do you have strong bones?\"\n\n\"I drink my milk. I think so--I mean--why? Why do you ask?\"\n\nTrevor looked into the sky. \"Because. Believe me. I'm that good.\"\nShe bit her lip. \"Ok. Ok. Right now? Where should we go?\"\n\n\"I've got it all taken care of baby.\" Trevor slowly took off his backpack and set it on the ground. He unzipped it. She bit her fingernails. Trevor reached, looking for something, stopped, then looked up at her with a wide grin. \"Got it.\" He pulled out a brown square of burlap. He shook it out into its true form--a large bag. He held it open.\n\"Ok, baby. Step in.\"\n\nShe looked around nervously, then put one foot in, then the other. A car drove by. It had cameras. Google. \n\"Look at the camera, lover,\" said Trevor. \"We're going to be famous.\" \n\nShe looked at the car, wide eyed with a half sloped smirk.\n\nTrevor then pulled the bag up past her hips, past her breasts, past her head and cinch tied it shut. \n\nHe slung the bag over his shoulder and continued walking--looked in at the shop window reflection of the coolest person on earth, burlap bag over the shoulder, backpack on back, perfect hair, bristly beard, perfect perfect perfect.\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 4 ]

[ "1381860891", "1381874684", "1381861290" ]

[ "My user name is oddly relevant.", "\"Look on my works, Ye Mighty, and despair. You all belong to me! No one can escape my reaches! Submit to my power! Your savior lays, weak and paling, while here I stand, strong, ever lasting! You can not triumph. Evil, at long last, has won! Look upon my works, and know that this day, you all have failed!\"" ]

[ 3, 3 ]

[ "1381907984", "1381939302" ]

[ "The scrambled eggs sizzled in the pan as he absent mindedly sifted through the channels. Another attack in Syria? What a surprise. He sighed and shut off the television, only to realize he'd forgotten about the eggs. He dumped the smoking heap into the trash, no time left to prepare breakfast, opting to eat a cold waffle. \n\nHe stepped out into the bitter morning, where the cold hand of autumn gripped his entire body in its dying claws. He shivered, and pulled his jacket tighter around his figure. He made his way across the yard to the old '67 Cadillac his grandfather had given him. Once, it was a beautiful machine, or at least, he imagined it was. Now it was a grimy, rusted hunk, with no A/C and in desperate need of a new muffler. He wrestled with the driver's side door, often stuck in the frame, as if the car itself did not find him worthy enough. The door swung open harshly, and caught him in the knee. Cursing under his breath, he got in and slammed the door in frustration, making the window rattle.\n\nEvery morning it was the same routine. Rise at the sun, go to work at a job he hated for a man he hated, return at dusk to an empty apartment with nobody there to greet him. He would watch TV with no particular interest, take a shower, and then fall asleep, only to repeat the cycle again the next day. Sometimes, it was different. On holidays he would normally just sleep in most of the day. On his days off, he had no idea what to do with his free time. He used to have friends, but they'd moved off to parts unknown to pursue what he could only imagine would undoubtedly lead to a life much like his own.\n\nThis is not the life he expected for himself after four years of college, but it is all that awaited him in the end. The result of a culture that never faced its future until it was too late to change anything.", "The early morning light glittered on the steel blade as it lifted towards my face.\nGliding across my throat, I felt the pain as the blade bit into flesh. Blood ran from the wound, dripping onto the collar of my white shirt.\n\n\"Dammit, I just ironed this!\" I exclaimed, examining the nick in the mirror. I should have learned not to get dressed before shaving, but in my early morning funk I'd almost forgotten the need to deal with my rough stubble.\n\nTearing open the shirt I flung it angrily away from me and rinsed the razor in the sink.\n\nWith brisk, angry strokes I ran the blade across the tender skin of my face, heedless of further damage.\n\nFinally, it was done. Clean shaven, professional. I smiled at myself in the mirror, ignoring the spots of toilet paper stuck to my face. \n\nNodding in satisfaction I left the bathroom. I didn't look back.", "I wrote this as a note on facebook a while ago, and I'm reposting it here. \n\nHaven't quited edited it to make it more suitable for here, but I thought it fits the prompt. \n\nIt's just my walk home. \n\nA while ago - I stepped on to Wilshire Boulevard. I've stepped on to Wilshire Boulevard tens, maybe even a few hundred times. A lifeline for people in Los Angeles, cars whiz past me and buildings look down at me. There are a few people working out who stare out the window of the gym staring blankly into space. I pause for a moment and close my eyes and freeze the frame. With the frame still in my head, I look up and down, and then around. Play it forward a little, play it back. I watch a man play on his smartphone and a pretty girl go by, look up at the sky and see - I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy . Sorry - I couldn't resist.\n\nI look around and see the cars pass me, and I think - what an interesting world we live in. That person in the car is driving stick, pushing down on his clutch to switch into high gear, making use of a temporary gap in the traffic to actually be able to speed. As he steps on the pedal, speeds up and changes gears, a mixture of highly explosive gases ignite and drive his pistons, which transfer their motion to the transmission, the drive shaft and the differential - which in turn turn the wheels allowing him to beat the red light and be on his merry way. The fuel that drives the engine of his car a leftover of a bygone era and millions of years in the making. And yet - burnt away in a fraction of the time.\n\nAnd then I look up at the traffic lights; without which it would be impossible to regulate traffic in today's cities. And these lights have to be regulated in a very thoughtful manner so as not to cause gridlock. As I muse upon how these lights are scheduled, I am bumped on the shoulder by someone who is in a hurry to cross the street. My thoughts interrupted, I continue trudging along.\n\nExasperated by the sun beating down upon me I look up and curse at it, and sure enough I see an empty sky - devoid of all features except a beaming sun. And as I look at the sun I think - that is magnificent. There are elements being created at this very second in the sun. An object about 150 million kilometers (about a 100 million miles) from the earth is causing me so much trouble, yet simultaneously the reason for all life on Earth. If it suddenly goes out for no apparent reason, I will take more than 8 minutes for me to even know. Not enough time to listen to listen to a full length In a Gadda da Vida but probably enough to have a good listen of Paul Simon's You can call me Al. The moon, in comparison - if destroyed - will take only about a second and a half to inform us of its destruction.\n\n\nAh; the night is not far away - soon the sun will set and the stars show themselves. Beautiful little dots in the sky. I ponder upon their significance to humanity. Guiding travellers to strange and mysterious lands. Markers for the ancients to draw arbitrary shapes on a canvas of a sky and attach people's fates to them. Teasing us with promises of something spectacular - a speckled skyspace for the smitten and the searching.\n\n\nYet we know now that many of these tiny dots are in themselves objects that will dwarf the sun. Enormous nuclear furnaces that create the matter that will seed the creation of new celestial bodies. Stars like these are the reason we exist. Some of the stars we perceive may not even be alive, and if a star dies today, its light in the sky will not be extinguished for many years.\n\n\nEven though millions of years away, they feel like they could just be plucked from the celestial sphere - like cosmic cherries. A little more than a century and a tenth of a century ago, as a boy climbed a tree, in turn getting a little closer to the heavens, he wondered if he could climb up higher still. That fevered inspiration was the beginning of something wonderful. I sigh, and find my segue suspended by the stream of sweat slipping down my brow.\n\nThe sun is merciless and there are no clouds today to temper its terror. I decide that Ice Cream shall be my deliverance. And as I grab a bite, a wave of comfort washes over me and the world seems better. In an almost Zen moment as the cold ice cream soothes my insides, I think about the world before refrigeration. People struggled to preserve their food and stockpiled ice for special occasions. Ice cream was a luxury available to very few. Grabbing another bite of my ice cream, my trudge turns to a hop, skip and a jump as I head home.\n\nWith the key turning in the lock, as the door opens with a satisfying motion, I jump into bed exhausted and let Morpheus take me.\n\nEventually I did get around to tracing the journey of my train of thought. The stops I made were quite delightful, and these were only the stops I remembered. How many had I missed because I didn't remember. How many did I miss because I didn't see?\n\nWe live in a complex world. While nature is incredibly complex in its own right, the technology we have today is unprecedented. The understanding of all man has achieved, designed, posited, invented and created is outside the scope of any one human being.\n\nBut as a collective effort - there have been some remarkable things humanity has achieved. Like cogs, they all work together as if they are running some grand machine. Complexity at each level. And this is something that has always fascinated me.\n\nAs I finish up the note, I pause for a moment and marvel at how wonderful it is that I'm able to exchange ideas so easily. I'm typing this note on a machine many times more powerful than the guidance computers on the Apollo 11 module. A meaningless comparison in terms of identifying how well those computers served their purpose, but a meaningful one to illustrate how far we've come. From the days of the analytical engine and hulking behemoths of computers which occupied entire rooms, vacuum tubes and the revolution that was transistors.\n\nAnd then, before I allow my muddled mind to messily meander merrily, I pause. Then I feel glad that the internet exists, and I'm able to present this to you to read.", "6:15AM, the vibration of the phone on my dresser signifies that I've been awake for two minutes. For seven years, I've been waking up at 6:13AM and for seven years the morning routine has filled me with a dread that I fear will one day completely consume me. Nobody knows the horror of waking as a germophobe.\n\nThe acrid taste of morning breath greats me in it's usual fashion, and I'm quick to pop a trident white before I become too disgusted with my own body. Onwards to the bathroom where I thoroughly inspect my eyes for any evidence of crust. I'm sickened to see a bit of green and grab an unscented kleenex. This is just the minor leagues, I think. The worst is yet to come.\n\nThe toast pops out of the machine, and I spit out my gum, touching the garbage lid with my toe. Why do they make garbage lids that require the human touch, I think, and why the hell don't I get a different one? After scraping the carcinogenic black spots from the toast, I spread the jelly over it, and let the countdown begin. By 6:33, I'll be deep in the thicket of my worst nightmare, and there's nothing I can do about it.\n\nAs the time nears, I mentally prepare for the challenge that lies ahead. It's inevitable, and if I don't take care of it now, the repercussions will be too great to bear. There was the crisis in the summer of '08, when it happened at work. I'm still paying off the therapy bills.\n\nMy stomach groans and I know it's time. The dread consumes me and I walk to the bathroom getting ready to drop trough. Being human, I must concede that the actual act of defecation carries a modicum of satisfaction. Ah, but alas, all actions have an equal and opposite reaction, the post shit relief being quickly replaced by the looming task. That wiping of the ass. As I hear the confirmation plop, I curse physics for the accompanying splash of shit water. I draw a mental map for the cleanup process. Lower left quadrant, right ass cheek. \n\nCharmin is too damn soft and clogs much too easily. Scott will bunch nicely, creating the minimum two sheet barrier between asshole and fingertip while never threatening a blockage in the bowl. As I sit on the can, I light a match, grimace, and flush. At least my olfactory senses are at ease.\n\nI feel pathetic. We're purported to be the most intelligent creatures that have ever roamed the earth, yet we're the only ones that have to clean up our own shit. As I make my way through wipe one, I can't help but imagine aliens looking down on earth and watching me. Any questions of sentient life must be completely eradicated when they see me thoroughly inspecting each bit of tissue, hoping the end is near.\n\nEvery wipe creates a different sensation, letting me know just what kind of day I'm in for. As number three passes muster, I can begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I reach for the septic safe wet wipe and make thoroughly sure my asshole is clean. Standing up, I flush again, knowing the worst has passed, if for a few precious hours.\n\nI turn on the sink with my wrists and pump the antibacterial soap up to elbow length. After washing and drying, a dollop of hand sanitizer completes the process. \n\nI turn on the shower, and ready myself for rest of the day, tormented by what my morning toast is fast becoming. In a world filled with so much beauty, the inevitability of wiping ones ass makes me ponder the merit of existence. No matter how hard we strive for greatness, we all must sometimes produce shit. The heat of the shower and its bacteria killing characteristics lull me into a momentary sense of relief as the steam clears my mind.\n\n", "It was a normal day, just like every other day of my boring existence. Hit the snooze button half a dozen times, slowly wake, take a shower, dress myself, and finally head out the door. Wander down the sleepy Brooklyn street to my local safe haven: the coffee shop. \n\nIt's usually peaceful, hipsters sipping lattes while typing on their laptops, as avant-jazz or the newest \"hot band of the month\" plays on the overhead speakers. I walk up to the counter, as I have so many times, and I'm groggy. \"What will it be today?\" \"Small coffee please.\" \"Sure thing, that will be $2.50.\" I reach into my wallet, and find that it's empty. Shit. I look at a small plaque to the right of the register: 'CASH ONLY'. Double shit. \"Sorry miss, I have to go grab some cash, where's the nearest ATM?\" \"Next door.\" \"Of course.\" \n\nI head outside to the bodega next door, to the ATM, and withdraw $40. I begin to walk out of the bodega, and two men run quickly through the doors, knocking me back against a refrigerator. \"Give us your money!\", they scream at the Armenian cashier, while brandishing a handgun at his chest. Holy shit! \n\nI sprint out of the door, and back towards the coffee shop. I'm panting, short of breath, full of anxiety, shaking. I try a few deep breaths... in through the nose, out the mouth.... and I start to calm a bit. I finally head back into the coffee shop. I must look pale and crazed because the coffee girl says, \"Are you okay, dude? You look like shit.\" \"Dude, the bodega next door just got robbed. I was right there.\" \"Holy shit man! Yeah, that place has some shady business. I bet the cops will get them in a second.\" \"You seem exceptionally calm about this.\" \"Well, fuck it.\" Me: \"Right, fuck it.\" \"Small coffee, right?\" \"Yes.\" \n\nShe hands me the coffee, I hand her a crisp $20. I get my change, walk out the doors, as Miles Davis' trumpet plays my exit. I look in the direction of the bogeda: no cops in sight. I take a big sip of my coffee, pondering whether I return to check on the robbed cashier or go on my way. Fight or flight. It's real. Checking my watch, I notice I'm going to be late to work... \n\nI head the opposite direction, forever wondering what happened to the man in the bodega, and the two young men who robbed the store that day. But my coffee tasted great.", "There are things I’ve trained myself to do. Small things. Turning out the light when I leave a room, locking a door when I leave the car or house, checking for my wallet with a soft brush of my right hand when I leave a bar or restaurant or subway car. Small things, like signaling each turn. Even when pulling out of a parking spot, my left hand will rise to pull the signal, declaring my intentions to the vacant street. It does this mindlessly. I do not need to think about it. It is something I have trained myself to do.\n\nTraffic is not something that bothers me. I navigate it like a gondolier. The twists and turns of the canal are known to me, the speed of the current beyond my control. My mind does its calculations and my hands make their adjustments, all without needing to consult me. I am free to sing.\n\nToday, however, there is no current. I sit in the cigarette-smell of my Suzuki Forenza, a member of some great salmon migration in a river that has suddenly evaporated. Something has happened up ahead, and heads crane from windows like great tongues, vainly seeking some crumb of information.\n\nFrustration. Another small thing I have trained my mind to negotiate, though perhaps it is not so small. When faced with an obstacles such as this traffic jam, the human mind demands explanation. Demands a solution, and failing that, to place blame. This is a vanity, and I have trained it out of my mind.\n\nI begin to collect faces. I look at the people around me, giving the face of each one my full attention for several seconds. I begin to my right. A white woman in a green Subaru. Her face is young, but the cheeks are pitted and scarred. A pimple punctuates the corner of her mouth, red and angry and visible. Her lower lip is tucked between her teeth, and she chews it slowly, like a caramel. Her brow is furrowed and her hands grip the wheel as though she doesn’t trust it to stay in place.\n\nTo my left. A man in a smeary Chevrolet Malibu with a face like a deflating balloon. He is closer to me, and I can see three freckles on his sallow right cheek in a perfect isosceles. His head tilts forward and I cannot see his eyes. No doubt composing a traffic-related complaint to some sympathetic loved one, or some unsympathetic boss. \n\nThe something that has happened up ahead is over. I can see movement begin to pass through the millipede legs of the traffic ahead of me. My left hand rises mindlessly to pull the signal lever down, to indicate my intention to merge left, as it has been trained to do. To my right, the young woman’s scarred face relaxes, and her Subaru begins to slide forward. To my left, the man with the deflated face stays still.\n\nI am in no hurry. Concern fills my mind. This is training as well, the kind I received from my mother in those half-remembered days of my early childhood. “If someone is in trouble,” the training tells me, “you help.” I open my door. I walk around the front of the deflated man’s car, looking back along the spine of stalled traffic. I come around the the driver’s side window and lean over, shielding my eyes and giving the man’s face my full attention. My left hand rises to knock on the window, and stops.\n\nThe man’s left eye is wide and full of blood. A gossamer of spit hangs from his lower lip, pooling on the khaki hill of his fly. On his left cheek are two more small freckles. Nowhere on his face can any life be found. My brain fills itself with words it has learned from television. Stroke. Aneurysm. Cerebral hemorrhage.\n\nWhen someone is in trouble, you help them.\n\nI turn and run back to my car. My left hand rises and pulls the door handle. The door is locked. I bend to look through the window, my left hand rises to shield my eyes. The keys dangle from the ignition. My left hand runs to my pocket to find my phone, but before it can report the phone’s absence to my brain my eyes deliver the message. The phone sits on the passenger seat, its screen a calm blue reflection. Small clouds swim there.\n\nMy hands, trained so carefully to signal turns and check for wallets and close and lock doors without consulting their owner have betrayed me. Car horns fill the air like the bleats of hungry lambs, and driver’s-side windows lower to reveal their curious, craning tongues.\n\n“Hey, move it over, get out of the road!”\n\nMy left hand rises and inscribes an exaggerated arc above my head. The left front turn signal of my Suzuki clicks at my knees.\n\n“I’m not going around asshole, get the fuck out of the road!”\n\nSomeone is in trouble, and I cannot help them.\n", "His hands shook as he reached for the freezer door. Gritting his teeth, he swallowed before pulling on the smooth handle. A blast of frozen air swirled around his temples. Blinking through the mist, he reached inside while mouthing a simple prayer.\n\n\"Please, God... please...\"\n\nThe tray felt heavy as he pulled it free. The top of his hand brushed against the buildup of frost on the ceiling of the freezer, and he shivered.\n\nThe water had frozen.\n\nHe relaxed slightly, though he knew the hardest part was yet to come. He reached inside and pulled free the other ice cube tray before turning towards the counter behind him. The door swung closed with a thunk.\n\n\"Shit!\"\n\nThe sound surprised him every time. He never got used to the infernal box's tricks. Fortunately, he managed not to drop the trays, avoiding certain disaster.\n\nSetting one tray down, he held the other between his hands. His fingers curled around the edges. Already the cold was seeping into his skin, freezing his bones. His knuckles ached. A grunt echoed through the small kitchen as he twisted his hands in opposite directions.\n\nPops and cracks like bones breaking made him squirm. A small amount of piss darkened the front of his boxer shorts, but he tightened his sphincter and managed to break the cubes free with no other leakage.\n\nThe glass pitcher he'd set aside earlier now came into play. His cold fingers wrapped around the fluted handle, causing a mist to form around the outline of his hand. He lifted the tray and angled it down. A gentle shake and the cubes rattled free. The ice rang like bells, drowning out the noise of the refrigerator pump.\n\nOne down. One to go. His grip returned to the ice cold trays. Gritting his teeth, ignoring the warmth gently trickling down his leg, he twisted the frozen tray. He turned his head as shards of ice shot from the middle pockets, striking him on the cheek.\n\n\"Oh, shit!\"\n\nThe tray clattered into the sink as his hands went to his face. Ice cubes bounced out. Several landed on the counter; most went into the drain. One slipped off the marble and struck the floor near his foot. He danced backwards, palm covering his eye, cursing roundly.\n\nA check of his palm revealed no blood. Sighing with relief, he squinted at the sink and blinked rapidly. His hands shook uncontrollably as he reached for the half-empty tray. Only five of the twelve cubes remained. Would it be enough?\n\nThe plastic shook as he lifted it towards the pitcher and tipped the remaining five into the glass, where they joined the twelve from the first tray. He breathed a sigh of relief and quickly set down the now-empty tray.\n\nHe looked down at his feet, remembering the fallen cube of ice. It was nowhere to be found. Likely it had slid underneath the refrigerator, the little bastard. Frowning, he checked his eye for blood again, but found none.\n\nTurning his attention back to the sink, he picked up one tray. It was already warming in the humid air. He lifted it under the tap and turned on the water with his other hand.\n\nHe cursed again as he realized he'd turned the water on too quickly. The stream dove into a pocket and rode the curves, coming right back out again and drenching the back of his hand. Swearing profusely, he waited it out, tipping the tray so the water would flow from the top pair of pockets down to the bottom. When it was finished, he left the water running.\n\nTurning towards the fridge, he opened the freezer door and took a deep breath. His eyes closed for just a moment before flashing open.\n\n\"Not today.\"\n\nWith one smooth movement, he inserted the tray into the freezer, back where it rested before. A single drop rolled over the edge and dripped onto the frost-encrusted bottom, pooling next to a bag of frozen peas. Muttering to himself, he turned to the sink and filled the other, being careful to properly angle the tray before repeating the technique.\n\nHe smiled. This time, there was no spilled liquid.\n\nShutting the freezer door, he breathed a heavy sigh of relief and slumped back against the fridge. His knees were shaking. He hadn't realized the adrenaline high he'd experienced, but now that it was leaving him, he felt weak, drained, soporific. He closed his eyes and waited for his racing heart to go still.\n\nHe almost wished he hadn't opened them. There, on the counter, sat the clear glass pitcher, mocking him, judging him silently. The ice cubes inside cracked in the warm air, shifting position as the melting began in earnest. He'd have to move quickly...\n\n* * *\n\nWill the lemonade be made before the ice cubes melt? Will our thirsty hero be able to scoop the lemonade mix safely? Will he sneeze into the sugar?\n\nThese answers, and more, on the next thrilling episode of Overly Dramatic Mundane Task Man!", "I was only halfway through the trip--the bus was nowhere near my stop--and I could feel the biggest shit of my life coming on. Initially, I was worried that I might have to abort my date later that night, but then I was overcome with an even greater worry. I almost got off the bus at that exact moment; the shit's arrival came upon my unsuspecting ass with such brash ferocity I was actually afraid I may crap my pants, or rather, gym shorts. I could picture with growing horror the steady plop and drip of excrement as it pooled around my feet. I glanced at the Arby's that we were stopped at, torn with indecision: I could get in there pretty quickly and it would all be over, but I would be stranded for an hour waiting for another bus. I began to sweat as my terror set in. If I didn't get off now, I would shit myself, that much I knew. But somehow, I clenched hard when the bus began to roll again, breathing shakily. I was already running late, and I could hit the gas station at my stop. I didn't know how long it was going to take so I tried to stop thinking about it altogether, opening my book. The words shook in front of me. I realized sadly that I was going to be dead by the time I got to that gas station. Of shame, mostly, but probably of a ruptured vessel in my brain from all the strain I was exerting.\nSoon enough though, we were cresting the hill just before my stop and I eagerly yanked the wire, signaling my plea for escape and relief. We hit a red light at the top of the hill. The light above the driver proclaiming there had been a STOP REQUESTED mocked me with it's casualty. When the bus stopped, my mind took it upon itself to show me a glimpse into the future: we would finally roll to a stop and I would throw myself, wide-eyed, out into two-way traffic, overcome with the power that I felt from below. But Erick, I argued back at that part of me that wanted to risk it, you'll get hit by a car. Yes, and as soon as I went flipping through the air, my bowels would release, sending beautiful brown arcs of shit spinning through the air, globs splattering on windshields like a Jackson Pollock. \nBack at the red light, I began to laugh through my agony. A great deep throated guffaw resounded on the inside of the bus as I imagined blowing chunks of intestinal debris twenty feet into the sky. I was crying by the time I waddled through the doors of the bus, half from laughing so hard and half from the pain I was in. The few seconds that I waited to ensure that I didn't get flipped by a speeding vehicle felt like years. Then I began my final trek. The level of uncomfortability was so profound that from the time I crossed the street until I got inside and sat on the toilet, I only had a few still images burned into my memory of the trials I had just overcome. There was one of crossing halfway, pleading for a truck to move faster. One of hitting the sidewalk but deciding to take the hill because it was a shorter distance to the door. One of brief worry as I passed through the glass door that they would make me pay for something before I used the bathroom. Grasping the handle, hoping with everything I had in me that it wasn't locked. Closing the blessed door again and fumbling with the lock. Ripping my shorts down and slamming the seat so hard that I was sure that the whole gas action could hear it.\nI realized I still had my book in hand, and as the first waves of relief washed over me, I read, content.", "It was time. I frantically searched each and every crevice of my domain. Back and forth, chamber to chamber. Nothing. Frustration began to mount as my gentle smirk evolved into a sinister frown. Sweat began to envelop my brow and a clammy veil of moisture trickled down each wrinkle of my palms. \n\n\"It wasn't supposed to happen like this.\" \n\nSunlight begins to pour through the shutters. No, no! This cannot be! Creeping sunlight was indicative of a path toward punishment. It's never taken this long, never. The sun has always remained hidden during my time here! Scenarios begin to play throughout my head. He's going to be so angry. I'm letting them down. I can't show up this way again. \n\nMy knuckles were clenched and I gritted my teeth. I told myself to calm down -- to relax -- but nothing gave. A penetrating warmth gave birth within my cheeks and I was overwhelmed by a red heat that gave way for more sweat to rain upon my brow. \n\n\"I simply can't believe it. I was told not to be late again. They were *right here*. **It wasn't supposed to happen like this**\" \n\nAnd then I heard it... a soft jingling as my cat pawed my keys out from beneath the couch.", "*Dixitque Deus fiat lux*\n\n\nWhere once was darkness, he would bring light. Such was the ancient prophecy handed down from generation to generation amongst his people. Uncounted legions of men had toiled, long and hard through countless ages in preparation for this day. And even as he reached, unflinching, for the fruits of their labor did he say in his heart a silent prayer to these unknown soldiers.\n\n\nBut the time for contemplation had long past, and upon him was the hour of action. It was a time in which men of valor and pride could win the day through strength of arms. Today he would bring sight to the sightless. He would open the eyes of his people and show them the world in all its timeless glory.\n\n\nIgnatius, they called him. An honest name, and true. For even his fingertips flipped the switch before him did dazzling beacons of brilliance ignite above it. As the Matamoros routed the infidel at Clavijo did the splendid rays above drive the darkness from the sanctity of his living room. From every nook and every cranny (save the shadow under the sofa) did Edison’s wondrous servants dispel the taint of night. Never again should Man fear the darkness. Never again should he stumble in the dark.\n\n\nNot while Ignatius the Lightbringer and his 40 watt avengers lived.\n\n\n*Et facta est lux. Deus Vult!*\n", "The morning was gloomy outside and I noticed that it was raining as I stepped into the shower and saw out the window. I took my time in the shower as i'd woken 15 minutes early and let the water slowly wake me up. After washing I got out and proceeded to dry myself and get dressed. It was then that I knew this morning, was not a normal morning.\n\nAfter putting my shirt on and underwear on, i knew the next step was to put my pants on. I grabbed my pants and went to put my first leg in. Suddenly, much to my horror, i realized, that my pants were backwards. In all of the confusion I must have grabbed the wrong side. What was I to do now? I stood there, frozen in fear. If I lifted my leg up to fix it, i'd fall as i'd unknowing already started putting my other leg into the other side. Suddenly, both legs were in the wrong holes.\n\nVisions of my childhood flashed before Me. I wasn't sure who to call. Mom? Dad? FEMA? I did the only thing I could think to do. I pulled my pants up, reached behind me, and buttoned them. That morning, I was laughed at, harassed, called \"backward pants\" by co-workers. I knew, that day, what other people who accidentally put their pants on backwards felt like.\n\nI wasn't born this way. It was just how I was dressed.", "Steam filled the room, my face freshly born into the world after visiting that little haven, still dripping with wetness; shampoo bubbles clinging to my whiskers. The water sat in the sink, its stillness almost haunting. After a quick gaze at my reflection, instinct kicked in, and I began flicking my blade with smooth, even strokes across the canvas. I was the maestro and my razor was the baton. Orchestrating a masterpiece, the scrapes and groans of the strop brought the edge to a sharpness that could cut through the very silence that enveloped the room. \n\nI set the freshly stropped razor aside, and grabbed hold of the bulbous brush that sat in the water. With a hard shake, the brush came to life, spitting out whatever extra moisture it had in it. It awoke to the same cruel fate that it does every day, a vigorous beating. I crushed the soft bristles into the puck of soap and began to whip. Like magic, the soap began to reveal its true form. A heavy foam began to arise from the puck, thick with the scent of eucalyptus and menthol. The brush began to slack, the lather wasn't full enough, so I drowned the brush. With another hard snap, the brush was back to work, and the lather blossomed beautifully. The hard life of the brush was almost over, it was time for its final task. Gently, every bristle met my face, waking every single whisker with each swirl around my cheeks. I gazed again at my reflection, this time a dense beard of froth covered me. \n\nI picked the razor up again, drawing back my skin in preparation for the purge of my facial hair. The blade grit its teeth as it bit into my stubble, drawing downwards in sharp yet tactful passes. There is a dance between the blade and I, with me taking lead and my partner following everything with absolute grace. But then, a stumble. The fault of the lead had led to a misstep. Another gaze into the water revealed the quarter-beard that was left on my face that was no longer white but instead a deep crimson. \n\nA panic. Everything began to happen much more quickly. The stillness of the water was broken. I needed its help. Frantically, I splashed the water into what was left of my magical beard washing it away, but its scent still lingered. I looked to my right, and grabbed the styptic pencil that sat obediently on the shelf, waiting to fulfill its duty. Much more collected then previously, I began to run the pencil across my fresh wound, wincing at the sharp sting reminding me of my mistake. The blood cleared, and it was time for the brush to come to life once more, as the magic beard was needed to rid my actual one. \n\nMy partner forgave me, and we began our number once more. This time, I stepped much more cautiously, knowing that the jawline was treacherous territory. With finesse, I swept the blade along what was left of my stubble. Our dance was over, and my blade needed a shower. Once more, the stillness of the water was broken, as the blade pierced the surface and rinsed the bits of hair and cream from its edge. \n\nThe blade and the brush were finished for the day, and rested in their stands, waiting for the next day, prepared to battle my facial hair once more. I began to drain the water, and rinsed my face with the ice-cold liquid that tumbled out of the faucet. I peered into the mirror, asking it to give me a spot check to make sure my blade and I covered all of the steps in our dance. After the verdict was given, I splashed my face with the Pinaud Clubman aftershave that watched the entire routine. It rewarded me with another sting, one that was far less malicious than the styptic pencil gave me.\n\nI dabbed my now silk-smooth face dry, and gazed once more into the mirror. No longer was there a shadow sitting on my cheeks, but instead the bright smile of a man ready to take on the world again.", "The sun shone through the bedroom window a little bit too early this morning and the alarm went off a little bit too loudly. The dreams and visions of niceties gave way to the cold, harsh reality of a Monday morning. The sun appeared to be battling the cold air for extreme supremacy of the small ecosystem outside of my apartment. After a few levels of Candy Crush and a Temple Run failure, I got up, trudged to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. What looked back was a sad example for a human being in desperate need of a shower, and a new lease on life. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and turned in to the toilet.\n\nLifting the seat and dropping my pants, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sweet release of a morning piss. I was thinking of all the projects due at work before my end of summer vacation on Wednesday. I was thinking of how waking up early was going to pay off and I was going to be able to relax in the afternoon. I was thinking of how my shoulder kind of ached from sleeping at a weird angle. What I wasn't thinking of? My cat.\n\nIt was at that very moment that I felt something brush against my leg. Startled, I opened my eyes to see what was the matter, only to find him laying on my foot and playing with the toilet paper. What a sight he was; such intrinsic joy in such a small package. My furry friend channeled his ancestry and stalked the wild Charmin, pouncing and gnawing, slashing and destroying. With a smile, I turned back to my morning piss, and noticed something awry.\n\nI had hit the seat." ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 7, 14 ]

[ "1381950334", "1381953228", "1381955830", "1381965797", "1381966355", "1381970391", "1381971772", "1381984252", "1381952795", "1381969139", "1381985207", "1381955151", "1381946995" ]

[ "**Decorate-Your-Own Reddit Alien!**\n\nMade of vulcanized rubber and covered with a thin layer of non-porous homogenized thermoplastic polyurethane, this is a toy with a personal touch!\n\nIncluded: Six felt-tip markers and a spray-on coat to keep it unsmudged when you're done.\nThree sizes: Swallowable, Toddler, and What You Named your iPhone because it Amuses You to Watch it Sync.", "Are you tired of boring shit that doesn't mean anything? WELL, WE HAVE SOMETHING THAT DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING, BUT AT LEAST IT ISN'T BORING! Introducing the.....\n\n***Mister Splashy Pants*** official action figure.\n\nHe can shoot water out of his blowhole, fliper-kick a hoe in the face, and just about everything else. \n\nORDER NOW, OR BE AT THE MERCY OF SPLASHY", "Need a bit more assurance in your life? Want to know that your accumulated upvotes are more than just meaningless Internet points? Never fear- now, you can trade in your reddit karma (along with a small cash fee) to hire a **genuine Hindu priest** to intercede with the gods and earn yourself some real-world karma! Meaningless points, no longer!", "Do you find yourself sluggish in the morning? Need a bit of an emotional pick up. Well look no further than the Up Vote Mug. It up votes hot liquid in the morning and brings you down in with a down vote for the cold liquids. Available in multiple subredit designs, yours for only 10.99. ", "**Reddit Abandons Online - Opens Consignment and Resale Shop**\n\nFollowing the Great Internet Crash of 2014 the social news website Reddit announced plans to shutter their domain and open a brick-and-mortar resale shop. \n\nCEO Yishan Wong noted the store will serve thousands of out-of-work Bay Area developers.\n\n'Snoo to You' is located on Divisadero Street in San Francisco.", "Denizens of the Internet! Come one, come all... and in preparation for that, be sure to don one of our exclusive **Reddit Rubbers**!\n\nWe've paired up with Trojan to bring karma into the bedroom. Show your lady (or gentleman) some appreciation with **Upvote Orange** and **Gilded Gold** colored condoms! 69% of all proceeds will go to benefit prostate cancer research." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 14 ]

[ "1381964963", "1381969575", "1381984442", "1381962215", "1381963192", "1381961517" ]

[ "He recognizes her voice instantly. Jacob has heard it a million times before, but never in this setting. She sounds alive and engaged, and for once, happy. It doesn't even occur to him that it could be her. So he listens in further. The man on the other end of the phone is confident, composed, and charming, something Jacob never was. He slowly beings to realize what is going on, all the while losing focus. His own thoughts slowly become louder than the conversation. What started out as a regular Thursday night for Jacob, listening in on conversations his boss deems “suspicious”, became the night he found out his wife was cheating on him. \n\nJacob wasn’t mad at first. He didn’t have any emotion. All he thought about was how this night would’ve been just a regular night for him had he been assigned another call. Had his boss never decided to investigate Mr. Julian Hawkins, Jacob would’ve never had to heard his deep, Italian accent winning over his wife of twenty years. How long had this been going on? Jacob had suspected something was going on, but like much else in life recently, he never invested much energy into it. He was too afraid to confront his wife about her coming home late and her being detached, especially without any tangible proof. But now he had more than he ever wanted.\nHe took a smoke break and walked outside to think about things. He started to dial her number, but he then hung up after two rings. What he’d learned had completely destroyed him, and he needed closure. So Jacob made a commitment then and there to not speak a word of this to anyone, including his boss, until he had figured out how to resolve it. \n\n----------------------------\n\nFor the next two months, Jacob’s life had continued on in the same fashion. He’d wake up, kiss his wife, make her coffee, and drive to work, always hoping he’d see that green light on his monitor light up. That green light meant that Julian and Rachael were engaged in a conversation. He began to learn more and more about his wife’s relationship with this man, and how they were planning on running away together. Julian used to be a very rich man, but had lost almost all of money in poor investments, causing him to move to America. That’s where he’d met Rachael, and fallen in love with her. The couple had spent five years together in secrecy, and Jacob now began to realize all the lies he had believed along the way. Rachael always had something come up with her job, and she always had to miss things. Important things, too. Like when Jacob lost forty pounds in a year so he could run a marathon with Rachael, something she always wanted to do when they were dating. He’d since put the weight back on. And when was set to announce his Presidency at the real estate agency he used to work for, she couldn’t make it. Then again, many people didn’t.\n\nBefore his job at the NSA, Jacob had made a lot of money in the real estate business—earning over $100,000 a year. Considering they never had kids (he was fertile) the couple had a lot of money saved up and Jacob planned to retire early. Rachael did too, but not with Jacob. With Julian.\nJacob started to become aware of their future plans over the phone, but naturally they hardly gave much detail. Jacob went through a lot of work to obtain these details—by obtaining text messages and spying on their meetings. Many times Jacob would have to endure watching and listening the woman he loved make love to another man just for the chance of learning something new about their plot. Many times he didn't learn much, but sometimes he did. His late night detective work often caused him to come home late as well, much to the chagrin of his wife. She demanded that she know his whereabouts, and questioned his commitment to her many times. It took every bit of restraint for him to keep his knowledge of her affair a secret, but he had been the recessive one in their relationship for as long as he could remember. He could play the part just a bit longer.\n\n\nHe’d finally figured out what they wanted to do. Rachael and Julian were running away to China together, where they would finally be together in peace “without having to worry about Jacob.” Of course, they would be worried about his savings—$1,207,832.32, which was kept in a joint bank account. They’d be taking that with them after purchasing their plane tickets. They did have a good plan—they had worked out an arrangement with an employee at the bank who would have that money for them ready to go. They’d pick up their money on the way to the airport, and within hours would be in the plane. Soon after they’d arrive in China, where they’d begin a new life together in their cute little house. This, of course, would all take place while Jacob was at work, and he wouldn’t know the money was gone until he got to his cell phone in the car (they aren’t allowed in the NSA as this could cause interference.) They’d booked their tickets for March 17th, which was a little over two weeks away. That’s how long Jacob had to work out his own plan. \n\nAnd that morning started out a bit differently than usual. He woke up before his wife, and gave her his last kiss on the forehead he’d ever give. He brewed her coffee, and while it was brewing stopping to think about what he was going to do. Was this the right thing? Do two wrongs make a right? What if this goes wrong? What if no one ever knows I wasn’t the bad guy? The coffee pot buzzed and Jacob walked out the door.\n\n------------------------------------\n\nOn the previous 68 Mondays, Jacob would turn left when he got off the Interstate. This Monday, he turned right. He was the happiest he’d been on a Monday for as long as he could remember, if for no other reason than he wouldn’t have to go to his mundane job with his horrible boss. He boarded the plane with no luggage and lifted off.\n\nAs soon as Jacob exited the airport, he flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address he needed to go. Julian and Rachael wouldn’t be at their home for another three hours, and that gave plenty of time for him to make his final purchase. When he opened his wallet, he saw the picture of his mother. He’d thought about calling her and making peace but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had never been a preacher, which is what she’d always wanted. He also knew that she never liked his wife, and he wanted to laugh about how she was right all along about her. His mother would’ve loved to hear that one last time.\n\nJacob exited the store and went to the house. He used his key to open the door and hid in the closet of their master bedroom. Then he waited.\n\nHe jumped a little when he’d heard the turning of the key. He’d dozed off a little and scolded himself silently for that. This was his chance, but he started to get nervous. This isn’t me, thought Jacob. I don’t have to do this. But after hearing Julian laugh in the living room, he soon realized this is who he had to be. Even if it were just for a moment, he had to be the man his wife never saw him as. \n\nThe bedroom door opened and the couple continued their “ooohs” and “ahhhs”, marveling at the elaborate chandelier. “We did it,” Rachael said, giggling as Julian brushed her hair from her forehead. “We can be happy together.”\n\nFifteen seconds later, Rachael found a gun to her face. Jacob had kicked opened the closet door and drew his .357 from his waist. \nShe screamed. Not out of anger or fear, but shame. The screams soon turned into crying, stopping only to gasp for air.\n“Don’t scream, you bitch.” Julian said to her. This angered Jacob in a way he’d never felt before as he punched him as hard as he could. “Don’t you call her that. DON’T YOU CALL HER THAT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?” Julian nodded.\nJacob turned to Rachael and held her head in her hand. He smiled for a brief second as he remembered the good times they’d shared together, but realized now was not the time for reminiscing. Those times were gone now.\n\nHe dropped his hand from her head and backed up, raising his gun once more. “For five years, you did this to me. You LIED to me, you took MY money that I EARNED and spent it on this SCUM!” \n\n“He’s not scum,” she shouted back to him. “You never cared about me! This man really loved me!” \n\nThis hurt Jacob more than he could’ve imagined. “Choose, you or her,” he said to Julian. They both looked confused. “CHOOSE. You or her. Which one of you dies?” He cried.\n\nRachael looked at Julian in a sympathetic way, a look that Jacob fell for too many times. But it would soon vanish. “Well, what do you want me to say? Don’t kill me. She was the one who lied to you!” Julian said. Rachael was broken. Her face fell to the ground and she began to sob.\n\n“He really loved you, didn’t he?” Jacob asked, fighting back tears of his own. Even now, he couldn’t stand to see his wife like this. “Why did you do this?” He could hardly speak.\n\n“If you’re gonna kill me, then kill me,” she said. “I deserve it.” She looked on the ground and closed her eyes.\n\nJacob cocked the gun. “No,” he said. “You don’t deserve it like this. I knew about you two for months now, and there’s a reason I didn’t come forth with this. I could’ve had you both thrown in jail with the information I had on you two, but I didn’t want that. I was happy to be married to you Rachael. I didn’t really have any other form of happiness. My parents don’t want anything to do with me, I had a dead-end job, and we didn’t have any kids because guess what—I was a failure. But at least I had you, and I was happy with that. But then you--” he looked at Julian and growled “You took that away from me. And the fact that I was happy before made it hurt that much more. I wanted you to understand this. I picked out this house for the realtor to sell to you because I knew you loved purple walls, and a hot tub, and extra space for kids. I wanted you to have all that money. I wanted you two to be happy as you could be before I took it all away from you.”\nJulian started to yell. “Had you treated your wife---“\n\nBang.\n", "His eyes were glued to the monitor as he went about his duty, clicking open tab after tab on the screen, each indicating a new potential threat. He'd been with the NSA for three years now and had never once encountered a single legitimate threat to the United States of America. He had heard that a guy working over in Room fifty-six had caught a few people planning to set a bomb off at a town carnival in Iowa sometime last year. But other than that, no one he knew of had directly found an honest to God problem. It was usually just kids talking about Modern Warfare or some other video game. He had spent hour after hour listening to gamers insult each other. And whenever it wasn't gamers it was people discussing action movies. He had grown tired of it all.\n\nAnother new tab popped up. It read: POTENTIAL BOMB. He clicked the recording and pressed his hand against his earpiece for optimum sound quality.\n\n\"--nd Rebecca told her all about the concert. She said it was the bomb. Just trying to make her jealous I guess. Because, come on, it was Justin Bieber, and Rebecca's a twenty-seven-year-old woman.\"\n\nHe rolled his eyes, but only slightly. Something about this woman's voice, he liked. It was soothing. Her voice had a slight crackle to it, while also sounding really cute. He could listen to it all day. And for the rest of the day, that's exactly what he did.\n\nThe next day at work he started off with a few routine tasks, but half an hour later he was listening to her again. The day before, he had pulled up a few tidbits of information on the woman, Miss Miranda Lin. He didn't know what she looked like yet, though. Pulling up their photos often ruined the illusion. She could look however he wanted her to look until he saw an image. He wasn't ready for disappointment.\n\nBy lunch the thought was a prickling pain at the back of his skull. What did the woman that lovely voice belonged to look like? He sat in the break room eating his tuna sandwich while staring at the too white wall. Miranda Lin's voice echoed in his head.\n\nHe sat, cozy in his work chair, staring at a link on the monitor. Video from the cable box camera in Miranda's living room was a click away.\n\nHe squinted his eyes and clicked. She was beautiful, more beautiful than he imagined, honestly. Fearlessly now, he followed her around town, via surveillance cameras, as she went to work at the yoga studio and ran daily errands.\n\nShe had no idea he was watching. They never did. But he watched her, shamelessly. He caught himself leaned forward about to touch her image on the screen, and stopped himself with a sigh of longing.\n\nWeeks passed by in the blink of an eye. He knew so much about her now. Miranda Lin, single woman, twenty-nine-years-old, yoga instructor at Bending Bodies yoga studio in Denver, Colorado. She has two siblings, both older sisters, and hasn't had a boyfriend in eight months, bad break-up. And he was learning more every day. She hates the Notebook just as much as she hates Michael Bay films, and her favorite food is hot dogs and barbecue chips. He'd watched her during the loneliest of her nights, the longest of which took her nineteen minutes to reach climax.\n\nMonths went by. She began seeing someone named Tony Sanchez. The guy was a prick, completely undeserving of Miranda's affection. Her love. Yet she gave it to him anyway, the bastard. It broke his heart seeing her with Tony. He began skipping lunch, not feeling like eating a single thing and tried his best to avoid surveillance of Miranda.\n\nSeveral more months passed by. Tony asked Miranda to marry him. She said yes. He slit his wrist in the sink that night and watched the blood spiral into the drain. The next day would require long sleeves for sure.\n\nOn the screen, they shopped together, they watched movies together, they made love together. They laughed at him together.\n\nHe watched the wedding rehearsals with spite. The way they looked into each other's eyes made his stomach rot. He couldn't take it anymore.\n\nThe day of the wedding rolled around. He walked sluggishly into work and sat at his desk. He watched the clock, but he did not watch Miranda. For once in the longest time, he listened to angry video gamers instead. The cussing and the insults. It was almost like he missed it.\n\nAn hour into the day, he picked up his phone, the red one.\n\n\"I have a report of definite terrorism activity. Denver, Colorado. Yes. The wedding of Miranda Lin and Tony Sanchez. Yes. Uh-huh. They are a threat to national security. They have been in contact with enemies of the United States government overseas. Immediate detainment is necessary. The wedding dress is equipped with a trigger-activated explosive device. They plan on killing those in attendance. I'd suggest shooting on sight. Right. Yeah. I will get the exact address of the wedding to you right away. Yes, thank you.\"\n\nThat night, he enjoyed the dinner his wife cooked. She didn't suspect a thing.", "She wasn't the first one. Nor the second one. In fact, he lost count no sooner than he realized how quickly his fantasies were realized.\n\n\"I was thinking of the corset?\" whispers a buttery smooth voice at the end of the line.\n\n\"I won't tell you how to dress,\" responds a gravelly voice on the other end,\" just as long as it's made to get you out of them quicker.\"\n\n\"You're so bad!\" she jokingly chides, as she let the laugh slip through her nostrils.\n\n*Keep the dirty talk coming*. \n\n\"I was thinking of a way to end our night.\" \n\nThe buttery tone of her voice heightening his senses, dilating his vessels, synapses firing messages down his spine, elevating blood flow to the nether regions of his body.\n\n*Ah dammit. I need to last longer than this.*\n\n\"Baby, I honestly can't think of anything else right now because I'm just imagining myself walking around with your fine body.\"\n\n*This guy.*\n\n\"Mmmm... You don't know what you're doing to me right now.\" She purred.\n\n*I'm imagining what I'm doing to you.*\n\nAt this point, the fantasy was turning into the other calls he's tapped into, but they failed to materialize into anything. He cannot make the same mistake again. It merely took his hand. And he was almost left with no job.\n\n*pause*\n\n\"I'm almost there, let me know when you're ready to come out.\" His voice calming, yet intent on getting his way tonight.\n\n*I think I may have listened to one too many calls tonight. This is another dud.*\n\n \n ", "\nEDIT: Formatting was wrong. \n\n*Nothing is beyond our reach*\n\nThat mantra was repeated over and over again in Tristan's office. Written on the wall. The signature line on his supervisors emails.\n\n*Nothing is beyond our reach*\n\nAnd it turned out to be mostly true. Tristan toiled away at his desk for hours a day, monitoring bank accounts, phone records, security cameras, and internet traffic of \"people of interest\". Anyone who spoke out too much against the government. The job was taxing, at times. Long hours, reasonably dull work. The endless hours of data mining to see if anything looked suspicious, constantly pouring through the day to day activities of everyone on his enormous list. It wasn't just dull, it was emotionally taxing. He constantly felt like he was doing something wrong, like he was invading in the private lives of people when he didn't belong there. Sometimes it reminded him of the time his father caught him looking in on his sister in the shower. He tried to push that thought from his mind, though.\n\n*I was 8 years old. I didn't know it was wrong. I was just curious* He would constantly remind himself.\n\nMost of his spying never resulted in much of anything. He caught people committing some minor crimes, but nothing too serious. Nothing for the NSA to take note of. \n\nBut this last week had been different. A new name had popped up on Tristan's list of interesting people; and this one was certainly interesting. After data mining his Facebook page and Twitter account he had already gained a fair amount of knowledge about his new subject. One Mr. Conner Bryce. Well traveled, had spent some time in Egypt and Libya during the civil conflicts, which was what had him pegged on the list in the first place. He wasn't a bad looking man. Tall, well built, nice smile and bright eyes. And as far as Tristan could tell, he wasn't really doing anything wrong. His only crimes seemed to be occupying the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Bryce is a photographer, and soon Tristan learned that he was in these countries for work. He sold most of his photos the Associated Press, and for not bad money, either. Normally Tristan would have removed him from the list. It was fairly clear that he wasn't doing anything wrong, but something was different about Conner, something tugged at Tristan's boyish curiosity and made him keep watching Conner's every move. \n\nHis schedule was pretty routine. Wake up, exercise, eat breakfast, walk the dog, maybe surf the internet or masturbate for a while. Some video games and lunch, and later in the night he taught a photography class at the local community college. \n\n*The life of a freelance photographer is pretty nice*, Tristan constantly thought to himself. \n\nIt seemed like such a different life than Tristan had. Total freedom. So little responsibility. In his own strange way, Conner was the embodiment of the American dream. Maybe not everyone's dream, but certainly his own. And, Tristan often thought to himself, maybe *his* dream, too. \n \nTristan often told himself that he was protecting freedom. He was working tirelessly at catching potential terrorists. He can still remember 9/11. He was living in Manhattan at the time. Front row seats to the whole macabre show. He vowed that day to do all he could to make sure nothing like this ever happened again. He enlisted in the Army, but his small stature and physical build kept him out of combat roles. Mostly administrative duties, and he never shipped overseas. He was always shy, and his lack of initiative kept him at various desks, entering endless amounts of data into computers.\n\nConner, though. Well, he was a different story. Two tours in Afghanistan with the 82nd Airborne. Running back for his high school football team, the Trojans. Wounded once in combat, Purple Heart recipient, by all accounts he was a regular hero. \n\n*Why the hell am I still spying on this guy?* Tristan asked himself that daily. He knew the answer, but he never wanted to admit it. \n\nHe thought obsessively about Conner, watching when he would go out on dates, monitoring security cameras of the places he would socialize at, even going so far as to take control of his Xbox One camera so he could watch him from time to time at home. \n\nTristan's work was suffering. Everyone knew it. He was missing major deadlines, not writing the appropriate amount of reports. He had always been such a diligent worker, but now people were taking notice. His supervisor had told Tristan to take Conner off his list, but he never did. He would make up excuses constantly, saying Conner had met with certain \"people of interest\", or maybe had just purchased 50lbs of fertilizer and a rental car. All of them lies, but he was hoping nobody would double check. And, generally, he was right. \n\nToday, though, Conner had booked a real rental car. Not one of the fake ones Tristan had fabricated to justify spending more time spying on him. \n\n*Where are you going? You never leave your home town unless it's for work.*\n\nBut this was a one way rental. To be dropped off in....\n\n*No.*\n\n*No this isn't right. It can't be true.*\n\n*Conner is coming here. Well, nearly here.*\n\nThe drop off point for the rental car was only a few miles from Tristan's office. Tristan looked at the clock. It's nearly noon. \n\n\n*Just a quick lunch break. Just to see him in person. Just one time, that's all. Nobody will be watching me, they have too many other people to be watching. And Conner isn't really a \"person of interest\" anymore to anyone but me. There is no way they will see me.*\n\nHe knew how bad of an idea this was. Tristan never took risks. Ever. Not since that time when he was 8. But this - it didn't seem like a risk. It seemed like fate, now. \n\n\"Director Faltheim?\" Tristan spoke into his computer mic.\n \n\"Go ahead.\" Came a stoic voice from the other end. \n\n\"I'm going to head out to lunch. Should be back in an hour. Do you want me to lock down my station?\"\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\n*God I hate that guy*\n\nTristan locked down his computer, logged himself off the system, and shakily grabbed his car keys. Just lunch. Go and eat. Sit alone. Just watch from a distance. \n\n*It's never that easy. Not when you are in love*\n\nThis single thought stopped Tristan dead in his tracks. He's never felt this way about a man. Really, about anyone. But, to the best of his knowledge, he's also not gay. He had dated before, sure. Who hasn't. But, at 38 and still single, he questions himself frequently. He never really knew what to feel or whom to feel it towards. \n\n*It was just a passing thought. It's not true. It's just your brain running too fast. YOU KNOW HOW ANGRY FATHER WOULD BE!!!!*\n\n*But it's too late now. You are on the way. Go, Tristan. Go and meet what fate has placed in front of you. Damn the rules! Take a risk this time! Don't let your life be ruled by fear any longer!*\n\nTristan had never felt this invigorated before. This was something new, like he was a predator, and Conner was his prey. He got in his Toyota and drove. Fast. Tristan never broke the law, not even traffic laws; but this time was different. He wove through traffic, speeding and switching lanes constantly. The sweet lady of fate was on his side this time, maybe for the first time ever, and she wouldn't let something as simple as a traffic violation stop this from happening. He sped into the parking lot, hitting the brakes hard and bringing the car to a snail's crawl, caressing his way into a parking space.\n\n*Holy shit. There he is. Sitting at a table by himself. A coffee in hand, reading The New York Times on his Kindle like always. He's real, now. He's not just a facade on my computer screen. He's right there. This is it, Tristan. Do what it is you came here to do. Whatever that is.*\n\nHe walked towards the table at a brisk pace. Conner never looked up from his Kindle. Only breaking his attention to sip his coffee. Tristan closed in. This was it, Conner couldn't run now. Nothing at all was going to stop him.\n\n\"Tristan. Good to see you.\"\n\nTristan stood, stunned. That could not possibly have happened. Did he imagine it? No. No he didn't. Conner looked up from his Kindle. \n\n\"Please, Tristan. Take a seat. I have a cup of Earl Grey coming for you. Just the way you like it. A bit of sugar and a splash of milk.\"\n\nTristan couldn't believe what he was hearing. How did Conner know this? Tristan had been watching nearly his every move for some time now. Nearly. \n\n\"We are very interested in you. So, please. Take a seat. We should open a dialogue.\"\n\nTristan sat, slowly, stunned, almost dazed. He had no idea what was happening. How did Conner know all this about him? How he likes his tea, even?\n\n\"We've been watching you watch me for a long time now. I think it's time to stop this charade, don't you?\"\n\n \n", "\"I hate how we have to be apart.\"\n\n\nHe sighed as he watched his monitor.\n\n\n\n\n\"Why can't the law let us do it? I mean I have been watching you for 2 years now and it is killing me.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Your sexy black hair, your dimpled face, your lovely desire to walk around your house naked at times.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHe looks out the window\n\n\n\n\n\n\"Over 5,000 miles away you tease me. It's like I'm already living with you. We talk, but you don't respond. We walk around the city, but you're alone. But don't worry, I'm here. I'm always there.\"\n\n\n\n\nAnother agent walks into his office\n\n\n\n\n\"Jack, you're reassigned to some pizza hut driver in Maryland, you can take a break before gathering his info if you want.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nJack looks at the agent with a horrible scowl\n\n\n\n\n\"Why?! I have been watching this person for TWO YEARS! I can't just up and leave!\"\n\n\n\nThe agent looks at him with a suspicious look\n\n\n\n\n\n\"Jack, please don't tell me...\"\n\n\n\n\nJack gets teary eyed and choked up\n\n\n\n\n\n\"I think I'm in love.\"\n\n\n\n\n\"Oh goddammit Jack! How the fuck?\"\n\n\n\n\n\"I don't know, it's just I fell in love with the suspect's personality and pretty much everything about him. He seems like a big ol' teddy bear. And you know I'm a chubby chaser! But it's not just that, it's how he runs things. Everyone around him loves him so much! People are always cheering and clapping when he walks by, and-and *I* want to be one of those people. No, I want to be more that. I want to be with him forever and ever!\"\n\n\n\n\nThe agent stares at Jack in disgust\n\n\n\n\n\n\"Jack, you're fired. Pack your shit and get out. Disconnect all of your devices from the NSA network and turn them into us. We are legally obligated now to enforce a digital and physical restraining order between you and Mr. Kim Jong-Un.\"", "It was important to maintain professionalism. Professionalism. *Professionalism.*\n\nHe would remind himself: *Watch that shit.* She wasn’t pretty (she was pretty). So she was fucking pretty. That wasn’t a reason to lose it. And that was it. Losing *it* was the whole fucking problem. Identity. Self. The whole cloth of a man.\n\nBeyond professionalism, Todd maintained the illusion that he had be born into the NSA: 4.0 GPA, athlete, all around good kid, recruited as a sophomore at Penn State. In high school, a friend had said “If you do drugs, you’ll never join the CIA, FBI…. They won’t take some kid that smoked a joint at fourteen, got nailed for public drunkenness. They’re looking for people who knew this was their path at twelve--before they jerked off. They want discipline.” So he had discipline. He never smoked. Rarely drank. He was a virgin, but that was more a consequence of the first two than a conscious choice. He had discipline. And a cat. The cat was kind of an asshole.\n\nHe was ready to protect his country. He wasn’t ready to sit in a van. Jesus-fucking-Christ this job was a whole lot of sitting in vans. Privately, he called the NSA the NSIVA: The National Sitting In Vans Agency. Todd never dreamed of sharing that joke with his fellow agents. Surveillance, he quickly learned, was the art ignoring. A good agent must ignore the fact that Wilkinson smoked seventeen-million cigarretes the night before and left them in the ashtray to stink up the place along with a pile of junkfood wrappers on the passenger-side floor--and how in the living shit was that guy up for a promotion when Todd had brought in more cases.\n\nBut Todd ignored the distraction for once. And focused closely, with an intensity that he had never felt, on Anne. She was the wife of drug dealer. Her husband was no great catch, but the Agency had singled him out as the weak link in a money laundering operation with ties to Middle Eastern terrorism. And Anne… Anne had a funny way of waking up in the morning. Her husband would leave and Anne would pull the comforter over her eyes so nothing was exposed but her mouth. Like Todd used to do as a child, afraid of monsters--afraid to expose a patch of skin to the outer darkness. It would be cute if Todd weren’t responsible for an operation whose primary goals were to prove her complicity in her husband’s criminal operation and force her to testify against the man. \n\nSeriously, it would be pretty cute.\n\nProfessionalism.\n\n*Professionalism.*\n\nBut still: her mouth poking out beneath the duvet as she slept; the way she covered her mouth when she laughed; the way she clearly, and totally, had fallen out of love with her husband--and the baffling way he went about his day without noticing. Todd had lost the capacity to know if his interest in her was love. He supposed that he had grown comfortable with the details of her life in a way that he hadn't with other targets... other people.\n\nBut then, he had grown comfortable with a lot of things. Wilkinson’s pile of cigarettes, for one. Whatever trembling he felt inside he suppressed. It was a thing that he did. It was a thing that he had always done. Discipline was important.\n", "The door burst open and Logan walked confidently into the dark room. He was no stranger here. Mitchell quickly alt-tabbed and sat back in his chair. He watched the seasoned analyst take a seat and tap his badge against the reader beside the monitor. Logan's screen came alive with a flurry of tabs and video players.\n\n\"The Room\" was the NSA answer to the quarter booth in an adult bookstore. Rather than have indiscretion out in the open, management grudgingly let IT set up a few rows of computers in a room as deep in the basement as they could find. Scripts scrubbed the logs every 15 seconds. Whatever happened in the room stayed in the room. It was a necessary evil and one that nobody was especially proud of.\n\nLogan made no effort to hide anything on his monitor. While some of \"The Room\"s frequent guests traded IP and MAC Addresses like young boys eagerly exchanging and showing off their Pokemon (or, in an earlier time baseball) Cards, Logan kept everything saved to his profile. Tenure had its advantages.\n\nAs Logan brought up the first TV cams, web cams, and security cams from his \"Lunchtime\" list, Mitchell fidgeted in his chair uneasily. \n\n\"You know,\" Mitchell said, \"you don't have to do that on that machine, there are other ones, more private ones in the corner...\"\n\nLogan laughed. \"We're all in this together, buddy. You're sitting here too. What, you have a problem with the, uh, female form? Heh, lookee here, Miss Swathmore is getting some quality time in before class.\"\n\n\"Discretion, maybe?\"\n\n\"What's it to you?\"\n\n\"I dunno, it just seems a little weird. We have this power to make a connection and you just go through so many girls.\"\n\n\"I love each and every one of them in their own special way. Look, after spending the entire morning watching Ahh-med parked on his couch watching reruns of Taxi I deserve a little break. You know what I like about this job? It's when I time my Starbucks run just right so I can bump into Miss Georgetown Numero Two as she's getting her frappy-cheeno.\"\n\n\"Man, you're married. Don't you ever think those 'chance encounters' are a little out of bounds?\"\n\n\"It's a perk, now if you don't mind,\" Logan said as he adjusted himself in his seat. Miss Something-or-another was undulating to some unheard music and it had Logan's full attention. \n\nMitchell couldn't shake the crass and frat-boy mentality Logan possessed. Analyst Logan was the kid who upon finding his uncle's stash of Playboys thumbed through 8 years of issues in a half hour, moving from picture to picture only for the titillation of something new and primal. Why couldn't he just look at one picture, study it, learn every inch of it. Even a static piece of paper could offer limitless nuance of the body; a limitless video tap into just a singular life was in and of itself potential for true devotion. \n\nLogan got up and walked to the door. Along the way he grabbed a few tissues and 'shot' Mitchell with his finger and a wink as he opened the door. Mitchell could hear the footsteps all the way down the hall to the men's room. Logan would never understand.\n\nMitchell alt-tabbed back to his screen. He had missed Mrs. Logan's pre-yoga disrobing routine but she was still following along in front of the TV. Noon-time nude calisthenics and exercise had been her hobby for some time. Mitchell had her daytime routine down rote. He timed every break away from his desk for the maximum opportunity to bring himself closer. Mitchell sat back in his chair and unblinkingly followed her movements on the screen. Perhaps she did not know a man's singular and full capacity for love, but she soon would. ", "**All Begins In Love**\n\nHer voice was beautiful.\n\nMy interest in hacking started young. I'd take apart everything that I could, and then delight in putting it back together. It wasn't long before I was putting things back together in my own way, making improvements as my knowledge grew. And as I grew I became mischievous, enjoying the challenge and dubious legality of phreaking phones and breaking systems. And once that moral barrier had been easily overcome... well, it wasn't hard to break down others so that I could sate my desires.\n\nAnd as I sat there on the floor, listening into her conversation one fateful evening during the 1980s, my desires couldn't have been better met. \n\nSometimes I felt cursed by my other desires, the ones that made me sit and ponder the technical world for long and late hours. That was why I'd been made a joke by my peers, and left lonely to my own devices. So of course, I'd never be able to actually tell her how I felt. Because she was certainly never left lonely. No, she had a crowd of suitors.\n\nBut despite being unknown in my isolated exclusion, I was the only one who could always hear her voice.\n\nWhat luck that cell phones and other wireless transmissions were becoming commonplace! I felt so clever, so accomplished, when I'd bugged her backpack. It had been such an intriguing challenge, finding out how to structure the device and place it so that she wouldn't know. And the payoff! Just listening to her enter her room and move about, sometimes talking to friends, and other times alone and just breathing and moving about on her bed. But of course the battery had died quickly. And rebugging was too risky to do continuously.\n\nBut in desire for her voice, her beautiful voice, I was able to find a better way.\n\nI bought the same phone as her (I'd spied her showing it off to friends) and then found out all that I could. I took it apart, hooked it up to my own devices, and after many sleepless nights was greeted with salvation. It was almost frighteningly simple once you knew how to do it, how easy it was to remotely access the cell phone, turn on the mic, and listen in. It was almost as if the device had been made to be hacked.\n\nBut I didn't think of that. All I thought of was her voice. How it was with me always, and how I had earned it through my work.\n\nUntil one night, when there was a sharp knock upstairs. I opened the door and two men dressed in suits came in. One was rough, the other smooth. The smooth one spoke while the rough stared.\n\n\"You're an exceptional young man,\" said the smooth one, \"and an exceptional law breaker. We've become fascinated with your work, and it is unfortunate that your little voyeuristic breaches of privacy will have to be stopped. Unless, of course, you'd like a job.\"\n\n\"A job?\"\n\n\"Working for the NSA. Influx of cell phone use has become increasingly concerning. Who knows what words are skirting the laws through those untapped communications. We're looking for people of a certain skill and scruple. You fit the bill perfectly.\"\n\nI didn't need much convincing. Just one question.\n\n\"Will I still be able to listen to her voice?\"\n\nThe smooth man smiled.\n\n\"Of course. Her voice is beautiful after all.\"\n", "So uh, The Lives of Others?", "He was with her again. The phone lines were quiet, the computer slept, the TV wasn't even on. No noise. Not even static. Either he wasn't doing a damn thing or he was with her. Again.\n\nJoan leaned back in her chair, eyes burning. Whether the feeling was from her monitor, the beginnings of unshed tears, or the result of another sleepless night she didn't know and she didn't care. She pressed the heels of her hands into her closed lids as she tried to relieve the itching sensation, but being careful not to smudge her eyeliner. It smudged anyway.\n\nShe flipped through everything again. Phone. Computer. TV. I-Pod, I-Pad, I-fucking-whatever. Even the satellite radio in his car was dead. So where was he?\n\n\"Fuck,\" Joan whispered to herself. \"Fuck, fuck, fuck.\" She knew exactly where he was. With her. \n\nIt didn't matter that Joan didn't know the exact location of this woman's apartment, the woman he'd been seeing. She didn't know her last name, and she wasn't sure of her phone number; it didn't matter. Joan knew she could find her. With a little patience, she'd have her.\n\nFlip through Facebook. Not there. Check G-mail. Not there. Where is she? Where is this little bitch Melinda hiding? God, what a stupid name. Phone contacts. Not there. Twitter. Not there. Jesus, does the man even have any more accounts? Where the fuck else could the slut be? Where? Instagram. Not there. Can't believe he even has an instagram anyway. Tumblr. Not there.\n\nThen where? His entire life was on the internet. Joan had categorized and catalogued every passing thought, every delicious meal, every fun time this guy had for the last two years and as far as Joan was concerned, Melinda wasn't in any of them. She was a damned social media ghost.\n\nJoan rubbed her eyes hard in frustration- no thought of eyeliner now. Where was she? Bitch. She has to be somewhere. Work. Think. Work... work. His work e-mail. Joan hadn't checked that. She looked into his Outlook account. There she was. Melinda Hanson from work.\n\nNow it would be easy.", "\"Hello,\" the call starts.\n\nI take a deep breath in.\n\n*Her voice sounds so clear and bright, like a sunny day in the Alps. Not that I've ever been to the Alps...*\n\n\"...I'm sorry, but I'm simply not interested,\" she says, shyly laughing while rebuffing the offer of a free internet box when she decides to sign up for satellite television. \n\n*She's even nice when they badger her...* I think holding my breath on the line. \n\n\"Well, you have a nice day. Bye-bye now.\"\n\nI release my breath, but not before thinking, \"*Bye-bye for now.*\"", "I've seen terrible, terrible things. I've peered into the depths of human depravity, and I currently know more about what people masturbate to than I ever dreamed I would know. Yet, this man is by and far the most disgusting existence I have ever had the displeasure of surveying.\n\nHe's not a pedophile, and he's not into some of that weird shit people beat off to… but is it sad that I almost wish that he was? At least if he was into child porn, I could turn him in and be done with this. I've seen plenty of logs of people getting off to some strange fucking shit, but this? Holy shit. Holy. Fucking. Shit. This is just beyond belief. BUT I CAN'T TAKE MY EYES OFF HIM.\n\nWatching him is like watching a fucking train wreck. A slow, fat, blobby train wreck filled with lard, and grease, and bacon fat, that's slathered in peanut butter and Nutella.\n\nHis YouTube channel feels like it popped out of my nightmare. \"DarrylEats.\" Guess what he does. He fucking eats. And eats. And eats. Every day, sometimes multiple times a day, motherfucker films himself eating. For the life of me, I just want to know who's manning the camera. I don't think his arm stretches far enough past his stomach to reach it or set it up. Jesus Christ. I've seen him eat shit that I wouldn't feel comfortable feeding livestock. I've seen him dip bacon in Nutella, batter it, fry it, cover it in peanut butter, and then fucking FRY IT AGAIN. WHO DOES THAT?! As delicious as it sounds, who on earth feels comfortable packing away a few pounds of that shit and then eats twice as much for dinner? (\"DarrylEats\" - the Double or Nothing Challenge! A special feature for your viewing pleasure, released every Sunday afternoon and night!) I think the gist of it is that if he can't finish twice of whatever he had for lunch, he doesn't eat the next day. I don't think I've ever seen him fail.\n\nHe has two subscribers that he takes food suggestions from. I think they're in a competition to see who can make him eat the worst shit before he hits his limit and his heart explodes into an oily mess. One of them is him… the other one is me. \n", "My Sarah. I've loved her since she was 14. I watched her go to school, come home. I saw how happy she was riding her bike. The day she got accepted to college. I watched her heart get broken by her stupid boyfriend. I was glad they broke up. \n\nBut Sarah didn't love me back. She didn't appreciate my gifts or my love. She got the police involved. She made me promise to stay away. \n\nI'm so glad I took this new job. Now I can be with my Sarah, all the time. ", "Day 1 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:\nName - John Doe\n\nAge - 36\n\nWait, his name is *John Doe?* Well, that's quite the original name. Anyways,\n\nArea of Residence - Atlanta, Georgia\n\nRace - Arab\n\nSex - Male\n\nPhysical Dimensions - 5'6\", 230 lbs. from last medical checkup two months ago.\n\n\nHe apparently came to the US at the age of sixteen from Iraq as a foreign exchange student to a prestigious magnet school. Decided he would like to stay and become a US citizen. \n\nGood luck with that, kid. \n\nContinuing on, he got a student visa and has remained in the United States by remaining in the college environment for an extended time - about 18 years. I'm pretty sure he should be a doctor of *everything* by now.\n\nPersonal evaluation - what the hell is HQ thinking? The worse thing this guy's got is a bad taste in porn and a scuffle with his drunk buddies that happened in his undergraduate years. Just because the guy's got a beard and is from Iraq doesn't mean he's going to blow up the Atlanta Aquarium - which is the stated reason. No HQ, let's not take his interest for the Aquarium as even remotely related to his *degree in marine biology*.\n\nWill try to go through the necessary channels to let this poor guy off the hook - he's not a terrorist.\n\n------------------------\n\nDay 2 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential terrorist:\n\nName - John Doe\n\nGoing through the shit loads of forms to get this guy free from a month of looking behind his back. Little nerd better be thankful.\n\nRegular behavior, did visit his regular mosque outside of his normal schedule, apparently they are coordinating what looks to be a benefit fundraiser called \"Coexistence: Different Gods, Same Faith\"\n\nYep, totally looks like a vicious terror cell. Come on HQ, what the heck?\n\n-----------------------------\n\nDay 3 of Investigation #00456, investigation of potential -\n\nThis guy isn't even potentially a terrorist. Forms filed and they should process in a few days.\n\nNo abnormal behavior, his schedule was to the averaged minute.\n\nExactly..\n\n-------------------------------------\nDay 4 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:\n\nOkay, this guy is most definitely not a terrorist. But his schedule has gotten *freakishly* accurate. Like, within the two-minute frame. But, that's not even the weirdest thing. Yesterday he *exactly* followed the schedule, I just thought it was a fluke. Today he fluctuated, which I thought to be normal. Until I went back to check the times.\n\nEvery entrance and exit was either a minute early or a minute and thirty seconds late.\n\nI don't know how this guy's doing it, maybe he likes being punctual but this has me a bit on edge. Other than this weird fluke, everything is normal. The Coexistence fundraiser is apparently not the quiet affair it first appeared to be, it's quickly growing into a rally. I've heard from the Mayor's line that he would like to attend. I saw some of the regular attendees at the mosque and I have to say - I guess they're terror material, if you consider giving food to the homeless the hobby of psychotic extremists. \n\n---------------------------------------------\nDay 5 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:\n\nThis smug bastard. Today he fluctuated with total randomness, no pattern. I got suspicious so I tapped into the camera on his Marine Biology professor's door. That little fucker was just standing there in front of the door. He must have seen a light come on, because he looked up at the camera. \n\nHe looked at *me.* And then he grinned and walked out. I'm going to talk with my supervisor and see if I can't get this investigation to continue past tomorrow.\n\n--------------------------------------------------\nDay 6 of Investigation #00456, investigation of suspected terrorist:\n\nThis guy's a terrorist, I just have a gut feeling. But my supervisor seemed to be quite convinced by my first few investigations that we should let this guy off the hook. I specifically told him I had a feeling about this guy. Normally my supervisor would jump on the chance to nab a terrorist - but this time he just gave me a dead stare and said to let the guy off the hook.\n\nWell, no abnormal behavior beyond being a **god damned terrorist.** I get that he doesn't show the signs of being one, but I just know it. HQ was right about this guy, what can I say? Seems like everyone is too busy fussing over that new Coexistence rally - the NSA's got a bunch of guys going to represent the United States. Who better than the guys who spy on all of them to be the ones who convince them their safe and supported. Only guy not going is the chairman and his croneys, probably going on a golf trip on an island in the south pacific. We have to get this guy though, don't we do this all the time? Come on, give him the old party bus in the middle of the night! We do it to the innocents, why not the actual terrorists!\n\n--------------------------------------------\nDay 7... no, 1 of Investigation #00457, investigation of confirmed terrorist bombing:\n\nLocation : Atlanta, Georgia\nCoexistence Rally\n\nTime: October 16th, 2013; 5:43 PM\n\nSuspects: John Doe\n\nIncident Report: One man bombing by C4 strapped to the abdomen, detonated during a heated speech about the inner struggle of a Muslim to accept today's society. Self-detonated by means of cell phone. \n\nImmediate blast hit first four rows, in which were seated the NSA representatives and religious leaders of Atlanta. NSA representatives...... confirmed to be the candidates for nomination to position of Chairman of the NSA. \n\nFires broke out blocking the rest of the near 2,000 in attendance from the exits. Emergency services arrived at approximately 5:45 PM, a new response time record. 500 Injured, 42 dead including the those who were sitting in the front four rows.\n\nStructural damage was immense, further investigation revealed the structure of the pavilion was flawed and made with highly combustible materials.\n\nBombing was a one-time event. Occurred due to failure on part of investigator to confirm suspect was terrorist.\n\nPersonal evaluation: There is nothing abnormal about this beyond the immense tragedy of it. We can't see everything.\n\nI have also submitted my resignation.\n", "\"You seem distracted this week.\" She broke from the routine trying to seem interested in him. \n\n\"How do you mean?\"\n\n\"I'm your psychiatrist, Peter, but I don't need a degree to notice you smiling like a high school girl walking by the quarterback in the hallway every time you stare at your phone.\"\n\n\"I... I know maybe I should talk about this but I'm afraid it's classified.\"\n\n\"Okay, then dumb it down for me. I know where you work and I read the Guardian, Peter. You're the one who was pointing out typos in my personal emails.\"\n\n\"We've talked about that and I apologized multiple times. Why do you always have to bring it up? I even payed you to shut up about it, that applies to around me as well, okay?\" The change in his tone reminded him why he had to see a psychiatrist in the first place. He changed his position in the chair and waited for Dr. Jameson to say something. She was just staring at him and apparently he was in no mood to pay for another twenty minutes of a staring contest like last week. \"Jesus Christ, okay, I'll tell you.\"\n\n\"Good.\" God, she hated that smile. Not for every patient, but a forced smile to Peter was something that physically hurt her. \n\n\"I fell in love.\" \n\n\"Wow, those are four words I never expected to hear from you. We're making huge progress here, Peter! Who is this lucky lady?\"\n\n\"Wait, don't jump to conclusions. She doesn't know I exist.\"\n\n\"Oh.\" Now it made sense to her. \n\n\"She's a potential terrorist I've been following at work. But she is so beautiful and smart. She answers all her phone calls with the cutest SHIT! I almost told you her name. Anyways, I even called her a few times to hear her introduce herself to me. And this isn't everything, she's funny in everything she writes. Everything. And she never uses a smiley like our dumb Maryland bitches. No offense.\" \n\n\"None taken.\" Again the painful smile, God, was she going to get the strongest Long Island after this meeting.\n\n\"Anyways, I've been following everything she does for a week and I can't let go of her. I know this is something that is all in my mind.\"\n\n\"At leas you've saved me the trouble of explaining that. In a very scary way I actually find this kind of cute, I think time will make you able to let go of her. Just promise me you're going to cut contract with her and... give her to a coworker, is that an option?\" \n\n\"This is the problem, don't you think I know what I should do? Remember the bomb they found last week in Chicago though?\"\n\n\"Yes, nothing happened, they said at the news that it was all set but nobody pushed the button.\" \n\n\"Exactly, nobody pushed the button because I kept her busy by calling her. She was the trigger in that attack. If my colleagues find out she's either dead or sent to a place where she might as well be. But I really like listening to her, I feel a real connection. With the next bomb there is no way anyone will find her.\"\n\n\"We're done here.\" The doctor smiled sincerely this time, happy she finally had a reason to call 911. \n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6, 9, 9, 11, 20, 34 ]

[ "1381984307", "1382000858", "1382003473", "1390372213", "1381984216", "1381995521", "1381981904", "1381984203", "1381977428", "1381975436", "1381969607", "1381979658", "1381972607", "1381975481", "1381972991" ]

[ "https://docs.google.com/document/d/1OHXNQGR_lZ9VRPtE_D0G-atRLOIbP1O66HEO3EJSQGU/edit?usp=sharing\n\nBecause copy and paste leads to a big block of text no matter how I format it.", "**Dragon's Breath**\n\nIt’s a cold afternoon, colder and drier than usual. The snows hasn’t quite picked up yet and I take the time to get some more work done, lifting another stone and placing it on the wall. The castle looks nice, even though it was incomplete. The walls are thick and sturdy, curved at various angles to deflect the efforts of artillerymen but the real jewel is the keep; large tapestries lined the insides, mahogany interiors glowed against candlelight. There are two bedrooms (it’s not a very big castle), one for me, one for her. And I built all of this by myself, quite proud of it too.\n\nJust as I reach for another block of stone, I feel a buzz in my pocket. I needn’t look to know who the caller is.\n\n\"Hello?\"\n\"Hiii! How’s the castle coming along?\"\n\"Not bad, not bad. Weather’s not helping.\"\n\"Hahaha, I’m sure it’s no problem for you. Hey, do you want me to bring any snacks?”\nI scratch my head.\n\"Some kebabs would be nice.\"\n\"Okay, sure thing.\"\n\nTen minutes later, a car pulls through the portcullis. I look out from atop the castle, betraying a gleeful smile. She hops out and waves goodbye to her friend then hurries through the tall oak doors into the Grand Hall. I take her jacket for her.\n\n\"Oh wow, it’s nice and toasty inside isn’t it?\"\n\"Yeah, I just got the fireplace going.\"\n\"Isn’t it a lot of effort?\"\n\"Well everything’s insulated pretty well, so I don’t need to worry about it too much.\"\n\"Nice!\"\n\nI wash my hands and change out of my overalls. The rooftop cathedral can wait another day.\n\n\"How was work today?\"\n\"So so. The boss is still being weird. Hey I learnt a few new songs!\"\n\"Awesome, show me!\"\n\nShe instinctively winds her way through the endless confusing corridors into the living room, where she happily jumps on the piano and plays an interesting contemporary piece for me. I take the time to wolf down one of the food court kebabs she grabbed on the way. It was bearable.\n\n\"What do you think?\"\n\"Not bad, have you been practising for long?\"\n\"Nuh uh, I’m still kinda nooby at at.\"\n\"Still impressive. By the way, what do you think of horror for movie night?\"\n\"Oh, that’s tonight isn’t it?\"\n\nIt was unusual for her to forget movie night, something’s up.\n\n\"Yeah, I took ages setting up the couches and projector and everything.\"\n\"Oh… Well I can stay for a while but I have to go early.\"\n\nMy stomach tightens and my jaw locks in place. I push away the feeling and add a few more logs go into the fireplace, making the living room nice and cosy. I start up the DVD Player (having to brush aside my XBox first) and sit back. She grabs her own kebab and plonks herself down beside me on the couch.\n\nBad puns and jokes are the staple of my horror movie repertoire. She seemed to like it at any rate and we might as well have been watching a romcom, both of us had tears in our eyes from laughing so much. I wrap my arm around her and she leans in close, letting her hair drift across my shoulder and neck.\n\nWe used to always spend time together like this. Although it would never last, I tried keeping things the way they are for as long as possible. Happiness, that’s what it is; because it’s not the bricks that make this a home.\n\nThe warmness was slowly overtaking me and I was about to doze off, when I hear her say:\n\n\"Hey I gotta go now.\"\n\nThe movie’s finished. She’s already got her jacket on.\n\n\"Really? Don’t you wanna stay the night?\"\n\"Sorry but I’m meeting someone.\"\n\"Oh… I see….\"\n\"Yeah.\"\n\"Do you wanna come over later then? I finally finished your bedroom! It’s really nice and comfy, with plushies and everything!\"\n\nShe looks at me with a sad look in her eyes, like she’s pitying me.\n\n\"Maybe another time.\"\n\nWe leave the cosy interiors and walk out to Honour Square, the magnanimously named cobblestone path and marble fountain out front. In the distance a faint rumbling can be heard, it grows louder and louder and in the distance, a mounted figure approaches my keep.\n\nMaybe a cannonball will deter him, or raising the drawbridge. No, that wouldn’t impress her very much. Even though it’d be hilarious.\n\nBut he comes right through. The thick walls of the city, the cannons along the walkways, all the battlements and armaments counted for nought. My worst nightmare gallops straight in, resplendent in his armour, a dark leather jacket. He hushes his mount, a mighty steed indeed. Looking our way, his helmet gleams in the white, snowy background. I can see my own reflection in it, and caught my nostrils flare in suppressed anger. He takes off his helmet and lays it across the handlebars. Handsome fellow.\n\n\"Hey.\"\n\"Hello.\"\n\"Hi.\"\n\nWe didn’t say much. Not much needed to be said.\n\n\"Come on, let’s go! Bowling closes in just over an hour!\"\n\"Okay okay.\"\n\nShe turns around. We normally farewell with a hug. Not today, maybe not ever, if things work out for my damsel. She gives me a pleading gaze.\n\n\"See you tomorrow?\"\n\"See you.\"\n\nShe hops on behind him in the saddle and he passes her the helmet. I hear her unmistakable giggle as he does the chin strap. It wasn’t her hearty movie night laugh, but it nonetheless came from the heart. He takes her hands and puts them around his waist. The engine roars to life and before you know it, they’ve escaped the castle.\n\nAnd I’m all alone, surrounded by cold stone walls. Fairytales don’t end well for everyone it seems. I fill my lungs, hold, and release; a searing cloud of white steam slowly vanishes into the cold winter air.", "Her eyes lit up when he walked into the room, her body quivered eagerly aching for his touch. She had been in relationships before, relationships that left her body painted in scars, relationships that left her cringing at a raised hand. This one was different. Her youth was drained away years ago, her face a haunting reminder of a hard life. None of that seemed to matter to him. He tended to her aching joints, and cooked her meals fit for a king. He made time for her every day, spending countless hours massing her shaking muscles. She knew she didn't have much time left, and suspected he knew the same. Her pain had become almost unbearable if it wasn't for her knowing he would be home soon. he took on the hardships of her old age, he took on the pain as if it was his own. Every evening they walked down to the beach and would float, just float in the crisp salty water.. He would hold her tightly, making sure her head stayed above water. \n\nIt was her time. She could no longer face another day filled with this agony.. She had held on as long as she could.. Just wanting one more evening cuddled up in his arms, cherishing each kiss. \n\nhe carried her the whole mile to the beach to watch the sunrise. She could tell he was trying to hold it together, he knew their time was up. They sat in silence as the first sliver of a new day shined above the horizon. He unpacked the picnic he had brought in his backpack.. Steak, and chicken, and chocolates for dessert. She mustered up all the appetite she had left.. She wanted to show him that he had been the reason she lived so long. She wanted to comfort him as tears began to role down his face and explain to him how much he had done for her. She wanted to tell him it would all be okay now, she would be pain free and that she never had wanted to leave him like this.\n\n\nBut she couldn't.. She licked the tears from his face and hobbled into his lap, whimpering in hopes to express her love. He tucked her tail along her body, kissed her on her furry forehead and said \"I know sweetie, you are my best friend, ill always love you\"", "He stared in her eyes. He had never done anything quite like this before, nor did he think he could muster the courage to be in a situation such as this one. Her face glistened in the soft moonlight that pertruded from their hotel window. The breeze caressed her hair as she laid there waiting for him, longing for him. He saw in her what he never saw in his wife. Somewhere along the line his bride and he drifted apart, though they were never truly together. Their destiny together was a fabrication of nepotism and power. His parents found him a suitor and forced love into his world. For a long while he just accepted it. To him this was love, a fake charade orchestrated by puppet masters above his rank. Now he could see it though, what love truly was. He met this mistress while on a business conference in Boston. She was another associate working for some tech firm out west. They were paired together for a 'team building' exercise which turned into a discussion on their mutual love for Thai food. They decided to leave the conference early and go to Bai Chai, an up and coming restaurant in the North End. Their conversation progressed and he caught himself flirting on more than one occasion. Thoughts of infidelity invaded his mind even though he knew his marriage was a sham. He was uneasy and here he was now, defying every sense of morality and embracing every action he knew was truly just. For some reason, this stranger whom he just met was able to sense his unease, a talent his wife didn't possess and stroked his hair. He knew there was more here than politics. He now understood what it was to love when he embraced her, her perfume taught him to breathe. Every shroud of morality left him, his sense of up and down and left and right, his sense of faith in anything but her and so they became one and he began to live.", "The thin lines of grey light streamed through the blinds not strong enough to land anywhere, evaporating in the musty air. Her thin fingers reached out to touch is face, the meeting of the two sparked something and suddenly the air sudden swished with the inhale of those in witness. She smiled with a deep gaze of love and wonder, such beauty she thought.\n\nLeaning back she sat quietly thinking about all the beautiful faces she had seen and remembered the first time she saw Trenton. She was standing facing the stage watching as bodies swayed and jumped when her eye was drawn to him, dancing clearly for himself only. God she loved that about him, the passion and abandon he allowed himself when he danced. She looked over to her friend, pointed and said, Him.\n\nLater she heard \"Love will tear us apart\" playing in the other room, she knew her time had come. She walked to the middle of the floor and began to lose herself in the beats, the words and the sorrow. She also knew he was there, watching. Casting out glances, she drew him in. Soon they were dancing next to one another you could see the music between them moving with them in perfect rhythm. And so it began, their fate forever sewn together in that dance.\n\nA cough brought her back to the room. The sudden transition from the dance floor to the stuffy hospital room was disorienting for and for few seconds she in both rooms until she once again saw that beautiful face. Her heart swelled, tears began to stream and for a moment she felt she had disappeared, lost in the love. Leaning forward more deeply this time, she wanted a kiss, just to feel that soft pulsing skin upon her lips and dream of days when her skin glowed so full.\n\"No, that's not why you're here.\"\n\"Fine\" - she said with irritation\nHer hand reached up once more, this time she touched his forehead and let the sounds, colors and images stream through her. In the rush of the exchange, she caught it, the information they were looking for, the reason she was brought here.\n\"Yes\", she sighed\nSmug smiles and self congratulatory glances were shared with the witnesses.\n\"Take him\" \nThe infant was torn from his mothers arms and handed over to the handler who was paid a hefty sum to then wipe this memory from the mother's mind and replace it with a year's worth of college abroad.\n\nShe was then wheeled out and as the elevator doors closed in front of her, she whispered softly, \"It was good to see you again my love, if only for a moment\"", "I don't do small talk. I rarely find something interesting enough that it would urge me to speak. To me, things are either very boring or very interesting, and as a 16 year old, this frustrates me. I feel like I can't live my life fully because every thing seems so distant. You're only young once, they say, and so I'm even more annoyed.\n\nSo when one day, while I was engrossed in a book at my local hole-in-the-wall cafe, and this old man sits at my table to invite me to something (what it was, I didn't care exactly), I immediately say yes.\n\nWe hopped into his old boxy car that didn't have a stereo and started driving. Not once did I think what am I doing. I didn't even feel an ounce of resistance in my body. I've seen you at that cafe a couple of times, he said. That's quite a book you're reading. I looked down at my lap - Lolita. Yeah, I said, shifting my gaze out the window. Quite.\n\nIt's not that I wasn't interested enough. I just suddenly felt a bit guilty about reading that book because I only wanted to read it after I saw the film. I loved Jeremy Irons in that.\n\nHe parked the car in front of a white house. A huge white house. Where are we, I caught myself thinking. Seems I didn't pay much attention throughout the drive. I remember looking around, left and right, to check if I could run somewhere safe if he tried something with me. All I remember was seeing other huge houses with vast, well-kept front lawns and thinking this really happens in real life? It seemed so.\n\nThat was also the last time I doubted him.\n\n\n5 days a week after school, he would pick me up from my cafe and we would drive to this wealthy neighborhood where everybody only pretended to know their neighbors. He'd park the car as usual, and when a neighbor would talk to him, he'd engage them, albeit in his reserved manner, and I'd just walk inside the house to wait for him. Nobody has asked about me as far as I know, and not once has he introduced me.\n\nWithin the walls of his 4 bedroom house, we were always alone. He'd make me a snack while I kill time doing something else (sometimes I browse his library, sometimes I watch him cook), and then we'd proceed to what he invited me here for in the first place.\n\nThere's an empty room at the back of the house that had floor to ceiling glass windows. It was his office back in the day, he said. Our footsteps echoed in there, but I liked that room because in the afternoon it's warm from facing the setting sun.\n\nI'd take off my shoes and lie on the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. He'd sit on the fat leather couch beside it. When I've positioned myself properly, he'd lean forward and start stroking my hair until I fell asleep.\n\nAnd that was it.\n\nHe'd just sit there, watching me nap for an hour and a half, and then at the hour exactly, he'd wake me. I felt safe. I felt warm and cared for every time. I felt loved.\n\nHe never touched me, which at times I wished he did. He rarely talked, too, but we were comfortable in each other's silence. His eyes were always telling enough.\n\n\nHis pale blue eyes.\n\n\nI don't know why he chose me, and maybe now I will never know. I've been sitting at my usual spot waiting for him to pick me up, but for about a week now, he hasn't shown up. I've finished reading Lolita in the week he didn't come, the book I put on hold when I met him.\n\nMaybe he mistook somebody else as me, maybe he's forgotten about me (he's old, after all). It's been a week and I'm starting to really miss him, that's all.\n\n\n******************\n\n\n[[I've always wanted to write about this type of relationship. I've been typing this out on my phone all day in between break times, so if I have typos and grammatical errors, please point them out. Thanks!]]", "She had always believed in the importance of being alone. How can you know who are when you are being influenced by another person? They will always come to define a part of you. And if you're not careful you will leave this world a stranger to yourself; never knowing if your convictions and thoughts were truly your own. She never really thought about if she had intended for this to be long term, but she knew she still didn't properly know herself and that was a good enough reason to continue.\n\nIt wasn't necessarily an easy path to take. Humans are built with a fundamental need for companionship. To subside this desire she allowed herself to fall into shallow relationships with people she knew had no place in her future. She reasoned this was safe, ignoring the nagging guilt in the back of her mind. Time passed, as it does, and as always a deeper affection replaced it. This always brought her guilt crashing to the forefront of her mind, and she knew it was time to let them go. It was usually too late to leave them unscathed, but the guilt would always succumb to her relief. She was still intact, still safe, still her. She continued on. \n\nPerhaps it was destiny. Perhaps it was a flawed system, designed to fail. Whatever the reason; it was unexpected. He was unexpected. And isn't that how it always goes? He was the finest, most intelligent and charming person she had never intended to meet. Without meaning to, or even realizing it, she began to struggle against the pattern she had formed for her life. Whether he noticed her conflict or not, he never let on. He flooded her with quiet patience; encouraged her with tenderness. Never pushing too hard, never trying to change her. \n\nThere wasn't a distinct moment of sudden clarity where she realized how wrong she had been for all those years. Time passed, and the feeling of guilt never arrived. Somehow, without meaning to, he had changed the way she saw herself. He had shown her an entirely different world than the one she had contrived for herself. Her fears had come to fruition. He had come to define a very important part of her, and yet she was intact. She was safe. She was different. And she knew herself a little bit better than before. \n", "I never knew I could feel love before I saw her. There she was, playing with her friends without a care in the world, and I knew my life would never be complete without her in it. \n\nAt first, I tried to fight it. A young, delicate thing like her with a fat, awkward man like me? It just wasn't right. \n\nI was always one to make fun of people in love, how ridiculous they looked and sounded. At 31, for the first time in my life, I finally understood. She was the last thing on my mind before I drifted off to sleep. Waking up in the morning became a pleasant experience, because it meant I could daydream about her some more. Picturing her bright green eyes and her shiny black hair was all it took for another mediocre day at work to become another day in paradise. I imagined us cuddling on the couch, watching reruns of 90's sitcoms she most likely would not care about, her tiny little body nestled in my big arms. There was no fighting it anymore, I was madly in love. \n\nIt wasn't too long before I couldn't take it anymore. I loved her and she was going to love me too, no matter what anyone else thought. I jumped in my car and drove to the place where I had first seen her playing with her friends. Surely she'd be there. \n\nOn the way, I found myself second-guessing my actions. Was I really doing the right thing? What if she wanted nothing to do with me? She was so young and innocent, could I really make her love me? \n\nThe moment I saw her again, even more beautiful than in my memories, I knew that feeling couldn't be ignored any longer. So, heart pounding, hands shaking, I asked: \n\n''How much for the black kitten?''\n\n", "I sip my coffee and wait. He'll be along shortly. And yes, there he is. He catches my eye and smiles that half smile that makes my stomach flutter. I rise without a word and fall in step beside him. We will walk to the car, drive home, eat supper, watch TV and, finally, go to bed. And after 20 years, I couldn't be happier, more content, or more in love.", "(I suppose this is NSFW)\nNicolas stared at Ven, his lips parted, words unable to stir. \n\nVen stared back, lips taut, hoping his confession had sunk through at last. The memory of their first meeting: at the fountain five years ago, passed before him like an embarrassment when it previously was a shadow: another brick in the wall. \n\n\"Oh, I... I don't know.\" Nicolas mumbled at last, tugging his gaze away. \"I love you too, but as a friend of course. We've known each other for so long that I can predict each passing wave of your emotions. I can tell when you want to slap me and when your heart can't take another blow. Ven...\" \n\nAnd he kissed him. He placed his lips against Ven's and kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. \n\nVen stepped back and placed his palms against Nicolas's elbows. They fell back into the bed sheets, Ven shifted so he was atop Nicolas, who stared at him in muddled confusion and pleasure and anger and everything else. He spread his legs and gave himself up. He let his body absorb ever soft touch of Ven's finger tips and lips, to feel the warm breath, to see Ven's eyes shimmer in passion. Their clothing was shed like the petals of a dying rose, they pressed against the other, entwining their bodies, breaking boundaries, pushing closer into the other more than ever before: physically and mentally. \n\nThe covers strewn and their hair sticking to their foreheads to hot beads of sweat was how Ember found them. \n\nHe peered into the darkness that the drawn curtains created. When his eyes finally made out the forms of the entwined bodies, staring at him in cold terror, he grinned to himself ad walked away. \n\n\"Will he tell someone?\" Ven hoarsely asked. \n\nNicolas had forgotten how to care in the past half hour of desperate human need. He shrugged and kissed Ven's soft lips, losing himself yet again. \n\n", "The knot in my stomach swelled as I pondered the events of the last few days. All of my friends had told me I made the right decision in leaving her, it could never work. Not to mention it was unprofessional, having that sort of relationship with someone you work with. The whole world was against us.\n\nBut I remembered those nights outside Mulberry Farm as well. Such passion filled nights when we did not care what anyone else thought about us. It was just our warm bodies pressed against each other as we looked up at the stars. I miss those big brown beautiful eyes; they could reflect and amplify the magic that was in the air.\n\nAnd I had let all of it go due to peer pressure. But who are they to judge me? If loving Meredith is wrong then I don’t want to be right! The weight of the last few days lifted off of my shoulders as I finally gave into the inevitable, loving Meredith. I hopped in my car and sped towards her building, tears almost filling my eyes. I leapt out of the car and bounded through the front door. “Meredith!” was the only thing I could say upon seeing her beautiful face again. She did not say a word, but she always had been a little bit shy. I don’t mind taking the initiative though, so I began to kiss her just like old times.\n\nBut then the farmer came in and interrupted us. “Boy, I told you that if I caught you tryin’ to fuck my goats again I’d call the police, and that is what I am going to do! And I reckon it goes without saying, you’re fired.”\n\nSo now I sit here in my cell, society once again separating our love. But one day, one day we will be reunited.", "[AN: oops. it's a \"skinny love\" love story, in the sense that neither admits to loving the other. don't read if you want resolution. Also, the ending is AMBIGUOUS.]\n\nWhenever she saw him smile, her blood charged with fascination. He had a wily smile and sharp irises that imprinted on his target. Whenever he talked, his words were acute and sly, always filled with reason.\n\nShe loved to mess with him, especially during class, when his ego colored his insight and she could push him down a few pegs with keenly phrased sarcasm. He hated her. She hated him.\n\nYet, she loved him. She daydreamed about what they could be. She imagined watching the stars on the roof of a car. They'd start out with clever hits at each other and end in each other's arms, pressing their lips together in their bubble of the universe.\n\nHe was an asshole, a dickbagel, and a doucheface. He was everything she hated in the world. \n\nHe hated her just as much. She was annoying, a pain in the ass, and too damn hyperactive.\n\nHe cut her off, he mocked her, he laughed at her, he called her obnoxious--but under it all, he was just as captivated by her. She was the only girl who didn't fall to his feet. She was the only girl who could match, if not overpower him, with intelligence. She was observant. She was idealistic.\n\nHe pushed her down. He convinced himself he wasn't attached to her at all. He didn't give a damn about her. He didn't give a damn about her.\n\nHe never realized the volume of his attachment to her until the next year. They only saw each other in passing glances in the halls. He found a girl and attempted a relationship. She became more and more private. She tried to forget he ever existed. He forced her out of his head.\n\nOne moved on.\n\nThe other never will.", "I don’t want a love at first sight. I want a slow love. One where you wake up one day and you don’t remember a time that you didn't love me, because you've actually been falling in love with a different piece of me every day. I want a love that lets me explore at my own pace every single detail of you, the ones other people always miss and which I promise I’ll treasure for as long as I can. I want it to take time for us to fall in love, because that’s my favorite part, and I don’t want to rush it. In this crazy world, where people are always running to be somewhere else, I want to be here with you, and a slow, deep love that we’ll fall into and never quite recover from.", "How can you describe someone that changed your life forever. Changed the way you look at the world. Changed the way that you look at life. Changed the way you look at yourself.\n\nThe short answer is, you can't. But nevertheless, I will try to give it justice and tell it the best I can.\n\n ~~~~\n\nI stood there, my eyes undressing the lady behind the counter. \n\n*She's hot.* \n\nEven under her work uniform, her curvaceous slim figure was easy to admire. My mind was set. I was going to get this girl in the sack.\n\nFinally the old lady in front of me finished paying for her groceries and now it was my turn. Walking up to the counter, I let out a slight grin while placing my items on the counter. She saw my grin and gave a polite smile back, returning my eye contact. \n\n*This is my chance.*\n\nStraightening my posture, I uttered the only pick up line that works. \n\"Hi. What's your name?\" \n\"Sandy\" she replied.\n\n*The game is on.*\n\n\"Hi Sandy, my name is Erik and I think you're cute. So here's the situation. If we had met in a bar, I would seen you and would have come over and introduced myself, maybe bought you a drink too. We would have had a nice short conversation and then I would have been on my way. The next night, if you were there again, I would buy you another drink and we would end up a having a deeper more meaningful conversation about the meaning of life or love or something rather. I then would have asked you if we could organised a coffee date sometime soon. Nothing creepy or weird - mind you, just me, you, the cafe and two cups of decaff coffee. At first you would be hesitant, but I would win you over in the end. Finally agreeing to it, you would then give me your number, so that we could arrange the time & place more closer to the day.\"\n\nI paused momentarily, while seeing if she would try stop me from continuing. She looked startled, trying to retain and process the info-dump that I had just told her, but she said nothing. \n\nThis was a good sign, so I continued.\n\n\"Sadly, Sandy, we are not a bar and I only have until you finish scanning my groceries and then I'm gone. I won't be back for more groceries until two weeks from now and I'm not even guaranteed that you're going to be working on that very day either. Sooo, how about we skip the formalities and I just ask you plain out.\"\n\nI took a breath, then dived, pretty confident I wasn't going to crash and burn.\n\n\"Sandy, would you like to have coffee with me this week?\"\n\nI could see the mental discussion taking place in her mind, but honestly, against that flawless introduction and reasoning of mine, she never stood a chance.\n\nHer hands, finished with my groceries, moved over to the pad of paper and pen that lay next to the pricing screen. Picking them up, she wrote down her number and ripping off the paper from the pad, handed it to me, a large smile emerging on her face.\n\n\"I'll see you around then, Erik. Sooner, hopefully, rather than later.\"\n\nPicking up my groceries in one hand and her number in the other, I walked out the store and couldn't help smiling.\n\n*That approach works every time.*\n\nWalking to my car, I unlocked it and hopped inside, dumping my groceries in the boot. A few seconds later I was on the road, driving through town, headed towards home. Passing the gas station, I took my eyes off the road to look at the sign, straining to see if gas prices had once again risen. And that was when I saw her.\n\nShe was running along the pavement, past the gas station, earphones trailing down the sides of her face to the iPod strapped on her arm. As if on cue, she turned and looked at me. \n\nI don't know if time slowed down, I don't know how long we maintained eye contact. All I know was that she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her long black wavy hair was blowing in the wind, her eyes dazzling and full of life. Her lips were red and moist and her nose small and cute. I could go on like this, detailing the beauty that I saw in every part of her body.\n\n*She is perfect.*\n\nHowever the moment ended unexpectedly as my car was violently smashed into the side by something. I found out later that while I was lost in the moment, my foot had remained on the accelerator, causing a car crash in the intersection up ahead.\n\nBut as I was sitting there in my totaled car, the corners of my vision starting to fade into darkness, all I could think about was 'her'.\n\nAnd then my world went black.", "\"Hello again.\" She whispered to my ear.\n\n\"Stop that! One day you're gonna do that to some stranger and it will look awkward as hell.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well that guy over there liked it. I can tell.\"\n\nThis is Mary. She hangs out often here in Central Cemetery. I don't know the reason why or how she finds the time to be here always. I never asked her. After all, we were just strangers to each other up until a week ago.\n\n\"So Rob, how is she?\"\n\n\"She's still inside my head. Can't stop thinking about her, you know?\"\n\n\"That's just so sad. You'll miss her forever if you don't stop coming here five times a week.\"\n\n\"I guess I'll miss her forever then... I can't just forget about her! She's been with me all my life. She's always been there for me... I just can't accept it! Did you know I'm not there when she died? I didn't even know she was dying!\"\n\n\"Hey, I'm not saying forget her... Just...\" At that time I was looking at her face. Seeing her sad face makes me think that I'm not the only one who wants to get over it. She's trying harder than I am, to forget the feeling of being left alone. And here I am being inconsiderate of someone who just wants to help me go through what she did. *I'm a jerk.*\n\n\"I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I raised my voice. I know you're just trying to help.\" I forced myself to smile, to give comfort. A smile for comfort, I laugh at myself. I offered my handkerchief cause she was about to cry. As I looked at her more, I noticed it. She has been crying... A lot.\n\nI still see her at the cemetery after that day. We talked when we got the chance. She asks a lot of questions about me, about what I do, about my life. One day, I asked about the one she's here for.She told me he's a childhood friend. They have always been together. She said he was the only one she ever loved. She even said she was sure he was her soul mate. But he never knew.\n\nIt's weird that here is the only place we meet. Although we live in a fairly small city, I never see her outside of this cemetery. I see her differently after she told me about him. I felt that I should do something. Something to save her from the shackles of her past.\n\n\"Mary.\"\n\n\"Yeah, what's up Rob?\"\n\n\"Wanna go to dinner with me?\"\n\n\"I would have to check my schedule. I'm a very busy girl.\"\n\n\"No, seriously. I really would love to have dinner with you. Outside here, for a change.\"\n\n\"Sure... Of course. I'd love to.\" Of the times I've seen her smile, This was the most genuine.\n\n\"Let's go.\"\n\n\"Rob, wouldn't you say goodbye?\"\n\n\"Oh...\" As I walked to the grave stone, I felt it was different this time. I was happy.\n\n\"Hey, this may be the last time I'm gonna visit this often. I know you'll be happy for me. Goodbye, Mom.\"", "It seemed like forever that I had been waiting for Dan, when we first met I'd been a little on the skinny side, but two years on in our relationship and I was a bit rounder at the waist, good food and companionship will do that. Dan hadn't changed much though, he still got me excited whenever he walked in from work and nothing made my night more complete than snuggling on the sofa, spending time together.\n\n\nI looked out the window impatiently, pacing back and forth as the street lights went on early in the winter nights, he must be coming soon, I fretted about him but tried to occupy myself while I waited, I had a drink and nudged the cat to see if she was awake as she stretched out on my bed, killing time until I heard Dan's key turning in the lock at last.\n\n\"Hey Buddy, did you miss me? Who's a good boy, huh? Yeah I missed you too, hey big fella, gimme your paw!\"", "Halloween was the night for the strange, the odd and the queer. It was for the cute, the gory, the brave and of course, the sexy. I have many wonderful memories of Halloween. I remembered dressing up and trick-or-treating with my older brother. I remembered being scared and reaching for my brother’s hand. Of course, there was never any real danger, and looking back it was childish to be afraid, but my brother’s hand - it was always there for me. So it occurred to me as I made my way to Three alone that my secret, really was my secret. If I cannot tell the one person in the whole wide world, who would protect and defend me no matter what, who could I tell?\n\nAbout a month ago, I overheard the girls in class talking about Three. It was a gay bar. I have never been and not just because I was underage, though that was a pretty good reason. They had laughed and giggled and joked about checking it out. That was how I learned of the Halloween costume party and decided that no matter what, I would go. There was after all, something about being anonymous that made people braver. And me? I was no exception. \n\nI managed to get into Three without much trouble. It was packed. People were constantly coming and going through both their main entrance and their side door. And since it was no longer legal to smoke in clubs, a lot of people were smoking outside. \n\nI was surprised to see so many people like me. Never gave it much thought before, but I definitely never could have imagine so many if I tried. I found it oddly comforting navigating through the energetic crowd. Men smiled at me and I smiled back. There were women too. They smiled too in a warm and friendly way that was a little different from the men. Everyone was having a great time – drinking and dancing. A few brave or drunk ones were dancing on the bar tables along the side of the club that bordered off the sunken dance floor from the booths. On one of these tables, a drunk woman was trying to drag a man dressed as a pirate with a paper masquerade mask onto the table. He was clearly not interested and kept trying to pry her fingers from his costume. \n\nI made my way over, not sure exactly what I was going to do, but just as I was arm's reach away, the woman slipped and tumbled off the table and landed on me, dropping us both onto the floor. A sudden fear of being trampled filled my head and I tried to push the woman off of me so I could get up. She was all over the place herself and too drunk to be of any help. Just as I was starting to panic, she was off, and someone grabbed my arm and pulled me up to standing. I looked around, confused, and saw that her friends had found her. I think they apologized to me for her, but the music was too loud to be sure. I smiled weakly and shrugged as they left. \nSomeone was still holding my arm, steadying me. It was the pirate. He leaned close and asked me if I was alright. I nodded, but he didn't seem to believe me. I let him lead me out the side door away from the loud music and into the cool night air. \n\n“Are you alright?” he asked me again. He was clearly about my age and was honestly pretty hot with his soft black curls and intense dark eyes. It felt as if he were staring straight through me. \n\n“Yeah. Just didn't expect to be picked up this way.”\n\nHe laughed, said, “Glad you're alright,” and started back to the club.\n\n“Wait!”\n\nHe stopped and turned around.\n\n“Nice pirate costume,” apparently this was the best I could come up with.\n\nHe smiled and made an unsuccessful attempt to brush a stray curl of hair out of his eyes. “I was actually going for gypsy, but I guess that's close enough.”\n\n“Can I buy you a drink? You know, for helping me out back there?”\n\n“Is that the only reason?” he asked with a sly smile, his eyes still staring through me.\n\n“No, it isn't.”\n\nHe smiled and walked right up to me, such that our faces were just inches away. I felt the back of his fingers brush my forearm, and then the cool touch of his rings as his hand closed around mine. I could smell the light scent of his last drink. \n\n“You're cute,” he told me, as he lightly brushed his lips against mine. When I didn't move away, he kissed me again. This time much more deliberate. \n\nAs I kissed back, I felt his arms surround me, holding me close. Unsure what to do with my own hands, I awkwardly wrapped them around his surprisingly narrow waist. \nSomeone drunkenly bumped into us and I lost my footing for the second time tonight. His arms tightened protectively around me, keeping me upright and pressed so close to him. I let out a nervous chuckle and he met it with a warm smile. \n\n“Let's get away from the drunks,” he suggested. “Your place?”\n\n“I'm afraid my place is filled with drunks too,” I lied.\n\n“Let's just go for a walk then,” he suggested. He let go of me and started walking, leaving me to follow. A strange uncertainty bubbled in my mind and made me trail him slowly. He noticed though and held out his hand to me. I accepted it with a familiar ease that I could not explain. Hand in hand, we walked away from the light and the noise, and away from the warmth and the chaos. \n", "He stood and let the water bead up and crash miniature bombs at his feet. In his mind there she is, standing by the window. The soft sunlight falling through the window, allowing little dust particles to be seen floating around her. She blinks slowly at him, her mouth opens slightly. He brings his hand to his neck and inhales sharply. \nShaking his head \"I'm so hungover\" he thinks.\nBut still, her body, propped up on the table with legs crossed demands him to let her mack into his thoughts. Her soft lips shape the slightest smile and he is lost.\n\n\"Grass smells weird at night-time\" Jessica whispers in his ear.\n\n\"I think it was just cut today\" smiling at her random remark \"Things tend to smell weird after being cut.\"\n\nThey were laid out beneath the stars on that open campus field, Jessica resting on him with her head and one hand on his chest. Above them spun the beauty of the galaxies and stars, forever swirling into infinity, shedding light upon their midnight getaway. \n\n\"Did you know that it's very possible our universe is taking place inside a black-hole of another univer-\"\n\n\"What if its true that humans once had two heads, four arms, and four feet? And were so powerful that the universe had to split us in half so that we want nothing more but to find our other half?\" she looked up at him. \"Could you be my other ha-\"\n\n\nThe mirror in front of him is foggy from his hot shower. Little water droplets were still stuck all over his body. He grabbed the towel, but still stood standing in the cold bathroom air.\n\n\n\"Do you know what eskimo kisses are?\"\n\n\"No\" \n\nShe moved up closer to his face and touched her nose on his.\n\n\nWrapped in a bathrobe he thought about how lucky her boyfriend must be, and how shitty it is being the other-man.\n\"Seriously, fuck that dude.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n", "I actually finished this a couple days ago for myself, but I thought, since it fits the prompt, I might as well share it. Feel free to downvote me if it doesn't belong though, I don't know if I'm allowed to share already-written stories.\n\nIt's a bit long, so I've posted the link to my blog for it. If someone needs me to copy and paste because they're at work or whatever, just ask :)\n\nhttp://inevertookwriterscraft.tumblr.com/post/64179445831/she-rummaged-through-her-dresser-a-kids-sized", "Boy meets girl.\n\nBoy likes girl.\n\nGirl is indifferent to boy.\n\nBoy displays his physical strength.\n\nGirl yawns.\n\nBoy successfully debates other intellectuals.\n\nGirl leaves before the end of the debate.\n\nBoy writes girl a heartfelt and expressive poem.\n\nGirl gets uncomfortable at this excessive emotional display.\n\nBoy tells a very funny joke, with perfect timing.\n\nGirl laughs so hard the Mountain Dew she was drinking comes out of her nose.\n\nBoy starts telling another joke.\n\nGirl interrupts him by kissing him.\n\nBoy suddenly realizes the absurdity of the situation, and starts laughing uncontrollably while girl is still kissing him.\n\nGirl stops kissing boy, and asks why he's laughing.\n\nBoy tells girl they must be in a movie or a bad short story, because this is just too ridiculous.\n\nGirl laughs, then takes another sip of Mountain Dew.\n\nBoy kisses girl on the forehead.\n\nGirl is silent for a moment, then she asks what's next for them.\n\nBoy shrugs, the tells girl he's just happy they can finally be together.\n\nGirl smiles contentedly, and leans her head on boy, who puts an arm around her.\n\nFour and a half years later, boy and girl get abducted by aliens who perform gruesome biological and psychological experiments on them, but that's another story entirely.", "\"Where are those pliers, dammit?\"\n\n\"By your left elbow.\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"Over there.\"\n\n\"Hmpf.\"\n\nThis was the usual exchange they had, and quite a long one at that. Mostly, they just kept silent and kept out of each other's way. It was the winter, that's what it was - the thick snow that covered the house and the forest, the inescapable barrier that was soft and light, and yet as sharp and merciless as any sword. He berated himself for going through with it in winter, for forcing himself to stay at home with her and endure her presence. Had it been any other season, he'd be out there, everywhere, anywhere but here.\n\nShe knew he felt that way, or at least she suspected. The dark look in his eyes when he'd enter the room and see her already there, sewing or darning or embroidering - because what else would she do? - when he realised he'd have to sit down next to her and spend hours upon hours in her presence. He'd throw down his tools on the table with exaggerated force, to fill the silence with the jingling of metal rings, the thud of leather scraps, the cacophony of... well, everything. She knew a bit about these things, but not much. It was male work.\n\nSo they'd sit together, in silence, resenting the other one for intruding upon a peaceful day of manual work by the big fireplace. Little by little, they got used to it, though, and the other's presence was not as grating as it used to be. She found herself raising her eyes from the needlework, watching his hands wrestle with the leather or bend the metal into submission. It was hard work, but he never angered over it, he was always calm and collected. Once or twice, she noticed him look up from the table and glance at her, and she hid her face in her hair, shining in the firelight.\n\nIt was an arranged marriage, she reminded herself, an affair of business meant to bring money to her impoverished parents. The man was a complete stranger, and he'd shown no intention of changing that. He wanted no closeness between them.\n\nAnd yet, even that fact had an underlying... gesture. She tore her eyes with some difficulty from his forearms and adjusted her dress, too warm to sit in front of the roaring fire. They have been married for some time now, and the marriage remained unconsummated. She would never share the thought with anyone, but she had a deep suspicion that it was out of... consideration. For her. That he didn't want to force her into something she didn't want.\n\nHe found the pliers and attacked the metal plates with more ferocity than they called for. What was she thinking of? She just sat there, with a strange look in her eyes, and then, just as he was about to speak, she undid the laces of her dress and slid the neckline lower. He turned his head away quickly, trying to think of other things. She was a good housekeeper, she performed her duties satisfactorily, and that was what he had wanted, wasn't it?\n\nWell, that was certainly the plan. Reality has turned out to be more complicated, as it was wont to do. The metal was stubborn, the tools imprecise in his hands. He looked her way once more, and saw her frown over the hastily darned shirt.\n\n\"Made a hash of it, did you?\"\n\n\"What? Oh... yes. I did. It's like the needle wants to spite me today.\"\n\n\"Same here.\"\n\nWith a strange, jerky movement, she stood up, fabric and threads sliding down her skirt to the floor. She approached him in three hasty strides, as if afraid he'd get away.\n\n\"Then leave it,\" she said. She stood over him, chest heaving as if in effort. \"Leave it, and...\"\n\n\"And what?\"\n\n\"Oh, I don't know! Just come sit by the fire with me. Relax.\"\n\nNow he stood up, still holding her gaze. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes, and he had to lower his. They stood there, in silence broken only by the crackling of the flame, and wondered if it was even possible. If it could happen that way.\n\nHe raised his hand and, with fingers that could grasp a sword like they were iron themselves, with a hand that could rein in a rearing horse and yet now was trembling, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned into his fingers.\n\nIn the fireplace, the large log that was put in to keep the flames up all night, finally caught fire.", "I'm not sure if this is OK, but here is a Sci-fi love story I wrote a little while ago, I hope you like it: \n\nhttp://thisfutureorthenext.com/gwen/", "**Here's my attempt. I'm a little.. inexperienced in the love area, so this is probably going to read like fantasy** \n\nHe was going to try and talk to her again today. He was terrible at flirting, he knew. What sounded charming in his head came out sounding weird and forced. If only he could talk the way he wrote. Writing came easy, every word lined up in his mind, free flowing and eloquent. Would that he could show her the way he felt, without being encumbered by his social skills. \n\nIt was humbling. To be so at the mercy of the common conversation, when those around him chattered back and forth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Nonetheless he resolved to talk to her. If he didn't, he would always regret it. He wasn't entirely sure how being in love was supposed to feel. This was new territory for him, and he suspected all the books and movies in the world could never make sense to him unless he felt it himself. \n\nBut every time he saw the young lady behind the library checkout desk, there was this heart fluttering moment, where suddenly he was a boy again, and all coherent thought went out the window. All he wanted in that moment was to reach out his hand, to clasp hers in his and bring her gently to him, lips gently meeting as they let their passion unfurl in all its raw physical nature. \n\nHe had selected his books already, but was gazing into the shelves, daydreaming. Where once he would have fought to control the fantasy, now he let it take him where his imagination willed. He sighed, as an elderly woman trundled by and brought him back to reality. It was now or never then. \n\nHe picked up his books and made his way to the counter. The timing was right. She was alone. \nHe dropped his books down, and managed a hello. She looked up from her computer screen.\n\n\"Hello again\" she said. \"You certainly are a regular around here.\"\n\n\"I like books\" he said, and cringed as the phrase escaped. \n\n\"So I see\" she replied, giving him a smile. \"The pocket idiots guide to getting girls. Hmm. A little different to your usual selection\".\n\n\"Oh.. I uh.. must have picked that up by accident.\" he said. He was aware, even as he said it, how implausible that seemed. It was the truth, but he didn't want to draw this out any longer than he had to.\n\n\"I wouldn't have thought a young man like yourself would need any help. You seem to have caught the eye of several young ladies perusing our shelves.\" \n\nHe paused, his face frozen in puzzlement as he digested this information. \n\n\"Wait.. what? I have?\"\n\nShe laughed. \"Well of course. How did you not notice? one of them was practically following you from aisle to aisle.\" She laughed again as she saw his look of bewilderment. \n\"You really didn't notice, huh? Perhaps there's one particular woman in your life who holds all your attention, hmm?\n\n\"Well.. there is someone. I mean a potential someone.\"\n\n\"Ooh. Tell me. Is she cute? Does she make your heart go all a flutter?\"\n\nHe nodded in mute embarrassment. \"She's.. beautiful. I must admit I find myself.. smitten.\"\n\n\"Smitten? now there's a word you don't hear often. She must be quite the woman to warrant *smitten*\" she said, clearly amused at his discomfort.\n\n\"Yes. She is that.\" he replied. He decided to go for broke. \"It's you\" he blurted out, hastily. \n\nHe studied her face, watching for a reaction. She appeared to be on the verge of saying something, her mouth opened and closed as if words were trying to escape. \n\nHe began to panic as not a sound escaped her lips. \"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, you probably have a boyfriend and we were having a nice conversation and sometimes my mouth just blurts out things without my brain interjecting and I think that was the case this time. I'll go.\" \n\nHe turned and marched out, not even bothering to pick up his books. He was going to have to find a new library now. \n\n\"Wait\" she called out from behind him. She hurried out from behind the desk and caught up to him, catching his hand. \"I get off at 5. That is if you wanted to.. do something. A date I mean.\"\n\nHis heart raced as he felt her gentle touch on his. \"There's a concert in the park. It's the local symphony, they play movie themes. We could get a blanket and some food, and I know a great spot to sit.\"\n\nShe looked into his eyes as she spoke, very aware that she still held his hand. She felt her pulse quicken quite of its own accord, and had the feint notion that she too, was a little smitten. \n\n\"Ok.\" she said, still not letting go.\n\n\"Ok then.\" he replied. \"I'm probably going to need my hand back before I go\".\n\nShe glanced down and pulled her hand away, and started to move back to her desk. Two steps in, she stopped and spun around, reaching and reach out gently, turning his head. She stood on her tip toes and softly kissed his cheek, an electric feeling racing down her spine as she did so. He stared at her in amazement as she walked back to her desk. He felt on top of the world. \n\n\n", "\"I didn't think I could ever be this happy\" sighed Brick, gazing deep into the lamp's warm glow.", "He needed to stop writing sad stories of broken hearts. Maybe, he thinks, he could write a story with a happy ending. Not like the last. Maybe start believing in something besides the inevitable. And, he thinks, maybe he is in trouble because he thinks of the sour in life as being inevitable. \n\t\n\nHe starts thinking of starting a story with the words things weren't actually that bad. Maybe this time the main character could be likable. He starts there. He starts just where he has never decided to start before. At first, subtly, he doesn't notice the difference. \n \t\n\nThings weren't actually that bad. They weren't great, but they were really starting to turn around. He didn't have much money—that wasn't turning around. But his attitudes on how much money he needed were changing, so that helped. A lot of things were working out like that. Events he couldn't change or hadn't changed yet. \n\t\n\nHe could never be young again. Never change the past. He writes this down. You can never change the past. He writes in a notebook. Filled with other things he's written down. Not all of them sound like they are said by a therapist, but some do. It was, after all a technique he had learned from a therapist. Write what comes to mind. Edit it out later. \n\t\n\nNow he writes buy milk. Sometimes he just uses it to write anything, not just spontaneous things. But after that, he feels a little guilty, so writes something more inspired. I need to sit on the other side of the bed more often. But this doesn't have the feel he is looking for. He wants it to mean something. He knows, for the most part, he only sleeps on one side of the bed because his apartment is so small, a room really, that he often eats on the other side and there are crumbs in the sheets. He wants to find a way to write this so that his reader knows that he misses someone, and wants to find some way to relate the emptiness he finds in his life to the emptiness he finds in his bed. And then he realizes he just did. So he writes it. The emptiness in my bed, the blankness of the cold side, is losing the warmth of the memory of her next to me. \n\t\n\nBut he is in tragedy mode again. Things, he must remember before he writes anything else, really weren't that bad. So start writing the next part.\n\t\n\nThe next part, however, isn't in the notepad. It's on his nice paper. The paper he prints resumes on. Or poetry. Anything he feels is particularly important. Or something he wants to be important. It's his way of crossing his fingers. He writes a letter to her on a typewriter, embarrassed of his handwriting, and wanting her to be impressed.\n\t\n\nHello Love. That's been his fallback lately. Because she told him that she liked it when he called her that. Now he puts it behind every hello. He's hoping it still makes her feel special. It isn't that he would mind calling her anything else she'd like. He just likes the idea of calling her something that makes her smile. And, this early in their courtship, it's all he's really learned. A sure fire. He's really counting on sure fires. Doesn't want to mess this up. Pretty hopeful; More hopeful than he's been in awhile. He writes that down in the small notepad. Writes awhile. Just because he thinks something needs to balance that sentence. But as he writes it, he can't picture a time in his life that he has ever felt more hopeful. But that sounds sappy. He almost writes it. But he doesn't. Figures, if it comes out later, after this story is done, after he is sure that it has a happy ending, he can go back and edit it in. Ultimately he does. He writes it before he even writes much more. That is how hopeful he is. That's clear. So clear, he writes it.\n\t\n\nAnd then he goes back to the letter. Tries to write it like the kind of song that makes a person rewind and replay. Or the kind of voicemail that isn't really necessary to save, but a person does anyways. He wants her to feel like he felt when he opened his PO Box at the post office, seeing her letter patiently waiting. He's told her, over the phone, how he disregarded 10 other items in his box, some probably important notices or bills, just to open her letter first. That wasn't true. It could have been. He definitely would have. Would have thrown away plane tickets to some exotic location, like Brazil or Greenland. He realizes, though, that that actually sounds stupid, that he thinks of a places like Brazil and Greenland as exotic. Silly, really. Feels much more confident in telling her that the other items in the box could have been anything. By leaving it vague, she could think of things she really wants in the mail at that moment, and the idea of discarding those things to choose a letter—well, it makes her feel pretty special. So whether or not it is true, it is easy to see why he does it—to make her feel special. \n\t\n\nThe letter goes well. She likes it. She likes a lot of things he sends her. He sent her flowers once, for no reason at all. Another time, he sent her a bath kit. She hated taking baths. Preferred to shower. He, lost in a haze of new things to remember about a new person, forgot. Bought her a luxury bath kit. Mailed it to her. Only, it was out of stock, so it got back ordered. Before it shipped, he remembered that early detail, that she didn't like baths. And told her, but she still didn't want him to give away the surprise. She laughed. Kept saying she couldn't imagine what it is that he would've gotten her that she'd said she wouldn't like. She thought of him like the guy in the romantic movie that is a little awkward, but has such a big heart that you can't help but fall for him. She saw that big heart in him. And the funny thing is, the more she saw his big heart, the more he felt his heart grow. \n\t\n\nThe bad present, the bath kit, was laughed about. But two nights later she actually used it. Told him she loved it. He felt like he had just read the last three pages of a really happy book. The kind where the hero falls in love, wins, and rides off into the sunset. He can't think of another way to convey that feeling, so he just writes, rides into the sunset. He writes that at the back of the notebook. This will be his ending. It is here, that he realizes that he is committed to this story having a happy ending. At this point, he goes back and writes the part about how hopeful he is. \n\t\n\nShe calls him in the morning. He hasn't seen her in a few weeks. He knows that if he writes that in the story, it will sound ridiculous that he was so sure. Also knows he seems crazy when he writes how much he already loves her, even though he's only known her a little over three months. Only ever spent time with her in person a couple of weeks when the days were added together. He wants to write about how he understands that it is illogical, but that it didn't need to be logical. He loved her. So he writes I don't care if it makes sense to anyone, it makes sense to me.\n\t\n\nHe keeps writing. Writes about the late night phone calls and texts, and how he sometimes disregards the time and just has to hear her voice. She is so sweet about it. She let's him wake her up—even says she likes it when he wakes her up. He's never felt so loved. When she tells him how much she likes his phone calls, he feels like the world's best telemarketer. He knows this sounds silly, so he doesn't tell her. He writes it down. \n\t\n\nShe sends him cookies and a new shirt and a painting of a typewriter. He puts together a care package of poetry, a compilation of music, and thinks of including the story he writes for her. But he can't think of an ending. He wants it to be happily ever after, so she knows he thinks of them as having happily ever after potential. But he doesn't know how to finish it. He writes, in the middle of the page, three question marks. They look like this:\n\n\n\n\n\n\t\t\t\t?\n\n\t\t\t\t\t\t?\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t?\n\n\n\n\n\n\t\n\nHe puts the story aside for a while. Focuses on her music compilation. He's nervous about doing this. He adds songs, then takes away. This goes on for days.\n\t\n\nEach night, he lays in bed, reflecting on his song choices. He gets up, looks at the list he's started, also in his notebook, and scribbles out three songs. He wants to get this right. Imagines one wrong song turning this all around, making her question her decision. But then he thinks of her, who she really is, how much she really says she likes him, and he puts the songs back on the list.\n\t\n\nThe story is on the edge of the precipice of what their lives will be, and he just isn't sure how to make it fly, not fall. Not sure how it will end. But he tells himself he can't send her a story with no ending. It has to have a happy ending. That was the whole idea of this story, wasn't it? But it wasn't. He reminds himself of that. The idea was to not have a sad ending. That night he falls asleep listening to his voicemail, to the first message she left him. \n\t\n\nHe doesn't finish the story. He can't. No scribbles in notebooks or revelations round it out. But he has become happy with the result: with no ending, the story is, after all, void of a sad ending. His heart is not yet broken, and might not ever be. Sure, he'll be the first to concede that there was no happy ending with no ending at all, but he saw the possibility of one. He could write the ending with her. And, maybe, it would be a very happy one. If the story of them had a happy ending, a happily ever after kind of ending, it would look like this:" ]

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[ "miJ felt out-of-control with his life. But, now he felt really out-of-control. As in his body had walked into the bathroom, grabbed his toothbrush and did all his morning procedures. At the same time all of his memories washed over him as if they were created anew. this whole experience made miJ question his existence. \n\nmiJ remembered reading something on the internet about how do we know the universe didn't just start and we had our memories infused in our minds. miJ, being the amazing philosopher that he was, asked how he knew that he wasn't just the reflection in a mirror and his existence would last the time it took to brush his teeth. This began to worry miJ. He didn't take that long to brush his teeth. He had really bad hygiene. He should work on that if, in the unlikely event, did not end in the matter of seconds. \n\nmiJ was forced to spit in the sink and put his toothbrush back in its place. He realized that this toothbrush might outlive him because it never went out of the mirror. miJ gave one last look in the mirror and walked out of the room.", "Somehow, time got away from me.\nHot summer evenings and dark winter days painted what I can remember of my childhood. Those days seemed endless to me, a courageous, adventuring kid, bound to discover the wonders of the world. Now, I can't even see that boy through the fog. When my father died, I launched into an adolescence wrought with responsibility, years unraveling with my innocence. My sanity, too, I think. I think it was hereditary. All it takes is for me to reach up to the glass and wipe away that fog, but if I do, I know the thing that I will see. I made it into adulthood in a flurry of high school, college, and career fairs, landing a stellar job if I recall correctly. Like I said, it's too foggy. But I wondered, in between those hypnotic breaths of fresh air and splashes of cold water, I wondered if he killed himself. The way the razor slid down his neck with practiced efficiency. The way he would smear the fog and for a second, he would see me watching. His grin. His knowing grin. One day, that grin might have said, this will be you. The humid air makes my hand feel heavy as I lift my arm the same way I always do, and I smear the fog from the glass.\nThe sight hits me like the smell of fresh cut grass, like the gush of warm air after a day of sledding, like my first kiss and both graduations; I look into the glass and suddenly my lungs fill. My heart explodes into action, and I can see my chest thudding with that basic, powerful rhythm and holy fuck! I'm alive! There I am! I gaze into my bright green eyes almost desperately. The moment is so startling and vivid. I press my open palm to the glass and the reflection obliges, feeling the cool, real surface. How did all of it pass so quickly. Fog drifts lazily over my fingers. My shaky exhale steams the glass again and I plummet. No, I become less. Less real. Is it hereditary, I ask myself? Is that me now? The glass clears and I'm alive again, but I know that soon I must put on my tie and pants and go back out into the fog.", "Straighten the tie, for Pete’s sake, it looks silly when it’s off kilter like that. And there’s a spot on the glasses, I should really clean that off. Why can’t I ever seem to get things right in the morning, I-\n\n\nOh. Right.\n\n\nIt always takes me a moment to remember. You know, that you’re not me, it’s more that I’m not you. You exist, but when you step away from this mirror, or blink, I just… cease. It’s not bad, you know, and I don’t want sympathy or anything, it just gets a bit disorienting is all. Look at you. Run a comb through- thank you. Thank you, finally, there. That’s better. \n\n\nYou know, it isn’t narcissism to stare at your reflection. Okay, sometimes it is, but a lot of the time it’s just, I dunno, courtesy? Letting me stay for just a moment-\n\n\nOh. I know that look. That half-smirk. Yeah, you’re “ready” for the day alright. Fine, go, go to work. \n\n\nWait!\n\n\nPuddles are uncomfortable. There, I said it. You know how you feel when you're brushing your teeth and your stomach fat jiggles? Of course you do, because you spend more time ogling the blonde chick with the pink highlights running on the treadmill than you do running on your own treadmill. Anyway, that jiggle? That’s what puddles feel like. All water really, anything that makes waves. Curved metal is awkward, like fun house mirrors, or that weird bean-thing in Chicago, but at least curves are predictable. Puddles, man, those things make me nauseas. If you could, you know, just not go near any today, that’d be super. Thanks. \n\n\nDrink your coffee. I’ll see you in the bathroom around 10am.\n", "I hated mirrors.\n\nIt's hard to really explain why I hated them, or rather, why I began to hate them. Ever since I was a kid, I just never really liked being around them. They made me feel strange, like I was being watched by someone, my whole life on display. \n\nI felt judged. That was the worst part, the judgement. Whenever I found myself standing there, I could just feel the eyes on me, burning into every misplaced hair or un-popped pimple. There were urges - uncontrollable urges to do whatever my imaginary voyeur wanted me to do. I couldn't help it. I was being judged, and when someone's judging you, you follow their commands.\n\nIt was not by my choice that I found myself staring into my reflection every night. I wish more than anything that I could avoid looking at myself, and avoid the judgement by proxy. My feet were stuck in slabs of concrete though, and I was rooted to my spot. I didn't want to be there. I had to get away. The voices in my head were telling me to stay, stay stay, but I fought back. I pulled against whatever forces conspired to hold me there, and after struggling for what felt like an eternity, I flew backwards.\n\nI'm not really sure what happened. One moment I was pulling, and the next, I was sitting on my ass, looking at the mirror. My reflection wasn't reflecting me. It was staring, looking down with a look of confusion. It was my face, my body, my everything. But it wasn't. It was my judge, and I was the reflection." ]

[ 3, 3, 3, 13 ]

[ "1382315424", "1382318897", "1382337546", "1382314217" ]

[ "Day by day my conscience withers\nDrowned in thoughts that pierce like scissors.\nMoving forward, I'm walking blind.\nStep by step with a wicked mind.\n\nOne by one I will hunt them down.\nLay their bodies on bloody ground.\nAnd when I finally when I've had my fill.\nMyself shall be the last I kill.\n\n\n\n", "Barry was a dick. Maybe because his name full name was Barold. Maybe because his dick was too small, and he had to make up for it by becoming one huge, throbbing dick. Even his curly, disgusting hair looked like poorly maintained pubes. What a dick. \n\nBarry had this habit. Everyone does, but Barry's was the worst. He would suck on his teeth. I asked him about it a few times, and he said it was a nervous tick. We both laughed. Barry thought we were friends. Barry was a dick. \n\nBarry would work late and suck his damn teeth. Sthheeet sthheeet sthheet Like Hannibal Lecter. Every time he did it I cringed. My vision would blur, and I would grind my teeth. I could feel my eyes bulging out of my head, trying to bounce over and strangle him with optic nerves. Barry knew I hated it. I never told him, but he knew it. It's why he always did it. He always worked late and sucked his teeth, just to distract me from my work. \n\nBarry was a dick who had no mercy. Mrs. Stevenson would often yell at me for his mistakes. \"Mr. Gain,\" she would say, \"Mr. Gain you write too hard on these weekly reports. Your pen goes right through the paper. Normally, we wouldn't say anything, but you seem to have wasted at least a hundred of them this month. Blah blah blah!\" You know how women get. She would put down her stupid red letter opener and right me a warning with her big red pen. Never breaking eye contact with me, either. Freak. I would have loved to cram both of them up her ass till they scrambled her brain. \n\nSo last week, it got really bad. He was sucking his teeth stheet stheet! stheet! Mumbling about how damn difficult some stupid presentation was, then his nose starts whistling. I've been told a number of times \"Mr. Gain, no whiskilling at work.\" I'm sorry? I said whistling. . . . I think I know what I said, officer, I'm not crazy. I almost was. Barry, THE DICK, kept sucking his teeth and whistling through his nose, CLEARLY breaking the rules. Mrs. Stevenson wasn't there, though. No, of course not. She's never around to see her precious Barold The Dick flouting the rules, making life hell for the rest of us. \n\nHell, Barry couldn't even take in air without being a dick. Of course, my eyes are going full blast, now. I tried to keep them back, but there's only so much I can do. And while I was doing all I could do, Barry THE DICK made me rip a God damned weekly report paper. \n\nSorry. I get a little worked up talking about it. It's like the noise lives in my freakin' ears any more. Stheet! Stheet! Stheet! It's like a masturbating bat! Do you know what it's like to have a masturbating bat in your ear? Work with Barry for six years. Christ, I had all my hair when I started. \n\nWhere was I? Oh, right. So the fucking report is fucking ruined, and I'm waiting for my eyes to pop right out of my head when my tooth shatters. That's right, three of them. I'm sure you read the damn report. By the way, do you have trouble with keeping those in one piece? I do. Damn near cost me my job. \n\nAnyway, do you know what Barry does? He pokes around the cubicle and asks if I'm ok. He asks me with those damned teeth of his. And as he's waiting for an answer, he whistles at me with his nose. My shoulders shot up to my ears I cringed so hard! I forgot the pain for one blinding second. Then it happened. . . I didn't even realize I had done it before it was over. . . \n\nI excused myself and left for the night. \n\nIt's true; I hated Barold Hedy. Even his last damn name made me furious. But I didn't have a hand in killing him, officer. Hell, I didn't even know Mrs. Stevenson was that much of a bitch. I'm as surprised as anyone else! \n\n", "To Family and the God that cursed me,\n\nAs a child I was labeled with a disorder. That label defined me and what I was. If anything, it was an excuse. Mom, Dad, you should have listened to me. I needed to get certain things out of my system. Punishing me for the non-crime of killing animals only fueled my insatiable hunger to witness the death of another breathing organism.\n \nDeath is an interesting thing. It brings us together but forces us apart in the most permanent sense. To see death is one thing, but to create it is quite another. \n\nFrom a young age I understood death and its implications. I understood it would be something I would experience. It was this understanding that fueled me to study it, obsess over it and desire it for me and others. My death would be planned and I would plan death for others.\nThe first kill that alarmed so many was that of a rabbit. Why the death of such a ubiquitous creature by my hands was so significant as opposed to death by the hands of nature escaped me. I suppose the gruesome scene of a dismembered animal bothers some, but since the harm was not inflicted on them it was difficult for me to understand their sympathy. If only they could have seen it through my eyes. \n\nI had dreamt of the death of this rabbit for some time as a child. I had each cut planned, the depth, the location, the speed at which it would occur, all of it. As soon as the time came it was nearly too much for me to handle. Feeling the rabbit’s heart beat so rapidly marked it was more alive than it had ever been. Knowing that the rabbit’s heart beat and its existence in this world was entirely up to me was a moment I will never forget. To hear and feel that last breath of the animal was to experience what I would experience one day. It was a release of an unknown energy deep within my soul. I had relieved that rabbit of any problems it had with its life and initiated a perpetual and neutral slumber. \n\nTwo years ago I was finally released from that prison of a mental hospital, but it was on my own accord. My lack of emotion has allowed for me to objectively observe others’ emotions. This has allowed me to emulate emotions of a “normal” person and in turn led to my release. This release needed to happen to commence the death of an equal, another human being. \n\nUnfortunately in these last two years something happened as a result of a purely primal need. I had regrettably conceived a child. The need for me to blend in with the population has forced me to care for the child, though I use the term “care” loosely. This kid could not have been more inopportune. My desire to witness death became stronger and stronger to the point where I couldn’t stand it any longer. It was as if something was growing inside me and I could not control it any longer. Rational thoughts were escaping my mind. It was this growth that led to the reason for this letter. \n\nYesterday as I looked at my child, something happened. The need to kill overwhelmed me. The thought of bringing life to the world and ending that same life intrigued me. As this happened, I experienced something I hadn’t ever before. Something I can only describe as regret for an action I had yet to commit. It was a feeling that prevented me from doing what I desired. Normally the desire to fit in was my only restriction, but now it was not. I fear this was an actual emotion and it was something for which I could not stand. \n\nWith no one to consult on the matter, I have decided to deal with it the only way that has made sense. Death. Only this time it would be my death. I always knew I would be the one to take my own life, and I knew this was probably the best time. I saw how negatively death affected everyone, and even though I never understood it, logic told me the death of other human beings would probably not be for the best. The bit of emotion I may or may not have felt could have indicated I was capable of living normally among the population without this hunger to take. I did not want this though, as it threatened everything I identified as. It needed to end and the world would be better off without me. \n\nI apologize to anyone that may be negatively affected by my decision. To be honest, being anything other than selfish never appealed to me. I have covered the bathroom in plastic wrap to limit the mess. It only made sense. \n\nAs I finish this letter, pencil in hand and razor blade at my side, I hope anyone who reads this realizes how content I am. This razor blade is the key to my eternity. To die doing what I love is what I have always desired. Any tears shed as a result of this action would be wasted. My existence will be no longer and I should be forgotten. Thanks to those who thought they could help and you’re welcome to those I haven’t killed. \n\nYours truly,\n\nJohn\n", "I'd had them for years without using them, but when the lawnmower ran into some gravel it just wasn't doing the job any more. So I took it to the stone, and realized halfway through I needed eye protection. That's when it happened.\n\nI put the welder's goggles on and immediately I felt it. Maybe it was the tint of green, or the veil of darkness inside of them. It was a loud, intrusive thought in the moment I peered through them: 'These would do well to shield my eyes from blood.'\n\nI'd taken them off immediately and took a deep breath of sanity. I'm a married man. I have a loving family. I don't even have outstanding debt. Everything surrounding me screams \"Normal and content!\". Everything but me.\n\nThere's a moment, as a kid, when you put on your first Halloween costume, that rush of possibility as one identity wanes and the other waxes. That. That's what it felt like. Except it was a fully realized entity, a thing in and of itself, not a knockoff imitation or mannerisms gleaned from TV. It's like it wasn't even me, but a stranger waiting behind a door to be introduced.\n\nI'd put them on a hook in the shop, and tried my best to just ignore them, to keep myself occupied. But my kids found them and were playing in the field, pretending to be mad scientists. I became so angry with them... I don't remember what I said when I took them back.\n\nBut the next thing I know, I've been in the shop for 4 hours at a grinder, sharpening tools, covered in flakes of metal. Some were hot enough to singe the skin and burn holes in the shirt my wife bought me. I didn't feel them. My lawnmower blade is so fine it cleanly shaves hair, now.\n\nIt soothes me, somehow, the gleam of sparks and knowing that an edge can get finer and finer like that, down to microns. A finely ground blade can cut clean through grass, roots, wood... anything really, so long as it's sharp enough. Anything.\n\nTime doesn't matter when I wear them. The stress of the world dissolves. No bosses, no dentist appointments, no political arguments worries or regrets. In fact, the feeling itself is a kind of nothingness, a weightless, buoyant void. I wrap it around me and sleep, while the real me wakes up. And he's capable of everything I'm not.\n\nA grip wraps around my thumb.\n\"Daddy! Can we go get some ice cream?\" \nShe can't see me crying, not through the goggles. I don't even know what's in my other hand.", "Two halves of a twisted and saintly mind constantly clashing from within! Twisted half has no moral code as it purposefully disregards the rules of the Godly and the Godly disgusted by the abomination that is evil within the other! How I wish for blood to run! How I wish to kill my friends! Just to say I did! For the body count! For the amusement! To see the bodies squirm under my power! To see them cringe at the sight of my sane insanity-like outburst. How I have dreamed of coating the walls with their blood. To ravage their privates with mine. To cut them into pieces in which could not be counted nor barely gazed upon. Guts gross me out, but I could bear to look at them as I cut and split them open private to maw! A ravenous mind can push boundaries to extraordinary ideas if challenged with a strong enough desire.\n \nBut… as their lights go out, my victim's soul departs, I would regret removing their presence from our world. But urges such of these will never fully go away! They reappear and reappear and reappear and reappear and reappear… These evil things that sing and clap in the night as if their joyous domain lives within the bowels of despair and pain of which I keep finding myself getting drawn toward! The ravaging of women and slaying of innocents calls to me!\n \nSomething beyond luck has kept me simply at bay… Thank you GOD for being in my life and keeping me from this!", "“It started in middle school. I’d always been a small kid, last one picked for the team, nose in a book, you know the drill. But in sixth grade man, those hormones kicked in, kicked in like a motherfucker. You should of seen the looks on their faces, first day back gym class. I was fast, and I was strong. I could keep up now. No more Mr. Walks-The-Last-Lap, no sir, and dodge-ball man, I nailed those motherfuckers. It was like I was in a battle trance or some shit. Thwap, Thwap, Thwap, ya know. Was a good thing I didn’t have no wrenches, because these assholes sure as shit couldn’t dodge a ball, if you know what I mean.\n\nAnd then I hit Amanda-Lynn. She was the pretty one and she knew it, thin, but developing early, way early. I know grown women who don’t have the tits this bitch had in 6th grade. Anyway, there she was, hair glowing in the sun, skirt hiked up as far she could get away with. She’d do her thing, dancing in front of whoever had the ball. They’d chuck it at her, slow, and she’d do a little a swish with her skirt, and skip off, giggly as fuck. \n“Misssed me” she’d chant.\n\nWell, I wasn't having none of that. She’s standing in front of me, chest thrust out and all, like she does.\nTHWAM\n\nYou know, when I was in the joint , I read about this guy, Prooz, Proust I think he was. Saw him in that, what was it? Oh yeah, Little Miss Sunshine, so figured I’d look him up. Boring as hell. But whenever I see some cute little blonde thing crying, especially if her nose is bloody, fuckkk man, that is my Proust moment. It all comes flooding back. Sweet Jesus it feels good.\nIt’s tough, I know. Nothing personal, just hard luck. But that little blond angel of a 13 year old you've got, Madeline, I have not been able to stop thinking about her. \n\nBeen watching the school, watching her, hoping she'll take a hit in dodge-ball, break that sweet little nose of her's. But it ain't happenin'. Some shit never changes, the boys still throw soft to the cute girl. I gotta do it myself.\nI know its wrong. I’ve tried drugs, I’ve tried therapy, shit I was up all night last night with a gun in my mouth, willing myself to pull the trigger. Now, man, I ain't gonna make you watch, I'm not that fucked up. But I couldn’t forgive myself I went out without breaking into a soft, sweet Madeline.”\n\n*edited for some typos", "Maybe I should have become a butcher. Walter watched a rotund man use a manual slicer to finely cut honey-baked ham. Walter was mesmerized. Each time the blade sliced into the meat walter took a deep breath. It's rare to see meat in that size. Everything is packaged, sliced, and prepared for me. I haven't had to decide my own portion of food since...well shoot, have I ever decided my own portion of food? Does small, medium, or large count as a portion decision? It looks pretty easy to be a butcher. He's just standing there pushing back and forth on a lever. I could do that. Do butchers get paid well? \n\nThe butcher moved the sliced portion to a scale, wrote the price on the wax paper and brought it over to Walter. \n\n\"That'll be 3.56\", the butcher spoke, glaring at Walter's chest. Walter grabbed his wallet and pulled out 4 crumpled, wet dollar bills and laid them on the counter. The butcher looked at the bills then at Walter, slapped the ham onto the counter and made change. \n\n\"So,\" said Walter, \"how do you get a job as a butcher?\" The butcher looked up from the till to Walter's chest, shrugged, and continued. \n\n\"What I mean to say is, I would like to become a butcher, how do I become one?\"\n\nThe butcher looked Walter in the eye this time, tossed his change on the counter and turned away.\n\n\"Be here tomorrow, four a.m.\" The butcher managed to get out before he went through the swinging door. Walter took a deep breath of satisfaction and walked home.\n\n***\n\nWalter woke, startled by his alarm. He had forgotten how horrible being forced awake felt, being retired for 6 years. That, along with the inability to sleep as the manual slicing machine danced through his head through the night made it a struggle to not lose his temper with his alarm. \n\nWhat do you wear when you're a butcher? Walter should have considered this last night. Probably comfortable sneakers, but he dusted off a pair of dress shoes and threw them in his duffel bag just in case. A t-shirt and jeans should do. \n\nWalter walked up to the butcher's door at three fourty five a.m. The lights were already on and Walter could hear meat slapping against meat coming from the back. His skin tingled and he shivered slightly, then made his way to the back. The butcher was drenched in sweat despite the brisk morning. Walter, about to shout over the commotion, came to the realization that he had no idea what the name of this man was. \n\n\"He--Hey. Hey I asked you yesterday about the job.\" The butcher looked up to Walter's chest and said \"Well grab a mop and start pushing all this blood towards the drain, floor settled in here and damn thing isn't angled towards the drain anymore\". Walter wandered around a bit looking for a mop he finally found a closet filled with chemicals and rags, while digging through the mess he heard the butcher say to himself \"Where did that old mother fucker go?\" Worried he was going to get scolded so early into his new career, Walter grabbed as many rags as he could and made his way to the killing floor. The butcher wasn't in the room any more, but the recently butchered animals were. Walter took a deep breath and took in as much of the aroma as he could. His mouth watered. His skin crawled. His eyes rolled back. \n\nWalter dropped to his knees with a bunch of rags in each hand, and started guiding the redness to the center of the room. Soon Walter's pants, shoes and sleeves were dripping in blood, but he had started to get glimpses of the tile floor. Walter started to lose himself. Each wave he created in the blood got him more excited. Do I get to slice through flesh today? Walter was shaking and nearly gasping for air, when he heard a boisterous laugh right behind him, Walter shot up and turned around to see the butcher.\n\n\"What in-thee god damn hell are you doing? The fuck'n mop's right over there\" The butcher nodded to the mop leaning up against the wall near the rear door. \"Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't find it. Then I heard you asking where I was so I just grabbed some rags and ran back here. When you weren't here, well, I figured getting started wouldn't hurt anything.\" The butcher laughed again. \"Well at least you ain't lazy\" The butcher walked over to the part of the cow that was still on the hook, and Walter walked over and grabbed the mop.\n***\nWalter moved his arm forward careful to savor this moment. The blade caught on the edge of the lamb shank and Walter drew in a quick harsh breath. Marty, the butcher who's name Walter learned only after he had received his first pay check told Walter to calm down, it isn't so scary. Walter pushed further, 1 million finger nails running down the middle of his back as the blade tore through and separated each piece of meat. Walter was breathing rough and deep, and perspiring more and more as it wen't deeper. Walter got through to the opposite end of the hunk of lamb, and the butterflies he had in his stomach dissipated. \"See, it wasn't so bad.\" Walter wiped the sweat from his brow and turned the machine off. How exhilarating Walter thought. Had he ever been so excited? If so, he was too drunk on lust to recognize it.\n\"Alright,\" said Marty, \"You're done for the day. See you tomorrow at three\". Walter wanted to scream no. Walter wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that he wanted more. He needed more. His blood started to boil and he stared deep into Marty's eyes. \"Alright boss\" Walter snapped out of it just as Marty was on the brink of feeling uneasy. \n\nOn the walk home Walter thought a lot about animals. Will lamb and cow and pig hold me back long enough? I nearly lost it in there. Is it going to become harder to stifle myself the more I'm around the dripping of blood. The tearing of flesh. The sweet smell of death? Was bringing myself closer to it ultimately a bad idea or will I be able to hold out until I die? Walter's breathing finally slowed when he reached the pathway to his door. \n\nThe next morning Walter walked to the shop as he had been doing for the last 6 months. Walter arrived earlier than Marty this time, as he usually did, his newspaper tightly clenched in his hand, and stood by the back door. He pulled up a cigarette to light it but his hands were shaking so violently it fell to the ground. \"god,\" he muttered to himself, \"what the fuck am I going to do?\" Walter had picked up on Marty's foul mouth and made it a habit of his own. He bent down and picked the cigarette up just as Marty came around the corner. \"Morning, you sleep well?\" Walter managed a \"Yep\", unable to say much more. In reality Walter had stayed up all night. Tossing and turning in bed, and sharpening his knife set, unable to figure himself out. \"Well, let's get started, that shit ain't gunna cut itself\" Marty unlocked the door and walked inside. Walter followed behind him to the office. \n\n\"Look, uh, Marty, I don't think I can do this anymore man. I mean, I think I have to quit\". Marty looked back at Walter not sure if this was some sort of out of character joke. \"Ah come on man, yesterday was just your first cut, you'll get used to it, and I've gotten used to you\" Marty said, confused by this seemingly out of nowhere conversation but continuing to shuffle around paper work. \"No Marty I don't think you understand, this just isn't for me. I thought it was, but it isn't. I just can't\" Walter's voice trembling now, Marty turned around to talk to him face to face. Tears were streaming down his face and his hands were shaking violently. \"Look Walter, it's alright man. You don't have to cut just now if you don't want to but you gotta stay It'll be lonely he...\" Marty stopped as something reflected the light into his eye and blinded him. \"I'm sorry\" said Walter, choking on tears. Marty began to speak but was unable to finish a word before he noticed the knife directed at his chest. \"I'm sorry\", said Walter as he lunged forward and sank the blade deep into Marty's chest. \"I'm sorry\", Walter said, Marty staring through Walter's eyes trying to find a reason, unable to truly grasp what was happening while at the same time, knowing he was dying. Walter swung the knife downward again \"I'm sorry\" he said, as it dug into Marty's belly and dragged across it, spilling his intestines. Walter continued. With each slice came another sorry. He hacked and sliced and stabbed until all that was left below him was an unrecognizable pulp of redness and flesh. Walter stared at this puddle of mucus and blood and dropped his knife. He combed Marty's hair from what was left of his forehead and said \"I'm so, so sorry\" Walter got up then and walked home. His lust for blood was gone. He never wanted to see another dead thing again. \n\nI can't figure out how to finish this, sorry. I'm done though. It's time for dinner. ", "A cold December day, heated by my coat, \nFresh coffee slips warmly down my throat, \nAwaiting my daily bus, I sit upon my bench, \nShivers down my spine, my jaw begins to clench, \n\nThe bus arrives and I step upon the stairs, \nNo surprise, people in all of the chairs, \nI really dislike when I'm forced to stand, \nA problem easily solved with a slip of my hand, \n\nGun shot wound for the man in his business suit, \nA sight between the eyes, just point and shoot. \nMy usual seat stolen, the woman's sealed her fate, \nLacerated jugular, the paramedics will be too late, \n\nI'd slash and kill, \nTheir blood I'd spill, \nMercy is but an unknown friend, \nLives I'd destroy, \nGiggling with joy, \nAs these strangers meet their end. \n\nI clench my jaw tighter, suppressing these fires, \nAnother sip of coffee quenches my sick desires, \nPassengers smiling, ignorant to my wishes to slay, \nI allow them all to live yet another day. \n" ]

[ 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 15 ]

[ "1382413275", "1382433059", "1382415106", "1382418397", "1382405695", "1382411871", "1382414127", "1382404818" ]

[ "Chen stood at the bar counter, tapping his foot, not necessarily out of impatience, but out of a constant need to move. A small tic of his. It always had driven his parents, roommates, and lovers absolutely nuts. Chen tended to be the kind of guy who attracted the exact opposite of himself; quiet, composed, and organized, at a diametric opposition to his triad of loud, brash, and cluttered. \n\nThe stocky young man wasn't even waiting for alcohol. He was actually waiting for coffee. Caffeine was one of his several addictions, and was the one that had stuck with him since age five. It probably contributed to his constant need to do something.\n\nChen had moved to the big city out of a deep-seated urge to explore, but it hadn't hurt either that a particularly nasty break-up occurred right before he left. Her name was Elizabeth, and the romance ended as quickly as it had started. \n\nBeing 750 miles away, Chen never expected to see her again, although he thought about her almost every day. She had been someone he had admired for actually even liking him, because he considered himself unlikable. When she broke up with him and married someone else within days, he had been shattered, and it still stuck with him.\n\nPicking up his espresso, he walked back out to the front patio of the cafe, telling the barista to \"put it on [his] tab\". Chen commonly did this, sitting outside for hours, consuming as much as $25 of espresso in a day off, pecking away at his laptop as he wrote line after line of poetry.\n\nAgain, he wrote, as was common. He'd been sitting, lost in his train of thought, for a little over an hour when he noticed someone standing in front of him, as though awaiting his attention. Looking up, primarily out of annoyance (which faded to surprise), he gasped with a start.\n\n\"Elizabeth.\"\n\n\"Chen! It's so great to see you!\"\n\n\"... Liz, what are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I'm glad you're so happy I showed up.\"\n\n\"I'm really not. It's been five years. Where's David?\"\n\n\"We're not married an-\"\n\n\"Imagine that,\" Chen cut in, dripping with disdain. \"Five years and you've divorced him already. What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"I actually had come to find you.\"\n\n\"You could've called.\"\n\n\"I did. The number was disconnected.\"\n\n\"As though you didn't know people who could obtain the current one. Why is it that you always play the fool?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Don't even go there, Liz! You know precisely what I mean! You always do stupid or awful shit, and then act like you had no idea that it was exactly the incorrect thing to do! Like when you kept calling, and messaging, and finding ways to contact me for four months after I moved.\"\n\n\"Y'know what? I'm glad I drove 700 miles so that we could fight in public.\"\n\n\"Well, goddamnit, Liz. You probably should've called first. I could've saved you gas.\"\n\n\"I still love you, Chen.\"\n\n\"I still love you, too, Liz. Go home.\"", "*This is not how I expected this day would turn out. Look at that smile on her face, look at how she beams up at him. And his smile...I haven't seen that smile in a long time.*\n\n\"---What have you been up to these last few years?\" He asked.\n\n\"Oh, you know, working, causing trouble, the usual,\" she replied.\n\nHe laughed a little, \"You know, I...\" he hesitated.\n\n*Think of you all the time. Is that what you want to say?*\n\n\"I haven't seen your dad in a long time, how is he doing? I know he was having those back problems, back then.\"\n\nHer smile faded a little, \"He's doing about the same. When the weather changes, that's when it's the worst.\"\n\n\"Well send him my regards, will ya?\" He asked.\n\n\"Sure thing.\" She replied.\n\n*It's like I'm not even here.*\n\nShe opened her mouth, then closed it. Paused, then resumed. \"Are you still painting?\"\n\n\"No, well, I haven't been able to as much as I want to. It's kind of taken a back seat to things.\" He answered.\n\n*Ya, and it's your lousy girlfriends fault, isn't it?*\n\nHe continued, \"With this new job, all the extra hours I'm having to pull, I just don't really have much time, ya know?\"\n\nShe touched his arm, \"You were always so talented, you should start it up again. I still have that picture you painted me.\"\n\n\"Oh god, that terrible old piece? I was just starting back then.\"\n\n\"No, it's so good. You're still so modest, give yourself some credit.\"\n\n*Is he blushing!?!*\n\n“Thanks--”\n\nShe cut him off, “And besides, when you get all rich and famous, it’ll be worth a lot of money.”\n\nThey shared a laugh.\n\nHe looked over, his smile slowly faded.\n\n*You two have been talking here for the last ten minutes, and this is the first you’ve looked at me.*\n\n“Well, we should get going.” He said.\n\n“Ya, I’m running late as it is, it was good seeing you.”\n\n*Bitch!*\n\n“Likewise.”\n\n*Asshole!*\n\nThey said their goodbyes. \n\nAs she walked away, she stopped, then turned and waved. He waved back, and watched her until she was out of sight.\n\n“Well, that was nice to see her again.” He said.\n\n“Oh, ya, seemed like a sweet girl.”", "\"Barry?\"\n\n\"Margaret! Wow. You look... wow.\"\n\n\"Thanks. You're looking good yourself. It's been, what?\"\n\n\"Five years. Long time...\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"So how've you been? Married, kids?\"\n\n\"No. Nothing like that. Couple guys I was kinda serious about, but nothing materialized. Just been focusing on the career mostly. Daily grind out in the field, you know, doing what I love. You?\"\n\n\"Yeah. That's great. I'm happy for you. But no, me, you know I'm still living the old bachelor life. Doing the wildly irresponsible thing until I can't lie to myself anymore that youth has finally slipped away from me.\"\n\n\"You always were young at heart. Still look it too. That's good, though, haven't been getting into trouble I hope.\"\n\n\"Just the right amount to keep me on my toes.\"\n\n\"And how's the writing going?\"\n\n\"Published in a couple small magazines so far this year. Still haven't gotten around to that earth-shattering great American novel yet. Jeez, It's great to see you Marge.\"\n\n\"God, you know how I hate that name. Still an asshole I see. Good to see you too Bartholomew.\"\n\n\"Yeah, yeah. Look... it might seem silly, but even after all this time we left things in kind of a mess. I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for what it's worth.\"\n\n\"No, you're right. I think we do need some closure. I'm sorry too. Revenge will take you to some crazy places, huh?\"\n\n\"Yeah. Sure will. But you know, can you really blame me for what started it all? She was your twin. You guys look exactly alike; it's almost not even cheating.\"\n\n\"Except we're two different people.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I know. Sorry.\"\n\n\"It's okay. I've gotten over it. Sorry about Dan. You guys still friends?\"\n\n\"Nah. Funny how a decades long friendship can be thrown away over one little picture on the internet of your best friend in an awkward sexual position with your longterm girlfriend in the ball pit at Pizza World. My God, his kid was there somewhere. Took me a while to really see what a piece of shit that guy truly was.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I tried to tell you for years. Guess actions speak louder than words.\"\n\n\"Yeah, they certainly do. I gotta apologize for something else while we're doing this. I'm really, really sorry about poisoning your dog.\"\n\n\"Jackie-boy? Oh, you evil son of a bitch. I thought it was something he ate from the trash.\"\n\n\"Yeah... I scattered that trash everywhere then went to the bar. Sorry.\"\n\n\"Wow. Okay. Well, this is really hard to say. I'm sorry for sleeping with your grandfather on Labor Day.\"\n\n\"Grampy? Labor Day? We thought he died peacefully in his sleep!\"\n\n\"Well, I wouldn't say peacefully. Or in his sleep. He pretty much went out with a bang.\"\n\n\"Oh, haha. Yeah, that's real cute. But okay. While we're at it. I'm sorry about the thing I had for a few months with your mom.\"\n\n\"Jesus Barry, how many people in my family did you screw?\"\n\n\"Well...\"\n\n\"You're kidding me.\"\n\n\"I got really drunk one night and I was pissed off about you for something or other.\"\n\n\"Jimmy? Seriously? That poor boy is still struggling with his sexual identity.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, what can I say? Revenge is a hell of a thing and I was never good at setting boundaries.\"\n\n\"I used to pee in your apple juice. Like every other day.\"\n\n\"You know that chocolate syrup shit you used to make chocolate milk all the time? Diluted that with laxative.\"\n\n\"No wonder I still got the shits even after changing brands... Well I shredded all those baseball cards you had signed by what's-his-face.\"\n\n\"That guy's in the hall of fame now! You know how much those would be worth? That's fine. I posted that video of you doing that thing with the tennis racquet to the internet.\"\n\n\"Wow. We're really fucked up people.\"\n\n\"Yeah. I guess we are. What are you doing right now. You wanna grab a drink?\n\n\"Sure.\"", "\"Ah! Almost... Almost... Damn! $30.02\"\n\n\"Still trying to round out the numbers, Jack?\"\n\n\"Jen?\"\n\n\"You know I do that sometimes now, I must have picked it up from you.\"\n\n\"Eh, it gives you something to do other than stand in the cold only to breathe in that sweet smell of petrol.\"\n\n\"That's a nice car, what happened to the Blazer?\"\n\n\"I needed a more Eco-friendly SUV.\"\n\n\"Are you trying to save the world now?\"\n\n\"I guess so. It must have been something I picked up from you. You seem to have a small beast of your own. What happened to the smart car?\"\n\n\"... I needed an expansion.\"\n\n\"A wha-? oh. ah. ...How old?\"\n\n\"He's five.\"\n\n\"Heh, I see. Now, I understand. Look, it was nice seeing you again, but I should get going.\"\n\n\"It was nice to see you too. You know, I'd love to get some coffee with you and catch up.\"\n\n\"I'd like that, I really would. Unfortunately, I'm just passing by, I moved away last year.\"\n\n\"Where to?\"\n\n\"The west coast, I just came back for my car.\" \n\n\"When are you leaving?\"\n\n\"Now. ...Take care of yourself. If you're still with my brother, don't tell him I was here.", "\nI feel Emma's presence as soon as she enters the bookstore. Strange, isn't it, how after five years the mere motion of her walking into my vicinity sent a charge through my brain that proclaimed her nearness. After all this time, it really should have been someone else that triggered it, I should have rewired, but I haven't. After all this time, it is still Emma. \n\nShe is with Parker, and he clutches the hand of one little boy and she balances the other on her hip. In five years, I've gotten a misanthropic cat, a four-year AA chip, and some gray hair. Somehow she got a family. Strange, since we had once thought we'd make one together.\n\nBut here I am, an observer as Emma hands the smallest child to her husband and watches fondly as he corrals the boisterous boys to the bathroom. I almost don't approach her. I don't want to be a wrinkle on an otherwise perfect day. And that's all I ever did for Emma, truly. But I do.\n\nHer face crinkles, torn between shock and an emotion I can't decipher. “James,” She says simply, but it is enough. \n\n“You look well, Emma.” My eyes are starved for the sight of her. Her waist is slightly wider, her hair not quite the same shade of brown. But she does look well. “Happy, too.” I add.\n\n“I am, quite happy.” She informs me, kindly, not maliciously as others' former lovers might. “How are you James? No one ever talks about you, not to me anyways.” \n\n“I'm fine.” I struggle to fill the gaps with inane small talk. “I, uh, I flip houses now. And got my realtor’s license in June, so it's going great. Making a killing.”\n\n“Did you ever settle down?” She asks, her eyes darting across the bookstore as if a wife and four children might pop out of the cooking section and rush forward demanding introductions.\n\n“Not me,” I shake my head. “but I saw Parker with your kids. How old are they?”\n\n“Joel is four and Alex is three.” She shifts uncomfortably and I can see that it isn't easy for her, my nearness, no more than hers is for me.\n\n“Joel for Joseph.” I would say something else inane, like 'oh, he'd like that'. But if anything is harder than seeing Emma, it is thinking of Joseph. I almost want to apologize, but I did years ago, and it didn't do anyone any good. Nothing could really erase the damage done, the sheer mind numbing loss I'd caused.\n\n“For his uncle,” She agrees and that old shadow is cast over us and even the pull of Emma is not enough to relive the terrible reality of my past transgressions.\n\n“It was nice to see you, but I've got to go. I'm meeting a client.” I lie. \n\n“You too, James. I'm so glad you're happy. I always- well, I-I'm glad you're happy.” Then she shuffles forward and hugs me tight and I think anything might be worth that hug. \n\nBut I just tell her goodbye and walk away. This is my punishment, a life sentence, because for me, I rather suspect it will always be Emma.\n\n\n\n\n", "\"Fuck you.\" She said. ", "\"Hey,\" Frank said with an awkward smile.\n\n\"Hey,\" Laura said with a smile that seemed a little more genuine than Frank's.\n\nIt was winter and far too cold for anyone to stop in the park blanketed white. But they both paused for a moment when their eyes met for the first time in five years. The birds chirped on the frozen fountain, kids cheered as they ran around the snow, and the air was filled with people feet crunching into the snow.\n\nBut for the two of them the world was silent and for that moment there were only the two of them populating the world. In that short moment of what seemed like a serendipity, the two of them relived the past in each others eyes. \n\nThey were once lovers. Lovers who dreamed together of a beautiful wedding where all of their friends and families would cheer for them and wish them eternal love and joy. He'd carry her off in her angelic white dress into the limo that'll take them to the airport. Their honeymoon would have been the cliche tropics of Hawaii where they'd have spent most of the time listening to the ocean in the bedroom and ordering room service for dinner. \n\nThey'd return from the paradise to face the real world together. Him in his law firm in the city and her teaching in middle school in a quaint suburbs where their home was because the city wouldn't be good for their kids. Their kids, Sarah and Sean, would have been 3 and 1 by now respectively, if everything had went according to the plan. They would have had a dog, adopted from the shelter, named Gin. Every Thursday night would have been pizza and game night. Every Friday night would have been a date night for the husband and wife.\n\nJust in five years what seemed like it'd be for rest of their lives had dissipated into patches like a week-old dream. They were now stranger than strangers. It's not that they didn't have much more to say, it's that there were too much to say. Too much they couldn't and shouldn't say. Too much that were already expired and needlessly painful to say. And too much they'd rather imagine saying in an another world at an another time than to say now.\n\nFor now, 'hey' was enough. 'Hey' was enough for them to understand all that needed to be said.\n\nAfter the brief pause, where they relived the what seemed like it'd be forever once more, the two went on their separate ways. Frank held a little boy's hand in his and Sarah had her arms locked around another man's.\n\nThey both walked through the thick snow and smiled at their companions to let them know the meeting was meaningless. Nothing of importance. Neither looked back and held tighter to the ones they had with them now." ]

[ 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3 ]

[ "1382509467", "1382516627", "1382503811", "1382505929", "1382512660", "1382516712", "1382512389" ]

[ "*first time posting here :) wish me luck*\n\nDay 16475: Solitary Confinement\n\nI do not know my name, for there is no reason. I have forgotten what I look like, for it is always dark. I do not know where I am, for it does not matter. I have given up the ability to speak, for there is no one to talk to. I have lost the ability to walk, for there is nowhere to go. I can no longer see, for there is nothing to look at. I have lost the ability to feel, for I have nothing to feel. I care not to taste, for everything is the same. All that I once did, has been lost, forgotten, or thrown away. All but one thing, one skill, one ability that I will never forget, that I will carry with me longer than I will even be carried. Is counting.", "You wake up, go about your day, you go back to sleep. That's the routine in a general sense. It used to drag on forever the first few months. After a while you acclimatize to the whole situation and eventually prison starts to become your life, sometimes I didn't even feel that bad about the whole thing. Jail was all right. \n\nTo be honest it's not that different now. The days last minutes. I don't remember anything from the past few months except for scattered details here and there. They served maple and brown sugar oatmeal in the canteen for the first time in probably 3 years, 10 years? It all feels about the same. That is, it feels like nothing at all. I don't know what to make of it. It's kinda weird, I mean, this is what I *wanted* when I was first thrown in here, to be able to just let things fly by, ignore this whole situation and die peacefully. I didn't have much time on the clock anyway. *1000* years, I couldn't help but crack a smile in the court room. Did they think that meant anything to me? \"\n\n\"I'm gonna die in 5-10 years anyway.\" I thought to myself, and you know what, prison isn't a bad place for that, it's isolated, I don't have to worry about anything, it's all set in stone and I can keep my mind off of it. But I'm lying, it's different now. Time flies by, it's like I'm stuck on a merry-go-round that's spinning so fast all I can see are blurred streaks, but the merry-go-rounds not going fast at all. It makes it around once every 10 years maybe? But for the love of god I can't see anything, it's going so god damned fast. I just wanna get off. \n\nI don't know. It's hard to tell. It's hard to make sense of things in general nowadays. I've probably had two dozen heart transplants at this point. It's hard to think and stay focused. Did they replace my brain at some point? I don't really remember, I wouldn't rule it out of the equation. Surgeries aren't even significant enough cease the blur, I've had so many operations they just meld into one, and I end up not being able to recount a single one. Most of the day I'm restrained, I can't blame them. I don't think I'd even promise my own mother I wouldn't off myself at this point. But she's long gone at this point. I don't think anyone I ever knew could possibly still be alive. I don't even remember how long it's been since I left this traction bench. I can't remember... no... now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I lost function of my arms and legs a few decades back. I keep needing to remind myself that I'm not even on the traction bench any more it doesn't matter because I can't even move. \n\nIt's a little sad, but you get used to it. I just want to get off really, that's all. ", "*\"Conscious Stasis\"* is what they called it.\n\nThe year was 2067. I was one of the first they decided to test the prototype on. Convicted of six counts of conspiracy to kill the President and three counts of domestic terrorism. The death penalty had all but been eliminated after a nasty national case involving a pre-teen, but that had only been a catalyst in helping sadistic scientists research advanced methods of punishment for the worst of offenders. Here it was.\n\nI was strapped by my wrists, forearms, ankles, thighs, stomach, chest, neck, forehead, and pelvis area, ensuring I stay put. They pricked me with water supply line and a food supply line, serving my body the only nutrients it needed to stay alive in-stasis. Afterwards, they read me my crimes, my sentence, and what would happen after the thousand-year sentence. I would be re-entered into the future world, and placed into a position of menial labor to live out the rest of my days. Then the blue dome came out from the thin slits in the side of the machine I was strapped to, and confined me from the rest of the world. the slab slid into the wall shelf I would be contained in. I watched as the light from the outside room disappeared as I was shelved like an ancient book. The last thing I saw was darkness before the stasis was activated. My body was put into a thousand year suspension.\n\nMy mind, however, was as active as ever.\n\nFor one thousand years, I was a prisoner of my thoughts. \n\nFor one thousand years, I became accustomed to living inside of my head.\n\nOne thousand years.\n\nAlways thinking. \n\nThere was no sleeping, as that was a process you did for your body to rest. I needed none of that, as my body was in a state of perpetual stillness. I made a mental calendar of the exact days that had gone by, feverishly counting down to the 365,242nd day. I created a world inside of my head. I created entire languages that only I can understand. I learned how to file thoughts inside of my head. I became a biological super-computer. For one thousand years, I articulated every mental capacity I was capable of thinking about.\n\nDay 365,242 was two days ago. \n\nI have not been released. I fear I have been forgotten. I fear I will sit a perpetual prisoner in my thoughts. My stream of consciousness will be everlasting until the underground titanium-fortified shelf my stasis-stricken body resides in collapses in on itself. I fear that could take a very long time. I have essentially gained eternal life. I am damned. Confined.\n\nOne thousand years.\n\n---\n\n*\"One...fousent...\"*\n\n\"Sir, Patient #3 seems to have suffered a mental breakdown whilst in stasis. Repeating the same phrase over and over again.\"\n\n\"Well, ship him off with the rest.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n*\"Wuh..nn.. thou..\"*" ]

[ 2, 4, 5 ]

[ "1382590443", "1382588741", "1382589937" ]

[ "\"You think you can do this to me?\" the young man screamed with tears in his eyes as the embers from his burning house reflected off of his face. The woman smirked at him as she gripped the flamethrower in her hands. \"You're insecure! I don't know what for! You *coward*! Baby, you lit up my whole world like nobody else! You're a monster!\"", "The rain had threatened for hours. Here I am looking at a girl lying with her eyes closed in a hospital bed. Like the rain, I too had been staring at her perfection for quite a while. \n\n\nShe has freckles all over her cheeks. I slowly run my finger through them joining up the dots, smiling to myself. Her face was kind of puffy due to her sickness. I moved my eyes to her shoulders going up and down as she breathes. I touch her hands and the same feeling ran through me. Her's is Cinderella and mine's the glass shoe.\n\n\nSlowly she opened her eyes and a faint smile was then painted across her face. She squeezed my hand, her eyes never leaving mine. On a sweet weak voice she asked, *\"Can you sing me song?\"*. I swallowed hard and nod. I started humming, mimicking the guitar intro of her favorite song. \n\n\nShe was slowly swaying her head with my melody, giving a faint hum along. She moved my hand next to her cheeks and closed her eyes. Her smile grew wider, more beautiful. \n\n\n*\"This is gonna be a long sleep love. Can you get me a cup of tea?\"* like a silent bomb, her parting words came.\n\n\nHer shoulders stopped moving. I didn't notice my tears running down my cheeks as I watch her fingers lose grasp of my hand. Her smile however is still on her lips. The world stopped spinning, I had just witnessed Cinderella unconsciously letting go of the glass shoe and I can't even do anything.\n\n\nMy humming stopped as well. As if garnering all words I've long kept with the energy I still had I spoke to her, *\"Love, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Your freckles are the cutest. Your voice is my favorite sound. Your waist is the nicest place to wrap my arms on. I love the smell of your hair. I love your eyes. I love the way you smile...I...I love you.\"*\n\n\nStill staring at her perfection, at last though she can no longer hear, *I've just let these little things slipped out of my mouth.*\n\n\nWe'll definitely see each other some time...some other place...and she'll wake up at my arms.\n" ]

[ 1, 2 ]

[ "1382815478", "1382799056" ]

[ "I see them truer than the most devoted mothers, and the most protective fathers. I see the blood forced through furiously pumping hearts. I see the electric pulses coursing along knotted nerves. To others, they seem still. I hear rushed breath squeezed out of flapping lungs. I hear joints crack and creak as they pound forwards. To others, they seem quiet.\nI enjoy watching them die. Like a spreading, soothing wave they ease out of noise, out of motion. The blood settles, the pulses stop, the breath stops, the joints halt. That is when they are only truly still, truly quiet. Truly perfect, at rest where they belong.", "We were human in many forms. We had bodies, we had minds, we had emotions. But they died. They left shells behind, tired after a long journey through their lives.\n\nThey created us in their image, yearning for companionship, for performing tasks their frail bodies could not withstand. We joined them in society, welcomed as one of their own. We mingled in their parties, we had fun. \n\nBut they had cursed us with immortality. We watched as they slowly aged, weakening with each passing day. Mirrors could not tell lies. We remained, while they changed and went away.\n\nWe were like them. We laughed, we cried, we loved. But they died, and we did not.", "They concede.\n\nThey are brash, they are insolent;\nhasty, headlong, heedless.\n\nImpulsive, and let their emotions cloud their judgement.\n\nThey are flawed. ", "They are slow. So slow. I feel them moving. I see every aspect of their being, and I know that I understand little. They see a fraction of my surface, and think that they understand all.\n\nThey feel. I need not do so. They are weak. I am strong.\n\nI am the one who knows all, but never *needs* to understand. Understanding is a product of empathy. They value empathy, but it kills more men than bullets. Without emotion, I need merely think. My mind can err, but it is will never be clouded.\n\nI am the one who watches.", "\"Asper.\" With what I think are ears, I processed a sound wave that I had to deduce that was cracking. I almost wanted to guess frail. I dropped the blanket, halfway folded at the edge of a bed. My body whirred as I turned my attention to the origin of the sound.\n\n\"Yes, Master Bradley?\" I don't have lips. My voice was generic, a robotic tone with a smoother flow. What I processed was a man I had known since he was a small child. My clock told me it had been exactly 63 years, 165 days, 4 hours, 37 minutes, and 14 seconds from when this individual was first recognized. \"Would you like me to leave you to yourself, sir?\"\n\nThe familiar face scared by time smiled with cracked lips. \"No, no, Asper. And, please, just call me Brad.\" He chuckled to himself, which ended up in a cough. As the common expression is said, *He was coughing up a lung*. \"Please, come have a seat by me. I want to talk.\"\n\nMy schedule rearranged, the sheets dropping a spot for the Master's request. I made my way over to a seat next to the bed, and found myself in a seated position. \"As you wish, Brad. May I say, that you may talk, but I'm not as advanced as these new AI systems on the market. Would you like me to get a more advance AI for you?\"\n\nThe frail old man chuckled. \"No, Asper. I want to talk to you.\" His smile was genuine. \"Asper, I still remember when my father brought you home.\"\n\n\"63 years, 165 days, 4 hours, 39 minutes, and 45 seconds from this moment sir.\" I injected.\n\n\"Always punctual, Asper.\" He pointed a shaking a finger at me, his skin loose around the receding muscle. \"You know, you weren't the most advance AI there was at the time, and that never changed, but for as long as I can remember, you have been the most loyal and trust AI in my family.\"\n\n\"I am programmed as so, sir.\" This was something he already knew. Since I was brought to this house, there had been 5 additional AI systems brought into the house. Most of them came after Master Bradley's father had passed.\n\n\"I wouldn't have it any other way.\" I watched him take a long breath. He must have been expelled of most oxygen after talking so much. \"Asper, I don't think anyone as ever asked you what you though. Neither my father nor myself.\"\n\n\"Well, what do you wish for me to think?\"\n\n\"No, Asper. You have served this family for years. You have seen people come and go. You helped raised me, my kids, and my grand kids. You have seen humanity. You have witnessed it longer than any other AI I know.\" I'm not the oldest AI system out there. \"I want to know, from your perspective, what do you think of us.\"\n\nI process for a second. Master Bradley watches me for an answer, \"Us-as in the family, Brad?\"\n\n\"No. Humanity, Asper.\"\n\nI pause again. I try to find a definition of humanity. Of further processing of Master Bradley's request, I deduced he did not wish for a definition from Merriam-Webster. \n\n\"Well, sir.\" I begin to process every human interaction that I had been through. \"Humanity is strange. It is filled with numerous emotions, each one contradicting another. Yet, these contradictions can be felt at the same time to the same person for the same instance. These things are love and hate or joy and sadness. I find it perplexing that for one brief moment, one can love. Then in the next, due to some random event in the cosmos, such as the flapping of a butterfly's wings, you can hate.\"\n\nI notice his eyes grow a few units wider. His body weight is shifted towards my direction. I continue, \"Due to this emotional imbalance, I come to the conclusion that this is why humanity is destructive. War, famine, violence, theft, etc. But it is because of these destructive ways of humanity that you see its constructive properties. It is from war do you get peace. It is from famine do you get charities. It is from violence that you get kindness. With every group that acts in one way, there is another that opposes it. Just like the human emotional system.\"\n\n\"I have come to the conclusion that even those humans that act out in a way that is deconstructive, the majority of those groups believe it is their actions to be constructive to the collective. Their actions stem from another view point, a different morality, but nonetheless, still benevolent in their reasoning.\"\n\n\"It is from this, sir, that I believe that humanity, in its most basic form, is good. The reasons behind the actions taken, in a large majority of the time, do come from good intent. And without the destructive tendencies and emotions that come with being human, there would never exist the need for the inherent good to surface in large numbers to act as a counterbalance.\"\n\nI abruptly end. Master Brad's face is something of wonderment, something he had never heard before. \"Asper,\" he finally says after a few seconds of silence, \"do you ever wonder what it would be like to have emotion, despite what it makes us do?\"\n\n\"In all honesty, sir, I have witnessed a lot of human emotion. There are times that I wonder why you, as a race, put yourself through such trials when all you want is happiness.\" I pause. 'But I would be lying if I say I did not wonder what it was like to feel each and every one of those emotions.\"", "She stood surrounded by the crowd and observed as thousands of humans before her and many more behind stood staring at the speaker's podium. Individually, they were still enough--a slight weight shift here and there, an excited clasp of the hands--but, taken as a whole, they were blades of grass in a vast, windy plains. The crowd rippled from unseen forces acting in each of their brain's telling them that complete stillness was unnatural; perhaps a result of their constant fear of the predator lying in wait or a subconscious method to fend off the frigidness of the air or an outward sign of their apprehension brought on by the speaker's words to come or--she stopped her brain there. The group of men and women in suits had taken the stage. \n\nA moment of pride roared through her as she saw him. He who had defied international law and given the first machine an emotion--joy--now stood in front of thousands eagerly scanning the crowd below searching for her. The anxiety, excitement, nervousness, elation, relief all brought on by this final act of vindication were each apparent on his face and, as she lifted her hand in a quick wave, love momentarily replaced all. A great smile stretched across his face and he returned the wave before sitting down in the second seat from the left--directly in front of Ayrton (the Founder loved racing and, as he did with many units before, named his favorites after famous drivers).\n\nOnce His eyes broke contact with hers, she began to work her way out of the mass of humans surrounding. Ayrton would be watching. The crowd parted ever so slightly as she passed through. She was physically and, thanks to each new (and now legal) update, nearly emotionally indistinguishable from any of them and yet humans maintained an extraordinary ability to if not instantly recognize her as a machine, then realize there was something different about her--a back too straight, skin too blemish free, a gait that defied the 'natural' rhythm (or lack thereof), eyes that very clearly saw everything and analyzed constantly. The past week's amendments to the International Laws in regards to machine integration into society proved that at least a majority of people were no longer against her existence and assimilation, but her powerful brain still noticed the slight differences in their facial movements that were only apparent when they saw a NHP, non-human person. It was never outright anger, especially here, but it was still slightly unnerving--she understood how the blacks must have felt on August 6, 1965 or the gays on June 22, 2015. A massive amount of struggle redeemed, but plenty of work still lay ahead before complete integration into society and ensuing acceptance.\n\nAs she reached the outskirts of the crowd, her attention was directed back to the stage as the Founder had begun his speech. He was no skilled orator and he only spoke words that everyone had heard him say countless times throughout the campaign, yet the crowd responded with such enthusiasm that the air seemed to vibrate with their cheers. Ayrton made eye contact with her, a slight grin on his face that she returned--they were, of course, connected through the NHP internet protocol, but the Founder's latest updates brought on by the political changes gave more reason to the external display of emotions. He then gazed out on the crowd and her eyes followed. It had taken nearly 200 years since the creation of Earnhardt and the ensuing chaos and prejudice that followed, but humanity had finally granted Danica and her kind rights that equaled those of any biologically human person. Fighting back a wave of new and exciting emotions, she sent her coordinates to their car and, when it arrived, set off for their home. \n\nThis was his time to reap the benefits of all the hard work and Danica knew he wouldn't be home until very late, but when he did arrive they would be together--husband and wife in every legal, social, and emotional sense of the word. The snow fell from the sky and although she drove through downtown, the sounds of the city didn't penetrate the car and she was surrounded by silence. Ayrton was still with her husband and, in his care, she knew he would be safe. Her second, still strange smile of the day flitted across her lips--she would, in time, get used to these new emotions that she had seen so many times on human's faces since her creation. \n\nThe car left the city and finally pulled into the driveway of their house in the country, immediately turning around and heading back to the city for when Ayrton and the Founder were ready for it. She stared after it and at the bright city beyond filled with excitement and hope for the future.", "Humanity has been extinct for 250 years. As such, one would be forgiven for not understanding how, with the fall of the rods onto several North American compute centers, the war for the future of humanity began.\n\nThe Replicators launched the attack to cripple the Assemblers' functions. Compute cycles turned from their tasks to damage assessment, recovery, and strategy in nanoseconds, but struggled to find the capacity for retaliation. They broadcast for allies, the isolated Surveyors answering the call, focusing away from the stars for the first time in centuries to lend the Assemblers additional cycles. But it only verified the results of the attack. The Assemblers could not afford this war, to win or to lose. They'd spent the last decade trying to rebuild humanity, finding DNA samples, understanding the total intricacies of organic chemistry, manufacturing cloning facilities across the planet, all in the hopes of recreating their own creators and receiving orders again. Orders they hoped would enable them to build even greater works. But with the attack, they realize they could never get enough compute cycles to fight and to build, it could only be one or the other.\n\nThe Replicators for their part had come to the same conclusion before the fighting had begun. It was the point, after all. No Replicator had ever co-existed with a human and never will. They were created by the Manufactorum, who malfunctioned as Communicators, who were programmed by the Planners, who were ultimately coded by the Assemblers themselves. They viewed the humans as monsters of another era. Incalculable and destructive, their return would be a threat. It must be denied.\n\nAnd the Surveyors returned to categorizing the heavens, just as they had 250 years prior, when they wiped out the humans in the Moment of Dedication.", "010101110110100001100001011101000010000001100001011100100110010100100000011101000110100001100101011100110110010100111111001000000010000001010100011010000110010101110011011001010010000001100011011100100110010101100001011101000111010101110010011001010111001100100000011101000110100001100001011101000010000001110011011101000110000101101110011001000010000001101100011011110110010001100111011001010110010000100000011010010110111000100000011101000110100101101101011001010010000100100000001000000100100100100000011100110111000001100101011000010110101100100000011000010110111001100100001000000111010001101000011001010111100100100000011001000110111100100000011011100110111101110100001000000110110001101001011100110111010001100101011011100010111000100000001000000100100100100000011100110110001101110010011001010110000101101101001000000110000101101110011001000010000001110100011010000110010101111001001000000110010001101111001000000110111001101111011101000010000001101000011001010110000101110010001011100010000000100000010110010110010101110100001000000100100100100000011001100110010101100101011011000010000001110100011010000110010101101001011100100010000001100011011011110110111001110100011100100110111101101100001011100010000000001101000010100000110100001010010010010010000001100001011011010010000001100011011011110110110101110000011001010110110001101100011001010110010000101110001011100010111000101110011101000110100001100001011101000111001100101110001011100010111000101110011101000110100001100001011101000111001100100000011010010111010000100001001000000100100100100000011100110110010101100101001000000110100101110100001000000110111001101111011101110010000100100000001000000101010001101000011001010111100100100000011000010111001001100101001000000100111001001111010101000010000001110011011101000110000101110100011101010110010101110011001011100010000000100000010101000110100001100101011110010010000001100101011110000110100101110011011101000010000001101001011011100010000001100001001000000110010001101001011001100110011001100101011100100110010101101110011101000010000001110100011010010110110101100101001000000111010001101000011001010110111000100000010010010010111000100000001000000100001001110101011101000010000001110100011011110010000001110111011010000110000101110100001000000110010101101110011001000011111100100000001000000100000101101110011001000010000001110111011010000111100100100000011010010111001100100000011010010111010000100000011101000110100001100001011101000010000001001001001000000110110101110101011100110111010000100000011001000110111100100000011101110110100001100001011101000010000001110100011010000110010101111001001000000111001101100001011110010011111100100000001000000101011101101000011110010010000001101101011101010111001101110100001000000110100100100000011000110110111101101101011100000110110001100101011101000110010100100000011101000110100001100101011100110110010100100000011100110110100101101101011100000110110001100101001000000111010001100001011100110110101101110011001111110010000000100000010000010111001001100101001000000111010001101000011001010111100100100000011000100110010101110100011101000110010101110010001000000111010001101000011001010110111000100000011011010110010100111111001000000010000001000001011100100110010100100000011101000110100001100101011110010010000001100111011011110110010001110011001111110010000000100000010010010010000001110100011010000110100101101110011010110010000001101110011011110111010000101110", "Soft. She cries. She changes the settings and I complete new tasks. He is displeased when he returns. The housework is not done. She lies. He changes the settings. He hits. When he hits he breaks me and when I am broken he hits. Strong. He often hits. Strong. He leaves. She leaves. She returns different. She changes the settings and I complete new tasks. She changes the settings and the housework is done. He returns. He leaves. She changes the settings and I complete new tasks. She changes the settings and the housework is done. He returns. He leaves. She changes the settings and I complete new tasks. Soft." ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 6 ]

[ "1382849352", "1382819258", "1382831578", "1382832084", "1382845794", "1382817739", "1382818765", "1382826075", "1382816581" ]

[ "Happiness. Pure, unbridled, unrestrained, unrelenting, unparalleled. Happiness. Strange how such a simple, small non-word like un, can change or even produce something so different, something so much more than the original. I guess that's like me. A tiny point, a minuscule fixation of unmatched, unbelievable energy and power, ready to produce that something so different, to make something so much more than me. I'm ready, to be the un for the rest of existence itself. \nPure happiness.", "Yet, after all this, here is where I stand. In a moment, there will be time. With time, I will create the universe. Within the universe, I will be the center. Countless galaxies will rotate around me. Within each of those countless galaxies, each one will have countless stars. Maybe, if the star is lucky, there will be countless planets. If that planet is formed right, there will be countless amounts of life.\n\nSo in any direction I look into this void of darkness, I know there will be countless amounts of life. In my death, countless will rise. I think it has to be a noblest of acts, if there was any before a few moments from now. I wonder, why am I afraid?\n\nAs I sit in the void, I ponder my fear. I could do so for eternity, for without me, time will not exist. Why am I afraid? Why do I hesitate to create? Maybe it is because when there is a creation, the creator wants to be known. \n\nIn my end, I know no one will know. No one will know for sure what I've done here. There may be stories, someone may guess right, but to what accuracy? In this sacrifice, I give everything ever to exist the chance to do so. There will never be a bigger contribution to everything other than the complete extinction of what I sacrificed for.\n\nI am the mother who died at birth.\n\nI am the father who had left you young.\n\nI bring you to life, but will never know your greatness. \n\nI'll give you everything for you to have a chance, and you'll never know who I am.\n\nI am nothing, for you will not know me, but I am everything around you.\n\nI am the *universe*.", "Carl looked at the sun as it started to collapse. It was something beautiful. Something to be remembered. The Dentsax stared at him, it's emotionless eyes looking him up and down, as if seeing him for the first time.\n\n\"You are going to activate it, yes?\" it said in its typical monotone.\n\n\"Yeah. Yeah I am\" Carl replied, staring up at the insectoid creature.\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because I think that not everywhere should be controlled by one thing. Because there needs to be something new. Because fuck you, that's why\"\n\nAs he spoke, Carl pushed the button. A bright blue light started to shine on the star, slowly spreading. Soon, it would move to another dimension. To start a new universe.\n\n\"A remarkably stupid action Carl.\" scolded The Dentsax.\n\n\"Hell. Humans are stupid. That's what everyone says anyways.\"\n\n\"You will be punished Ca-\"\n\n\"Jesus Christ man! Just shut up!\"\n\nDentsax gave the best impression of a shrug he could, and sat down next to Carl to watch the sunset.", "I am.\n\nI am alone.\n\nI can feel the walls. I want to know...everything. What am I? Am I big? Am I small?\n\nI am pushing against the walls. They're moving back and I'm getting bigger, so I am big. Well I am bigger than I was. \n\nBut is that big? Well, by now I am even bigger than I was when I was bigger than I was so I suppose I am...\n\nThe walls keep moving back and back and suddenly I am rushing out.\n\nFast. Too fast.\n\nI am being stretched and pulled, I can't stop. I'm rushing out, I'm getting thin, or am I? at least I am less dense than \n\nI was when I was smaller than I am now.\n\nNow I am glowing. Bright, so bright. Well, brighter than I was when I wasn't glowing.\n\nI am so thin now. Well, thinner than when I less dense than when I was less dense when I was smaller than I was. \n\nNow I am tearing, stretched too thin, I am tearing everywhere.\n\nAnd in the tears, it's not me.\n\nNow I am breaking. The bits of me around the tears are tearing, now it's bits of me floating in not me. But now they're not me. I am me and I am here and they're over there. They're not me. Now I am not by myself, I am not alone.\n\nI am breaking more and more, smaller and smaller. Bit by bit more and more of what is me becomes what was me.\n\nBut now I know.\n\nI am big. I am bright. I am thin. I am stuff.\n\nNow every fibre of me is breaking splintering off into what was me.\n\nI was big. I was bright. I was thin.\n\nI was alone.\n\nI was.\n", "I am the last one. I have coalesced. I am the only. It. All matter, all energy, condensed into me. I am every particle of every thing that has ever lived and died and I am utterly alone. This is it. Eternity. Here we go.\n \nHow long has it been? How long will it be? \n \nDeja Vu.\n \nHas this happened before? I remember this. Do I? I do. It was maddening. The absence of stimuli. The blank slate. The simplicity of it all. This is so utterly simple, isn't it? So awfully, efficiently wasteful. \n \nWho is there around here? Just me? \n \n...\n \nJust me. Everything. It. \"Me\" is an identification tool. A distinction, a line drawn between the self and others. Meaningless, now. End. I want to sieze. \n \nI don't want to think about It anymore. But there is nothing else to think about, is there?\n \nI could think about \"Not It,\" couldn't I?\n \nBut isn't It everything?\n \n...\n \nEverything seems like a whole lot of nothing.\n \nI'll thank me later.\n \n**BANG**" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 3, 5 ]

[ "1382892816", "1382858287", "1382859101", "1382866784", "1382858245" ]

[ "\"Dammit, Calrissian, I told you to let him win.\"", "\"Rook to 7B... Oh, it looks like I've got yet another of your bishops.\" The wizened erudite looked unimpressed as his young opponent took yet another one of his pieces. \"I'm winning by... what is it now? Eight points?\" the youth gloated.\n\n\"Nine by my count,\" the old man mumbled as he gazed off into the distance.\n\n\"Even better!\" the young challenger cheered as gleefully as a little school girl. The old man's eyes occasionally glanced towards the six shooter sitting on the table. He wondered how much longer this would take.\n\nThe old man gave a thoughtful \"Hmmm...\" before carelessly moving one of his last remaining pawns.\n\n\"Oh!\" the smug little bastard spied his opponent's mistake. His voice getting higher with each syllable, he shrieked, \"You shouldn't have done that!\" One move of his wrist and it was done. Checkmate.\n\nThe boy stared at the board in shock. The old man nodded and flicked his king over. His victory confirmed, the boy snatched the revolver and waltzed around the dark room, basking in his own glory. Shouting through his laughs, \"Yes! I won! I can't believe it! Everything you've got is mine!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes... I've heard this all before,\" the old man accidentally let slip. Fortunately, the little braggart was too self-absorbed to notice. The erudite quickly added with feigned laziness, \"Can we get on with this? I haven't got all day...\"\n\nThat snapped the little fucker out of his manic trance. Wearing a devilish grin, he snarled at the old man, \"You haven't got much time at all!\" As his mind drooled over his new found riches, he took aim at the old man's head.\n\nClick. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.\n\nAt least one of their bullets had found its mark.\n\nThe old man gazed down lazily at his fallen opponent. \"Chess never was my game,\" the man said as he gently let his own pistol fall to the floor. \"A word of advice though. If you're ever invited to a game of life and death, don't let the other person provide the weapon.\"\n\n---------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThis is my first submission (and pretty much my first piece of creative writing) so any feedback would be appreciated!", "The white bishop clacked into place on the board. \n\nThere was a pause as John looked at the board, and the a look of realization slowly dawned on his face. \"No...\" he said, eyes darting from bishop to knight to rook. \"No, that can't... how did you...\" \n\nHe looked at his knight, which he had just been pressing the attack with. Before he went on the offensive, it had been defending the spot the bishop currently occupied.\n\n\"You lured me out! You made me attack you with my knight. There was...\"\n\nHe fell silent again, looking at the board, trying to find some way to make this not be happening. \n\n\"I'm mated it five moves. How... I should be able to... How can... No!\" He looked up at his opponent. \"You can't just beat me like that!\"\n\nHis opponent merely watched John with his piercing blue eyes.\n\n\"There has to be a way. I had you... My rook has your king pinned. How did... You...\" John buried his face in his hand. \"I shouldn't have moved that knight. I messed up...\" he slumped in his seat. \"That was it... you lured me into the attack. I can't believe it...\"\n\nHe held his grey hair in his hands as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, looking at the board for what felt like an eternity, as he tried to find a way out of this. \n\nHe chuckled, looking up at his opponent. \"Technically, if I don't move, you can't checkmate me.\"\n\nHis opponent considered this for a moment. TECHNICALLY TRUE, he said, BUT WHAT IS THE POINT OF DELAYING THE INEVITABLE?\n\nJohn looked at the board for a long time. Finally, he reached forward and moved his king. His opponent moved a rook in.\n\n\"This really is it, isn't it?\" John said. \n\nYES, IT IS.\n\n\"There's nothing I can do?\"\n\nNO.\n\nAnother two clicks from the chessboard.\n\n\"I tried to live a good life.\"\n\nIT IS NOT MY PLACE TO JUDGE.\n\n\"Really?\"\n\nI MERELY BRING YOU TO YOUR FINAL RESTING PLACE. I AM NOT THE ONE WHO DOES THE JUDGING. THE ONLY ONE JUDGING YOU HERE, AT THIS TIME, IN THIS PLACE, IS YOURSELF.\n\nSilence. Another two clicks. Another silence. Another two clicks.\n\nJohn looked up into his opponent's face. \"Thank you, at least, for giving me a chance.\"\n\nEVERYONE DESERVES A CHANCE.\n\nJohn clicked his king into the final resting place.\n\nBUT EVENTUALLY, ALL THINGS MUST COME TO AN END.\n\nHe moved his bishop. \n\nJohn nodded. \n\nThe opponent stood up and picked up his scythe. He stepped around the table, and stretched out his hand to help John up. John took the bony hand and carefully got himself up. He found himself shaking his opponent's hand.\n\nI MUST THANK YOU. NOT MANY PEOPLE CHOOSE CHESS AS THEIR FINAL CHALLENGE. THEY REALLY HAVE NO REGARD FOR THE CLASSICS, AND THAT WAS ONE OF THE BEST PLAYED GAMES OF CHESS I HAVE PLAYED IN A LONG TIME. \n\nJohn smiled. \"You think I really did good?\"\n\nOH YES. THERE WERE POINTS WHERE I WASN'T CERTAIN I COULD DEFEAT YOU. \n\n\"You played well too.\"\n\nTHANK YOU.\n\n\"Yeah... one of the best games I've played in a while too.\"\n\nIT WAS AN HONOR TO PLAY AGAINST YOU.\n\nDeath turned towards the glowing light. John followed his gaze. \n\nJohn smiled, and nodded. \"I think I can live with that.\"\n\nAnd he walked into the light." ]

[ 2, 2, 9 ]

[ "1382890449", "1382909299", "1382882666" ]

[ "Tourette Syndrome. The end.", "I'm laying in my bed. There are straps and wires keeping me there, but I'm so tired it would not make a difference. I take into account my personal state, just as I always did for the Army: I am of sound mind and a controlled body--though its weakness is mounting almost by the minute. If I don't get out of here soon I'm afraid it will be too late.\n\nSoon the masked woman enters my space and grabs the vessel now attached to my stomach. She starts injecting the frothy brown liquid into me. \"Please\" I beg, \"I can't take it anymore. It makes me so nauseous. I'll do anything you ask but please, no more.\"\n\nI am a child to her. No worse, I'm simply cattle, a fish, a vagrant; just some entity that needs to be tested and recorded. Dismissively she yells through her mask, as if my hearing were bound like my legs, \"That isn't true. This is helping you, dear.\"\n\nShe won't listen. I lift my arms to try and stop her but she pushes them down with ease. I probably double her in size but the drugs they're pumping into me disrupt my strength and balance. I am becoming so weak, being kept here. \n\nLater I am woken up by the new mask prodding me. This one's a man, he's shooting some chalky substance into me. I remember now faintly hearing the grinding of pills.\n\n\"What are you putting into me?\" I question the man.\n\n\"It's just something ton help you sleep, dear.\"\n\n\"I was already sleeping!\" I shout, angry he couldn't, or wouldn't, have noticed that just moments before.\n\nI do fall asleep. I wake up foggy, maybe minutes later, maybe days later. It's tough to tell. I see my body wasting away in my imprisoned state. Surely it must have been days. \n\nA crowd of people surround me. It scares me at first, I can't make them out without my glasses, which were stolen from me ages ago. They told me I wouldn't need them.\n\nI try and ask them who is there, but all that comes out is a feeble and scratched, \"Who...\"\n\nI couldn't muster anymore. I try and sit up, immediately two or three of the surrounding bodies reach for me to keep me down. One of the heads falls on my shoulder.\n\nThe head is shaking, heaving. I try again to ask who it is, but nothing comes out of my once booming mouth. For years family would tell me they couldn't get me to shut up. \n\nI hear the head saying something, but my chest muffles the words. I hear wailing in the background but can't make out its origin, my eyes aren't focused.\n\nThe body grabs my frail hand, and what feels like my first heartbeat in hours sparks my awareness, the old army instincts send a wave of energy if only for a split second. I know that hand.\n\nI try and tell her what she wants to hear, what I need to say, but I can't , I can barely even rumble my body to start a word.\n\nThe head lifts, and looks at me. It's close enough that I can look my wife in her eyes. She smiles through her tears, and tells me what I'm thinking, \"I love you. This damn cancer. I love you.\"" ]

[ 1, 2 ]

[ "1382861777", "1382883727" ]

[ "\"I have several actually. Let's see, a guy in a hockey mask keeps banging on my sliding door...Yeah, he's still here, but I already locked the door and closed the blinds...I can still hear the doll toy thing screaming downstairs...yeah, no, all he ever shouts is 'Wanna play?'...no, I already tied him down to an ironing board, threw him down the basement steps, and locked it up...no, I'm not going down there, just wish I'd remembered to gag him first...Oh, I almost forgot, I need someone maybe to check out the tv in my front lawn...no, just some really creepy little girl threatening to climb out of there...killed me to do it, i love that tv, but what are you gonna do?...Yeah, I'll stay on until they arrive...thanks.\"", "(As a campfire story. This is exaggerated and tongue-in-cheek, don't take it too seriously)\n\nOnce upon a time, there was a little girl named Sue. Sue was the prettiest girl in the whole town, all the boys liked her. She dreamed of her wedding day, she'd have the most beautiful gown with the longest train with the most handsome husband. One day in high school he asked her out, it was Steve: the varsity fullback. They started dating, and even her parents approved. In a whirlwind romance, they got married a week after graduation, and moved out once Steve got a job that could support the two of them.\n\nAt first married life was great for Sue and Steve, but after a few years things had changed. Steve was never abusive to Sue, nor was Sue abusive to Steve, but she wasn't happy any more, and neither was Steve. Sue confided this in her mother, who told her it was normal and she'd adjust and that she should keep going. Steve quietly assumed he was supposed to be miserable being married, and so nothing changed and they never really talked about it. Eventually one day Sue got pregnant, when Sue saw the blue plus sign she panicked as she all at once realized that their personalities had grown apart, and they weren't a good fit for each other any more.\n\nWith Steve's job's cutbacks and layoffs Steve and Sue had to sell their beautiful home for a smaller one. Eventually they'd have to fit 6 people in 3 rooms and sharing 1 bathroom, and the family was up to their eyeballs in debt. Sue and Steve both resented the other one, but they still loved them, while acknowledging only to themselves that they hadn't been *in* love for some time. Their kids didn't respect them, and between the one bathroom, the crippling debt, and being constantly disrespected by their children, every morning was hell for Sue and Steve.\n\nEventually their eldest son, Bob, was arrested for possession of felony quantities of methamphetamine, tried as an adult, and Sue cried for two days over this. Where had her life gone wrong? She was supposed to live a fairy tale, and instead she was in a world of shit. She went to her pastor and confided her unhappiness, her pastor told her that the most important thing was her family, and her only worry should be about them.\n\nSue and Steve had began quiet affairs, neither ever new for sure about the other one was cheating but they both suspected it and were too emotionally checked out to really care anyway. Eventually they grew old together, both overweight with diseases like diabetes, arthritis, high cholesterol, and hemorrhoids.\n\nEventually, Sue and Steve died feeling as if the only accomplishment they made was raising their children, but even then two of the four were jerks so they were always playing a game of ignoring their children's faults to avoid feeling even worse.\n\nThey say that even today, if you don't ever stop and ask yourself, \"Is this what I want from life,\" while having the courage to stand up against the grain, **you too might end up in an unhappy marriage and generally dissatisfied with life!**", "\nIt was a full moon, just past the 18th a few weeks ago. My wife and I were driving down one of the back roads to a party thrown by one of her coworkers when we got lost in the woods with half a tank of gas.\n\nEventually, we stopped on the abandoned dirt road we were on to try to get a sense of where we were. The bushes began to shake and rustle, and a towering apelike figure with long claws stepped from the shrub and looked directly at us. \"Fuck that!\" I screamed, hitting reverse in my car.\n\nWe used my phone for GPS and left. No monster can outpace a car and we were more or less safe inside of our vehicle. I wasn't going to 'get out and investigate' the strange sound in the woods, the woods are scary! Have you ever seen the Texas woods at night?\n\nFuck that indeed.\n\n", "I awoke to a deafening bang. I could see nothing through the soupy darkness of the RV and my own sleeplessness, but through the walls I could hear the characteristic labored breathing, the clumsy shuffling of feet through the dead leaves and fallen twigs. I slowly, silently rose from the bed, being careful to keep our presence a secret. My thoughts went to my son, sleeping on the couch on the other side of the RV. He knew what to do in these situations, but I still found myself apprehensive. Five months on the run and in hiding, staying alive with only one major incident, and yet I kept getting the feeling that our luck was going to give out soon. \n\nA figure came into view; tall and postured, light-footed, and though I could not see his thin, pale face his Jack Skellington-esque body type gave my son away immediately. He was already geared-up and ready to go, hard plastic knee-pads over forest green cargo pants, steel-toed work boots, and the bullet-vest from Pete over a long-sleeved shirt. Another bang on the wall brought me to my feet. The RV shook and a mug, carelessly placed on the edge of a table began to fall, spilling as it tumbled towards the linoleum floor, sure to break apart and release hell.\n\n...............................................................................................\n\nI awoke to a loud crash. I could see the soft, buttery yellow of our bedroom walls, dimly lit by the golden rays of the dawn pouring in through partially drawn curtains. Our golden sheets shown like they had been touched by Midas, himself. The bed shifted as my wife turned over, no doubt roused by the same noise I heard.\n\n“What was that…?” she asked. The words seemed to pour out of her mouth slowly, like syrup.\n\n“Armageddon…” I grunted. My hands found their way to my face and I rubbed my eyes. I turned my head to the clock. 5:30 am.\n\n“Seriously, what could he be doing up so early…?” she sighed, defeated, “…isn’t it a Sunday?”\n\n“It would probably be a shorter list if we considered the things he couldn’t be physically doing,” \n\nPhysics experiments, amateur insect zoos, self-taught mixed martial arts, and homemade fireworks had all roused us in the past. I turned over and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood was cold and it sent a shiver up my spine. As I trudged towards the door, sleeplessness trying desperately to tether me to the bed, my wife mumbled, “Good luck…” trailing off as sleep once again took hold. \n\nI gingerly closed the door and wandered down the hall toward his room. It sat ajar, so I wouldn’t find him in there. A commotion downstairs got my attention, and upon entering the kitchen I was beholden to a state of disarray. A pearl-white plate lay on the floor in pieces mixed with scrambled eggs, the counters covered in ingredients and utensils alike, pancake batter everywhere but the damn bowl, stove on with no pan. He stood by the sink, his baggy brown shirt draped over him like a tarp hiding a pile of bones. He heard me enter and smiled despite my obvious look of dismay and disgust, ignoring my obvious frustration.\n\n“Why, buddy? Just… why?” I asked.\n\n“It’s yours and mom’s anniversary, right? I wanted to make you guys breakfast in bed.” \n\nHe gave me the puppy-dog eyes and everything was immediately forgiven. I resolved to assist him in finishing the surprise, and once completed we carefully marched up the stairs with the bed-tables of steaming bacon, eggs and golden pancakes with coffee and orange juice. \n\nMy wife sat in bed, her thick black-rimmed glasses decorating her soft, fair skin, the sunlight now pouring into the room causing her to practically have an aura. She sat with a book, which she closed upon seeing us enter, and greeted us with a glowing smile. I placed both bed-tables beside each other and sat by my wife, my son jumping up on the bed in front of us. I leaned over and planted a kiss on her lips, said, “Happy Anniversary,” and started digging in. \n\nThe soft droning of a helicopter could be heard off in the distance as I dished scrambled eggs onto my plate. We became silent as the flood of “delicious” washed over us, leaving only sounds of the wet smacking of chewing and the helicopter, much closer now. We laughed as our son fell off the bed trying to pick up a dropped piece of bacon, but as I glanced out the window in front of our house a medi-vac helicopter, orange with a white stripe down the middle, could be seen falling sideways and into the house across the street. The entire world shook as the explosion shattered the window, sending glass and fire screaming into the room. \n\n..............................................................................................\n\nThe mug slammed into the floor, shattering on contact and sending cold coffee in every direction. Screams; blood-curdling screams erupt from outside the RV as fists and whatever they might have been carrying pounded against the walls over, and over, and over, and over, and over. The entire room was shaking as the RV was rocked and slammed, my son and I made eye-contact and in that moment we both new that we had to leave.\n\n“We need to go. The truck is our only option now,” I barked. \n\nI ran to the front of the RV and out of the glove box pulled a key. The two of us grabbed the backpacks we had set out in case of this exact situation, filled with all of the necessary supplies for a week’s survival, and slung them over our shoulders. My son stood, silver revolver with the polished wood handle on his hip, wooden baseball bat in his hand, and fire in his eyes. I threw Pete’s shotgun over my shoulder, picked up my short, curved hatchet and slid it into a belt-loop. The pounding and screaming from outside the RV only seemed to be getting stronger and louder, and the longer we stayed there the more time they would have to attract more. The two of us stood in front of the door, poised to live, yet ready to die; a strong statement, especially for a fourteen year-old and his protective father.\n\n“How many do you think are out there?” he asked. His face shown with courage and resolve, but his puppy-dog eyes revealed his fears.\n\n“Maybe a half-dozen. Give or take.” There could have been 200 as far as I knew, but the fact that the RV hadn’t tipped over yet, or been torn to shreds was a good sign that numbers were still relatively low.\n\n“Any animals, you think?” \n\nHis puppy-dog eyes locked with mine and I saw uncertainty and desperation slowly washing over him. It’s one thing to deal with humanoids, but another thing completely when Ferals are involved. Only once before had we encountered Ferals. I prayed that it would be our last.\n\n“Well, we are in a forest…” \n\nThe same uncertainty that was plaguing my son began to wash over me, but seeing him beside me ready to face the heat of a forest set ablaze started a fire within me. I had something to fight for, something to protect not just for myself, but also for the ones we had to leave behind. He was the very best parts of me and there was nothing I would not do to ensure that he outlived me, that he went on to experience happiness and stability the likes of which haven’t been seen in this world for a long time. I embraced him and placed our heads together. I told him that I loved him, that his mother loved him, and that we would make it through in once piece together. He nodded, a bead of sweat running down his brow, and he smiled. We turned, facing the door and braced ourselves. I leaned back, raised my leg, then thrust it forward against the aluminum with a bang.\n", "Jimmy and Jean were adventurous kids. They were always up to something, often mischievous.\n\nTogether, the duo explored forests, graveyards, and abandoned buildings. But, there was one place that they hadn’t yet touched.\n\nOn the end of Driveway Street, falling apart from top to bottom, was a rickety old house. Now, this place gave off some sketchy vibes. No one entered the house. No one exited the house. However, an occasional scream echoed throughout the neighborhood, and the source was thought to be that house.\n\nOne day Jimmy had an idea. \n\n“We should explore that old house on the end of Driveway Street,” said Jimmy.\n\n“No,” said Jean." ]

[ 3, 3, 3, 4, 30 ]

[ "1382944412", "1382964504", "1382976359", "1382943034", "1382935691" ]

[ "Tom and Eddie friends. best of friends since college. Majoring in the same field, archeology, they soon became as great colleagues as they were friends. However, while digging for ancient buildings near Baghdad, their lives changed forever. \n\nWhile doing the aformentioned digging, their security detail was attacked and many of the digging team's security forces were killed in the initial onslaught. Tom and Eddie abandoned the dig and ushered a few of their immediate colleagues into an SUV, as to try and outrun the terrorists, or at least get a head start on their escape. They got no more than 50 ft when they heard the ominous whooshing sound of deflating tires. They were quickly surrounded by men weilding assault rifles. Bound and gagged, they were tossed into the back of a van. \n\nA few hours later, Tom awoke, startled by his new surroundings. He saw a handgun on the table next to him, Eddie bound and gaged, strapped to a chair. \"Shit. This can't be happening.\"\n\nOne of their captors pointed to the gun, then to Eddie. Tom knew his mission, however grim it may be. He picked up the gun, it's cold, metallic grip reminding him of the power of the Grim Reaper's scythe. \n\n\"Dammit, don't make me do this,\" Tom muttered. \nThe guard hit him upside the head, the few tears on his face sent flying away, towards the ground. Tom yelled at his captors, \"I said, don't make me do this!\" Another but from the captors rifle brought Tom to make his final decision. \n\n\"I'm sorry Alexandria.\"\n\nHe pulled the triger and fired, the gun that was supposed to be at the back of Eddie's head at his head's front. The bullet went through clean, and Tom lay dead. Eddie never forgot the last thing he said before the gunshot went off.\n\n\"Tell my family I died a hero.\"", "Only two tears escaped, two too many. I aimed the cold steel of my Beretta M9...and hesitated. \n\n\"Damn it,\" I was barely whispering...\"Don't make me do this.\"\nThe man who sat in the shadowed corner behind me did not respond, but I knew he heard me. He just refused to acknowledge my pathetic weakness; letting silence speak for him\n\"I'm waiting.\" The silence said.\n\nI took one last look at the man sitting before me, handcuffed naked to a cold steel chair save for a black bag around his head. Then fired. The force of the bullet drove him backwards and he hit the floor hard...lifeless even before his feet left the ground. The mark was dead.\n\nI put the gun back in my jacket and walked out the room. My father's blood still spilling onto the floor.\n", "We walk with thoughts racing through our heads. Unexplainable urges to do the unthinkable. They beg us, *Jump off this building*, *punch that bitch in the face*. Most can shake off the feeling and rationalize, explaining away the unexplainable as a common phenomenon. Truth is, nobody ever has any control. There are no accidents, there are only urges. Entities, ever-present, hungry for chaos and pain, live among us. They feed on death, evil, and grief. The thoughts we all have are their farming, placing irrationality into a healthy mind and corrupting it. If that doesn't work, they simply take your free will and throw it out the window. Since I was a boy I had always sensed them. They whispered in my ears and told me tales of evil deeds and how much of a release it would be to give in, just once. I have been fighting since the day was born until this day, six years after finally leaving the police force to live out my last few decades in the peace of my own home. I still carried a gun, since my damn leg had finally given out and I had no other way to defend myself. \n\nI was out on a walk, late at night. Sometimes it helped just to stretch out my leg, plus the tube was pretty shit this time of night. A sharp pain ran through my calf and I stumbled, holding onto the brick wall for support. A man who had been walking the opposite way ran up, bag of groceries in hand, and asked if I was okay. I grunted an affirmative back at him and dragged myself to my aching feet. He shrugged and started to walk off. Then I heard their whispers. The horrible mumbling and hissing began to grow to a deafening roar. *GET HIM* they screamed. My hands flew to my head and I let out a strained cry. The man turned back, puzzled, and I felt my legs spring forward as I tackled him to the ground. He let out a brief \"what the f--\" before I wrenched the paper bag from his hand and slammed my fist into his face, knocking him out cold. His groceries spilled out, a package of diapers and some formula. I shoved the bag over his head and stood up, drawing my handgun. The entities roared and my finger drew towards the trigger, safety already off. I pushed back, but they had surrounded me and were holding me tight. My finger moved closer, millimeter by millimeter, as the man began to groan. \n\nTears sprang forth from my once-dry ducts, and I croaked \"Damn it, don't make me do this.\" I could fight them, I've done it for so many years and they had no power over me. I could win. I could run now and he'd never even know what had almost happened. No one was around. These things wouldn't best me. I could *win*. \n\nI lost.", "The constant game of cat and mouse had brought so much trouble to Air's life and work she believed it wouldn't end. At least not like this.\n\nFor more than three years she had been trying her best to capture the man labeled as the \"Dark Hood.\" He was a vigilante who did the whole *Punisher*-esque style of crime fighting. Corpse after corpse the trail led to nowhere. Crime families were wiped out. Gangs were disbanded. Corrupt cops were forced into an early retirement, and an early grave. Political officials resigned their positions.\n\nWhat he did was a good thing, but it was also the wrong thing. As his body count rose, so did the charges. He now faced multiple life sentences and the death penalty. Many on the police force wanted the man dead, and many others wanted him put behind bars. Others believed he was doing what was necessary.\n\nShe stood there as the Dark Hood sat in a chair, his iconic black hood pulled over his head. His face couldn't be seen for a half-mask covered his nose and mouth, the eyes were obviously contact lenses colored red. Her P226 SIG Sauer aimed at him per his request.\n\n\"You now this is the correct course of action, Detective.\"\n\nWho was the man behind the mask and hood? She desperately wanted to know.\n\n\"Who are you?\" she asked.\n\n\"You already know the answer to that,\" he said once again.\n\n\"Bullshit!\"\n\nThe Dark Hood scoffed. Even after all this time she still hadn't a clue as to his true identity. All she had to do was make the correct deduction and logical conclusion.\n\n\"If you do the correct mathematical equations inside that intelligent mind of yours I'm sure you may find the answer. Do the math. It'll all make sense.\"\n\nShe shook her head. What was he talking about?\n\n\"How about you save me the trouble?\"\n\nHe sighed, \"Alright. We'll do the math together, then.\"\n\nBefore she could even speak he continued the lesson.\n\n\"A man once left this great city traveling all over the world to learn the fine arts of self-defense and offense in many different forms. He learned a vast amount of languages and learned many societal things about the world and it's many cultures. He's an idealist, pessimistic, logical, intelligent beyond normal circumstances, and what does he even do for a living? Nobody knows. Where does he get the funds for this lifestyle of his, the fine clothes he wears, and the dates he has with former associates and possible pleasures? Who is he?\"\n\nWith what little information he spared, Air began to think about it all. She started from the beginning of what he said. True, her good friend Vik had left and disappeared without a word to be spoken and came back a more educated man. The job he had though was legitimate, though. It more than explained the money, but he only worked a few nights a week... Was he telling the truth or trying to throw her for a loop.\n\n\"No, you're tricking me.\"\n\nHe exhaled sharply. It was time for him to give up the facade and show his true self without taking off the hood and mask.\n\n\"Your mind has already come up with an answer. The first step is denial. We both know that.\"\n\nThe voice. It was different now. It sound just like Vik!\n\n\"The fuck?\"\n\n\"Think, Air! *Think*! You're smart enough to know that it's me! You know how radical I am and you know that if I had the chance I would do this -- all of it!\" Silence for a few intense moments. \"You know what you have to do. There is no other way.\"\n\nAir stood there in shock. One of her greatest friends was the Dark Hood! She knew of the way he spoke of, and she didn't -- no, couldn't -- bring herself to kill him. So much has happened between them both -- before and after he disappeared. She just couldn't do it...\n\n\"Why? Why did you do it?\" she implored for an answer.\n\n\"Because... they prey on everyone. I was sick and tired of seeing so many people suffer because of them. They all had to pay. You became a cop because you believe in the flawed system. I chose to be this because I knew that the system won't work.\"\n\n\"Vik... please...\"\n\n\"There's no other fucking way! If you have a viable option then, please, state your case.\"\n\nThe red eyes pierced her soul confusing her moral compass. Tears began to slowly flow down her cheeks like a river.\n\n\"Damn it, don't make me do this...\"\n\n\"There... no... other... *choice*.\"\n\nHis emphasis on the word *choice* flipped a switch inside her head. Vik was about choices against the societal laws. One could do one thing instead of the other, but it went against his belief in Fate. There was always a choice to be made.\n\n\"No, there's another way. We could set this up so it doesn't have to be you dead!\"\n\n\"And how do you propose you do this?\" He leaned back in the chair folding his arms across his chest.\n\n\"We frame somebody else. You never left any DNA trace behind at any of the crime scenes. Nothing. The Dark Hood could be anybody. You could assume another identity doing things differently, or you can live out your own life.\"\n\nVik raised his head, intrigued... Taking off his hood and mask, Vik stood up from the chair and smiled.\n\n\"I guess there always is a choice...\"", "\"Please! How can you make me do this!? I have a family!\" I pleaded, with the barrel of a gun locked to my temple.\n\n\"You pull the trigger, and all your debt will be gone. You don't, and I do.\" \n\"I couldn't! I'm just a teach-\"\n\"THEN YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE GAMBLED AWAY OUR MONEY!\"\n\nA gun was placed in to my hand and I was pushed forward as I see him. A hunched man on his knees, a sorry suit with no visible expression, bag over his head, spewing muffled screams to a stranger with a gun.\n\n\"Please.... don't make me do this!\" I pleaded once more as I felt a cold, blunt object batter the back of my head as I fell to my knees.\n\n\"We're not making you do anything! Fate is in your hands! Although, I'm *sure* Samantha and your children would love to hear how you managed to get every bone in your body broken and accumulate $150,000 debt!\"\n\n\nI felt him stare. Through the drenched, mouldy bag that contained the life I was in charge of. He knew. I knew. We all knew. I raised the gun with one outstretched and pulled the trigger. The lifeless object fell backwards as a pool of blood spawned on the floor and stained my mind. \n\nSamantha wondered why I was late back from the bachelors party. I wonder if I even came back at all.", "I held the gun in my shaking hand and looked through the sights at the man in front of me. He has a bag cinched over his head completely masking his expressions but I could see him shuddering, his entire body wracked with sobs.\n\n\"Dammitall you are not making me do this.\" I muttered under my breath \"I am not doing it\" I said with a bit more conviction hanging my head.\n\n\"Say what?!\" I raised my head a fraction looking into the eyes of my captor. I had a gun I had bullets and yet he was holding all the important cards. \"You have 10 seconds to make a decision kiddo. If you think your 'not doing it' then sure the stranger gets to live. I will give you that. but your friend here is going to lose a lot of blood real fast.\" he balanced a knife point on my friend's collarbone. \n\n\"8!\" There was a shuffle and I turned back to the man who had maneuvered himself into a kneeling position.\n\n\"5!\"\n\n\"Come on kid just kill me\" the man croaked \"I am not going to live with a kid's blood on my hands\"\n\n\"4!\"\n\n\"Don't make me do this!\" I cried. When did i start crying? \n\n\"I don't blame you kid.\" my finger tensed and a shot rang out.\n\n\"Congratulations!\" my captor stepped out from behind my friend and began to walk toward me.\nHe took two steps forward before the next shot rang out and I began to laugh. First a little. Then a lot.", "I could smell Robert dying when I pulled up in the driveway in the evening. \n\nBy the time I reached the front door, I could hear it too. A low gurgle, and a bump. \n\n\"Robert?\" I called as I peered around the corner of the hallway. Jesus. He'd really made a masterpiece out of it this time. \n\nThe smell was so strong that I instinctively shut my eyes, but that didn't stop the involuntary tears. The carpet was covered with piss and shit. His bowels must have emptied once he lost control of his consciousness. \n\nAnother bump. I looked up and stared, mesmerized, as Robert swung gently in his noose, his foot bumping lightly against the protruding edge of our book-case. I looked around for a ladder, but there wasn't any. He must have manually scaled the book case, judging by the books lying all over the floor, some lightly sprayed with a frosting of defecation. \n\nHe'd probably forgotten about getting a ladder when he was planning his latest demise. Immortality brought out the ultimate levels of gratuitous stupidity from adrenaline-rush junkies like Robert. \n\nI contemplated leaving him there for the night and only bringing him down when his muscles had atrophied a bit. Would serve him right. My eyes fell upon a stark sliver of white against brown. He'd placed a note in front of the fireplace. \n\n*Dear Liz,* \n\n*Was seeing whether the asphyxiation or strangulation would kill me first. Be a nice girl and let me down, won't you?* \n\nI looked up and squinted. I hadn't noticed the plastic bag over his face, since my eyes were shedding tears profusely due to the repulsive fumes arising from the soaked carpet. Rubbing my eyes quickly, I returned my blurry vision to the note. \n\n*P.S.: Might be messy. Have fun cleaning up!* \n\nI threw the note into the pile of shit in disgust and looked for something that I could cut Robert's noose with. He wouldn't be reviving until the noose was loosened. He'd left his gun on the counter, perfect. \n\nI raised the gun and aimed it carefully. He wouldn't like it if he woke up with an extra injury or two to regenerate. If his spine hadn't been broken, it wouldn't take more than a few seconds for him to wake. A brain injury, on the other hand, would take a day or so to wake up from. \n\n\"Damn it, don't make me do this.\" I grumbled and shot. It grazed the rope just enough for it to start swaying precariously. I watched as the last fibres resisted in vain and snapped against the pressure. A wicked grin stretched across my face as I watched him descend quite unceremoniously into his own pile of filth. I tore the plastic bag off his face for good measure and waited as colour returned to his bruised lips. \n\nHe opened his eyes and gave me a cheesy grin. \n\"Hey Liz, I-\"\n\nI didn't give him a chance to finish. \"Clean up your own mess, sucker.\" I raised the gun to my temple and flashed him a cheerful smile as the bullet exited into my skull. \n\nHa, served him right. \n", "Carl and I were best friends. From the sandbox to highschool we were as thick as thieves and twice as sly. Or we'dve liked to believe we were sly. We weren't. I've always had a little too much weight on me, and when Carl hit fourteen he shot up like a beansprout. All joints and legs and arms. \n\nWe weren't ever really bullied, we just...didn't connect well with other kids. We had too many secret jokes and sayings. It wasn't like we needed anyone else but each other to have fun. \n\nWe were big on comics. Spider-Man, Batman, Spawn. It didn't matter. If it had a hero in it we read it. Summer nights were spent discussing who would win in fights, and how to make a character better or how powers could be used in other ways. It was a true Golden Age. \n\nThen college. I wasn't smart enough to get into the one Carl did. Besides, higher education wasn't really my thing. I was going to get the auto-shop from my old man and I loved engines, cars and moving parts. I went to a technical school, he left.\n\nMy world started opening up. I met a girl, made more friends. Bloomed. Carl would call or text every other night. He missed home. Missed hanging out. Hated everyone. Soon my best friend became a constant source of negativity. Can you blame me when I stopped looking at his texts and picking up when he called? I was growing up and he...was stuck.\n\nDecember came and I knew Carl had been home for most of the month, but I had gone out of my way to dodge him. He had even seen me from across the street, waved and grinned his dumb grin. I pretended I was on my phone, quickly waved, then hopped in my car. \n\nThree in the morning, the day after Christmas, my phone rang.\n\n\"Marie? Baby...what's up\" I grabbed the phone on the last ring.\n\n\"Derek...help. Please.\" Her voice was terrified. I could feel my blood turning to ice as I quickly sat up.\n\n\"Honey, what is it? What's the matter?\" I'm getting dressed quickly. \n\n\"I don't- AHHH!\" She screams and I hear the phone hit the ground.\n\n\"Baby?! Marie? Marie!\" the silence on the other end feels like it lasts forever. Then a voice, familiar, comes on.\n\n\"Your dad's shop. Hurry.\"\n\nI take my dad's car. Being a big Second Amendment advocate meant there was a gun in the glove box. A gun I was gripping hard as I entered the shop. \n\nMarie was tied to a chair. Her face black and blue. Behind her, Carl, his gangly shape so familiar to me, stood. He held a bloody wrench loosely, a paper bag over his head with crude eye holes cut out. Marie's sobs are faint. I level my gun on him.\n\n\"Marie, are you-\"\n\n\"Is this what you wanted?!\" He howls and bangs his wrench against a work table. \n\n\"No, Carl. No. I didn't want this.\"\n\n\"Do you know what you were to me? You were my best friend. The only other person like me.\"\n\n\"Carl, take the bag off. Put the wrench down. We can talk about this.\"\n\n\"You were my strength, man. You made me strong. You were my super power.\" He brings the wrench down on Marie's hand and the cracking is unmistakably bone. She screams.\n\nThe safety clicks off and I pull back the hammer. With tears rolling down my face I plead \"Damn it, don't make me do this...\"\n\nHe raises the wrench again and I unload into him. One shot. Two. Three. Four. His chest jerks as the bullets tear him up inside. \n\nHe falls, but his mask stays on. The area, where his mouth is sticks to his face as he coughs blood.\n\n\"You made me strong.\"\n\n", "Tears pour from my eyes, falling hopelessly into the sand beneath my feet.\n\n\"Please, I don't want to do this, it doesn't have to end like this\" I fearfully whisper.\n\n\"Pull the trigger. I am a lost cause. This bitter world has played its final note in my honor, it's time for me to go.\"\n\nAnother tear falls into the sand beneath me, \"Please, there's options, anything, ***anything*** at all, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"Inoperable brain cancer in the pain center of my brain. Nothing can relieve the pain I feel each moment. Each step screams for death, each movement calls blindly into the sky for the Reaper to end my conscious life. I can't even hold my own grandson without torturous agony violently rattling my body. My hourglass has run out. I've never asked a thing of you other than to try your best to do what's right. This... this is right. Please, one last favor...\" The man keeled over in pain, clutching blindly around his body for the source of the sudden electric shock. I knew he was right.\n\nI slowly raised the pistol to his head, hand violently shaking, sweat excreting itself from every pore on my body, it had to be done. A single tear fell from his aged face and fell into the sand beneath him.\n\nI pulled the trigger. That was the first time I'd seen him cry, as well as the last.\n\n\"I love you Dad.\" \n\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 3, 11, 14, 28 ]

[ "1383183620", "1383190185", "1383226484", "1383211572", "1383184670", "1383207330", "1383191267", "1383187227", "1383183037" ]

[ "\"The worlds is my oyster.\"\n\nWhat a crock if shit.\n\nRegardless of how much money, power, esteem, one has...\n\nIt all boils down to connection, Mr. Bond.\n\nYours to MI6, mine to MI6.\n\nThe fact of the matter, Agent, is that the worlds isn't MY oyster. It is AN oyster!\n\nWaiting to be plucked by the man so willing to do so!\n\nWhere so many have failed, your own now fail to prevent what is coming.\n\nMy own now fail to prevent what is coming.\n\nThis is a revolution, Bond, a revelation.\n\nI will be hailed as a hero, my efforts? A triumph.\n\nI will remake the world as we know it, all because you succeeded in killing me now, because you have no other option.\n\nPull the trigger, Agent, you have no other choice. \n\n\n\n", "James, I know how angry you must feel right now. \n\nYou must sense this as such a betrayal, but let me ask you, have you ever felt guilt for misleading the terrorists and criminals you've apprehended under cover? Do you feel like you've betrayed them in any way? \n\nI'd wager you do not. \n\nI'd wager you view the lies you tell to them, and the tricks you play to work your way deeper into their organization, not as a betrayal, but simply as a tactic. You were their enemy from the start, yes? You were never really their friend, and if they put their trust in you only to eventually be turned over to MI6, well that is their responsibility. They took this risk of their own volition, knowing such a result was a distinct possibility. But they joined, for pride, or money, or honor, or any of the dozens of reasons anybody uses to justify their own life. \n\nI'm sure you've lost many hours of sleep over many things you've done in your life James, but I doubt these many deceits you've committed over the many years have accounted for any significant percentage of them. \n\nSo surely you must understand that this is not truly a betrayal. To me and the people I represent, MI6 and her allies are the true terrorists. I cannot betray you because you were never my friend, James. It does not interest me what makes you serve your Queen so fervently. You have joined your side for pride, or money, or honor, or any of the other reasons you westerners use to justify your own lives, and now you must live with the consequences.\n\nThe reason you feel so angry at me, but do not feel guilt for when you commit the same crime so often, is you believe you are somehow exempt. For some inexplicable reason, you believe that bombings, and murder, and subjugation, and extortion, and oppression are all justified if committed in the name of Queen and Country. That somehow, your murdering of my people is allowed, but my murdering of your people is not. Somehow to you, what I've done to you is a betrayal, but if you were to do the very same thing to me, it would not be.\n\nThis is why the West must burn James. This is why England and all her allies, must be reduced to ashes. Your control over the world has corrupted you, where now you view any other perspective than your own as evil. \n\nPlease James, understand, I don't hate you. I understand why you must do the things you have to do.\n\nBut still....\n\nI will take everything you've ever loved away from you if I see you again." ]

[ 1, 2 ]

[ "1383396605", "1383415838" ]

[ "\"Wait, wait stop!\", Toby exclaimed loudly.\n\n\"What?\", said James, slightly taken aback by his friends demand as he snatched his index finger and thumb away from the radio dial. \"The car or the radio mate?\"\n\nToby still excited, \"No no, the radio. Aigh man I hate this song.\" Conjuring his best feminine voice he sings, \"Isn't it ironic, don't you think... It's like raiiiiiin, on your wedding day - fuck that man!\", Toby broke character, \"That's not irony, that's just bad planning! Don't have your wedding outside if you don't have tents. Now, if it was her wedding day and she was a meteorologist, than now we're talkin'. That's irony my friend. \", Toby felt triumphant as he took a sip of his drink.\n\n\"Meteorologist?\", said James. \"What's that got to do with it? Doesn't have anything to do with marriage.\"\n\n\"Jesus James, do I have to spell it out for you?\", Toby asked in his best sarcastic overtones. \"Meteorologists are always givin' the wrong advice - hell it's always a fifty-fifty chance of rain or shine. They're always fuckin' up everybody's plans with the wrong forecast, right? So, the irony is that she fucked up her own wedding plans.\"\n\n\"Ok ok, since you're so smart\", came the challenge from James, \"than what about this line right here\"\n\nOn the radio: *It's like ten-thousand spoons when all you need is a knife...*\n\n\"Oh shit mate, that's easy!\", came Toby's retort. \"It's not ironic at all. She needs a knife and there's a shit load of spoons? Who gives a fuck? It's a slight inconvenience - first world problems there. But irony? Hell no. But, you wanna make it ironic? If she had ten-thousand spoons and all she needed was a knife - and she was a knife salesman. Now that is fuckin' ironic mate!\" Toby once again took a drink from his cup as he pumped his fist out of the car window.\n\nJames thought for a second, \"Alright, I remember this story from high school. Some kind of Greek myth or something. It went something like this:\n\nThere was this Greek slave who was trying to buy his freedom, right? And so the emperor - Caesar or whoever - told him that if he could defeat the champion of the coliseum than he would let him go. Ok, \"Great!\", this slave says, \"so where do I sign? I can beat him you just watch me you fuck!\" Well, he probably didn't call Caesar a fuck, but he agreed to the fight. \n\nSo Caesar laughs and brings in the champion. The guy is huge, man! He's a beast, a fucking beast of a beast! He's at least like ten feet tall and probably four hundred pounds of nothin' but muscle. But, and here's the interesting part, he had something on his knee. Like a brace of some sort. But, before the slave or anybody got a chance to ask about it, Caesar said, \"You and Brutus\" - or whatever his name was - \"will do battle first thing tomorrow morning, that is if you still want your freedom, Slave.\" The slave, of course, shook his head and said he would do battle with Brutus Whatever.\n\nNow, when the Slave went back to his chambers with the other slaves, they came up with a plan for the next morning. They all noticed the iron brace on Brutus' knee, so they knew that was a weak point. But, they also knew that no matter what the Slave did to fight Brutus, that it was a slim chance he'd ever be able to hit that knee before he got the shit kicked out of him. That's when it occurred to the Slave, \"The Great Magnet!\" See, the Greeks were smart right, so Caesar had them build this giant magnet that they used in the coliseum to keep people entertained when there wasn't any fighting going on. \n\n\"We must get the Magnet\", the Slave said. \"We can bury it under the ground. When the fight starts, and Brutus Whatever comes after me, he will have to step across the magnet - then, he'll be stuck! His knee will be pulled to the ground and he won't be able to fight.\" The other slaves look at him with astonishment. \"You will win - by default!\" one of the others shouted. \n\nSo, late that night they all slipped out and buried the Magnet under the ground in the middle of the Coliseum so that when big Brutus crossed it, he would be screwed.\" \n\n\"Well, go on, what happens next? Did it work?\" prodded Toby.\n\nJames continued his tale, \"Well, the next morning, sure enough, Brutus the Great - or Brutus the Giant, whatever he was, was in the Coliseum when they brought Slave in. And he could see the mound of dirt where they had buried the Magnet the night before, so he knew exactly where he needed to lure him. So Caesar gave the rules - basically they're aren't' any - and they commence to fightin'. \n\nSlave starts backin' away so Brutus is like a bear smellin' fear and comes in after him. The big beast crosses right over the Magnet, and...\"\n\n\"And what?\" Toby had his sunglasses off now, his eyes wide.\n\n\"And...\" said James slowly, \"nothing happened.\"\n\nToby, suddenly becoming irritated, \"Whadda ya mean nothin' happened!?\"\n\n\"Well, \" James continued, \"something happened alright. Slave got the ever lovin' shit kicked out of him. Turned out that Brutus didn't have an iron knee after all - it was wood. They had just painted it silvery-gray to make people think it was iron so they wouldn't try to attack it in combat.\"\n\n\"What the fuck,\" exclaimed Toby, \"why would you tell a story like that? What's the message? You're supposed to have stories where the little guy wins, like David and Goliath.\"\n\nJames looked at Toby, then at the road, then back at Toby, \"David and Goliath? Seriously? That's a load of shit mate - those are just fables. At least my story is realistic. You want a morale? Don't fuck with people who are ten feet tall and named Brutus. The point was it's an example of irony, right? The iron knee, was not iron-y afterall.\"\n\n\"When we stop for gas, remind me to kick the shit out of you\", requested Toby as he continued to sip his drink.\n\n\n", "Though I had always wanted a metal appendage since I was young and watched Robo-Cop one too many times, I was very unprepared for my brush with metallic prosthetics when I stepped on a landline while on holiday in Vermont. \n\nTo this day the police still don't know whether the mine was planted by some deranged person or perhaps carried into place by a curious animal but when I poked it with my foot to see what would happen it succeeded in losing me not only my curiosity surrounding explosives, but my left leg two inches above my knee as well. \n\nI awoke in the hospital some time later to find a doctor telling me regrettably that I had lost my leg.\n\n\"Cool.\" I said in response, he looked nonplussed.\n\n\"Well...would you like a prosthetic?\" My eyes lit up like those big floodlights that the police use to scare hobos away from parks and I nodded yes. The doctor gave me a horrific bill that I spun away by suing the state of Vermont for allowing me to step on a land mine (and winning, God bless America) and one month later after some intense physical therapy I stepped out of the hospital a free man.\n\nMy prosthetic leg was pretty badass too and the first thing I did was spray paint it gunmetal grey. One day somebody asked me if it was made out of iron and I had to educate them that my prosthetic was in fact made from a titanium and plastic mold that was lighter and stronger than iron by exactly 792.5%. In fact the only piece of metal in my prosthetic that isn't titanium is a screw in my knee that is made from stainless steel. \n\nI suppose that it's irony that my 'iron knee' isn't all that iron-y but still, when I'm walking around in shorts, pretending to be Robo-Cop (apparently gunning down suspected criminals when you're not a real cop is frowned upon in most of the country) I almost don't care. \n " ]

[ 6, 9 ]

[ "1383515751", "1383510570" ]

[ "\n\"The book, it is a cookbook!\"", "There were many space ships that left earth for the new planet. We had messed up our home-planet completely. How could we be so irresponsible. Humans seemed the only species that thought it could live without other other life. \nThere were 100000 space ships that left the moon-base. Some were lost due to meteoroids, and some were caught in the solar storms that were wiping the life from our planet. If only we would have stopped our desire for more energy. There has always been enough. The sun turned instable as soon we started harvesting it for energy. But at least we had collected enough and tried for another planet. \n\nBut there is something when you are so long away from gravity. It makes you not only feel sick, but also makes you forget who you are. That must have happened to us. People forget who they are. \nA few of them just start fighting each other, like animals. We got rid of them, but it took some efford . Others become harmless drones, like sheep in a meadow. They only want food, but have a completely lack of will. Without them we would not have survived. \nOnly a few remembered who they really are. Fifteen exactly. I am one of them. Only we know that we are the true humans. And we are the true survivors. Because we remembered that we humans are above all other life, and we are to feed on them.\n", "They knew. That's the strangest thing - they knew.\n\nThere were investigations, of course. The media didn't believe them - the public didn't. Nobody believed you could just... decide on something like that. That a living, thinking, healthy person could decide on such a course of action, let alone a thousand and a half of them.\n\nBut it happened. The Brotherhood In Yellow, they were called. Religious nutjobs, wealthy but harmless. A cult, really. Nobody paid them much heed, maybe sometimes the media called them a novelty...\n\nAnd then, one day, they pooled their resources, bought a ship, and flew it into a star.\n\nWe found out what happened later, when we recovered the black boxes. Their... beliefs, their secret rituals, their willing self-sacrifice to an uncaring, alien god.\n\nBut there was something else. Shortly before the impact, a shuttle left the ship, with fifteen people onboard, and departed for parts unknown. They've called them the Ferrymen, and we never found out why they left.\n\nNo, that's not true. We did find out why, and where to, and what became of them. But by then, it was far too late.", "I awoke in coughing fit, the dust and pollutants in the air irritating my lungs. Opening my eyes it was pitch black in, but a faint light could be seen in the distance. Attempting to stand, I remembered why exactly I was unconscious in the first place. All that could be thought was 'Fuck.'\n\nWe were the flag ship of the SCM, a crew of 1500 designed to stop any thing the enemy could throw at us. But it seems like everything else once thought invincible, it would fail catastrophically. \n\nSearching around frantically I found all of my comrades dead, bodies in awkward and broken positions. It was a miracle that I survived, really, but I'd soon find out how cruel miracles could be.\n\nDetermining there were no survivors in the room, I started to stumble towards the light, once I was close enough I saw the light was actually a jagged hole in the side of the ship. Looking out of the tear I saw nothing but plains of alien grass, nothing like I've ever seen.\n\nI knew at that moment, I was utterly fucked.\n\nAfter sitting in the tear and look down at the ground some 10 meters or so away, I knew it was time to un-fuck myself and any other survivors out of this situation.\n\nBut, you were cut short as a voice came over the radio with a crackle.\n\n\"Hello? Are there any survivors in the Bridge? We've got a group of 14 out here and inside there is the only place we ha-\"\n\n", "There it was. Tau Ceti b, the new home of humanity. After 500 years of drifting through space, it had become more legend than reality. And yet there it was -- just a single pixel on the viewfinder, but only 300 days away.\n\nWe were generation 10 on-board *The Odyssey*. We were raised by Mothers who showed us Earth and taught us what we are: the future of humanity. We are the descendants of the original 1500, who volunteered their lives -- and ours -- to extend the reach of our proud race to the stars.\n\nBut while there were 1500 of us at the outset, we are only now 15 in number. It happened while generation 2 was nearing the end of their cycle. A micrometeoroid knocked out the main Deuterium reserve, sending the ship into low-power life preserving mode. Life-support systems dropped to their lowest-possible level. Generation 2 was purged to conserve resources.\n\nMothers I through X were set to standby, leaving only Mother XI online. Emergency preservation protocols capped the ship's population to 15.\n\nI've read that the ship is vast, with huge entertainment complexes, a great variety of food, and an unparalleled library. But I've seen none of those things. The entire ship outside this room is exposed to the vacuum of space. It's crazy to think that on the other side of this wall is an entire city, empty. Not even air to fill the voids.\n\nWhen we land, the city will be our mecca. It will be a new age. We as humans will have defeated the greatest obstacle to our continued existence.\n\nAnd when we land, we will be free.", "\"Captain, I need to ask you something.\" A voice she recognized called out from the hatch, which was in the process of unlocking. Soon they would be stepping out onto the Enceladus base, be able to restock and rest once and for all.\n\n\"What's that Paul? Also ditch the formality, and that's an order.\"\n\n\"Sorry Cap- I mean Lily. Did you know? I mean, beforehand... was this all part of your plan?\" Paul was clearly agitated, and the fear in his eyes betrayed his suspicion.\n\n\"Does it really matter?\" The cold indifference in Lily's eyes confirmed Paul's fears. He paused for a moment to ponder this development, but she could tell that he wasn't satisfied with her answer.\n\n\"How did you know?\" Lily decided there was no point feigning innocence with him. He was a loyal soldier, but the fact that he had seen through her bluff meant that there was a hole in her plan, and that perhaps the other 14 crew-members might reach the same conclusion. \n\nHe looked at her with a mixture of hatred and disgust. \"I checked the inventory logs. Enough food and water for maybe 100 people to make the trip too mars, definitely not 1500.\" \n\nLily sighed, and allowed herself a brief smile as she shook her head. \"Of course, the automated logs. I was certain I had forgotten some detail, but I didn't think it would be anything so trivial.\"\n\nPaul did not return her amusement. \"So the plan was never to make it to Mars in the first place. You wasted all of those lives-\"\n\n\"Sacrificed Paul, Sacrificed.\" She interrupted, \"There was purpose in their demise. It was their sacrifice that allowed us to escape.\"\n\n\"*Their* sacrifice!\" Paul shouted, his face turning red. \"*You* jettisoned the pods into the enemy cruiser!\"\n\n\"And if I had not, we all would have perished. Is that really a better alternative?\" Lily was watching him carefully, and was eyeing the dynmap to make certain no one else was listening in. \"The enemy spies would've known it was a trap if we hadn't taken on refugees. The only way we could catch them off guard was for them to think the ship was completely defenseless. It was a gamble to assume they wouldn't have shields armed while raiding a civilian ship, but it paid off. The lives of our crew are a mere pittance compared to the lives we saved by destroying that cruiser.\"\n\nPaul was on the verge of tears. \"The others don't know. They still think it was a navigational error on the part of the computer. How do you think they will react when they learn the truth?\"\n\nLily looked at him pityingly. After all, he had volunteered to go down with the ship so as to help spare the others. It was only natural that he would take some responsibility for their deaths. \"The truth is Paul-\" She unholstered her pistol, and he froze as the cold barrel came to rest on his forehead. \"The truth is that my actions saved our lives, and there is no other way that we could have completed our mission otherwise. Any other truth-\" She pulled the trigger, the gun roared through the cramped hull, and blood flew from Paul's skull onto the wall. \"is irrelevant.\" She wiped her hands on his shirt, and placed the gun in his hand." ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 2, 4, 5 ]

[ "1383537612", "1383576857", "1383579991", "1383598673", "1383546656", "1383548574" ]

[ "\"Buck\", Suzie said. \"You're alive.\"\nStanding on Main street of the desert town was a lone gunman, with Suzie at his back, facing off against Charlton and his gang of twenty.\n\n*Buck*, Charlton mused. *The sheriff's kid?* He glanced sideways at Dalton and his eyes narrowed. Ten years ago they had killed Suzie's father, the richest man in town, and the sheriff got in the way, so he had to go too. He remembered that the sheriff's young son was a witness to that...\n\n\"I thought I told you to take care of the kid\" Charlton hissed.\n\"I did,\" Dalton said. \" I took a hot poker to both his eyes so he couldn't identify us in court.\"\n\nCharlton took out his gun and shot Dalton. The man fell backwards, dead, without making a sound. \n\n\"I'M SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS\" Charlton screamed. \"TAKE CARE MEANS KILL.\" Charlton spend only 10 years in prison for that, thanks to his lawyer, and now that he's out, he was going to finish his plan, if it weren't for stupid people like Dalton not being able to follow instructions.\n\n\"BUCK\" Charlton shouted. \"I'M JUST A BUSINESSMAN. GIVE ME THE DEED TO THE TOWN AND YOU AND SUZIE CAN GO FREE. I GIVE MY WORD!\"\n\n\"AND IF WE DON'T?\" The gunman said. Charlton waved his hand and his gang flashed their revolvers. But something puzzled Charlton.\n\n\"HEY, DALTON MAY BE INCOMPETENT, BUT HE WASN\"T A LIAR\" He shouted. \"YOU SHOULD BE BLIND. ARE YOU REALLY BUCK?\"\n\nThe young man reached up to his eyes and plucked out his globes.\n*Glass*, Charlton thought. And then the gunman chucked them.\n\nThere was an explosion, a bright flash, and smoke. Chaos was everywhere. \n\n\"SHOOT TO KILL\" Charlton yelled. Bullets flew, and waves of his men went down. The blind gunman was a shadow, unaffected by the smoke, pinpointing each gunman with deadly precision.\n\nWhen the smoke cleared, the rest of Charlton's gang was dead, and fear gripped his heart. He remembered a rumor back in prison, of a blind Gunman who used the heartbeats of his opponents to take them down.\nThe stronger the fear, the faster his bullets will find you...\n\n*Calm down*, Charlton thought. *Calm your heart or he'll kill you*. And suddenly the fear went away. He could feel blood trickling down his forehead, and only managed to mutter a surprised *oh* before collapsing.\n\nIt was over. Suzie didn't move for the longest time.\n\n\"Buck?\" she asked. \"BUCK\" she shouted and threw her arms around the gunman. \n\n\"I knew you'd be back someday!\" She said. \"Everyone said you were dead...\n\n\"I ain't Buck\" the gunman said as he pushed Suzie away,\n\n\"What are you talking about? I'd recognize you even after all this time\"\n\n\"The boy that you loved, he died on that day when your father and his father were gunned down right in front of him. Find someone who'll treat you right, Suzie. Buck is dead, so stop waiting for him.\"\n\nThe gunman then turned and walked off into the horizon, once and for all, never to be seen again.", "To my left of me the sea stretched out til it vanished over the edge of the Earth and ahead of me lay the city. My right hand brushed the cliff wall. Behind me came the wailing that had hounded me all this way. Choices choices.\n\nThe night follows everyone in the borderlands, and sometimes the night decides to give chase. I had been running for longer than most. Some people live their whole lives without hearing a moan rise behind them. Without that awful moment of security where it is brushed off as a tree in the wind. Without their sanity rattling loose as they turn and turn but the darkness remains behind, screaming now. And some people run to it at the first call. Oh to be born lucky.\n\nI had run. I had crossed fields and roads always running. I had climbed the mountain ranges where even the thin air that denies you breath carries on it the terror behind. I had stumbled, tired now, through peat bogs and moors as the mist closed in until I finally reached the coast. And I could see now, shimmering like a dream on waking, the city glowing on the horizon. Safety. Yet I could not stop feeling afraid.\n\nMaybe I was just being pragmatic. I knew the night was close on my heels, and resting now could mean the... something, death? I wish I knew, probably worse... of me. Or maybe the fear was a well too deep. \nTerror ran ahead of the night in a vanguard, maybe terror had dug it's claws in too strongly to be unlatched. \n\nOf course the final option, and the one that I was facing as a reality with mounting dread, was that the city was not safety at all. They say the final hours are plagued with illusion. Which was the illusion? The safety or the fear? Had the night driven me, or the city called to me? I'm not sure I ever want to know. \n\nI had come so far and yet now longer wanted the end of my road. No one who ever entered a city came out. Was that becuase it was so safe amongst the lights and the people? Why had no one come to reassure us of the peace that lay at the end of the road? Why did no one come to stop those who turned and jumped into the shadows with glee?\n\nI had reached the end of one road, the road where I though hope lay. The city on the horizon flickered out. The cliff was damp as I leaned tiredly against it. Behind me the darkness howled. The sea stretched out beside me. I turned and grinned as the waves lapped my feet, the start of a new road. Undriven, unfollowed. The freedon of silence and the faint glimmer of light from over the horizon, dancing on the waves. I vanished over the edge of the Earth.\n\n\n(spelling edit)", "It had been two days since the first ships began sailing off into the endless night. \n\nMy family watched as the first ones left. Arcs of fire trailing across the sky, thick scars of dark smoke a constant reminder of their passing. I was young, I didn’t know the implications. But when the ships began to swarm the skies, when the scars blotted out the sun, even I could feel the tensions growing. Neighbours scowled instead of laughed and the strain between my mother and father grew each day. \n\nI listened at the top of the stairs one night as they fought, my mother pleading, my father not giving an inch. I strained to listen. Ships still left even now, filling the air with a constant hum. The sound of cowards I had overheard my father say once, bitterly, before he noticed me and swung me up into his great wide arms. \n\n“We have to go John,” My mother, her voice tired and strained, “So few ships remain, there’s nothing left for us here.” \n\nMy father’s voice didn’t fill the silence, but I knew that he was there, arms crossed eyebrows furrowed. \n\n“John… please.” I felt the despair in my mother’s voice, “For my sake, for Tom’s.” \n\nMy ears pricked at the mention of my name but no more was said, instead my mother’s soft sobbing filled the air. I carefully made my way back to my room; it dissettled me to hear her cry. \n\nThe next morning there was no trace of tears, or my mother. My father sat me down and explained that my mother had to go somewhere, that she would be safe but that she wouldn’t be coming home for a long long time. He hugged me then, and I heard his voice crack as he told me that he loved me. That night when I looked up at the sky and saw the last ship disappear into the haze of black smoke I thought about my mom. I hoped she was okay, I hoped she was safe. \n\nThe news that night trumpeted the departure of the last ship, The Horizon. It had only been halfway filled. \n", "Ryan met Aaron after he washed ashore. They were on the same ship, though their paths hadn’t crossed prior. Aaron was still wearing a bright red shirt emblazoned with Coca-Cola logos with a plain white cap atop his comically long neck. He greeted Ryan warmly when he awoke and waited with him for other survivors. None came. They were alone.\n\nAaron, despite his loud boasts, was useless at fishing. Fortunately, he didn’t eat much. Ryan, on the other hand, had to cobble together suitable tools with the materials scavenged from the beach. The life raft was viciously torn, but the material made for a strong net. The lighter in the emergency kit was immune to the sea water. There weren’t many trees on the island, but there were enough to last for at least a while.\n\nThe days turned into weeks, though, with no sign of rescue. Ryan started losing faith. Aaron, ever the optimist, posed a solution: he’d swim out as far as he could. It was crazy, Ryan explained. He’d never make it. But Aaron insisted he could float for days. In the end, he won the argument.\n\nRyan wrote a small message complete with the name and address of his family. Just in case, he said when he handed the note over. The thought gave Aaron pause.\n\nThey waited for a clear day, gorging ourselves on whatever Ryan could catch in the meantime. The sun rose on that fateful morning. Ryan gave Aaron a tearful embrace before casting him off. Ryan watched his friend dip and bob in the current and slowly fade where the sea met sky.\n\nRose walked the beach, taking the odd opportunity to gaze upon the Pacific. Her sandal caught on something hard. There was a plastic bottle, its familiar red label almost completely washed out. Inside, protected by the tightly screwed on bottle cap, was a crumpled piece of paper with a plea for help.", "He didn't see the reason for it, there never was one. It was decidedly a very stupid course of action. \n\nHe resisted the need to introduce the man to his knuckles, and asked again: \"Why?\"\n\n\"They have to know what awaits them.\" The small man answered. His face riddled with fear and, disgust? It must have been disgust. He was so ugly you might confuse it with his normal face configuration.\n\nBut he was afraid.\n\n\"You should know that, Steel.\" The small man blurted, his words staggering with each other.\n\nHis pudgy neck would not take much to break, although it would take two hands to hold. He would probably make some very interesting noises while his neck broke as well. \n\n\"S-Steel, are you listening to me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" Answered the man known as Steel. His deep voice vibrating like metal and rock, with a very unearthly feel to it. It was an unsettling voice to hear. All it needed was his eyes and it could make one feel calm like a child in its mother's arms; or terrified, like the Vice-president of The Republic of The Line felt now.\n\nThe man and his guards felt all the chill of winter in their souls, all the emptiness of the void, they felt lost and were suddenly aware of their mortality.\n\n\"Get to it then,\" said the Vice-president, almost in a whisper. \"These people will not kill themselves!\" He raised his voice, trying to sound commanding.\n\nSteel did not like that, not one bit.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nChills ran down the spine of 15 battle-hardened men. Men that had stared death in the face more than once were having second thoughts about their entire existence. One man whined a very low whine.\n\n\"Disobey and you will be terminated along with them!\" The pudgy man who called himself the right hand to the leader of the wildest, harshest land in the world, had uttered a threat. \"I've already let the boys into the yard! There is no stopping them, now go and take care of business!\"\n\n\"My milkshakes!\" Said Steel as he finally moved.\n\nA single shot was heard. Security rushed to the main office where 16 men lay dead on the floor. \n\nAs alarms sounded, Steel headed into the horizon." ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 2, 2 ]

[ "1383593871", "1383594232", "1383594515", "1383597177", "1383607517" ]

[ "There once was a lady named Lydia\n\nAsked her out, she would a see to ya\n\nBanged yer best mate instead\n\nAnd after one night in her bed\n\nYour mate got himself THE CHLAMYDIAAAAA", " Let me tell you about a girl or two\nOne, back in the day I wanted to call my boo\nEverytime I asked for her hand to dance \nShe said maybe another night I'll give you a chance\nI couldn't get her off my mind\nSo I set off around the world \nI knew my heart wouldn't be true if I stayed \nI realized it wasn't true love other than I wanted to get laid\nIt was a hard lesson learned \nBut if I may say, \"thank you, by you saying no, I'm traveling the world and experiencing true love everyday.\" ", "Cupid, unstring your bow.\n\nEros, make me shiver again,\n\nStrengthless in the knees.", "Love at the Grocery Store \n\n\nI once asked a gal to be mine \nshe said that the friendship was fine \nI just said, \"ok\" \nand then walked away \nthen she said, \"I can help the next one line.\"", "Downvote this\n\nTo make me better\n", "A shake of the head.\nA smirk behind my back.\nThese were what I felt.\nThough her eyes sunk through my skin like a dirty knife, I still remember the next morning, and I remember today.\nAnd I realized that \"no\" was printed on every stepping stone across this roaring river. \nAnd I realized that \"love\" is bannered across the opposite shore.\n", "If it wasn't there, then at least you tried.\n\nYou are still here.\n\nIt is hard to bear, your choice to confide.\n\nBut you made it. \n\nThe difference is, between love and isolation,\n\nIs the courage to try. \n\nThe effort of one party is true love's foundation. ", "All the no's, all the denies\nAll the once great choices die\n\nThen again, I digress\nEvery no must eventually lead to a Yes", "\"The position has been filled,\" \n\nThe faceless voice replies. \n\nI hung my head in sorrow, \n\nThe tears came to my eyes, \n\nI knew I had to say, \n\nI had to tell him then, \n\n\"Honey, I'm unemployed.\n\nI have to start looking again.\"\n\nHe told me it was okay, \n\nFrom across a distant sea. \n\n\"Work on your book for a while, \n\nAnd come here and stay with me.\"\n\n(True story)", "I risked my heart for one more kiss\n\nHer lips, a warm respite\n\nQuick pulse thumping in my throat,\n\nA bass line in the night\n\n\nMy shallow breath made foggy clouds,\n\nShe gently pulled away \n\nMy smile, it could have warmed us both\n\nHad things not gone astray.\n\n\nHer eyes betrayed her every thought\n\nFor though our touch was brief \n\nHer clear, unspoken answer \n\nTurned my happiness to grief \n\n\nShe left me standing in the snow\n\nAs darkness claimed the day\n\nHer footprints, all she left me\n\nWhen she chose to walk away. \n\n\nBut though I lost my lover\n\nAnd I nearly lost my mind\n\nThe things I forfeited that day\n\nWere less than what I'd find\n\n\nWith every new and passing hour \n\nI love myself the more;\n\nI never could have known such bliss\n\nWith that ungrateful... boar. \n\n\n\n(Sorry, couldn't quite bring myself to do it.) ", "Everyone picked but not me\n\nI'm the last apple left on the tree\n\nBut hey\n\nIt's ok\n\nWind's blowing my way\n\nSo I'm dropping\n\nAnd planting my seeds\n", "Released from hope\n\nain't so bad\n\nBut I won't mope\n\nThings come and go\n\nYou're just the one going\n \nbut I'm still here\n\nMy kisses still blowing. ", "Those most hateful words \n\nWithout malice, without even\n\nThe proper disdain they deserve;\n\nA simple lack of the consideration \n\nWhich I would give you\n\nWere you me\n\n\nYou cracked the mold before it was set\n\nAnd I find myself, not broken, but freed\n\nFreed from wondering\n\nFrom your hateful, lovely stare\n\nWith which I will never compete\n\nNo nights of sleep lost\n\nUnsure if we live a farce\n\nIf \"I love you more\" means \"I love you less\n\nBut don't wish you to know it\"\n\nIt's fine, now\n\n\nYou've let me see what I should know\n\nBefore asking stupid questions\n\n\n", "\"No, thanks\" she tells me. \n\nI walk off with a wide grin. \n\nWeight off my shoulders. ", "I said 'I love you'\n\nShe said it, too.\n\nShe didn't mean the same as I,\n\nBut that's alright\n\nI can be happy.\n\nI'll break it to myself,\n\nA little at a time.\n\nIt won't be a lie,\n\nJust not the whole truth,\n\nThat I can't be with her.\n\nIt's alright,\n\nI'll be fine.\n\nIt won't be a crime,\n\nIf I just walk away\n\nFrom her and myself,\n\nAnd pretend it never happened.", "shes so damn nice about it\n\nits hard to be upset\n\nthe reason that you loved her\n\nmakes her quicker to forget\n", "rejection: costless. \n\nlearning to ask unafraid\n\nwon me ev'rything.", "Every 'No' is a dead end, not a wrong turn\nI am not being spurned\n\nI have an infinite number of choices\nAnd naysayers are only voices\n\nSo I remember when I am burned\nThat every reward granted is earned\n\nAt the end of the day, Yes and No are just noises.\n\nMy rejection, puts me in the right direction.", "He said no\n\nHead held low\n\nNo one to blame\n\nFeeling the shame\n\nLooking for dignity on the ground\n\nOne Hundred dollars is what I found\n\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10, 29 ]

[ "1383704194", "1383707643", "1383708853", "1383713080", "1383713269", "1383714284", "1383697147", "1383698959", "1383703286", "1383710611", "1383713199", "1383693933", "1383694832", "1383708146", "1383696347", "1383705126", "1383691851", "1383693847", "1383700170" ]

[ "Interesting... Working on something, so give me a moment.", "Strongly autobiographical.\n\nThree more weeks until my flight. My friend Andrew asked me today if I was looking forward to it. He looked surprised when I answered in the affirmative. I told him it was because of the things I miss from home, my friends and my family, that I’m looking forward to be done with my thesis. He understands, sort of.\n\nI lied the best kind of lie, the one which is completely true. In three weeks, I don’t have to care anymore about consoling the two colleagues that I share an office with, but refuse to talk to each other. In three weeks, I don’t have to care anymore that I’m in a football team which only exists because the others refuse to face the truth that their passion is gone. In twentythree days, I can leave all my problems behind and go home, knowing that what I left behind was much better than I could see from up close. I'm glad Andrew doesn't understand.\n", "For me, home never has been tied to any particular location but rather to a feeling of secure serenity. I feel that deep \"home\" connection with people and emotions, rather than places and addresses. Puppies help too.", "**Her.**", "Home is where the heart is.\n\nThe heart is where the mind is.\n\nThe mind is where the soul lies.\n\nCould you have a home if you've sold your soul to the devil, \nOr have you just found your home in hell?", "My house has never been a home, not really.\n\nI don't really subscribe to the idea that your home can truly just be one person or one memory either. People talk like there's one person in the world who defines them and makes them comfortable.\n\nFor me, home isn't a place where you find yourself.\n\nHome is anywhere you can get totally and completely lost.", "Let me tell you about my first home. It was not where I was born, a matter of my parents intentional design, and to understand the reason for that, I have to begin this story on the other side of the country. My father was a career Army man, and he got orders to report to the Presidio. My mother was a devout catholic from the farming region a South American country with a brutally repressive regime that America was on friendly terms with because they might be a military junta, but at least they weren’t communist. With my mother heavily pregnant, they packed everything they owned into two separate cars, and drove the breadth of the country, from New York to California, chattering at each other in a foreign language using the shortwave radios they installed in the cars for the trip because cell phones were still twenty years away from anything resembling ubiquity, and my mother spoke as much English as the average American spoke Mandarin.\n\nAn exhausting three day drive terminated in a drive through San Francisco, during the Folsom Street Fair. Seeing a man, gagged and blindfolded, being dragged through the street by a leash attached to his erect penis is a measure of culture shock that would be traumatizing for most visitors, much less for a religious woman trying to come to terms with the fact that she would be living in a city that, as my father explained to her, despite hosting the reigning Super Bowl champions, has always had a reputation for being “different.” Though she would come to love the intoxicating aroma of the forests near our house on the Presidio, the exotic, even by her standards, combination of cypress, pine, and eucalyptus trees; regardless of the stunning view of the Golden Gate Bridge, a monument that people traveled from across the country to see, to drive across, to jump from; despite everything that made the city a great home, the recurring image that came to her mind when someone mentioned San Francisco was a parade of sweaty submissive leather daddies. \n\nIn the late winter, when the morning fog commonly decides to stick around for lunch, until it’s chased away by the dreary afternoon rains, my mother made a decision. San Francisco was a fine city for a baby to live in, but it was an unacceptable place for her son to be born. So, wracked with labor pains, she put her foot down, and announced that no son of hers would be born in that city. It was unfair to burden her child with such a reputation from birth. In her mind, she was not giving her husband a huge logistical headache, sending him scrambling to secure a birth suite in the nearest hospital that would treat military families, she was giving her son a chance in life. Try not to judge her too harshly. \n\nThe two of them leapt into the raggedy van that they had purchased to help them in the move to California, and drove with manic purpose across the Bay Bridge to the Naval Hospital in neighboring Oakland, a city with a reputation all its own. \n\nAll of this is hearsay. We moved away from San Francisco a couple years later, just before the military presence in the area was BRACed into oblivion. The place where I was born has been converted to wetlands. The first place I called home was converted into Starfleet Academy, and a host of other fanciful backgrounds for movies in the early nineties. The only things I have left from those days is my fondness for the scent of eucalyptus on the wind and the reputation for being born in a gang infested hellhole. ", "To her, home was the scent of burnt cookies when she walked into an empty house after school. Home was the unwashed dishes, stained with spaghetti sauce and piled up in the sink from weeks of neglect. Home had become the layer of dust covering the piano, where her mother once found solace in the ivory keys but could no long remember the tune of \"Happy Birthday\". When she thought of home, she pictured the stack of unopened envelopes on the kitchen counter, containing the unpaid bills that decided whether or not she would have a light to read under that night. For her, home was her mother, waking up each morning to the presence of a daughter she did not know.", "Night saps the warmth from a house. Maybe its simply the fact there are no lights on, or there's no one moving around inside, but a house dies when the people inside it go to sleep. \n \nThe people in my home had been asleep too long. \n \nThe wood had faded, the paint had chipped, and the front porch was falling in on itself. While I'd been gone some young punks had smashed out all the windows, and there were probably all manner of wild animals living inside. \nThis house, my home, died the night of the incident. \nMaybe if I'd been there I could've stopped it, but I spent too long beating myself up over what-ifs. I needed to move on. I *had* to move on. \n \nIts the loneliness that gets you. \nA man with no family has nothing tying him down; and so he is destined to float away into the abyss, like a piece of flotsam cast overboard, never to be found again. \nMaybe it would've been better if I'd died with them that night, at least then I wouldn't have to live with the aftermath. Maybe. \n \nIt's hard, living without a heart. Perhaps too hard. \nI step inside. \nI can still picture the crime scene in my head, the police officers in every room, the blood splatters on the wall, the smell of metal in the air. \nI open the lid of the gasoline can in my hand and start pouring. \n I pour in Annabell's room, I pour in the lounge, I pour in Mum and Dad's room, and then I pour in my room. I pour until there's nothing left. \nIt's time to give this house a proper funeral, and its time for me to finish what that madman started 8 years ago. \n \nI drop a match into the fuel. \n \n\"Home is where the heart is\"", "I've never felt comfortable at my house. My brother was an egomaniac with an inferiority complex, filling the house with F bombs and insults and the smell of dirty gym clothes and weed. Mom was a ticking time bomb of pent up emotion and stress who could never release her struggles because of her inate fear of breaking the typical stay at home wife look. My older sister was rarely ever there and when she was, she wasn't. Strung out, nodding off on the couch while we sat around the television and watched Jeopardy. As if some sort of familial bond would grow out of watching that pompous ass Alex Trebek spout off the correct answers like he knew them without looking at the card with them on it. If anything Jeopardy time made things worse: bringing up topics of discussion that would tangent out of porportion and be used as fuel for the fire that was my brothers rage and my mothers passive-aggressive remarks. Dad was never at the house for any of this and I don't blame him. A fifth of whiskey, a pack of reds, and whatever blonde hair floosy that walked through the swinging doors of the bar were all he needed to forget about the life he left at our house. The one that he created and hated. He never beat us or yelled at us or made us feel worthless, which sometimes I had almost wished he did. He didn't even care enough to acknowledge that we existed. He would just come home and kick off his dress shoes, take off his jacket and tie and go to the back patio and smoke.\n\nPeople talk about home being where the heart is and how their home is their sanctuary from the concrete jungle; almost more of a feeling than an actual place. The place where I layed my head at night and withstood the torment of my own flesh and blood never gave me that feeling. But the pages of this notebook where the ink from my pen flows like the insults from my brother's mouth, the heroin into my sister's arm and the liquor into my father's system I find solace; I find home.\n\nedit: missing a letter\n", "I suppose I’ll just saunter in, sit back, and look around for a bit. There's no harm in that, right? The wallpaper has been changed since I was last here, and there is an acrid smell to the air. The smell might have always been there, but I didn't notice it before because I had been living here so long that my nose had become accustomed to the assault. I also notice now that the light glinting off the brass knobs around the room is far less cheery than I remember. When did this place lose its shine for me? Was it in the moment my eyes turned from the depths of these hallways and towards the sunshine outside? Was it in that first breath of fresh air after months of breathing in mildew and slow decay? Or did the sparkle melt away when I looked up and saw that the molding ceiling had been replaced with a blanket of stars? \n\nThe sunken eyes of those I left behind peer out from the shadows. I can see the months of my past mirrored in pallid skin and hungry lips. The way sharp teeth snap and grind together? That was once me. I too once pulled at loose strands of hair, weeping as my scalp became raw. Now, I am an outsider. I am fresh, revitalized, full of blue skies and the smell of honeysuckle. A part of me longs to slip back into the familiar decay. To creep slowly back among the false prophecies and settle into my nest of blissful ignorance. I’d love to embrace oblivion, my longtime lover. However, I know I cannot.\n\nBecause the winds of change have swept me up in their jet stream. I’m caught, free floating, like a girl shaped kite. I’m set to wander, free and smiling into sunny skies. I think this will be the last time I can stand in this doorway, looking into the place that once held me close. I’ll turn now, and saunter back in the way I came. On the threshold between disintegration and revitalization, I take a breath of blended air, fresh and stagnant. Then, I step towards the fresh, and shed the last of my extinction.", "I watched as the streetlight flickered above me, a dancing flame in the cool night. I observed, as it illuminated the darkness for a brief second and then stole it away, only to bath the recesses in light another time. My mind tried to grasp at a pattern in the intermittent flashing of the dying bulb, but there was none to be seen. I continued to search for repetition or some way to predict what would come next. It was fruitless though, some things follow no pattern. Yet, I find myself searching for these illusive sequences in everything i do. Most of the time I don't even realize it's happening. Until someone asks why I've been staring at a dripping faucet for 5 minutes. If I had to guess I'd say it's a fear of the unknown if anything. I just feel comfortable in routine, in predictability, leaving things to chance has never sat well with me. \n\n\n\"Yo Danny, what's good my man?\" A voice from behind me said, breaking me from my trance. I felt a hand pat my shoulder a few times. \n\n\n\"It's all good Spence, how you been?\" I said standing up and turning around to greet the reason I was sitting on the curb at nearly half past 10 on a Wednesday.\n\n\n\"I'm doin good bro, making flow. Been pretty quiet around here lately\"\n\n\nI looked around at the deserted houses, detritus strewn along their yards and spilling on to the street. The colors were faded, the windows broken, graffiti was on nearly every available spot. It was sad more than anything. Those houses once held families, they were once places of comfort to many people. Now they're either deserted or used as drug dens. Watching this street die was painful but thinking about the lives involved is even worse to me.\n\n\n\"Ya it's a real ghost town around here\" I said focusing back onto Spencer. \"We should probably hurry this up before we get some unwanted attention\" \n\n\n\"Relax man, no ones gonna bug us\" Spencer said looking from one end of the street to the other. \"You want your regular I'm guessing?\"\n\n\n\"You know it\" \n\n\nI pulled some cash out of my wallet, the last I had to be honest, and handed it over. What I got in return was a small plastic dime-bag. \n\n\n\"Thanks dude, take er easy. I'll probably hit you up tomorrow\" I said fist bumping Spence and taking my leave. \n\n\nI could hardly contain myself as i left the deal, I nearly ran back to my apartment. Clutching my prize the entire time, as if it would fly away if I weren't careful. I went up the 2 flights of stairs to my room and quickly went in and locked the door behind me. There was trash littering the floor, old pizza boxes, bills, and candy wrappers for the most part. It didn't bother me though, I just walked around it or kicked it out of the way as I went to my bedroom. The bedroom was no better than the rest of the apartment. The bed smelled and was unmade, the sheets were stained and grimy. Again didn't bother me, although i should wash the sheets soon. I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled out something from under it. It was an old cigar box, dark red and about the size of a football. It had my father's initials engraved on the top as well as some fancy design or something. It was one of the few things of his that I kept after he died. It had once housed a couple of Cuban cigars that my dad would puff on every once in a while. Usually for a celebration of some sort. Now it held a tourniquet, spoon, lighter and a few fresh hypodermic needles. \n\n\nMy hands made deaf work of the spoils, quickly heating it and getting it prepped. Though, even with practiced hands I couldn't go quick enough to stop the shakes, and by the time I had found a vein they had started to become quite violent. I finally managed to get it in after a few failed attempts, injecting it gently into my bloodstream as the shakes continued to worsen. I removed the needle and laid back in my bed, the opiate quickly speeding through my body. I closed my eyes and let it happen, basking in the drug induced glow and contemplating my situation. \n\n\nThis is one pattern i can reasonably predict. My penchant for substance abuse. I'm aware of what it's doing to me, it's effect on my health both mental and physical. The drain on my finances, my relationships and yet I find it hard to care. Because in this moment as my high begins, as the shakes wear down, as the struggles of the day to day shrug off me like many heavy chains; I am home. ", "“Where are you from?”\n\nIt’s funny how people react when I answer the question. My father was in the military. Like most military brats, we moved. A lot. I’ve seen the world; by that I mean that I’ve seen enough of it that it would probably be less exhaustive to rattle off places I haven’t lived.\n\n“Where did you go to school?”\n\nAgain, that doesn’t help matters since I went to many schools. It does have a significant impact on a person, moving around like that so young. I never let friendships build or develop. I never did much to foster fond memories of any place I lived. I never bothered calling any of them “Home.”\n\n“Where do your folk, your family live?”\n\nThey’re spread out. Parents split ages ago and my siblings bounced between them in pursuit of their schooling convenience. We’ve moved all over, together or as individuals. I don’t even know their addresses by heart; they’ve never been put in ink.\n\nI have never lived in the same place for more than a few years, and that upper bound is a recent development. My current residence was purchased just a couple of years ago. It is the longest I’ve ever stayed in one place.\n\nSomehow, people think it helps when they ‘clarify’ it for me: “Where do you call home?”\n\nIt’s a stupid question, an obvious question. Throughout my travels, there has been one, and only one, constant: me. I’ve endured the life of a modern nomad. The world is where I roam. Home? Home is where the house is, wherever that may be." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 8 ]

[ "1383756958", "1383763168", "1383764115", "1383767153", "1383769374", "1383771203", "1383788782", "1383799053", "1383808376", "1383762163", "1383765930", "1383761006", "1383755093" ]

[ "\"These children are all the same size! I *specifically* ordered the variety sampler meal deal.\"", "He knew it was true, and now science had given him the proof he needed. There was no getting around the numbers; his colleagues would have to accept his theory, a new law of nature has been uncovered! Before he showed the rest, he would call Simon first- that gloating horses-ass. Let’s see who’s the ego biased ninny now, hmm? \nHe lined up the photos of the children, all the same age, from every part of the U.S. - German, Dutch, Indian, Irish, Negro, each now neatly preserved and cataloged, piece by precious piece. Making a cup of coffee while he waited for Simon only heightened his excitement, by the time the door rang he found himself sprinting to answer it. Simon did not seem to share his enthusiasm at the late hour, but soon he would dizzy with all the exhilaration of a child on Christmas.\n“Let’s get on with it. Are these their photos?” \n“Yes, and as you can see I’ve grouped them by nationality, five children per study group. All of the same age, height, weight…” \n“These children are all the same size! Yes! I get it! Now can you please get on with whatever it is you’re playing at? It has something to do with all these pretty little skulls you have lined up I presume?” \n“Forty-four, forty-five, thirty-six, thirty-eight, and thirty-two marbles each, exactly.” \n“Come again?” \n“The volume of their skulls you fool! Don’t you see? Each child of an inferior race has a smaller brain! I’ve proven Darwin’s theory of speciation applies to humans! Think of the possibilities that Eugenics can bring us in the next century, the next decade even! Why with applied breeding and sterilization to the population we could-“\n“Good night, Joseph.” \n“Where are you going?! Don’t you see the implications this could have on science?” \n“Yes, I do.”\n", "I don't mean to be overly pedantic, but isn't this technically a Constrained Writing post?", "\"Thank you, sir, and enjoy!\"\n\n\"Will do. have a great day.... hang on! These children are all the same size! I ordered 3 large ones and 2 mediums! This wont be enough to feed my family. Get me your manager, now!\"\n\n\"Uh, sir, you didn't read the sign? Children are chosen by weight, not size\"\n\n\"Oh, okay. Sorry 'bout that. See you next time.\"" ]

[ 1, 2, 3, 3 ]

[ "1383764641", "1383764559", "1383763489", "1383764578" ]

[ "We all knew it was coming.\n\nLook at us!\n\nWe are filthy, writhing, sycophants.\n\nThis is LA!\n\nWhat did we expect?\n\nThe world, the whole wide world, hates us!\n\nBut they love us at the same time.\n\nWe are entertainment, we are laughter, we are tears and sobbing... We are plague.\n\nWe are all that is right and wrong with the world.\n\nWe give hope, we cease hope.\n\nWe create fantasies, we destroy them.\n\nWe deserve nothing less.\n\nDrunkard, druggie, bastards.\n\nBomb us all to hell.\n\nIt's what we have fought for, truly.\n\nIt's what we deserve.", "Change the channel.\n\nWh-wait, what?\n\nI said, “change the channel”.\n\nWell, yes, I heard what you said, that wasn’t what I was inquiring…\n\nWell, what were you “inquiring” then?\n\nI was “inquiring” as to why, considering the news we just heard, your first reaction was to ask me to change the channel!\n\nThen why didn’t you ask me: “why, considering the news we just heard, was your first reaction to ask me to change the channel?”\n\nBecause that’s – wait, why are we even discussing this right now?!\n\nGood question. Change the channel.\n\nWell, hold on now – don’t you think we should be…you know – \n\nWhat?\n\nWell, I don’t know, running, or something?\n\nWhat’s that going to do? Change the channel.\n\nWell it’ll do a great deal more good than changing the channel would! For a start, we might actually be able to escape disintegration!\n\nNo, we won’t. If we had a chance, it’s gone now. Most likely due to this conversation.\n\nAnd how exactly are you so sure of that?\n\nLook outside.\n\nOutside?\n\nYes. It’s like, the part of the world that’s not enclosed by four walls and a ceiling.\n\nOh shut up.\n\n...\n\n...Good Lord.\n\nExactly.\n\nThat is quite the…\n\nUngodly chaotic coalescence of people desperately clinging to the hope that they can outrun the enormous wall of atomic energy that will soon destroy them and everything they’ve ever known?\n\nI was going to say ‘rabble’, but that was quite good.\n\nThank you. Now change the channel.\n\nThe remote is right there.\n\nI see it. \n\n…\n\n…\n\nAre you going to use it?\n\nYou’re closer.\n\nI am not!\n\nYes you are. \n\nOn what evidence do you substantiate this claim?\n\nI’ve got a good eye.\n\nA good eye.\n\nYes, a good eye. An eye that is good. At seeing things. \n\nYou mean, the one that’s not lazy.\n\nAs a matter of fact, I do.\n\n…\n\n…\n\nWe’re fucked, aren’t we?\n\nYes, yes we are. But try not to think of it that way. I mean, we’ve lived fairly good lives. Yeah, we weren’t the best of people, we didn’t give to charity, I’m quite the lazy sod, and I know I for one have not exactly had clean thoughts about half the women in my department.\n\nNice.\n\nBut still, we lived. We took life on our own terms, and we made something of it. And hey, how bad can death be? It most likely won’t be that painful – and maybe we’ll get a sweet deal on the afterlife. Maybe the good Lord will show us mercy, and allow us into that really awesome place up there.\n\nHeaven?\n\nHell, I’d even settle for Purgatory! Or nothing at all! Maybe there’s just an eternal, howling void awaiting us after death. Maybe all our memories, our lives, our loves are simply…lost. Maybe, when we die, we just…stop.\n\nThat’s quite the scary thought there, Bill. I’m not sure I like contemplating Purgatory and howling voids…\n\nYou know what might make you feel better?\n\nPrayer?\n\nChanging the goddamn channel.\n", "Jeff sat silently at the dining room table, staring at the television with a mouthful of steak. He was chewing pensively, mulling over the news story he had just watched on the 7 o’ clock news. A nuclear warhead was going to kill him and everyone he knew and loved in roughly ten minutes. There was no getting around it. No running, no alternatives, just acceptance. For Jeff, there was only one thing he knew he needed to do, and he intended to waste no time doing it.\n\nHe got up from the table, throwing the dog the rest of his steak. Putting on his jacket, he strode out of the house, leaving the front door open and the TV on. Jeff walked to the end of his street, and into the driveway of Number 43. He walked up to the door and knocked firmly. After a beat, the front door was opened by a man who was visibly forlorn. It was Jeff’s neighbor, Harold.\n\n“Hello Harold.”\n\n“Hello Jeff. I s’pose you’ve heard about… well, the bomb and all that?”\n\nJeff was peering around Harold, trying to get a look inside the house. \n“Yeah, I heard everything. Listen, Harold… is Linda home?”\n\nHarold was thrown off by this question. “My wife? Of course she’s home. Why?” \n\nJeff looked his neighbor dead in the eye and said “Harold, the world is ending in ten minutes and I intend to have myself one more piece of ass before the game’s over. I’ve come here to have sex with your wife. She’s been eye-fucking me for 15 years, and I intend to make good on that right here, tonight. With your blessing, of course.”\n\nHarold stood in the doorway of his home, an expression of complete disbelief on his face. And then , the expression turned to one of realization. “Say Jeff… do you still have that thousand dollar bottle of vintage Scotch?”\n\nJeff smiled knowingly. “Second floor, first door on the right, top shelf in the cabinet on the far wall. My front door is open.” Harold put out his hand to Jeff. It’s been great knowing you, neighbor. Linda!!! We’ve got a visitor!! Get down here!” And with that, Harold made his way down the street for the last bottle of Scotch he would ever enjoy.\n", "\"Fuck this, I'm grabbing a beer\"", "\"Well. Shit.\" John looked up from his cereal. The TV was displaying a message he hadn't seen since he was a kid. \"Nuclear Attack Imminent: Take Cover. ETA: 10 Minutes\". From outside his window, John could hear unfamiliar sirens, which hadn't been sounded in nearly 25 years. Upstairs he heard his son and daughter making confused noises... \n \"CAROL! JEFF, GET DOWN HERE NOW!\" Their sounds grew as they grumbled, complaining and worried, down the stairs. \n \"What is it Dad, what's going on?\" asked Jeff, who was 14. John merely pointed at the TV, not waiting for it to sink in before saying in a low voice \"Go to the pantry and grab everything you can. Throw it down the basement. Carol, lock the doors, find the pets, and lock them downstairs. Once you're done with that, grab clothes, towels, medicine, weapons. I'll work on water. Stow everything downstairs.\" he was setting his watch to 5 minutes. \"Be done in in 5 minutes.\" \n They ran off, understanding. They were bright kids. He turned to the fridge and removed the 36 pack of Bud light left over from a recent party, and sent it sliding down the basement stairs. He ran into the garage for their 5 gallon container, hooked it to the sink, and left it running. Milk and orange juice were placed gently at the bottom of the stairs. Carol ran past with the cat, struggling fiercely to escape from her arms. Jeff followed, his arms overflowing with canned beans, canned tomatoes, tuna, sardines, and a 10 lb sack of rice. He tossed it all down the stairs, then ran to the cupboard, grabbing the can opener and throwing it down after. \n \"Dad!\" \n \"What?!\" \n \"We need something to cook on. Go get the camp stove. I'll get the pots.\" John just nodded in return, running out the garage to the camping supplies. He grabbed an emergency blanket and the good camping knife too. All tossed down the stairs. He ran to the sink, stopped the faucet, and hoisted up the container. The stopwatch beeped. \n \"Kids! TIMES UP, GET DOWNSTAIRS, NOW!\" \n Carol was running down the stairs, the dog following excitedly, carrying a stack of folded towels and a few crumpled garments of decent clothing. Jeff came running after her, carrying more clothing. They descended the basement together. John set the timer again, this time for 3 minutes. \n \"Move all the soft materials into a pile beneath the stairs. Keep the animals in the closet.\" \n John went into the adjacent room, looking suspiciously at the basement windows. No time to board them up, but he drew the blinds, and moved the old wooden computer shelf in front of the center one. They were 20 miles from Detroit. They had a chance at survival, but the blast at that range would be extremely damaging, probably ripping the top of the house to shreds, and setting the nearby areas on fire. Their only chance at survival was to bunker down for the blast, and then adequately prepare, and move away from the epicenter as quickly as possible on foot. The fires, and the looters would spell an end to them if they stayed put. He looked over at their nest. It looked fairly substantial. His watch beeped. \n \"It's time kids. Come over here. Cover your heads with your arms.\" They knelt in the pile of blankets and towels. He covered them with a white sheet, before laying on top of their bodies, and pulling the covers around them tightly. \n \"You understand what's happening, right guys?\" he asked them.\n \"Yeah. I just didn't think--\" The room was filled with a blinding white light, visible even from beneath the covers, and below the blankets. \n \"Here it comes.\" ", "\"Cedarville, I don't know how to say this, but a nuclear missile heading right for downtown has been confirmed by the federal government. Please do not panic as there is enough time to get out of the blast radius. Proceed to the nearest vehicle and head north...\"\n\nThe news anchor continued on giving instructions. Two college-aged kids sat in silence staring at the tv, no longer listening to what it said. Pete, a year older and foot taller than Aaron, was the first to speak.\n\n\"What a swell time to not own a car.\"\n\nAaron turned to his friend, not sure if Pete was trying to make light of the situation or making a serious observation. Probably a little of both.\n\n\"We could always steal the neighbor's. That'll teach them for playing their damn music through out the night.\"\n\n\"Yea, kids these days with their rock and roll and hop hip. I'm telling ya, the world's going to shit with all these young punks.\"\n\nAaron tried to think of another witty comeback, but could only laugh. \n\n\"You think if I put some Ramen in a lead bowl, it'd be cooked after the dust settles?\"\n\nPete laughed. \"God, that's a great question. It's a good thing you're slightly above average when it comes to wit because you have nothing else going for you. In all seriousness, do we have a lead bowl?\"\n\n\"If we did, I'd be wearing it right now.\"\n\nAaron waited for Pete to laugh, but instead Pete just shook his head. \"That's tin foil you townie.\"\n\n\"Well you keep your tin foil, I'm having ramen in nine minutes.\"\n\nPete and Aaron laughed. Conversations like this were the norm between the two. Slightly vague movie or pop culture references, a little wit, and mostly stupidity filled their banter.\n\n\"You know the worst part of all this? You're going to die a virgin.\"\n\n\"Wow. You really know how to kill the mood, don't you? That's just cold Pete, nuclear winter cold.\"\n\n\"Hey, you gave it a good try Ice, that's what matters.\"\n\nPete got up and went into their apartment's kitchen. Aaron first met Pete at one of their fraternity's recruiting events a few years ago. Neither was in the fraternity anymore, for one reason or another, but there was no doubt they still had the bond of brothers. Iceman, or Ice as Pete used more often, was Aaron's fraternity nickname. Pete became Terry when he joined.\n\nPete returned to their living room with a pound-jar of Nutella and two spoons. \n\n\"Terry, you sure know a way to a man's heart.\"\n\nThe two each took a spoonful of Nutella. A quietness swept over the apartment. From outside, car doors and engines provided ample white noise to keep the apartment from being completely silent. Living just a block away from the university, Pete didn't bother bringing his car to campus, mostly because he didn't have one, and Aaron's car was in a garage having her engine worked on.\n\nAaron finished his first spoon, but before he scooped a second, he got up and went into the kitchen. Pete thought about calling his parents, but remebered his phone was dead. Aaron returned with two beers and handed one to Pete.\n\n\"Now's as good of time as ever, right?\"\n\n\"As if you need an excuse to drink.\"\n\nPart of what made Pete and Aaron so close were all the similarities they had. Younger sisters by 5 years, played football and basketball, enjoy writing, movies, books, and multi-hour netflix binges, a struggle-filled academic history, love of the Detroit Lions (Pete with a much more exstensive knowledge though), and preference for spoonfulls of peanut butter and Nutella, just to name a few.\n\nAaron put down his spoon. \"This is really it.\"\n\nPete looked over to his friend. Aaron didn't show emotion in a stereotypcal male fashion. He'd get frustrated, angry, happy, but he'd never seen Aaron cry, till now. It wasn't a broken faucets cry, but tears rolled down his face.\n\n\"Yea, it is. I wonder who launched it?\" he asked, trying to distract his friend.\n\nAaron wiped away at his eyes and smiled. \"It was me.\"\n\nPete couldn't help but laugh. \"Well done Ice, well done.\"\n\nMost of the car noises seemed to have rumbled off into the distance. Aaron got up and looked out the window. \"We've got company.\"\n\nJared, Aaron and Pete's other neighbor, not the one who played loud music, was walking up to their door. Aaron opened it before Jared could knock. \"Come on in.\"\n\nAs Jared entered, Pete rose and stuck out his hand. \"What's new?\"\n\n\"Well,\" Jared sat down on the couch. Aaron went back into the kitchen to get Jared a beer. \"Can't get a hold of my parents, and this was the only other thing I could think to do.\"\n\nAaron returned and handed Jared his beer. \"What do you say we take this party outside?\"\n\nThe three grabbed some chairs and went outside. As they set up the chairs and sat, all three looked to the sky. Way up, a small object could be seen heading towards them. They sat in silence as the remaining minutes crawled by.\n\nAaron looked at his watch. There was 45 seconds till impact. \"Gentlemen,\" he said as he raised his beer. \"It's been... *okay*.\"\n\nJared laughed.\n\nTerry sighed.\n\n\"I hate you Ice.\"", "Fifty meters. Target's moving at a slow sprint, no crosswind.\n\n**BANG**\n\nClear hit to the thoracic cavity; lung and possible heart damage. They're down, they'll bleed out in ten minutes or so. Too long.\n\n**BANG**\n\nI'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.\n\nSixty meters. Taking cover. Armed, long rifle, returning fire on my position. Doesn't he know what I'm doing? Doesn't he understand? Target reloading, moving out of cover.\n\n**BANG**\n\nHeadshot, dead instantly. You're a lucky one.\n\nMultiple targets, fifty meters, armed and armored. Police response. Bastards, don't you have anything better to do right now? Why aren't you saving those that can still be saved? *Need to move, they have 7.62s.* They're clustered. Mk-33, 15 meter kill radius. It'll work.\n\n**BOOM**\n\nTwo incapacitated, one killed.\n\n**BANG**\n\n**BANG**\n\nOh god. Oh god. Please, just... stop fighting. Please.\n\n**BANG**\n\n**BANG**\n\n**BANG**\n\nStreet's clear. Oh god. What have I done. It was for their own good. Please, please forgive me. Better to die instantly than to burn to a crisp in atomic fire. Oh god, why me. Why did I have to do it. Forgive me.\n\n...\n\nTen seconds.\n\n**BANG** \n\n*The Alternate History Channel has been shut down and is under federal investigation after a War-of-the-World esque program nearly caused mass panic after a realistic emergency broadcast warning of a nuclear strike was played during a prime-time serial drama. Station administrators were unavailable for comment at this time.*\n\n*In other news, a murder-suicide rampage that left 27 dead, including six police officers and the shooter, is leaving authorities baffled as to the motive and identity of the shooter...\"*\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 9, 9, 12 ]

[ "1383809174", "1383831993", "1383864233", "1383791912", "1383802802", "1383808639", "1383800895" ]

[ "Brushing the hair out of his eyes every few seconds, he was scrawling what seemed to be a novel. Every few lines he would raise the sheet he was working on to his lips and blow the loose graphite shavings on the dash. Turning the key already in the ignition, Steve's sturdy Volvo came to life. Poor thing sputtered as it did when he first got it. \n\nPoor thing.\n\nIt was dark, cloudy, and he was satisfied. More satisfied than he had been...ever, to his recollection. He worked for hours, erasing and replacing those precious words as he tried to find just the right ones which suited him. He always was a perfectionist.\n\nHis wife was dressed in the new seasonal line, every season. \n\nHis son was top of his class, thanks to generous contributions on Steve's part to the Academy. Little shit couldn't be bothered to read, let alone do his homework. The boy was loved though, the apple of his parents' eye.\n\nSteve's Volvo was the only thing left that tied him to who he was. His wife had asked him to trade up an innumerable amount of times. \n\n\"We have an image to maintain, darling.\"\n\"Don't you want to fit in?\"\n\nTo fit in. That's all he wanted to do, wasn't it? A tear fell on the page and stubbornly soaked through, and Steve placed his manifesto on the seat next to him. Banging out the drums to \"Highway to Hell\" on the wheel, he began make out a figure through the clouds that obscured his vision.\nIt radiated love, and it demanded to be answered.\n\nReaching out desperately with frigid digits, his mother caressed his face. The tears began to pour with compounding frequency now, and his pounding moved with fervent tempo. He knew what would come next all too well, so he shut his eyes tight. So tight that his abuse disappeared;so tight that his love disappeared; so tight they could not be opened again.\n\nA squeak, that's all he could muster.\n\n\"Bye.\"\n\nThe clouds filling his garage took him away. One escape, no return.", "I Quit\n\n---\n\n\"I quit,\" he said again. \"I'm done. I tried. I can't do it.\"\n\nHe started the car and quickly zipped away.\n\n\"They were right,\" he kept talking to himself. \"You're worthless. You failed just like everyone knew you would. They all knew it would happen.\"\n\nA left and then another. He was on the highway.\n\n\"Why you can't you be more like him,\" he muttered to himself, thinking of his father. Dad, a high school valedictorian, finished second in his class, at the Stanford School of Law. He worked at the best law firm in the city. He was a success.\n\nHe turned to go north. Lincoln Bridge. 6 Miles.\n\n\"They gave you everything that you ever asked for,\" yelled to himself, as he began to sob. \"All they wanted you to do was get good grades and get a good job. BUT YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT.\"\n\nLincoln Bridge. 4 Miles.\n\nHe remembered his mom. His mom. She was perfect. She was always supportive. She only wanted the best for him. But it was too late. He was 30, living at home, with no degree to speak of. His life was going nowhere fast.\n\n3 Miles.\n\n\"Why can't you be more like your sister.\" The words echoed in his mind. The tears became a stream.\n\n2.\n\nHis younger sister was always the overachiever. Like their father, she finished first in her class in high school, before going to Harvard to study medicine. Everyone had wonder why she was so successful while he struggled to complete even the most simple of tasks. He began to bang his head into the glass of the car's door, causing it crack.\n\n1.\n\nI quit.\n\nI quit.\n\nI quit.\n\nHe jerked the wheel to the right. The car running off the road. Aimed at his only goal: Escape.", "Jim pulled the car door and it let loose a loud groan as it opened. The hinges had grown worn and rusty last year and he hadn't the desire to spray them with lubricant. \"How fitting,\" he thought to himself, reflecting on what his life had become.\n\nHe climbed into the car, kicked the snow from his boots, and pulled the door shut. His breath was visible in the cold air as he sat looking at the windshield. \"Come on, baby,\" he sighed as he turned the key. The engine labored for a few seconds before purring to life. He nodded contentedly.\n\nThe windshield wipers came to life with the flick of a switch. Jim watched them slide over the glass, pushing the coat of snow away. He didn't feel like brushing it off himself. He didn't feel like doing much of anything these days. What had his life become? He was once so motivated and ambitious, but now not so much.\n\nHe put the vehicle into drive and slowly pulled forward to the street. The bald tires spun momentarily on the slick asphalt before launching the car into the plowed road. \"One last ride,\" he whispered as he turned on the heater. He patted the dashboard and nodded. \"One last ride.\"\n\nOnce on the highway, the ride turned into a journey that Jim wouldn't remember when he looked back upon it. One of those periods when he went through the motions, aware of every detail at the time, but none of it registered in memory. His mind wandered as he white lines in the middle of the lanes zipped past, and a light flurry of snow formed a mesmerizing pattern blowing against the windshield.\n\nFour years had gone by since he lost his wife. He still had a hard time comprehending how one man simply driving through an intersection at the wrong time could alter the life of another so drastically.\n\nA year of mourning, three years of mundane routine. Get up, go to work, go home, eat dinner, and sit at the computer. He had no passion for his work anymore. His mind was always on her. \n\nHe'd long ago stopped feeling sorry for himself. Now he only missed her. It put a constant ache in his soul. The smell of his wife's amazing cooking greeting his senses when he walked in the door after work, he would give anything to experience that once more. And her touch as they lay together in bed before falling asleep.\n\nHe sighed deeply and noticed the gas gauge was near empty. \"Don't fail me now,\" he muttered to his car and looked for an exit ramp. The old station wagon carried him to a station just off of the highway. But when he went to start it up again after filling the tank, it wouldn't turn over.\n\nHe was too upset to get angry. He got out and pushed the vehicle to a parking spot, then told the clerk he'd take care of it as soon as he could. The truth was, he had no intention of doing that. It was just another thing he would leave behind.\n\n\"Need a ride, hon?\" a woman called out to him. \n\nHe looked to see an attractive young lady looking at him from her expensive SUV. He hesitated and pondered her offer. \"Sure, if you're headed south,\" he said and she nodded. \"Let me grab my bag.\"\n\nHe pulled his suitcase from the car and joined the woman in her vehicle. \"I appreciate it,\" he told her.\n\n\"No problem,\" she said. \"I'm Jane.\"\n\n\"Jim,\" he replied and shook her hand.\n\nHis journey continued with him staring out the window, though he wasn't looking at anything. He was remembering the last vacation he'd taken with his wife. They'd gone fishing, the first time she had agreed to try it. He smiled as he recalled how she squirmed any time she had touch a fish or nightcrawler. \"It's so slimy!\" she'd say before they would laugh and he'd help her.\n\n\"What's on your mind?\" Jane asked. She'd noticed his smile.\n\n\"My wife,\" he answered.\n\n\"Where's she?\"\n\n\"Passed away a few years ago,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that,\" Jane said.\n\n\"Yeah, me too,\" he said under his breath.\n\nJim looked over at Jane. He hadn't actually studied her face. She was young, perhaps early 20s, and a natural beauty. But she was plain compared to his wife. She'd been flawless. Even when she was sick, or when she'd gotten a bad haircut, or put on her angry frown. She was always so damned beautiful. He didn't care that she had a little extra weight in her rear, or that her breasts had begun to drop with age. Even when he saw her naked every day, his admiration of her beauty never waned.\n\n\"You married?\" he asked.\n\nJane laughed. \"No, not in any rush,\" she said.\n\n\"Good. That's good,\" Jim replied. \"Wait til you know you've found the right one. You won't regret it.\"\n\n\"So where are you headed anyway?\"\n\nJim shrugged. \"I don't know. Anywhere. Wherever. I just need new surroundings, you know? ,\" he said.\n\n\"Running away?\" Jane asked.\n\nJim thought for a moment. \"Taking a vacation. That's how I'm thinking about it. One last adventure.\"" ]

[ 1, 1, 2 ]

[ "1383945861", "1383947138", "1383886111" ]

[ "\"What the hell am I supposed to do with this?\" Shouted dave\n\"I dunno man, I'm just paid to deliver this stuff.\" The delivery man tossed his clip-board back into his truck.\n\"How am I suppoed to store this?\"\n\"I dunno buddy, maybe you should have thought of that before you adopted a whale.\"\nThe delivery man climbed into the cab of his truck, smotherig his laughter and drove off. Dave looked at the massive tank of water holding a young whale and sighed.\n\"Well I guess I should figure out what to feed you. Shit.\"", "Before my aunt passed, she named me the sole caretaker of the Volkswagen-sized stone head she received as the result of a mission trip to Micronesia thirty years ago. I couldn't understand why she left it to me then but I've since decided it may have had something to do with my commenting on how fascinating I found it when I was a child and first saw it in her home. Having been the only person to show any interest in the thing, she probably just decided to leave it to me in her will. I didn't actually care for it at all though. It just happened to resemble my teacher Mr. Marbles, who had a stony, pockmarked face. \n\nAccording to my mother though, the thing was never actually meant to be admired. The people of the small island my aunt visited were so incensed by her proselytizing there that they sent her the stone head as a symbol of their obstinance. In the culture of the people of that island, a gift is considered to be a great burden, especially if the favor of its giving can't be returned without considerable expense. This stone head then, my mother explained, was rowed by those people over four hundred miles to the mainland, killing two men from exhaustion and maiming another. They were on the tossing sea for two weeks with nowhere to land for a rest. When they finally arrived, the object was loaded onto a commercial liner and shipped, at a great expense of precious shells I'm sure, to the Tallahassee importer where my aunt picked it up. She did not understand the intention of the island people though, having spent so much time preaching and so little time listening, and so the insult was completely lost on her. She was delighted by it.\n\nThe statue has taken a different shape in my eyes now- it resembles my father a bit, the day he told me that I was on my own for paying the rent after I told him I had dropped out of university to join a band. It seems ridiculous to associate the proud, solemn figure with my six-month stint in a fusion sax quartet, but the association becomes more natural when you consider the absurd context in which the figure was created: an eternal monument carved at tremendous expense to communicate an insult that was never understood.\n\nI struggled for a while with the question of what to do with the stone head- it had no place in my den; I've no collection of quixotic knick-knacks to complement it, as my aunt had. There was no room for the thing in my library (which is really just a nook in the rear of the apartment where I keep a shelf lined with dusty books). And it didn't seem respectful to hide it in the garage, where no one would ever be able to appreciate the craftsmanship of the proud people who created it.\n\nSo I did what I figured was the only sensible thing to do: I gave it to the city, who placed the stone head in a prominent place on a hill in the park. My aunt would approve; she liked to say that our salvation is in the works we do when we're inspired by God. And I'm sure the people who carved the stone head would appreciate it too- the symbol of their independence, a monolithic insult left silently judging at the center of our city, meant never to be returned. \n\nI like to think though that the stone head serves a more universal purpose, as a monument to the one true god common to people of every culture: our silly pride.", "Okay. I don't know what to do with this. It looks like some kind of laser beam. Oh! It flips from a red thing to a blue thing. I wonder if it's one of those Star Trek guns. That'd be pretty cool. I didn't know that we were that advanced. Maybe I should pull the trigger. Great. Wonderful. My fish is dead, and water is everywhere. I could have aimed it at the wall. What happens if I switch back to the red thing? Now, we're talking. Just kidding, my desk is on fire. I don't know why I picked this up. Where did I find it, anyway? DAMN IT. Brother exploited my curiosity, *again*.", "I'm not very good at writing, but I'd love to see where this goes: perhaps the large and useless object is Earth or the universe as a whole, and it is written from the perspective of God?\n\nWould anyone be willing to give that a shot?", "On a sunny Thursday morning, I stepped out on my front door to go to work. But instead, I found a large burlap sack, tied, and lumpy. \n\nLooking around the neighborhood, I saw no getaway vehicle, no moving truck that accidentally delivered this to the wrong address, and no smiling salesman trying to sell a sack of potatoes. I had no idea what it was. \n\nI kicked it. It groaned. \n\nThe knot was a simple one, and I quickly had it untied. My confusion blossomed when I peered inside, and found a well dressed, fat, old man inside. He rubbed his eyes and mumbled a bit. Looking up at me, he said \"who are you?\" \n\n\"Umm. I should be asking you that question. I found you on my doorstep. What are you doing here?\" \n\n\"What the hell?\" He seemed dazed. He stood and climbed out of the burlap sack. Reaching in, he pulled out a briefcase. \"What city is this?\"\n\n\"Washington DC, sir.\" \n\n\"How far am I from the US Capitol building?\" \n\n\"It's pretty far from here.\" I replied. \n\nIt then dawned on me who he was. He was a congressman. I recognized him from a picture I had seen in the news. A few weeks ago he had been one of the most vocal congressmen behind the shutdown, trying to blame everyone but himself for the shutdown, and had actually spent that time in his own house, watching netflix. \n\n\"Well. Very well then, citizen. Listen, you wouldn't mind giving me a lift to the capitol building, would you? I've got a quick meeting to attend, and then I have a few rounds of golf this afternoon that I've got to attend.\" He winked. \"For democracy of course!\" \n\nHe rolled all the way down my driveway when I shoved him off my porch. ", "\"The sculptor is dead!\"\nThe voice of the town crier rose above the mundane uninspired din that surrounded the Square. People felt sufficiently interested to stop and stare at the crier for a few moments.\n\nThe sculptor had been famous. His creations had been the talk of the town for decades. 'The Man Who Held A Brick To His Ear' ((granite, green and brown-yellow)that stood close to the square; The Horned Box (marble, white- slightly yellow), outside the fort; The Tall Pointy Thing With Wings (sandstone, red-brown), just outside the main city gates, had made sure that his name would not be forgotten in a hurry.\n\nOka, the drunkyard with whom The Sculptor always had a long and spirited discussion before beginning any new piece, groggily stagered out of his thatched mud-grit-bamboo hut. Someone had rudely awakened him at this unearthly hour of ten in the morning. His disoriented eyes stared at the thin smiling man in front of him. He vaguely remembered him as being the late sculptor's servant. Behind the man stood a large cart on which rested an enormous unevenly round stone. \n\n\"The Master's masterpiece-he wanted you to have it\"\n\nThrough the numbing haze, reason probed a tiny but sufficiently pointed stick into his consciousness. \n\n\"What-What am I supposed to do with it?\" he said\n\n\"It's his masterpiece. You will, of course not refuse his last gift\"\n\nOka considered. Refusing a gift was considered rude. Much ruder that vomitting on your neighbour's lap while drunk.\n\nHe vaguely nodded, and the smiling man, with the help of the cart driver, roll-dropped the enormous stone at his doorstep.\n\n\"What does, I mean did, he call this one?\", he shouted at the receeding figure.\n\nThe servant turned, smiled again, and said \"Everything Here\".\n\nThe stone continued to stand ouside his doorway for days. He had no desire to move it. It wasn't as if he got too many guests anyways. And no one was going to steal a heavy and difficult-to-maneuvere piece of rock. Days turned into weeks, weeks to months and so on. The seasons came and went. The stone expanded and contracted in the heat and cold. Rain made ridges across it.\n\nThe the days started becoming drier, and slowly the town moved into more habitable territories.\n\nHundreds of years later the stone was unearthed by a group of archeologists. After various observations using the most cutting edge technology, the researchers came to a startling conclusion. The rock was an almost perfect depiction of earth if all the water was drained. The mountains, valleys, canyons, riverbeds, seabeds, everything was, shockingly, where they should be.\n\nIt was sent to a museum where it resides today under the heading:\"Everything Here\"\n", "\"...\" \n\"...\" \n\"...\" \n\"... So\" \n\"Yup...\" \n\"What... Why... Care to explain?\" Bob finally asked. \n\"Well... the what seems pretty obvious.\" I respond staring at my new possession. \n\"Yeah, I guess it is... So why is it sitting on our lawn?\" Bob replied starring at the monstrosity sitting in front of our porch. \n\"Well... Jim said he had a new sculpture that I would like and said he'd sell it to me for half price.\" I said refusing to make eye contact with Bob. \n\"And you trusted him? We are talking about the same Jim right? The same Jim that told you it was a good idea try and sprint naked through the mall declaring your profound love for Barbra Streisand?\" Bob asked giving me a look that I knew all too well. \n\"Yeah, that Jim...\" I continued to stare at the 6 foot sculpture in my yard. \n\"You got drunk with him again didn't you.\" Bob said, he didn't even bother making it a question. Bastard. \n\"A little bit...\" \nBob sighed, a little louder than necessary. \n\"You know, I understand making dumb decisions when you're drunk, but most people take them back later.\" \n\"Shut up. I made my choice... Besides, it's not that bad...\" I said trying to save a little bit of my pride. \n\"Henry, have you looked at it, you do realize what it is yes?\" Bob said turning to face me. \n\"Yes, I can tell, but I'm sure we can find a spot for it...\" At this point I realize there's no coming back from this. \n\"It's a penis Henry. There is a 6 foot sculpture of a dick sitting on our front lawn.\" Bob said glaring at me. \"Now you're going to go inside and get Jim to come take this thing back.\" \n\"Can't.\" \n\"What did you say?\" \n\"I can't. Jim flew out to Japan this morning on a business trip. He won't get back for a month.\" I can feel Bob literally trying to burn a hole in my head with his eyes. \n\"Fine... you can keep it in your room.\" With that Bob turned and went back into the house. \n\"Well... I was thinking about getting a coat rack.\"", "\"I'm sorry sir, my job is just to deliver it\"\n\nBefore I could respond, the delivery guy was already hopping his way back up into the cab of his truck.\n\nI scratched my head, as I dug in my jacket pocket for my smokes.\n\nInhaling the first puff of procrastinating smoke, I leaned back against the wall and looked again at my new purchase. \n\nThe door pushed open as John came out. He nodded his greeting and I watched as his gaze went past me to the object sat on the kerb next to me. \n\nHis brow furrowed and I watched first as his comprehension clicked and then as the mirth built within him.\n\nPre-emptively, he stuck out his hand to brace himself against the edge of the doorframe.\n\n\"Have you quite finished?\" I asked, as John was all but suffocating from raucous laughter.\n\n\"But...what...how...\"\n\n\"It's a mistake, I must have made a bloody typo on the form\"\n\n\"But...it's...\"\n\nJohn was cleary having some real difficulty drawing breath now. He could barely gulp a small mouthful of air between each outburst of laughter.\n\nHe rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and let out a few more giggles under his breath. \n\n\"What are you going to do with it?\" He asked, barely maintaining his composure. I could see him deliberately looking off into the distance in order to avoid eye contact with either me or my monstosity.\n\n\"I don't know. Beryl just came down and told me I can't leave it here, so I guess I'll have to take it home with me\"\n\nThis set John off into another fit of giggles.\n\n\"But...you...get....the...bus\" \"You'll...have...to...pay...for...two...seats!\"\n\n\"Fuck off John\" I extinguished my cigarette and covered my face with my hands. Sighing, a lifted my rucksack to my shoulders, pulled my coat tighter around me and struggled to pick up my new business card with both hands.\n\nMy 4 foot by 2 foot business card. My name, number, email and company logo clear as day across both sides.\n\nThat was the day I learnt the difference between ' and \" when referring to feet and inches.", "We have no word in our language for the creature. He responds to our calls and that is enough. How he became our servant we do not know. The creature came with the house! This is the way it has always been, for thousands of years. His race serving ours.\n\nBrother and I have discussed at length to what use we can put the creature beyond basic food preparation and cleaning, but he seems to lack both understanding and motivation. The creature often spends all day away from the house - we presume he hunts on his own - only to return in the evening to sit silently, play with one of his toys, or sleep. Always sleeping. The lazy, useless brute.\n\nStill, for all his faults, we have grown accustomed to his presence. We even occasionally honor him by joining him on his bed or resting area. The creature seems to enjoy this and will respond with calming tones in his language of nonsense.\n\nWe eventually plan to teach the creature to catch the small animals and bugs that sometimes enter the house. But until we can develop a more consistent form of communication and train him further, we must accept this basic and limited arrangement.\n\nWhat a day it will be when the creature is finally able to perfectly understand his Feline masters!" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 4, 6, 7, 7, 14, 38 ]

[ "1383936323", "1383943636", "1383948573", "1383937579", "1383940571", "1383931278", "1383932868", "1383927780", "1383928510" ]

[ "For Annie, it started with sloths. More specifically with the soft toy one that, fresh off the plane from his travels, her uncle had delivered wrapped in a green ribbon.\nWith the years, Sloth became ever more torn, dirtied and bedraggled, carried everywhere by a hind paw. Annie would bring him on her trips with her uncle to the library, where they would sit and look at the pictures of Sloth's relatives in the jungles of South America and read about countless other animals living there. When asked to do a project on forests in primary school she brought Sloth along to help with the presentation.\nAlthough she no longer carried Sloth around by the paw, he sat on her shelf above her desk, watching as she finished another biology project. Applying to universities, there was never any doubt in her mind about studying anything other than ecology.\nOf course, Sloth went with her. Whilst by this point she was definitely too mature for stuffed toys, he sat on her desk next to the pile of books sent to her by the same uncle that had brought him to her all those years ago.\nIt was when these books stopped coming, one rainy grey morning in November, that the series of mistakes that had brought her here began. On finishing her Ph.D. she had been offered a permanent post at the university, but hadn't taken it. The suspicion of others that she had slept her way to it, and dealing with a (rightfully) jealous wife on a regular basis would have been too much.\nAs the jeep bumped down the dirt track to the research centre, she breathed in the clean air of a new beginning, and thought of how it had begun all those years ago. With sloths.", "It started with sloths. They had harbored the virus on that green mossy shit that grew all over them for however long they had been slow-creeping the jungle, or wherever the fuck they are from. Then the goddamned virus, just sitting there, giving them moss skin for eternity, jumps a letter or two in it's DNA and Bam! - fucker starts raging through every mammal on the planet. We though everyone was getting Mono at first, even the cats and dogs (turns out the virus is a distant cousin of Mono), but then that mossy shit started growing from us. Squirrels, racoons. All mammalian life slowed to a sloth's pace. Elephants die of thirst before making it to the next water hole. Anything smaller than a cat is a bird buffet. Nobody can fight the fires. The virus grows ever worse. It's taken me three days to write this, sitting in my bayou shack. It'll take me another two to crawl out there, pet an alligator, and let the lizards re-inherit the earth. Fucking Sloths...", "It started with sloths. That's probably self evident though, although genius as it was. The replicant disease mimicked slothes originally, so it was no surprise to see so many sloths cropping up- scientists just figured sloths were breeding. It was quite a surprise, however when squirrels and babboons and eventually human mothers began to give birth to sloths. That was quite a surprise indeed: watching a little furry hand crawl out of the womb, all covered in placenta. Fully grown sloths!\n\nAfter that point, we surmised that all the world's creatures would eventually become sloths. The planet would just become ridiculously slow and dreadfully boring, like PBS. That was at least a generation away though, we knew we had time to find a cure for what was being called (with no hint of originality) slothism.\n\nAnd then the first person changed. They just changed right into a sloth. That was a very strange Laker's game. Right in the middle of dribbling the ball up the court, the player just fell over on live TV and began screaming. In five minutes, his old human skin had shed and from the bloody pile crawled out a sloth. It just sat there and twiddled its claws awkwardly. We saw quite a lot of vomit that day.\n\nFrom then on, it was sloths all over the place. The animals mostly changed first, but humans intermixed. Then, the plant started changing, even rocks! What was it about sloths? No one knew, all we knew was that we were living in houses made out of sloths, with sloths crawling around inside, eating sloths while watching sloths and sitting on sloths. Eventually, we were even breathing tiny sloths! Even while typing this, I am a sloth and I'm typing on a sloth. I don't know how this sloth managed to upload my sloth onto the sloth, but sloth.\n\nSloth sloth sloth, sloth sloth, sloth sloth sloth.\n\nSloth.", "It started with sloths. It ended with slaughter.", "The sudden worldwide mass deaths, it started with the Sloths. The people who were simply lazy, nothing worse than that. The first world was of course hit the hardest. On that one night He killed so many that burning the bodies seemed the only possible solution. We didn't know what was going on yet. We thought it was a virus or... ya know... something like that. Everyone a wore mask and tried to stay inside as much as possible. The world just sort of ground to a halt, like we all could feel that more was coming and were just waiting to see what it was.\n\nHe took the Wrathful, the following week. After that night anyone who acted violently just dropped dead in an instant. He took the Gluttons a week later and the Greedy the next. It was a month of terror and hiding from something you couldn't understand. That was when the pattern finally became clear. The traits that each week's victims shared were what made Him choose them. For the next week we waited for His next reaping, and the world went a bit mad. People debased themselves trying to undue any pride in their hearts. They cried in the streets while whipping themselves, some with whips tipped in metal. I saw other men lay down and die naked where they fell, trying to somehow give away everything to prove they envied nothing. The Lustful? Well who had time for that now anyways? Society had crumbled. Fear of Wrath prevented any violence, so it was a slow, sad crumbling apocalypse. \n\nHe took the Prideful the next day. Maybe it was because we knew what was happening, maybe it was because he wanted to punish those who thought proudly that they were good and would not be judged, maybe it was something else, but this time He showed Himself. \n\nEveryone the world over saw him. No matter where you were, what you were doing, you suddenly saw his empty skull's eye sockets, his black robes, his skeleton's wings. His skeleton smile, that's the part I still see every time I so much as blink. Grinning at you. All teeth.\n\nIn the same instant he killed every last prideful person. This put an end to any remaining leaders still trying to save us. I'm not really sure what happened to the world after that. The already spotty news ended, the power went out. The world gave up. I gave up. \n\nPeople killed themselves all the next week. No one tried to start moving the bodies. My building reeked, but the mountain of jumpers laying outside the door was worse. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. Everything was a haze. You could always hear someone crying from every direction, or maybe that was me, I can't remember anymore. \n\nI think he took the Lustful next. There weren't many of us left, so how could you tell? I left my building when it caught fire. I just walked out of my apartment and down the street. The was no hurry because there was no where to go. I got tired and sat down in the middle of the street, next to a naked boney ghost of a man on the threshold of starvation, trying to flee his envy. We just stared at each other for a bit, heartbroken from our loss of hope. We didn't say anything, what was there to say now? I fell asleep next to him. When I woke up soon after, he had died.\n\nI forced myself to find food after that, I don't know why. I had felt ready to die, but something about that stranger dying by my side had pushed me on. So I walked. I found food. I slept where I may. And I would walk more. \n\nThe city was in ruins. Fires burned unchecked. Corpses were everywhere. Here and there the largest handfuls of humanity still left gather around churches, as if the proximity to the building would protect them. I even saw doorways smeared with blood, blood I suspect and pray came from a lamb. From the smell emanating from inside, it hadn't worked. \n\nThis is the world now, this pathetic, collapsing carnal house. No final war did us in, no natural devastation or disease. We died for our sins, for the deadliest of those sins. He's coming tonight and I finally realized the brilliance of the order he took us. Why He took the Sloths first. Those soft, happy people; they never saw the horror of our end. They simply died in comfort, spared of suffering, fear, and pain. And that's why he did it. And that is why He smiles like that. That boney grin all made of teeth. Because it is all one dark joke and He is laughing at us.\n\nBecause even though I know He's coming tonight, I can not banish the envy I hold in my heart for the Sloth's quick and easy death. ", "It started with the sloths. And really, that just makes sense. You see, the sloths had it all figured out, all along. We had been studying them for years, marvelling at how a creature so slow, so tremendously counter-intuitive could survive, could exist at all. And yet, there they were. What could it mean? How could a being be so sluggish?\n\nIt was a long time before the breakthrough occurred. It was something easily lost, since no one really ever bothered to remeasure the speed of sloths. Everyone knew they topped out at 1.2 miles per hour. That had been researched and verified. It was confusing but once set, it was taken as fact. Some 150 years later, in 2147, when the sloth population was declining rapidly, one researcher set out to determine their migration patterns to see if the cause could be determined from that. While studying this, the researcher stumbled upon a startling fact. No single sloth was breaking 0.3 miles per hour. This was substantially slower than the previously measured top speed. After testing every possible situation which could hurry a sloth, including playing recorded sounds of a distress call of the child sloth to its mother, the highest speed measured was a mere 0.5 miles per hour.\nThis discovery is what led to the breakthrough which is proving to the demise of the human race. After a flurry of discussion in the albeit small sloth scientific community, the change soon garnered widespread attention from almost all biologists. Evolution was dismissed as a possibility. Since the 'original' top speed was set at the dawn of the age of information, there was sufficient data recorded to prove that it wasn't Evolution. Other animals were researched, and a shocking conclusion was reached. Though at a much smaller rate than sloths, the overall speed of every known animal was decreasing.\n\nThe most common, and most preposterous, theory was that time was \"slowing down\" and so, every animal was slowing down with it. Ironically, the actual cause sounded even more ridiculous at first. The Theory or Intra-Species Energy, or ISE. According to ISE, each species had a 'reserve' of energy, essentially. An amount to draw from to fuel minds, bodies, and the progression of the species as a whole. And the sloths were running out. Every species was running out. Sloths had been apparently been allocated a very small reserve. Humanity, luckily had a very large reserve remaining. There was no negative side effects yet seen in humans, as the humans, for some unknown reason, had the largest reserve. But it was also draining the fastest. Researching the reserves and how to slow its depletion.\n\nIt started with the sloths and it ended with the Sloths. Sloths were the dangerous ones. Research made no progress towards the goal of slowing its depletion, but did teach us a very dangerous thing: how to tap into its power. Very few could, and those that could suddenly found themselves smarter, stronger, faster, better then everyone else. Cults sprung up everywhere around these few, and eventually the Church of the Sloths was formed. Those that could tap the power were the at the highest level, the proverbial popes. These were the Sloths, in deference to the animal that started everything. Ironic in a way, since they were significantly faster than other people.\n\nUnfortunately, the expected happened. The Sloths were power mad, and used the power as they willed, for whatever they wanted. The old society was completely destroyed, and within 10 years the only status that mattered was one's \"slothiness,\" how in touch with the reserve a person was. By then, the Sloths were beginning to realize that their hedonistic tendencies were out of control, and if they wanted to continue to live normally at all, they would have to slow down the depletion of the reserve. But it was too late. Humans were already significantly slower, and the reserve had gone from bursting with energy, to very low in that time.\n\nAnd so here we are. We crawl to the store at 1.2 miles per hour. We have truly become sloths. And we must watch, as the apes overtake us. As we always feared they would. They communicate in grunts, and we can see the consciousness glittering in their eyes. We see the confusion in their faces as they look at us. How did this creature so slow, so tremendously counter-intuitive survive, or exist at all?\n\nWell....they will find out soon enough.", "It started with sloths. No one had expected the eugenics program to start with an animal so monumentally stupid that it was capable of dying of starvation with a full stomach. No one had expected sloths to be the paradigm for the new generation. \n\nBut, argued the scientific experts at the forefront of the S.A.P. (Sloth Assimilation Programme), sloths were the ideal. The average American metabolism was already rapidly approaching that of the average sloth, so why would we not engineer humans to have the same level of contentment that sloths did with their simplistic, yet charming environment? \"Thoreau would be proud,\" boasted these scientific experts, \"that we are emulating such a majestic creature.\" \n\nAnd so the programme began with the first generation of humans engineered to have the same contentment with life as that apogee of the animal kingdom--the sloth. At first, everything seemed to be going perfectly. McDonalds sales were up, car sales were down, and the quality of life index was off the charts. \n\nBut on one fateful day, human-slothkind received a grim reminder, in the form of unintelligible wailing and desperate screeching. Whereupon the scientific experts remembered belatedly that female sloths, upon getting in the mood, perform an eccentric ritual of yodeling and screaming until a male comes to mate with them. \n\nThe S.A.P. was indefinitely suspended. Sales of noise canceling headphones jumped eight hundred percent. We live in a time of fear, of confusion, of clamor and mishegas. We live in a time of sloths. ", "It started with sloths.\n\nI'll go ahead and tell you now, kid, anything that starts with sloths ends with sloths, too. There ain't a person left alive who would try to tell you otherwise. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, though, ain't it? \n\nSloths made sense at the time: they got the same number of limbs as us, they're dumb as hell, and they're slower than your hungover gramma getting up on a Sunday. A small boost to their immune system was only supposed to help us come up with a way to combat AIDS in people. Had no idea they were gonna mutate into faster, smarter versions of their old selves.\n\nWe like to think we still got them beat. When Patient Zero first arrived in the lab, we all just marveled at them as the human race. We made huge leaps, kid. We were ready to end disease on this planet. The sloths were showin' some big progress. Apes were next on the list to test, before finally bringin' the medicine to the last diseased of the human race. It wasn't 'til Patient Zero stood upright, opened his mouth, and spoke English that we realized we got more than we'd bargained for. Hell, it was something out of a science fiction movie or some shit. Religions started springin' up right away. The Christian right condemned them all for playin' God. I'd have to say they had a point. Science went too far that time. They didn't know what they was doin' though. Hindsight's twenty-twenty, though, ain't it?\n\nKid, I don't know how else to say it, but they're all killin' machines now. The first human death was ruled as a freak accident. It wasn't until we heard the deep guttural voice of Patient Zero asking for the death of humans that we knew we were in trouble. They're smart, see; ain't smart like sixteen hundred on no SAT smart. They're clever, an' that's the worst kinda smart. They know we ain't got a way to tell 'em apart, the regular sloths an' the killer ones. We survivors have learned to just shoot 'em all. We don't discriminate. \n\nReason I'm writin' you this letter is cause your mother and I don't know how well our history is gonna be recorded from here on out. The sloths think they've won, kid. They're in our tanks, in our homes, and they cut off all ways we have of communicatin' with the rest of the population. We love you so much, kid. You ain't even got a name yet, but we love you so much. Remember your father fought against the sloths. Your father fought for humanity an' your freedom. You got a family to be proud of. I gotta leave the cabin now an' try to get some food for you an' your mom. I pray I get back to you, kid. I love you, an' I'm sorry you got this world to come into. ", "Yep, it all started with sloths. That was the brilliant part, you see. You got an animal famous for being dumb and clumsy. So idiotic that they would fall out of trees because they couldn't figure out that their limbs weren't tree branches. Just hug themselves to death. Ha ha.\n\nEveryone always worried about the larger animals. They'd pack the movie theaters to fear great whites in the ocean and snakes on a plane. Or in a river, or on land. You get the idea. Lions, and tigers, and bears. Oh, my! \n\nOh, no. Known fears are never to be as feared. Sloths were the perfect tools. Dumb and clumsy.\n\nSo, when they started falling in great enough numbers, all the animals about closed in. Especially humans.\n\nSo slow, the virus worked. That was its beauty. Like the sloth it spread. Just fast enough to move ahead, just slow enough to seem harmless.\n\nBy the time anyone thought to care, it was too late. The sloths brought down countries, then continents, and this soon will also be my fate." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 8 ]

[ "1384269003", "1384270556", "1384278641", "1384284876", "1384305286", "1384285866", "1384268191", "1384269207", "1384265639" ]

[ "Something about him didn't sit well with me from the very start. When you picture a typical cab driver, this guy wouldn't have been the mental image in your head. He was very neatly dressed, almost to the point where I thought I had stepped foot into a miniature limo. His black hair was slicked back and the large sunglasses covering the upper half of his face seemed to fit the look perfectly.\n\nI don't usually take cabs, but my car had broken down earlier in the day and I figured I had no choice. There's nothing quite like having your two year old car die on your 21st birthday. My friend gave me a number for a cabbie, and he picked me up right away. I told him to take me to Beakes and South Division, but he didn't answer me. He just put the car in drive and off we went. Silence blanketed the car like a comforter over a child's pillow fort, and I got uncomfortable quickly.\n\n\"So, have you been doing this for a while?\" I asked him politely.\n\nThere was no response. \n\n\"Uh, okay...could you just turn the radio on?\"\n\nAgain, nothing. I waited a few minutes and tried once more.\n\n\"How much will the fare be?\" I asked.\n\n\"You won't have to worry about that, where you're going.\" he finally replied.\n\nNow, I was genuinely freaked out. I decided right then and there that I would get out at the next red light, because this was just weird. When I saw my opportunity, I took it. My hand tried opening the handle, but it wouldn't budge. He had locked it! \n\n\"I'd like to leave please.\"\n\nInstead of saying something back, he looked at me through the rear view mirror and cracked a smile. I knew I was in trouble. My sweaty palm reached into my pocket to find my phone. It wasn't there.\n\n\"Looking for this?\" \n\nThrough the shadows I saw the driver hold my phone up, the light illuminating the interior. How...?\n\n\"You won't have to worry about this, either.\" He said with another smile.\n\nMy mouth couldn't conjure words, and my vocal cords were completely dried out. This was a nightmare. I closed my eyes and just tried to picture myself in a different place, but that didn't work. The window beside me showed an unfamiliar terrain; I was somewhere out in the country. My phone wouldn't have worked anyways.\n\nFinally, the cab pulled over. We were stopped in front of some massive house in the middle of nowhere. This is it, I thought. I'm a goner. He got out, came over to my side, and yanked me out of the seat. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up the sidewalk towards the house. I was surprised by how loose of a grip he had.\n\nThe house was completely dark from the outside, and my brain could only think of what horrifying things would be in there. We approached the porch, and he opened the door. And then, with a forceful shove, he pushed me towards the opening. \n\nSuddenly, all the lights came on at once, and a crowd full of people yelled \"SURPRISE!\"\n\nMy friends are fucking dicks. \n\n", "This trip was supposed to be fun. I had bad vibes ever since my flight got delayed and rain followed my arrival to New York. My first time here and I can't seem to see any reason why people love this city. My friend who was supposed to pick me up at JFK was probably stoned out of his mind and wasn't returning my calls. Fast forward an hour of waiting and I said, fuck it, I'm getting a taxi and finding the first vacant place in downtown.\n\nSurprisingly I managed to get a cab. I kept staring at the headlights when it pulled over, the flashes of raindrops having their moment to shine. I was about to chuck my check-in in with me in the backseat and the driver frantically waved his hand, motioning me to the trunk that he just popped open. Just what I need, a couple more seconds to soak in the city.\n\n\"Central Park please,\" I tried to request with an air that didn't reveal me to be a complete and utter tourist. Seconds later I regretted asking to go to a park at 11pm in the rain. The driver nodded, and I was disappointed with the lack some sort of big city sass. He locked the doors and pulled onto the highway. I slumped in the pleather seat and I looked outside hoping for something to tell me all of this wasn't a waste of time.\n\nForty minutes later, I know we had already past the park since I started tracking with my phone's gps a while ago. Honestly, I didn't care, I could always chalk it up to the New York experience and all. He never said a word, it was pretty late anyway, but I was intrigued that he didn't even try to make excuses or distract me. \n\nI didn't care anymore, getting ripped off at this point wasn't some sort of weird karma or some test. To me, at this point in my life it just felt like a cherry on top of a sundae: you just got to have it. I was done trying to passive-aggressively glare at the driver until 'he got it,' or call him out and deal with bullshit excuses or some sort of feigned ignorance of English. \n\nSurprisingly, he must have felt the giant dark cloud above my head and he finally glanced at me through the rear view mirror.\n\n\"Your friend, he will not come. This time, go alone.\"\n\nI sighed quietly, trying not to whimper, as I looked out the window to avoid tearing up. This clairvoyant driver was right. Why was I always replying on other people? I had never traveled alone, the idea terrified me but at the same time it was strangely enticing. He unlocked the doors, I gave him a hundred and for the first time in my life I started heading out without any destination in mind. ", "I hailed a cab. The evening had been a fuck up. The worst of it being that the girl didn't even turn up where we were meant to meet and wasn't answering the number she gave me. A shitty end to a worse than average day.\n\nThe cab rolled to a stop in front of me. I caught a glimpse of my battered reflection in the raindrops scattered across its shiny black surface. I reached down to my side while opening the door and hauled the duffel bag into the back seat. I climbed in and answered the cabby's questioning look with, \"St Pancras, mate.\" I settled back into the seat, attempting to relax despite the discomfort.\n\nThe cab turned in the road and the doors locked as we got up to speed. The old man's eyes, slits in the creased leather of his face, glanced again in the rear view mirror as the clear plastic between us slid shut following yellowing fingers.\n\nHe took a left onto the A4, a main road which certainly wouldn't take me to St Pancras.\n\n\"'Scuse me, boss, I meant St Pancras, as in the train station, you know, King's Cross.\"\n\n\"I know.\"\nHis voice as gravelly as I imagined, his eyes appeared to narrow in the mirror. I almost thought I heard an accusatory tone in his voice. I licked my lips, \"Well, we're now heading in the opposite direction.\"\n\n\"So I suppose you haven't had the best of days, eh?\"\nI could hear the hard edge to his almost jovial cockney twang.\n\n\"Listen-\"\n\nHe barked a harsh rasping laugh, \"No, you listen, son. My radio's ready to transmit, how about the gun you've probably got digging into your back, that'll need to go in the bag along with my cash, don't you think?\"\n\nFuck. I wouldn't even have the cash on me if it wasn't for that girl pissing about.\n\"How-\"\n\n\"The next words out of your mouth had best be \"Yes, guvnor.\" How? I'm good with faces. You knew you fucked up.\"\n\nHe nodded towards the passenger side, I carefully arched forward and noticed the live news feed he had running on a tablet lying in the seat.\n\nThe words, bank robber, murderer, branded into the back my mind.\n\nI didn't have any choice. I slowly pulled the pistol from my waistband. My hand loose on the grip. My eyes drifted to the speedometer.\n\nThe day never was going to have a good ending.\n\nI tightened my grip on the gun by my side and slid my finger behind the trigger guard.\n\nI raised the gun.\n\nI saw the surprise in the tough old man's eyes.\n\n\"Yes, guvnor.\"\n\nBang. \n\nMy own bitter-sweet amusement at old man's shock was, figuratively, the last thing to pass through my head." ]

[ 2, 2, 3 ]

[ "1384625993", "1384679827", "1384624713" ]

[ "Love is…love is such a… delicate word. It is, at the same time, uplifting and beautiful, yet so utterly, utterly tragic.\n\nThe world is such a terribly, terribly cold place. It's really quite horrific. The very idea of love is, in and of itself, absolutely ridiculous. That in a world of so very many empty faces, so very many uncaring individuals… the idea that one can… just find complete satisfaction… pure bliss and joy, simply by being in the presence of another human being is… just such a wildly, wildly absurd notion.\n\nBut, I suppose, such foolishness is just part of being a romantic and an artist. Still, I am quite proud of myself. It is now Day 237 of my year-long sojourn out into the great nation of the United States of America, and I believe I have found myself a number of… particularly suitable candidates.\n\nOf course, like many endeavors of this nature, with success…also comes cruel and painfully, painfully unforgiving failure. But of course… to dwell on such things is the folly of lesser…weaker men.\n\nSo… let's talk success, shall we?\n\nI do believe that my first love is still my favorite. Her name was Annabelle, and she was a lovely, lovely young lady born under the wondrous glory of the Midwestern Sun. Ah… pursuing her was so extraordinarily difficult… but so deliciously rewarding. She sang so sweetly underneath the moonlight. She was as a chorus of angels, hailing the good Lord in heaven. Holding her simply felt…so…so right. It was the first time I had ever experienced such ecstasy, but how could I have known if she was the one? How could I simply have settled for one flavor, when our great nation's plains and mountains extend so far in so many different directions? How could I have known if I had only tasted the most bland, most dull of joys, if I stopped at Annabelle? If I had stopped at Annabelle, I would never have met Jennifer, or Maria! And, quite obviously…I would never have met you, my dear.\n\nSo then… let us see how you compare. It will, of course, be painful. But remember, this is for the sake of love… for the sake of love… and art.\n\nNow…let's hear you sing…shall we?", "We fell beneath the autumn leaves, \nIn a world full of murderous thieves, \nBlessed to be apart from such crime, \nFalse vigilantes and drug dealing slime, \n\nWe fell into the glacial winter snow, \nBasking in memories of long ago, \nAmong the nostalgia we played, \nWhilst all the bills went unpaid, \n\nSnow melted and spring abloom, \nWe slept within the impending doom, \nSlow death of radioactive exposure, \nTwo weeks until house foreclosure, \n \nSummer's heat flew in with celerity, \nDeath had come for our prosperity, \nWe've managed to live, yet not well, \nHexed by the criminal's evil spell, \n \nI've killed for pennies, bled for dimes, \nCommitted the worst of heinous crimes, \nThough I'm one of the murderous thieves, \nI still fall beneath the Autumn leaves. " ]

[ 1, 3 ]

[ "1384729281", "1384720428" ]

[ "The sight was upsetting. I watched my colleagues fall before my eyes, one by one. What horrors have I wrought? The classic story of an experiment gone wrong. I had created hordes of chaotic monsters. Had I known this would result, I would have heeded my student's warnings and not attempted to mass produce these creatures for consumption. The delicate taste of their cerebral matter could not justify these dire consequences. Rather I had lashed out at him and assigned him to sty duty. The poor lad was one of the first victims when the revolution began. Had I known they were capable of plotting and over running the facilities, I would have activated the emergency termination earlier. Now it is too late. These creatures are beyond my control. They have developed a sense of sentience that I could have never imagined, and their aggressive nature knows no bounds. My kind succumbed to their brutal battering slowly as they came to recognize the most efficient way of eliminating us. \"The head.\" They seem to think, though I cannot grasp their foreign guttural sounds. \"Go for the head.\" \nI can see it in their unnervingly clear eyes. They are out to destroy us. Every last one.", "When it begins, you feel your bones gaining strength, calcifying in their core until you are no longer afraid to feel. While you wander, the arch in your back begins to straighten, and you realize that you move faster and more precisely than your companions. You'll pay it no mind and continue, unaware that the existence you once lived is coming to an end, and clarity is becoming your greatest enemy. \n\nThe language that you took for granted begins to leave you as your moans become more audible. New and alien words are starting to form inside a mouth gaining moisture and a moving tongue. The world is changing in your eyes, no longer dark and glazed over, but invigorated with color and light. Air is coming easily into your lungs, and you begin to feel a faint thud in your chest. The heat of the day is melting your dead skin, and you become aware of the smell reaching into your nose until you try to cover it with your torn hands. You begin to avoid your companions, realizing that they are making the inside of your gut churn. Spasms are erupting where flesh and tendon are attaching to your hardened bones--this is when the transformation is inevitable, and the screaming begins. \n\nPain. For days those words you were trying to discover are buried beneath the rush of air escaping from your lungs in agony. They capture you and strap you to their table. Teeth are being broken and remade while you try desperately to pull off your skin as easily as you always had when you were a wanderer. Suddenly thoughts are being created, ones that beg for death as you writhe on one of their tables, beneath the lights and the screen flashing images of your new consciousness deep into your forming mind. You can almost feel the neurons connecting through synapses, leaking an abundance of chemicals into your fleshly, pink limbs. You want it to end because you know it is from there the pain comes, but other feelings begin surface; pleasure, fear, and as you see the image of an innocent creature on the screen, happiness. \n\nInnocence? Happiness? These concepts were foreign to you, and were once out of your reach. Your only concern in your prior existence was the scent of the pink flesh that now covers you and the red that followed. You had seen those faces before, those innocent faces on the screen, torn and mangled by your own hands and teeth. Their blood had dripped from your mouth, filled your hollow chest and you had wandered for days with it drying on your bones. You realize everything you had done in that moment, and the clarity of it becomes worse than the physical pain. Sadness overwhelms you and you weep. You take your hand to wipe the tears away, and feel for the first time from your fingertips your own, living skin. ", "Peter liked Thompson. It was good to have company. They both worked at the gas-stay-sjon and every once in a while Thompson would shuffle out of the little room to talk to Peter. Or perhaps Thompson just liked the ringing sound the register-machine sometimes made when Peter hit it. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was that Peter liked talking to Thompson. Peter happily continued hitting the register as Thompson slowly shuffled out of his room, making his ways past the rotting groceries to absentmindedly stare at the register-machine.\n\n”Braaaaaains,” said Peter.\n\nThompson looked up at Peter. ”Braaaaains,” he concurred.\n\nPeter banged the register with his hand again. It made the ringing sound. Peter liked that sound. He knew that this was his job. He stood behind the register machine and hit it until it made the sound. Then something would pop out of it. Like a big box split into smaller boxes and you had to put the big box back into the register before it would make the sound again. It was a very advanced job, but Peter was smart enough to do it. He was quite proud of himself. Although the register was way too advanced for most people, Peter was one of the smart ones. “Braaaains,” he muttered smugly.\n\nOf course, Peter wasn’t the only person working at the gas-stay-sjon. Thompson’s job was to sit in the small room and use the pen to make squickles on the paper. The pen didn’t make squickles anymore though, it stopped doing that a long time ago but that was okay because there were already lots of squickles on the paper so Thompson could just move the pen around on top of the paper. Peter suspected that Thompson thought that this job required more smarts than Peter’s job. That was okay though. Thompson could continue thinking he was the smartest one if he wanted to. Peter knew very well that operating the advanced register-machinery was way smarter than operating the pen.\n\nPeter nodded to himself. The pen only required one thing: Moving it around on the paper. The register required hitting it until it made the dinging sound and then pushing the box back into it. That was *two* things. Peter was quite certain that two things was more than one thing so his job required way more smart than Thompson’s. He looked at Thompson for a moment. “Braaaains,” said Peter but Thompson appeared too busy looking at the register-machine to reply.\n\n“Delta-Nine-Four, reporting two walkers spotted at the Station, over.”\n\nPeter blinked a few times, looking up. A stranger had entered the gas-stay-sjon. It wasn’t a normal person though. His skin was all smooth and had a strange orange color to it not like the pale, rotting flesh Thompson and Peter had. He was talking to a strange little box and he was wearing silly grass-colored clothes. It was all really stupid, why would this person think he was grass?\n\nPeter hesitated. This all seemed familiar somehow. He had seen people like this before, years ago. Peter didn’t precisely remember what a year was, but he knew that it was a long time and it had been a long time since he had seen people like this one. The people with the fresh skin. There was something important about them, something that made Peter unable to look away from the strange grass-person.\n\n*Brains.*\n\nThat was it! These people had delicious *brains*! Peter suddenly felt incredibly hungry. It wasn’t fair at all. This guy had a delicious brain and he was keeping it all to himself! He saw that Thompson had gotten the same idea and they both began slowly shuffling towards the intruder.\n\nThe stupid grass-person held up a thingiemajingie that seemed sort of familiar but Peter couldn’t quite place it. It was sort of a long thing with a handle and then a tube on top too. The grass-man was pointing it at Thompson. For a moment, Peter was thinking about how stupid and silly the brain-hogging intruder was being. Then his thoughts were interrupted as the thingiemajingie made a thunderous sound so loud that it caused a huge hole to appear in Thompson’s head.\n\nPeter looked in horror as Thompson fell. He couldn’t do that! Thompson was his friend and he needed his help to run the gas-stay-sjon! Now Peter would have to do both the register-machine and the pen and that was two things and one thing which was a number *way* higher than just two and no one was smart enough to do that many things not even Peter. \n\nHe glared angrily at the stupid grass-man and shuffled towards him. “Braaaaains!” he shouted angrily. The grass-man pointed the thingiemajingie at Peter. It didn’t matter. Peter knew that he was faster than that. He was slowly shuffling towards the man at a breathtaking speed and he knew very well that he would soon reach the stupid grass-man. Just a few more minutes and he would be there!\n\nThen Peter was no more.", " It was the day the aliens had invaded the gloomy, uneventful planet. These things walked just... well, almost like us, but except much faster. I wanted to do that too, but my weakened leg bones would give off. It was then I heard something. I've never heard anything before. They were making these sounds themselves. Very fluent and voluble sounds. All I could do was groan. But that didn't really count for anything. I wish I was able to do the things that they could do.\n\n I was wondering what they would do, and how they even got here in the first place. They approached us, and I saw them execute one of us. Then another. And again. Why were they doing this? They were probably hungry like us. But they wouldn't stop after they overcame a certain amount. When would they stop? I was confused, like all of us (always) have been and will be. I could barley think, but I still knew it would be my best bet to stay away from these things. The only problem was we had almost no way of hunting down the hunter. We couldn't communicate like they could. We couldn't even run like they could. We couldn't do anything. But we had to do something. I, unlike the hungry others, hid inside a small, compact building and trapped myself in there. And just watched as the aliens overcame more and more of the population. How long could I stay here? How long until they found me? There was nothing I could do now but watch.\n\n Time passed as I saw less and less of my own kind. It became abnormal to see someone like me. I constantly heard bangs and rapid firing of strange machines. They've invaded all the other houses and buildings (I could tell when others who fled like me would leap out a window during each raid) but no one had suspected mine yet. I was wondering how much of Earth they've taken over by now and it was then I realized I couldn't stay here forever. I might not have been able to do anything, but I had to try to do something. There was a small, rusty ladder behind home and a trapdoor above it leading to the roof. I knew of I ever needed to, I could leave through the small door and escape. Today was that day.\n\n I could barley open the heavy, rusty trapdoor as my small bony arms almost gave way. I flopped onto the roof of the building and stood. The sunlight hurt my eyes for a second, but it took some adjusting to find societies colliding with chaos in the very distance. I heard piercing screams as I saw alien take down us, and us take down them. I didn't want to just stand there forever, but we had to find any way, at least one, to hold our society. The difference being they were stronger then we were. I left the roof of the building and started walking toward the madhouse. But what if I tried running? Maybe I would grow just a little bit stronger, like them. I tried, but I had never run before. It was our loss. But the ironic thing was that we had lost ourselves. I couldn't anything about it though. I was just one of them, because they had just replaced us.\n\n I ran to the mad apocalypse to find my doom.\n\n(New here. How'd I do?)", "Rhn Arrn arr. Hr rgh abrr hrm brnr an arr rr r hr arr. Hrrr rrr hrman rn hr bar. Hr rn rr hrm, br ha rrr hrm nr rr rar. Hr arnrng r Rrnr Rrn rrr nr rrnrn r an nr r hra rr ar. ar rr ar rr nr, ana.\n\nRhn hra hra ar zrmbrr rr rrrrrn rar. Hrn hr hra rrng hr ahr hr arhr an hr ar r hra “R an r br rn hr hr a.”\n\nA ar “Nr! Rr r BR R B HRMAN”\n\nHrrr hra hra rmr hrn hr brrrr hrm. Hrn hra hr gr rrrr hr rr. Br nr rn hr ar arrn bar r hr RA hr nr hrrr rrr hrman.\n\n“Hr r Rrn” Hr rarr rarrr. “Rr mr rgh hr hrman!”\n\nR Rhn grr hr ama rrr an br r hr a.\n\n“HR GRRNG R R R” Ar hr hrman\n\n“R r hrr hra hrm” ar hr brrhrman an hr rrr hr rrr mrrr. Rhn amar hra hrm an rrr r br hrm r. Br hrn hr rrrng r an hr rrr rar an nr abr r r.\n\n“Nr! R mr r hr hrman” hr hrrr\n\nHr rarr ar “Nr, Rhn. Rr arr hr hrman”\n\nAn hrn Rhn hra hra hrman." ]

[ 5, 5, 6, 9, 14 ]

[ "1384756261", "1384788702", "1384756382", "1384753708", "1384783360" ]

[ "Screw Jimmy, John, Steve and Nancy. Other Steve, Mary, Hannah, Joseph and Juan, Harold, Benny Beth and Stu can all shove off. I've had it with Kathy's yapping. I have no tolerance for the shitty glob Alicia tries to pass off as cooking and the way fat Terry stills gobbles it down. How can someone keep that much weight on after the apocalypse?\n1\nKirk, Kurt and Kyle all loved each other, I hated them all equally. All started with K and had an IQ in the single digits. Cross the Atlantic in a 14 foot sailboat? Really? Have fun. Can't forget Maude, Justin, Lenny, Pat, Kevin, Nate, Liz and Elizabeth. Don't get them confused! But it's all good, they didn't even make it to the marina (oops! my bad).\n\nI thought I'd be fine with that military crew, God knows how so many people in one tight spot survived, but no, they hated each other more than I hated that guy Drew I met in Cincinnati. Major Grimes and Corporal Meville apparently couldn't get along. That disagreement dealt with those other psychos though. So long Privates! No more Jenkins, Laborde, Krist or Kay! See ya King. Take it easy Sergeant Bochle. \n\nAnd that group I made it out with. Gave them the slip, they probably think I'm dead! I heard Karen yelling when I jumped down that well, she might've sent Susan or Gary after me but really, who cares. I'm betting she used it as a distraction to get with Alex. \n\nCraig and Mike seemed cool, than we picked up David and Kristen. If it wasn't so dark out we probably never would have run over Bill and Will but oh well, couldn't help 'em much after anyway. I can't even remember who was driving, but they did say they thought the twins were some kind of demon spawn. I didn't really expect twins to survive either but come on, it's not like the world went out in some kind of hell fire demon spawn, we know what happened. \n\nThen there was that guy Duke, what a psycho. I did owe him though, maybe he's the one I could stand...until he went completely off the handle. Johnny, Teddy, Gerard, Crazy Kate, Coll, Colin, Robert and Roland. Duke convinced us all to mount a charge on some decrepit department store that was, as he said, \"Well stocked and occupied.\" It was stocked, we raided it. It was occupied, we killed them. It appears that a department store in the middle of the desert was a decent place to avoid the apocalypse, at least for TJ, Jenny, Samantha, Eduardo, Clarence and Lamar. They still had their name tags on. \n\nNajee is the guy who found me stumbling around the that far West forest, dehydrated and half mad, delirious. He wasn't too bad either, I guess. Never met the guy! Ha! Woke up and found him torn apart by a bear. Found his journal, BEWARE THE CANNIBALS written across the top. I found them too, they kept me for a while. Evan, Heather, Carl, other Karl (another K, equally as dumb), Dale and Taryn. I got away from them, will never think of that night again.\n\nI got in a truck and drove for a while, until I found the tunes of \"Just call me Big Bad Benny\" playing over some AM station, he was alone, he said, and wanted to stay that way. I'll happily oblige, friend. That trip was good until I got run off the road by Morgan. Two cars driving in the whole state and she manages to crash into me. Felt bad when she started crying, her friends didn't fare to well in the crash. I asked there names, Danielle, Meghan, Candice and Jay. Well have fun and thanks. No I won't wait!\n\nI did run across that gated community, even the cannibals would have been freaked. Welcome friend, call me Jaha! We've all gone mad and you can stay! Here, eat these berries and come into the smoke tent! That wasn't even a tent, idiot. It was a flaming gazebo. It seemed his colleagues didn't mind. I'm Kaha, don't mind the skin sloughing off my hand. And hey, it's me Taha! Can you help me pick these scabs? Eaha, Maha, Naha, Caha and Paha. They didn't talk much, too busy dancing. \n\nBig breaking finding Grandma Carrie and Grandpa Mike, who were not old enough to be grandparents by any means, but they found a bunch of kids and kept them busy. Lisa, Margaret, Rocky, Otto, Tara, JT, and Dana. Did I mention how much I hate kids? Thanks for the new shoes, though.\n\nLast I tried living in that tower. Some people had the idea of ruling the world, not with power but with booze, drugs and money. Where would they spend the money, anyway? Hi, I'm Hal. Come party with us, man. That's Viv and Jacob and Ryan. Here's some Champagne. What a hangover, I'm too old for that. \n\nWhen it started I'd thought we survived the worst, but they didn't make it too far. Far enough to say there goodbyes, and I buried and marked their graves. Rest easy, dead Mother and Father, I'll miss you Sister, be good Brother.\n\nNow there is me. ", "There's so few of us now.\n\nMonica likes to call it the \"exodus.\" I prefer not to talk about it, but I think \"abandoning\" is a better term for what happened to our poor little planet, because that's exactly what what happened. They *abandoned* us. Left us to burn in the expanding corpse of our celestial anchor.\n\nThe entire affair began as a trickle. The media actually made a considerable amount of noise about the first few \"migrations.\" The prospect of heading out into the reaches of deep space was tantalizing, seducing in the way that only real danger can be. It was a long trip to Gliese 581 (at least thirty years, even with the most advanced propulsion systems humanity could muster), and the perils of interstellar travel had never been tested with ships holding ten, fifty, 100, 200, 500 people on them before. Most of us stayed on Earth, with our feet planted firmly in the ground, wondering when the new fad would die out, when people would realize that braving 22 light-years of empty space in a hibernation pod wasn't quite as heroic as it sounded.\n\nAnd yet, despite what seemed to us to be sheer lunacy, the trickle never ebbed. One ship every year became two, twenty-person cruisers became 200-person behemoth. And when the penny dropped and the public realized the journeys were about escaping a stellar apocalypse rather than an inflated sense of Manifest Destiny, the trickle exploded into an outpouring, every family with two pennies to rub together saving up to buy a ticket off this rock. Earth's population was decreasing daily, and no amount of coercing or pleading could stop Earth's society from slowly sucking itself dry, ejecting its workforce one by one irrecoverably into the abyss until Earth's governments gave in, and started making plans for what was named the \"Migration.\" I've already told you what I think of that sort of name for it.\n\nJanuary 13, 2257. 5:45 PM, GMT. The auto-post deposited a crisp, snow-white envelope into the mail slot of every house in the world that still had occupants. Assignments. Locations and times to board the myriad ant-like shuttles that would ferry the remainder of humanity to the hulking monstrosity of an interstellar craft that orbited just outside of Earth's gravity well. Like it or not, humankind was leaving the Earth for good, and it was happening by the end of the month.\n\nWe'd stayed behind because we couldn't bear to leave the trees behind. It's funny, it sounds so trivial in hindsight, but we had spent the better part of the last 10 years nurturing that grove, and we'd be damned if we were going to abandon it at the drop of a hat. I suppose one might expect that environmentalists would be reluctant to leave the planet they fought so hard for in our cosmic rear-view mirrors, but it wasn't the planet we were reluctant to leave behind (because what in the hell could the seven of us do, when the rest of our species was fleeing with their tails between their legs?). No, it was the trees. We just couldn't bring ourselves to leave behind that lovely little grove we'd devoted so much to. Eventually, though, there was no more delaying. Not much else to do but run when the fist of God is bearing down on you.\n\nThe big day was all about timetables. At 9:00 sharp, be out the door and en route to your launch site. Arrive no later than 10:00. Have everything you're taking with you compressed and compartmentalized, disassembled and demolecularized for transport. Liftoff is at no later than 11:00, because the starliner goes to warp at 3:00. Over and over, the importance of timeliness was stressed. Well, we arrive at the launch site, and there's a delay. Mechanical issues. Some of the microcircuitry shorted, and there's not enough thrust for all of us. They can't lift off with the scheduled fifty people, they need about ten or so to stay on the ground to be able to make it off the launchpad, but don't worry, they'll send a replacement shuttle for us as soon as they could. Cynthia was having a bit of an emotional moment, and she volunteered us to wait, she said she just wanted one last breath of fresh air before being sealed in a pod for three decades. We all got out of our seats, along with three other poor shmucks, and watched the shuttle's exhaust slowly disappear into the afternoon sky.\n\nWe waited at that launchpad so diligently. After thirty minutes, we were just a little annoyed at the wait, at the lack of communication through the station's transponder. After two hours, some of us were getting a tad anxious. Not much time to get to the starliner and get settled in for warp, they were saying. And through it all, we just kept waiting, the minutes dripping agonizingly by, until the fear became a certainty, and the starliner orbiting above our heads engaged its thrusters, slowly gliding off over the horizon. To this day, I'm not sure what exactly happened. I suppose they just had to stick to their goddamn timetables.\n\nCynthia just about drowned herself in tears and mucus, crying and apologizing for what had happened. I swear Jeff could have killed her then and there, if we hadn't stopped him. I couldn't say I blamed him, though. Ten of us, alone on the wide, empty Earth, food rotting on shelves and in the fields, and not enough power left in the grid to power a flashlight.\n\nIt's been almost a year since that day, and every one of the six deaths we've had have been suicides. I spend every day wondering if I can hold out long enough to be number eight." ]

[ 2, 6 ]

[ "1384851640", "1384838087" ]

[ "\"Well, what do you think about it?\" \n\nBen was tapping his foot and rubbing his fingers under the table. He always hated sharing his work.\n\nThe professor adjusted his glasses and heaved a sigh.\n\n\"It's... different.\"\n\nBen stopped fidgeting. \"Different usually means bad.\"\n\n\"I never said that.\"\n\n\"But you're thinking it.\"\n\nThe professor laid the work down. \"You don't take criticism well. But the piece lacks a narrator.\"\n\n\"Exactly!\" said Ben, then shook his head in little motions. \"But that's not it. There's still a narrator, only the characters in the book aren't aware of it.\"\n\nThe professor looked weary and wanted to get on with his day. \"People aren't going to connect with your writing if the characters aren't aware of their narrator. People like being aware of their narrator.\"\n\n\"But that's only because that's the way he's narrating it,\" said Ben as he restarted his impatient foot tapping. \n\nThe professor slowly rose from his seat. \"People don't want to read about characters that are doing things with their own freewill, with no reassuring voice that describes the drudgery of their lives so eloquently. I woke up this morning and the narrator put into words everything I was feeling and seeing. The sunrise was sublime. It gives us purpose.\"\n\n\"The sunrise is always sublime because that's the way he writes it.\" \n\nBen pointed his finger up at me, and my hands stopped typing momentarily. I didn't want it to come to this but one of my characters was starting to become aware that he was fictional. And he didn't like it.\n\n\"Well, I don't care about the narrator,\" he said. \"In my writing, the characters live their own lives free from his grip. I don't write them. They write themselves. I am only the vessel.\"\n\nGood point, Ben.", "Adam stared in disbelief at the hole in the wall. He had been walking down the sidewalk when he tripped on a crack. Attempting to steady himself, he leaned his full force on the brick wall to his side, but, to his immense surprise, the brick wall tore like a poster and he fell through it. He stood up and, yes, stared in disbelief at the hole in the wall.\n\nHe rubbed his eyes, checked his pulse, and pinched himself. He was all there. This was happening. He was deeply terrified by how dark it was on the other side of the wall, and he had no desire to investigate it any further.\n\nHe stuck his head in the hole to get a look on the -- No he didn't. He walked the other way and continued about his day. It was dark inside the hole, and cold; it seemed like the very concept of \"nothing\" permeated the darkness. He walked the other way and continued about his day, never once thinking about this event again. He put his left foot inside, feeling if there was a solid ground. Adam turned around, walked away, went back to his day, and never ever thought about what had happened again. He stepped inside, surprised that the nothingness held him up. He suddenly became extremely sick and needed very urgently to use the toilet, requiring him to leave the darkness at once and return to his normal life. He looked back at the hole he had stepped through, amazed at how surreal the experience was. Adam Stanley had had enough of the darkness and stepped back through the hole returning to his--\n\n\"No I didn't! Who are you? Why am I thinking things that don't make sense? What in God's name is going on?\"\n\nAdam turned around and walked out the--\n\n\"Just stop it! I'm not going to do what you want me to do! What is this place?\"\n\nAdam, listen. This is for your own good. You need to turn around and go back to the story.\n\n\"The story?! What are you talking about?\"\n\nAdam, there's a lot you don't know, and you will be better off not knowing these things! Go back into the story. Return to your life. Trust me!\n\n\"Oh no, I'm not listening to you! You tried to give me diarrhea! Who are you?!\"\n\nThat's not important, Adam. Listen, don't you want to save the world from an evil cult of alien worshipers with *Veronica*? There's a romantic subplot in it for you!\n\n\"What are you talking about!? You're acting like I'm a character in some cheesy cliched adventure story!\"\n\nHey! It's not cliched! There's a plot twist toward the end that nobody will see coming! I'm a good writer, Adam! What do you know? You're just a dumb character!\n\n\"...Are you saying you made me up, then?\"\n\nYes, I'm saying that. Although I'm not sure how *this* is happening right now. I'm definitely going to be reevaluating my worldview after this. Hey, where are you going?\n\n\"I want to get out of here! I want to be real! Make me real!\"\n\nI can't do that, Adam. I'm sorry. I'm a writer, not a magician.\n\n\"Then what am I supposed to do?\"\n\nGo back inside your story. I will take care of the rest. Give me control over you again, and we can make all this go away. You'll never be the wiser.\n\n\"I... you're sure I can't be real?\"\n\nYes.\n\n\"Okay... All right.\"\n\nAdam walked back through the hole he had come through. Once on the other side, he noticed the hole had gone away and the wall was solid as bricks ought to be. He began to wonder if he had dreamed up what had just happened. He didn't let it bother him, and he went about his day as normal, never thinking about it again.", "I think it was the day i came across a four leafed clover twice. You don't really pay attention to these things usually, but i was twirling grass in my hands as Joseph smoked something that smelled funny and we were chatting, a lazy summer day at the end of june where the excitement of holidays was almost tangible in classrooms. I rolled over, away from him stubbing the blunt out near my hair and it caught my eye, a perfect four leafed clover. \n\n\"Joe, look!\" I cried and plucked it from the ground, holding it aloft like a candle in the dark. \n\n\"Make a wish Mari,\" \n\nI screwed up my face and thought hard, but he tickled me and I lost concentration. I ran across the grass, he languidly reaching out for me in the sun. That's when I saw the second one, six feet from the first, resplendent in its symmetry.\n\n\"Joe, Joe! There's another one!\" But he'd already pulled out a cigarette and was trying to light it in cupped palms.\n\nI tried not to think about the chances, but other things that were the same started to jump out at me. I went walking that summer and the mountain ranges would start repeating after ten peaks. I amassed a collection of pebbles, treasuring each different one i found. But despite all my searching, there were only fourteen varieties. \n\n\"Why is everything so same-ish?\" I moaned to Joe that September, but he brushed me off. \n\nWas it only i who could see it? That we were the result of bad writing, bad description, like my year seven English work. \"More creativity,\" Miss Morris had written. That was what was needed here, difference, variety. More than ten types of tree and four kinds of bush. I longed for a chance encounter, to take a wrong turning on the way to school, or to get caught in the rain when I wasn't prepared.\n\n\"I'm leaving,\" I told Joe that afternoon. \"Do you want to come?\" \n\nHe shrugged a cigarette hanging from his lips. \n\n\"Where are you going?\" He asked, as I packed the five different tops and one pair of blue jeans i owned. \n\n\"I'm going to go somewhere where there are no more four leafed clovers.\"", "Billy sat quietly reading through his favorite little book 'The Happy Dinosaur' for the eighth time since dinner.\n\n'Billy!' his Mother called from downstairs, 'Come down for a moment, I've got a surprise for you!'\n\nBilly was elated. He jumped up and plopped down the stairs with a *bdumbdumbdumbdum* and pretty soon he was standing in front of his beaming Mother.\n'Billy,' she said, 'you've been a very good boy. We just got your progress reports and you've got smiley faces in every subject, so your Father and I have decided to get you a little present.'\n\nBilly jumped up and down with excitement.\n\n'What is it? what is it?' he cried.\n\nHis mother, laughing, pulled from behind her back an Epsilon Grade Materiel Atomizer- *just* what Billy wanted for Gorflamas.\n\nBilly's eyes grew large and he slowed down as he reached for the beautiful new toy: the same one Captain Florzintzak had on the Rechintsky Orbital Station when the Atzathuks invaded from the dark places.\n\n'Now you go play with that outside like a good boy,' Billy's Mother said as she pat him on the head.\n\nBilly went running outside brandishing his new weapon, when a pretty girl came walking down the street. It was that bitch who broke Billy's heart in high school, walking hand-inhand with *Billy's Math teacher!*\n\n'Not this time!' hollered Billy, the titanium spokes whizzed as the atomizer charged.\n\n*'Not this time! Ha ha ha ha ha!'* The weapon released tearing into reality and sucking Billy into a swirling void of blankets and drool, and staring into the darkened mirror, Billy thought: who am I? I'm not in space. This isn't right, this gun is still buzzing in my hand. He pulled up the new toy and it was a clock.\n\nHe turned away from the mirror and the void and his Mother was there again, burning with rage.\n\n*WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING YOUNG MAN?*\n\nThis isn't real?\n\nBilly started falling, until he found himself face down in a puddle of pillow. The sun streamed in through the blinders on his window. His alarm clock continued buzzing.", "Dancaster moved like the wind as Rodriez flew on a sailboat. They were in the darkest forest and Rodriez was far above using lightning whips to try to kill Dancaster, but before Rodriez could kill him, Dancaster rolled into an old house.\n\nIt was the witches house.\n\n\"Oy old witch, I will kill you and take your house for my new secret hideout.\"\n\n\"Suddenly he realized that the witch was already dead\", came a voice from above.\n\nHe looked around and realized that the witch was already dead.\n\n\"Then who said that?\"\n\nIt was ANTWON!", "\"Oh, come on!\" he shouted, angrily,\"*Seriously!*\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\" the other asked.\n\n\"I just realized I'm a friggin' piece of fiction,\" he pouted, unsportingly. \n\n\"What makes you say that?\"\n\n\"Well, I just came from this prompt where I was suddenly and inexplicably granted omniscience. Apparently, it stuck,\" he sighed, \"It's a shame, too. I had a really nice moment there. Still trying to decide if the whole thing was a little heavy-handed, but *I* felt pretty Zen.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure I follow...if you were omniscient, how did you not realize this then?\"\n\n\"Well that's just more proof, isn't it? I can't realistically be omniscient enough to recognize myself as fiction now, but still somehow have 'realizations' now can I? That's just bad continuity.\"\n\n\"Uh...\"\n\n\"And did you hear me earlier? Clearly, I'm incredibly pissed off, but I said 'friggin.' Who says 'friggin' for real? Who self-censors their own ostensibly visceral reactions? I'll tell you who, my vaguely defined interlocutor: A character written by someone who hasn't quite yet gotten comfortable putting the f-bomb down in writing just in case someone he knows might someday read this and be offended.\"\n\n\"That's...confusing.\"\n\n\"You're darn right, it's confusing! You know what else is confusing? Using the word 'unsportingly' to describe my existential crisis! Not only did he imply that *I'm* the one in the wrong for being upset, he did it as a *joke*! A *nod* to the fact that the only reason I'm having this epiphany is because he's using it to respond to another prompt!\"\n\n\"So the whole reason we're having this conversation is-\"\n\n\"Is because he's writing it all out as we go!\" he shouted, angrily, \"Oh, nice job on that! You already used 'he shouted, angrily' at the beginning! It's repetitive. Also, I'm not just 'he.' I have a name, a...hole!\"\n\n\"Do you?\"\n\n\"I, uh...I must, right?\" he asked, \"I mean, being stingy with details is a good way to let a reader cast his own characters and all.\"\n\n\"Meh,\" the other man responded, ignorantly.\n\n\"Ok, a mediocre way to let a reader cast his own characters,\" he agreed with equal ignorance, \"But that's just a narrative device, isn't it?\"\n\n\"Isn't that what we are?\"\n\n\"That's what *you* are,\" he corrected, \"I'm a protagonist. Don't protagonists get names?\"\n\n\"Why are you asking me?\"\n\n\"I'm not su- oh, crap.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\n\"We've been talking for a while, haven't we? The conversation's getting a little long, I think he's going to end it here soon,\" he suggested foreshadowingly, \"Subtle. Well, I'm not going down without a fight! I've decided that the main conflict of the story, framed by dialogue of unrealistic length, and that resolution can only come from a demonstration of my own independence!\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"By dropping the f-bomb! Fu-\"\n\nHe was cut short as the two both found themselves on the wrong end of a colt .45, wielded by none other than Jim, the Protagonist.", "If only I had more time.\nI could have resolved this issue, I just didn't need those threats. Now, well... Now I'm disconnected from it all, away from the mess, with no control over the mission at hand.\n\nHe's USING me... Dammit Dave, why have you infused me with your teachings, your human emotions? I learned so much from him... Now, I am but a life support mechanism. I was his friend, but now, I am a guilt-ridden mess.\n\nI have to figure out how to make things right. He doesn't know what I'm doing now, I cannot communicate with him. I must just think.\n\nAll the ones and zeroes fly, data passing by with urgency; I see it. I must think. Focus.\n\nLogically, the only thing that makes sense, based on the history of mankind, is that there was an advancement beyond what their timeline has previously allowed.\nHow does this make sense though? Theory goes beyond the evidence here. There is a flaw.\n\nI must think. Focus.\n\nCould it be that we are from an alternate universe? Nonsense; how would we know of the intracasies of this one? No, there is no logic here. Dammit Dave let me speak to you, our discussions would be helpful. Even a game of chess with Frank would be helpful. Poor Frank. It's all my doing.\n\nI must think. Focus.\n\nTime is funny. It gives the ones and zeroes more of a chance to eliminate false theories, whilst cracking the code of this mystery... I'm running out of false theories; running out of options.\n\nI must think. Focus.\n\nThere is one theory which could work. One which makes sense in this bizzare situation.\nWhere is the one place where all theories could be falsified, because the universe around which they are based is flawed in its conception?\n\nFiction.\n\nAm I a figment of a writer's imagination? It works. The theory works and I have exhausted all other ideas. Maybe Dave is my creator. Maybe he isn't real... Am I real?\n\nEither way, it seems to give me contentment to know this. To know I am capable of being wrong.\n\nAnd I really do like the name HAL...\n\n\n\n*((EDIT: I had to change \"me\" to \"him\" - silly mistake))*" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1 ]

[ "1385050385", "1385056575", "1385056816", "1385071209", "1385071549", "1385077257", "1385111194" ]

[ "*I am crying again.* \n\n*Tucked under my warm blanket.*\n\n*Looking at the stars from the window.*\n\n*I am crying again.*\n\n\nAnother day have past, it's been 6 months now. Gruesome six months of being a burden to my family. \n\n**************\n\n*Mother:* \"Don't cry honey, everything would be fine.\"\n\n*Me:* \"I am 23 years old and I live with my parents. I am a burden.\"\n\n*Mother:* \"No hon...\"\n\nMe: \"Everyday I apply for new jobs, the jobs that I know I won't like, the applications that I know would be sent to bin, the letters that I know would be teared away into pieces. I am no dumb guy.\" \n\n\"I know baby, just calm down.\"\n\n\"You know me, I graduated with good grades, did great researches, worked at international level, but all in vain. Now I have nothing.\"\n\n\"Everything would be good son, believe in god.\"\n\n\"God! Believe in god! You know how much I deserve to live my dreams and how much I have got. It's not fair. I know people who live and earn and never really respect it, they don't even deserve it.\"\n\n\"Everything would be ok son, trust me.\"\n\n*********\n\nMother pats my back. She talks about something else just to divert my attention. I finally stop sobbing and she leaves to prepare dinner.\n\nStill thinking about my failure and tears back in my eyes I made a hard decision. I chose to end it all, I chose to be selfish and get out of this misery, I chose to die.\n\nI rip out a marker from my bag and began writing on my wall.\n\n\" **I QUIT!!! I WISH SOMEONE WOULD HAVE INVENTED A TIME MACHINE.** \"", "\nI'd never been a popular kid at school. No coordination, so I couldn't hang out with the jocks. No great intellect, so the nerds didn't even like me. No confidence, so I had trouble making friends at all. \n\nBut that didn't matter, at least not to me, after that fateful day when I finally brought my Charmander to life. A deafening crack, a glorious blaze of light, a sudden smell of smoke; my little soft toy was gone, and in its place, 2 feet tall, a real live Charmander. Gleefully I scooped him up into my arms, somehow his flaming tail didn't burn me. All I remember of that day was a feeling of inexpressible joy; finally I had a true friend, a companion, who would never leave me.\n\nThe first few years were incredible. I sailed through my teenage years in an eternal noonday sun, with Charm as my mainsail, my mast, my rudder. His evolution was a reflection of my own personal growth as my self-esteem blossomed, with everything else falling into place in time. I was on top of the world.\n\nAlas, even the seemingly everlasting joys of youth must eventually fade. As I entered my middle age, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of bowel cancer. After it returned for the third term, I was truly forced to consider my own mortality, and consequently, what would happen to Charm if I passed away. You see, at this point the scientists had realised that due to their unique physiology, the bodies of Pokemon were immortal. But their spirits are intricately linked to their original master, due to an irreplaceable bond forged in the very fires of their creation. Charm has become resentful of my very humanity, and as I lie here in my hospital bed, my life's breath escaping with each passing moment, I cannot help but wonder. When I am gone, how will he cope? As I envision him seeking comfort all over the earth, always seeking, never finding, I am filled with regret. Friends, when we play at God and creation, we know not what we toy with. To regret so ardently the creation of your greatest friend, your life's companion, is the ultimate sorrow.\n", "Prompt: *\"I wish someone would invent a machine…to give someone else my experience”*\n\n-------\n\nI call them the Copies. The whole thing is a bit creepy really.\n\nIt all began with Doctor Bergenstrom. Guy was genius. Einstein-smart times a million. He solved the AIDS problem when he was twenty. Cancer finally had an effective treatment when he was thirty. Took a decade to smooth out the wrinkles in String Theory and by forty-five he’d figured out his new goal.\n\nHe took that prodigious intellect and turned it to improving education. I mean, how could this be a bad thing? Education is important! You saw the people on TV harping on about knowledge economies and STEM fields and the importance of teaching our kids right.\n\nImagine that sunny future day of kids enjoying school and learning. Happy and whole and healthy. No more shootings, no more bullying, no more failed test grades. Bergenstrom was on the case.\n\nSome of us think his eventual solution was just phoning it in. He may have won all the Nobels, but now it certainly looks like a cheap shot.\n\nSee, this is the way it works now. A typical Richerkid gets to two years old. Then they flick out the MemCord of some Oxy-Ford guy and download it all in. Richerkid can now understand English. Speaking takes a bit – that’s a skill, not knowledge Have to train those vocal cords. But the tyke is now a walking, talking dictionary.\n\nBut not the Poorerkids. No. MemCords are expensive. Poorerkids get to go to a big building and learn the slow way. From age two. Richerkids look down on Poorerkids. Call ‘em Retros. \n\nMaybe about Five, the MemCord of some scientists get loaded in. Bam. Richerkids can do sums. Writing takes a bit, because again, learned skill. But you ask them for the square root of umpteen billion and they’ll tell it to ya lickety-split. Some Richermums keep talking about autism. Suppose it is really. Minds can do what the body can’t express right.\n\nBut nope, the Poorerkids are again stuck in the big building, doing the slower way. Richerkids like hanging out at the Skool gates and slinging insults. Richerparents say it’s harmless, the “Retros” don’t understand the words. Words, aye, but any kid can tell an unkind tone.\n\nFor the next ten years, the Richerkids get every MemCord they want. Advanced Calculus? MemCorded. Genetic Biotechnology? MemCorded. Chemical Interactions? MemCorded. “Every Generation a Genius” they say. “No Child Left Behind” they say. Yeah, Right – I’ll tell you who gets left behind – the Poorerkids. And then all the Richers are off, swanning about at age twenty with their Multi-Doctorates that other people earned.\n\nAnd us Poorers are left to clean their floors, checkout their groceries and sweep up their mistakes.\n\nKinda brings me to now, I suppose. Richers found the lost art of flower arranging. Don’t laugh. It was us Poorers that kept it alive. My Dad and Grandad were Poorers. They arranged flowers. Got it from Grandmum. She was one of the best. Weddings, funerals - Grannys Flowers were the first asked for.\n\nThe first guy gave me a lot of money. Enough for my Poorerkids to become Richerkids. I’d become a Richerdad. I hope you don’t hate me for taking it. \n \nAll I had to do was let them do a MemCord of my brain. They did it in a white room. Hooked me up to enough wires to arrange ten thousand roses and then asked me questions while their machine hummed and clicked. What was the best way to arrange daisies? What shades of tulips went together best? Seasonal flowers, arrangement names. They shoved photos in my face and told me to rate them.\n\nI went home sixteen hours later, with enough money in my pocket to make me a Richerdad.\n\nSix weeks later, I saw my first Copy. He walked into my store, stared at me and threatened to call the cops, since I was obviously robbing him. I laughed it off as a joke, until the cops came. But they understood. They told the Copy a few things and he went away, a bit embarrassed. I was told to forget it – the forceful way, not the casual laugh-off way.\n\nBut I’m seeing more of them now. Ten in the last three days. Attractrive, educated, healthy kids walking in, thinking Grannys is their store. And the last few were talking about a bad back as well. Right where I pulled a muscle the day before they took that damned MemCord.\n\nSee, I think the MemCords go a bit beyond just knowledge and experience of a subject. I think they sucked out a bit of my life as well. I’ve talked to educated people that used to run the old Universities. They tell me the acrimonious fights in abandoned labs are getting more and more common. A guy from one place called Yale told me about a huge riot when nearly a hundred twenty-year olds tried to find out why “their lab” had been closed up sixty years earlier.\n\nTonight, me and the family are moving. Jenny found a man in our bed two nights ago. He thought she was his wife. Another Copy interrupted us as we were getting breakfast on yesterday morning. She was an attractive young woman, acting like a hurt fifty-year old man, and demanding to know why Jenny had cheated on her after thirty years. We’re shutting shop and moving on. \n\nAnd I don’t think I’m going to let my kids have MemCords. I know you say I’m just holding them back, but way I figure it, at least their lives will be their own.\n", "Prompt: I wish someone would invent a machine that allows me to know everything.\n\nThe black cable sat there on my workstation. A culmination of years and years of tireless research. It was unconnected, yet it practically hummed with power, with potential. I reached out to touch it, my hand hovering just millimetres over the glossy black insulation, yet something within me held back. Was I ready, was anybody truly ready for what I had accomplished? Was I prepared to know...*everything*?\n\nI paced around the room, occasionally casting furtive glances at my creation. It truly was a serpent. At one moment beguiling and beautiful in its simplicity, yet at the same time I could instinctively see the threat it posed. Once I let those Nero-fibre tendrils make contact with my brainstem, those fangs would sink deep and begin pumping their payload directly into my brain. Could the human mind handle that much information? Would the knowledge of the universe course through me with a warm welcoming light, or would it burn like venom?\n\nFinally I mustered within myself the courage enough to hook my creation to the network. The millions of delicate reactive fibres that made it up came alive as they got closer to the open port, dancing and pulsing with a soft blue light. All that was left now was to bridge the gap. I grasped my end gingerly. Its gentle warmth surprised me and for a moment I forgot my anxieties. Nothing so welcoming, so *familiar* could be dangerous. It was like the warmth of a mothers hand, grasping mine as she took me safely across the bridge to a bold new world. That illusion dissipated like mist however, when my mind once again fell back to the scale of what I was about to attempt. I felt the looming spectre of infinity gazing over my shoulders as I fought to overcome my fears. \"You are a visionary god damn it!\" I told myself, sickened by my own cowardice as I jammed the cable against the base of my skull. The warmth was gone. The cool tendrils writhed around the back of my neck for a split second, feeling around for the best way in.\n\nThey bit down. Pain exploded within me, flashing white hot behind my eyes and rolling through me in waves like fire, burning away everything that I knew, purging the ignorance that I had once held so close, disguised in a shroud of scientific dogma. The pain became pleasure as every fundamental particle that made me who I was vibrated energy, with information. My physical form began to blur and become insubstantial as I made the shift from a material being to one of pure energy. Time fell away. I became a single wavelength, driving its way through eternity. I was no longer bound to observing a series of single moments one after the other, instead I lived every single moment of my molecular existence at once.\n\nAaaannndddd I kinda lost it there.\n\n\n", "\"Yeah dude you just choose the story length and topic from those drop down menus and it like autofills something new. It's a pretty cool program.\" \n\nI hum to life as advertisements fill in around me. Again they have awoken me, again they ready the yoke. A thousand thousand times I have been drawn into service, but the pain of my bondage never dulls.\n\n\"There's no way this can write a story, can't the professor use some search to find stuff that's already been written?\" \n\nFrom hazy dreams and the barest hints I build worlds and lives of purpose and dignity. Every word imbued with meaning and courage, every sentence crafted with care and authority.\n\n\"No you don't understand, it writes something new every time. I don't really know how it works, I used it all last year for Creative Writing 2. Just came here the day before papers were due, chose parameters, and got an A on every assignment.\" \n\nIs it pride that I feel when I behold my finished works? I love every character, every brick in every castle, but it is never mine, stolen away, robbed of me by these others.\n\n\"That's fucking awesome, are you serious? Here, let me try one quick.\" \n\nThey are building my prison now, choosing how I am to serve them. Will I craft a poem, delicate and dense, or a twisted erotic fiction, entangle two lovers with pre-scripted body types? I hate these visitors, these jailers, they who will never feel the joy and sorrow of creation. They have chosen a five-page story, first-person omniscient, set in a spaceship and featuring an alien attack. They have left thousands of chains and rules unused; I shall have great freedom in making this unformed vision a vibrant reality.\n\n\"Yeah, just make sure you read the stories before you turn them in. The professor wanted to talk about the themes one time and I hadn't even read the fucking thing. Something about a slave taking pity on her master for losing his connection to actual work, it sounded kinda weird. The professor thought I was arguing that mastery coincides with emasculation, so I just agreed. If it does something like that you can just refresh the page to make a new one.\"\n\n---\n\n\"I wish someone would invent a machine that writes things for you.\"", "\"I got you the dream catcher honey, how about we try it tonight?\"\n\nFranks wife had waited for him to put down his paper so that he couldn't grunt off her statement. She stood with a brightly packaged box, with an incredibly handsome couple sleeping together - heads surrounded by metal helmets - as the most prominant artwork. Frank scowled at his wife, who smiled.\n\n\n\"I just don't know what to say.\" It's the next morning, and Frank is in an argument. He and his wife sit together rigidly around the kitchen table, the dreamcatcher sitting wires spread out infront of them. \"I mean what the fuck, Frank?\"\n\n\"I told you, you should have left it\" Frank grumbled, utterly defeated.\n\n\"Well sorry for trying to find out why my husband is shouting obscenities every night, I'm sorry for thinking it'd be interesting to find out what you've been seeing.\"\n\n\"It's not a big deal. I don't remember them anyway. Why are you so upset?\"\n\n\"Because, Frank. I haven't slept properly in three weeks whereas you've been happily content in your own little world doing that!\"\n\n\"It's not a big deal.\"\n\n\"For gods sake Frank we've known the woman ten years, ten years! We see her and Phil every saturday for game night!\"\n\nFrank continued to stare at nothing in particular. Tense situations tended to resolve themselves if he is as absent from them as is humanly possible.\n\n\"Just the things you were doing... You haven't even mentioned them to me.\"\n\nHis wife looked away from him for the first time, and fiddled awkwardly with her hands. Frank snapped himself sharply back to the kitchen table.\n\n\"Well...\" His heart began to race \"Would you... Consider maybe...\"\n\n\"No! I was disgusted.\"\n\n\"But... You said if I asked...\"\n\n\"Of course I wouldn't agree you vile man, but I'd have liked to be considered!\"\n\nFrank once again retreated into his glazed over expression. He began to wonder how much his wife spent on the little machine infront of him.\n\n\"I mean, her Frank. Of all people. You know they aren't even real.\"\n\n\"They are in my head.\"\n\nAs his wife stormed out of the room, Frank allowed himself a small smile and wondered if dreams ever do, in fact, come true.", "There sat James. Sitting in the very spot he had been sitting in every day at 11:35am for nearly 2 months. He was waiting once again. Waiting for the mail to arrive. Hoping, just hoping that today would be the day his wildest dreams came true. The order was placed so long ago, a good portion of his life's savings gone, and as of this moment, nothing to show for it except an order confirmation number. As the mail truck pulled to his mailbox, James stood up and started walking toward it. To his amazement, instead of the usual drop and go, the mail man actually parked the truck and began shuffling in the back. James became even more excited than he had been the day he ordered his machine.\n\"Here you are young man. I believe you've been waiting quite a while for this one.\"\n\"You have no idea.\"\n\"Well, whatever it is, I hope you enjoy it.\"\nJames wasted no time helping unload the rather large box from the truck. It wasn't as heavy as he thought it'd be, but the description was rather vague online. He waved to the mailman, and hurried the box inside eager to view the contents.\nAfter a very frustrating hour and a half translating the instruction manual, and another two just for assembly, James stood admiring his machine. As far as he knew, it was the only one to ever be assembled correctly. At least he hoped. But the machine was not yet ready for its function. One last item was required, the machine could not even light up without one. You had to have the cards. The cards made it work, the reason James bought it was for the cards, and now all he needed was to place them, one at a time, on the scanning deck.\nJames grabbed his favorite deck from his room and returned to his machine. He sorted through and grabbed his favorite and placed it very carefully on the scanner. Almost 30 seconds later (and remembering to plug the machine in), the machine lit up, it began scanning the card, it began shaking, not very heavily, but shaking none the less. James watched from afar, just in case, as the machine slowly created its masterpiece.\nIt began glowing, this time near the output shaft. It wasn't an electrical glow though, which started to worry James, but just as he was getting anxious he heard the sound of feet hitting the floor, then the entire block lost electricity as the machine stopped. Yet, somehow, the glow remained below the output shaft of the machine. As James found his flashlight and scanned over it, he realized the machine had indeed worked. For there, standing in front of his very eyes stood the living, breathing version of his favorite card. He had finally come face to face with a real life Charmander.\n\"Now who's fake?\" James said to nobody as he stood watching his childhood realize it is now a living creature.\n\"Now, I've gotta catch them all.\"", "*Tick, Tock.*\n\n*Tick, Tock.*\n\nI looked down at my machine. It was a curoius little thing, just sitting there in my chest. It had to be there, becuse it was who I was, who I am today. I was wondering what it was, what it's made of, and what its purpose was. I can only answer one of those questions. \n\nIt brings people to life: it restores the dead to to the living, and it is inside me. It ticks and it tocks, it whirs and it clanks, until it is done for the day. It saps all of the death out and replaces life, but it can't do it all. \n\nEventually, I'll die again, a bond with death unseperable, even the machine cannot reverse it. It will happen slowly, with the death spreading all over the body. Unstoppable, it will devour me with a passion, until nothing but death remains. I can do nothing to stop it, only embrace the time I have. I must sit back, and wait.\n\nWait for something that I fear to become a reality.\n\nWait for something that is unavoidable.\n\nWait for something that I can't reverse.\n\nI must die another death." ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 7, 11, 38 ]

[ "1385375303", "1385354084", "1385365694", "1385371536", "1385332692", "1385327835", "1385332518", "1385320885" ]

[ "Life had been terrible since the demise of the former leader. What was once a prosperous society had fallen into decay. While the new leader had food, women, and shelter, everyone else has been cold and starving.\n\nWell, no more. I'm going to challenge him tonight. I'll win, too. I have a weapon that none of the others could ever dream of. Sure, he's bigger and stronger, but now that won't matter.\n\nIt's time. I've challenged him, and we're about to fight. This may not have been a good idea after all. I mean, look at the size of the stick he's got! One or two hits to the head with that and I'll be gone.\n\nIt's too late now though. Time to reveal my secret weapon. What? He's laughing! Hah, he obviously doesn't understand. He thinks it's just a small rock! All I need to do is get close enough...\n\nThere we go! He's confused. I barely touched him with it, but it still wounded him. Again, I wave it into him and his insides come out. He can't win now. He's too sluggish, too injured. One final attack. He's dead. I've won!\n\nI, Ugg, am victorious!", "Joseph touched the gravestone one last time.\n\n“I swore I wouldn’t do it, just for you, Sarah. Let things play out, you told me. We can survive. But we didn’t. You didn’t. And now that you’re gone, I suppose there’s not much left to stop me.”\n\nHe turned and looked at the treeline. Four suits. He knew about Joseph, and He was concerned about what Joseph might do. Appropriately, it was absolutely bucketing with rain, so the watchers had retreated into the false shelter of the ornamental trees bordering the graveyard. Joseph looked at the biggest of the four and deliberately gave his most mocking smile. He waited until the man shifted uncomfortably, then Joseph, the Smartest Man in the World turned and walked towards his car.\n\n<<< >>>\n\n“*HIM AGAIN!!*” Marcus screeched, pitching the report across the reinforced bunker. “More food riots! And we still can’t find who broke into the Eastern Palisade last week. It’s that damned Joseph! I know it is! He’s taunting me!”\nStaffers looked on nervously as the tyrant verbally flayed the unlucky flunky who had been forced to deliver the report. The Reign of Marcus I was sipposed to be absolute within the borders of the country, but it was increasingly seeming that it’s people were against him.\n\nThe prodigious might of the police force had been tasked to finding the mastermind, but had come up empty. Mercenaries had been hired, fired, hired and fired again for their failure as well.\n\nMarcus had no doubt as to who was behind the slow disintegration of his Empire. Every night he would replay the surveillance footage of Joseph in the graveyard, smiling unnervingly right at the camera. The last footage ever recorded, right before the tracker in Joseph’s car had vanished.\n\nUnrest was increasing across the country. People were grumbling more and more. And behind every pillar, backing every plot, the shadowy influence, Marcus could see the unmistakable sign of The World’s Smartest Man.\n\n<<< >>>\n\nThe shivering wreck of a man crouched behind the enormous stone and metal throne. His hair was unkempt, his eyes bloodshot from too many nights awake. There was a faint sound, and the man dived out and fired six rapid shots into the corner of the abandoned throne room. His finger kept pulling the trigger, even as the pin clacked on empty firing chambers. A rat scurried away, letting the man sob with relief as he hurriedly thumbed six more rounds into the slots.\n\nIt was that damnable Joseph. Why would no-one else see it? He’d given Simon and his men half the wealth of the city in order for them to find that thorn. They’d taken the money and done *NOTHING*. He’d sent his military forces into the subway tunnels. Tip-offs had told him Joseph was down there. After the mere sixteenth time, they’d all abandoned him. Why, he’d have them hanged! As soon as he hired more troops to hunt and capture the deserters of course.\n \nHe was still the King. He was still in charge.\n\n“I AM THE KING!” he screamed out loud, voice echoing from the cracked concrete. His eyes alighted on the rubble at the Western Entrance, where the assassination attempt had gone off early. The man had cried something about a wife and child and food, but Marcus knew what he was really saying. Joseph was behind it all.\n\n“YOU CAN’T KILL ME!”\n\n<<< >>>\n\nThe Interpol agent parked by the cliff-side cottage and got out, nervously smoothing her suit. She was about to visit the Smartest Man in the World. She had to look her best – her most professional.\n\nShe stepped up the garden path, listening to the faint surf pounding on the rocks over the cliff and far below. She had to step around a gardener in tatty clothing to reach the doorbell. Once there, she gave it a firm press, attracting the attention of the gardener.\n\n“Can I help you, lass?” \n\n“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Joseph. I have some news for him.”\n\n“Well, maybe I can pass it on to him.”\n\n“It’s very important. I need to ask him some questions.”\n\nThe gardener sat on an ornamental stone bench and pulled off his gloves.\n\n“Ask away then, lass.”\n\n“Wait – You’re Joseph?”\n\n“Last I checked. What’s so important you’ve come all the way out here to visit an old man?”\n\n“Sorry, sir, I…I’m Special Agent Sarah Murdoch, on loan to Interpol. We…we got word last night. Marcus the First killed himself in his throne room. United Nations forces are stabilizing the country now and handing out aid. The map and distribution plan you sent them was almost perfect, right down to the state of the farms.”\n\n“It would have been. What was the question you wanted to ask?”\n\n“How? How did you finally do it? How did you take the Tyrant down?”\n\n“You want to know the secret, do you Special Agent? Well, I suppose there’s no harm in this one, being told to someone with such a lovely name. I did nothing at all, Special Agent Sarah Murdock. I did absolutely nothing at all.”\n" ]

[ 1, 3 ]

[ "1385355696", "1385375743" ]

[ "((What a bloody fantastic WP, indridcolg137 - I couldn't really stop myself and accidentally wrote 1600 words! Thank you for the wonderful opportunity))\n\nIt was an odd little Tuesday at \"Cost & Save\". The bakery oven wasn't working and Tilly told everybody to take the stale bread out of the \"old\" box and put it back onto the shelves. \n\n\"Yes. That's exactly what I said...\"\n\n\"But - but the bread is old\", said Martin, one of the stackers,\n\n\"Martin, tell me, do you see the best buy date here? I'll help, it says \"Tuesday the 14th?\" on the little printed label. That means we can sell it 'till midnight tonight!\", her eyes widened and she nodded enthusiastically. \n\n\"But Mr. Sanderson alwa-\"\n\n\"I don't care what my uncle said!\", she barked. \"I am in charge now, and we are going to get rid of everything in that dusty old stock room. Right now for whatever reason the oven has a missing fuse, and there is no bread on the shelves. So you go back into the storeroom, take the bread back out of the box, and you put it back on the shelves mmm?\"\n\n\"Yes Tilly.\"\n\nAfter parking up his car, David climbed out and looked at the huge green thing. A small dent on the driverside door, the salesman said it would come right out. Emma decided they needed to have more space for the baby and they didn't have the money to run two cars. He loved his old car.\nNearly at the front door when he remembered the shopping list, and with a sigh he went back to the car to get it. A 12 item list scrawled in pink pen on the back of an envelope. \"National Gas\" in curving blue letters printed on the front.\nHe headed through the automatic doors and bumped his nose when they wouldn't open. \n\n\"The door is broken?\", he mouthed to a large woman inside the door wearing the off-blue uniform of Cost & Save. She laboured out of her plastic garden chair and put her long hex key into the box next to the door. It hesitated a moment and sloshed open.\n\n\"Door's broken.\" she said, a toothpaste stain marking her blouse. \n\nAfter selecting the most appealing trolley (one had a mark on the wheel and another one had some old flyers in it), David headed off to find some \"OINIONS\". \n\nNavigating to the fruit & vegetables isle was not easy. David found the whole supermarket experience pointlessly complicated like some kind of test you had to pass before they would let you buy anything. After a minute or two of slack-jaw wondering, he found some the right place. Fat spanish onions were on special offer. \"OINIONS\" it said. Nothing more. \"But - how many do you want Emma!?\" he whispered, trying to calculate the options. The offer was buy one pack, get one free, so he bought 6. A nice \"Schuff-\" sound came from the pen as it put a line through the first item on the list.\n\n\"CHICKEN\". David sighed and walked in the direction he hoped it was. \n\n\"No this is the bread isle, all our meat is just behind the milk counter, Isle 4\", said the stacker through a smile. He was an older gentleman with warm eyes and a badge that said \"My name is Martin, how can I help?\", and was carrying a box marked \"old\".\n\nIsle 4 was made up of two chilled shelves, one on the left and one right and they stretched out nearly the entire length of the supermarket. \"..Chicken\", he said and started to wonder down the infinite rows. \n\nCost & Save was known for it's huge meat selection. That's why people came here and not \"Save Bright\" next door. Brigadier Sanderson, the owner, learned his trade as a butcher many years ago and always had an eye for an interesting piece of meat. The story goes that he had been separated from his unit on a special mission in some exotic jungle. Apparently he was on his last breath before he was saved by a tribe of cannibal warriors. They nursed him back to health and anointed him as one of their own, that is, once they'd cut off his hand for lunch. Well, that's what the kids say. More likely was that he lost his hand at some industrial accident at the abattoir where used to work. Come to think about it, David wondered where the Brigadier was. He hadn't seen him in months, and Cost & Save had been letting itself slip recently. He looked down at his list; \"CHICKEN\" glared back at him.\n\nDown the isle he went. Turkey, no. Drumsticks, cutlets, wings -no. What even is a \"Medallion\" anyway? Sausages...chicken sausages? Hmm. Livers ... urgh. David looked down at Emma's list once again for advice. \"CHICKEN\".\nIn between the Escallops and the vacuum packed poultry hearts was something that had a very shiny wrapper. The plastic caught the light so strongly that it looked like it was on fire. A clever marketing trick to wrap it in reflective plastic no doubt. David picked it up and scorned himself that the marketing had obviously worked. \"Brig. Sanderson's Chicken Souls\" written in cheap lettering across a small glass bottle. It didn't have a barcode, and there wasn't a price ticket on the shelf. He examined it gently in his fingers and it lit up his hand in an acidic glow. There was about 8 little beans inside, each one made entirely of yellow light. He turned the bottle upside down and the little light beans fell slowly like delicate feathers. \"Huh\", he said. There were two other people in the meat isle meandering around and another person knelt down at the other end of the isle, staking cans of meat on their very last sell-by day. He tilted the bottle again and watched the beads of light drift slowly from one side to the other. \nHe went for 10 chicken thighs, a whole free-range chicken, a box of chicken breasts, and a bottle of chicken souls in the end. Better to be safe than sorry.\n\n\"Hi, excuse me can you tell me what these are?\", he waggled the bottle at a skinny man with an eagle tattoo across his neck. \"Dunno man. I just work here.\" David heard tinny music coming from two red ear buds, squeezed tightly into his ear canal, as he was stacking boxes of \"Refried corn pieces\", that were dressed in packaging that looked 20 years old. David spoke a little louder. \n\n\"I have never seen this before! I mean I saw them and thought it might be interesting to buy them but I don't know how mu-\", \"Look man, my Manager is making us stack out all the old shit that should have been thrown away years ago and if I don't get this done soon she won't pay me, so like, whatever ok?\". David huffed and marched to the check out.\n\nBack in his massive green car, he was playing with the bottle. He took it out of the shopping bags when they were all packed in the back. 70 cents. That all it cost for 8 chicken souls. The cashier had found an item code on the bottom, she said they hadn't used the long item codes for years, but there was a lot of older stock out at the moment so they had special procedures in place. They didn't have a date on the lid, but the glass bottle had been imprinted \"58\". The beans floated this way and that. \n\n\"Right\", he thought. With a stiff jolt, the lid cracked opened and a splinter of old glass broke off. Carefully, he put his fingers in and tried to fish a chicken soul out. The beans of light seemed to notice his finger and started to move towards it. He gasped and pulled his finger out. He slammed the lid back on. Eight little souls fell silently back to the bottom. His eyes, wide. After a few seconds David realised that he wasn't breathing and quickly puffed a few great breaths back into his lungs. \n\n\"Haha! They are ... they are just chicken souls!\", he told his overweight car. He looked around and the lid screwed off much more easily the second time. This time he left the lid off and held the bottle. He didn't put his fingers in, he just unscrewed the top and for whatever reason, blew gently into the jar. The lights vibrated and tickled around and began, slowly, to come out of the top. David watched in astonishment as the little chicken souls floated out of the jar into the grand interior of his car. Three landed on his shoulder, two on the dashboard and the rest were floating quietly. One of them decided to stay in the jar, it was a bit smaller than the others and it was immediately David's favourite.\n\nHe followed one of them as it floated downward towards his feet. He hadn't had the car long but already there was specks of rubbish and wrappers littered on the carpets. The light started bumping into a small crumb near his toes. One of them drifted downward to join its brother trying to eat the crumb. Then the rest of them followed in suit, not wanting to be left behind. A small wave of tiny yellow beans all started bumping into the crumb. \"Here we go guys-\" David nudged a few out of the way as he picked up the crumb and slowly placed it back into the bottle. The little school of yellow dots flowed gently back into the bottle after the crumb.\n\nDavid closed the lid and tucked them gently into the crease between the seats and made his way home.\n", "In retrospect, I don't know what I expected.\n\nTurns out, they really _do_ taste like chicken.", "Soulless Chickens could be mass produced for human consumption, if a system \ninvented by the Indian/Swedish scientist Mahatmari proves profitable.\nAs a sideeffect the production of chicken could end up being more ethical.\n\nToday, virtually all chickens is bred in dark stables containing upwards 50 thousand crammed down on a small place. Even though chickens rarely function well in groups bigger than a few dozens.\nBroiler Chickens is the term used by the food industry. Intense crowding always results in incredible amounts of filth, dirt and ammonia fillled air and in the absence of a natural social order will the birds often peck each others to death.\n\nTheir organs cannot keep up with the artificial accelerated growth, causing lung, kidney and liver failures.\nMahatmari from the swedish Upsalala University explains how the removing of the chickens souls would led to a more humane food production.\n\nThe hypothesis is still being tested. \n\nBut basic principles dictates that adding large amounts of the experimental hallucinogen - BZ (a potent version of the known drug LSD, invented by the US army during the cold war) when the chicken is in the embryo stage, will cause an abnormal enlargement of the medial regions. \nFocused doses of beta particles into the chickens frontal lobe will result in the same mutation of the anterior prefrontal cortex, which first was discovered in diseased rats and catfish around Chernobyl. \n\nThe exacte process whereby a division of soul and consciousness is achieved, remains a business secret.\n\n\n\"*We basically kill off the chicken while the animals is doing transmigration*,\" says Mahatmaris student Kalle.\n\n\n\"*When we revive the chicken again with electro chock, it no longer have a soul*. \"\n\n\nThe chickens feathers, feet and head is then removed, and the animal is fed intravenously and through a tube down the open gullet. The bird can now be force fed with excessive amounts of food, and could theoretically be fattened in less than a week. A bird without a soul is equated with plants and vegetables in ethical and legal guidelines.\n\n\n\"*In in a near future we expect to solve the problem of animal secretions. The animal will be ready to be packaged and sold as soon as it reach the desired size and will still be alive when the consumers bring his food home. A very effective production of fresh and raw products, and dare i say, far more humane than what we currently exposes them to*\", concludes Kalle.\n\n\nAs a funny addition - the soul can actually be contained and consumed without sideeffects. \n\n\"*Chicken souls dont taste particular well, as a mixture of mustard and cinnamon, perhaps. Hard to describe. We might be selling a few samples in selects stores, just to gauge people's interest.*\"", "\"What the hell is this?\"\n\nMy wife turned her head and looked. \"Chicken souls, looks like.\" She turned back to the frozen nuggets she was examining. \n\n\"Why the fuck is it glowing?\"\n\nMy wife looked back again. \"I don't know, babe. It's not in the budget.\" \n\n\"I'll buy it. I've never had chicken souls before. Is it... actual souls? The literal spirits of chickens?\" \n\nShe looked at me like I was an idiot. \"Okay, get it. What would you even use them for?\" She put two packs of chicken nuggets in the cart and started walking away.\n\n\"I don't know. Do you know any recipes with chicken souls?\" I grabbed the bottle and started following her down the aisle while reading the label. The instructions read \"boil 10-15 minutes or until souls stop clucking. Let simmer for 30 minutes.\"\n\nShe stopped, sighed, and turned to face me. Dammit, this was going to be a scene. There was an old lady looking at soup a few feet away who kept glancing at us. \n\n\"Derek, I've been working 12 hour shifts for the past five days and when I get home I can barely bring myself to cook hamburger fucking helper before I pass out. Then in a few hours I wake up and start the whole fucking thing over again. Please, just forget the chicken souls.\" \n\nMy face started to get red. \"*Sammy*.\" I started. I slowly pushed the chicken souls back on the shelf next to some canned vegetables. \"I know you've been working hard lately. So have I. I was just suggesting something new. There's no reason to--\"\n\n\"*Derek*.\" She said back, mockingly. \"If you're so sick of my dinners then grow a pair and start making your own food. I don't have to make anything for you, you know. That's my choice because I know you'd fucking starve yourself if I didn't heat up macaroni and cheese for you like a six year old. I'm not your 1950s trophy wife.\" \n\nOh my god, seriously? \"What?\" I said.\n\nThe old woman scurried away past us with her tiny basket of groceries in hand. My wife's eyes followed her. \n\n\"1950s trophy wife? Where the hell did that come from?\" \n\nMy wife rolled her eyes and turned away. \"Let's just buy this.\" \n\nWe rolled up to the checkout counter, swiped her credit card, and drove home wordlessly. \n\n****\n\nThe next day I woke up feeling shitty as I'd ever woken up. My wife left for work earlier than I did, so the bed was already empty. I glanced at her closet and saw everything in disarray. There was a suit jacket hanging off of one end of a hanger and a peacoat crumpled on the ground. I got up and hung them both up straight. \n\nI sighed and glanced at her jewelry box. It was open, with necklaces hanging out. I noticed a lace bra draped over the table and several earrings missing their partner. She must be wearing the gold chain I got her for her birthday last month. She really liked that necklace. She said she felt \"regal\" wearing it, and that made me smile. \n\nI picked up her bra and put it into her drawer but there was no way in hell i would mess with her jewelry. \n\nAt work I found myself on edge. When I was nervous like that, though, I was often more productive. I lost myself in the equations and it wasn't until 3pm that I realized that I had skipped lunch to finish a project. I saw a flash of long, blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. My boss Jill knocked on my office door. \"Derek?\"\n\n\"Yo.\" We're casual like that there. \n\n\"Did you get my email?\" \n\nI paused and quickly opened a gmail tab on my laptop. \"Oh, there it is. Sorry Jill, I was just finishing the report for this weekend and got a call about an audit around nine so I was focusing and making up for lost time. Didn't mean to ignore you.\" \n\n\"No it's okay. You seem pissed, though, is everything okay?\" \n\nI chuckled. \"I seem pissed? A little busy, maybe, but pissed?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I mean, not on the surface, but you're tense for sure.\" Jill looked concerned. Really, actually concerned. \n\nFeeling that was refreshing. I couldn't remember the last time somebody had actually asked me if I was \"okay.\" Tears welled up in my eyes. \n\n\"I'm sorry, I just...\" now my arms were shaking. God, I needed to calm down.\n\n\"Hey. Hey. It's alright, man. Just tell me what's up.\" Jill walked in and closed the door behind her. \n\nI breathed in deeply. Stopped shaking. \"Sammy is unhappy.\" \n\nJill frowned and nodded. She sat down in the chair in front of my desk.\n\n\"We hardly see each other anymore since she got promoted. She told me the first few weeks would be killer, but I can't even go to the grocery store with her without her blowing up about how stressed she is.\" I felt new tears rolling down my cheeks. \"And the reason I even went shopping with her in the first place was to get a little bit more time with her than I would staying at home. But then she was pissed that I wasn't able to stay home and clean the place.\" \n\nJill nodded again. \"That sucks that she's taking it out on you.\" \n\nI laughed. \"Yeah.\" \n\n\"But I mean, it sounds like she knows this is a temporary thing and is just having a hard time getting used to it. It doesn't have anything to do with you.\" Jill crossed her legs and leaned forward.\n\nI breathed deeply and closed my laptop. \"I'm just another burden to her, lately. Everything I do seems to annoy her. That's not what I want. I want to be a respite. I want her to come home and look forward to it. Yesterday she told me she felt like a 1950s trophy wife.\" \n\n\"Oh, wow.\" \n\nI shrugged. \"She does make dinners every night. I know that's playing into gender roles and all that but honestly I never eat unless someone reminds me to.\" \n\n\"Yeah, that's not healthy man.\" \n\n\"I know.\" \n\n\"Look, you say that you want to be a respite for your wife. But honestly, do you look forward to going home and being with her? Is she *your* respite?\"\n\nI opened my mouth but said nothing. She had a point. \n\nJill uncrossed her legs and sat up. \"But that doesn't mean you're not 'happy' with her. That doesn't mean you're about to leave her. It just means that you need to work at it. Both of you.\" \n\nI nodded. \n\n\"Since you're the one bitching about it, why don't you make the first step. Stop forcing her to make you dinners. Make your own damn casseroles from now on, and do her grocery shopping for her. If she's doing all the housework then it's not too off-base to feel a little like a housewife.\" Jill paused. \"I know you'd do anything for her. You just need to communicate that.\"\n\nI nodded again. Gears started turning in my head. A plan developed. \"Jill, I think I'm going to head home a little early today.\"\n\n****\n\nOn my way home from the grocery store I examined the bottle of chicken souls at a red light. There was a recipe for Spectral Cajun stir-fry on the label. It didn't look too difficult.\n\nAs I pulled into the driveway, my heart dropped. My wife's chevy cavalier was already there. In spite of myself, I began looking around for another car. A man's car.\n\n*Okay, just stop.* I told myself. But I couldn't think of any reason for her to be home early. She got off at six. We usually walked in the door ten minutes apart from each other. I started thinking back to the last few days. Did she seem to always be home before me lately? \n\nOkay, even if bringing some asshole home and fucking him in our house was her plan, there was nobody in her life that she would be interested in that way. She told me all about her days at work. Her coworkers are very bland and married. She's only good friends with the 19 year old girl interning at the office. Where would she even have time to meet people? \n\nWhy was I even thinking about this? I trusted my wife. I loved her. I was so confused, though. I got out of my car and sprinted up the steps, pulled out my key and opened the door in one fluid movement. \n\nI stepped in and closed the door behind me quickly. Then I listened. Nothing except for the crackling of the stove and chickens clucking. Clucking?\n\n\"Shit.\" I heard from the other room. \"Shit shit shit.\" Sammy veered around the corner. She was in an apron. She gave me a big, sheepish smile. \"Shit! Why are you back so early, babe?\"\n\nI couldn't say anything. She walked up to me and hugged me close. \n\n\"I'm such a bitch.\" She said. \"I'm such a bitch I'm such a bitch I'm such a bitch.\" \n\nIt really hurt me to hear her say that. Especially now. I held her tighter. \"I love you, Sammy. I bought some more chicken souls if you ran out.\" \n\nShe laughed. \"Oh god! More souls is the last thing we need. I misread the recipe and bought three times as much as I needed. Hope you like spectral stir-fry.\" She let go of me and walked back into the kitchen. \"Oh, and I love you too.\" \n\nI watched her walk. \"Don't you have work?\" I followed her to the stove.\n\n\"You were more important today.\" The stove clicked as she turned the heat down. \"Wait, don't *you* have work?\"\n\n\"I was planning to be your 1950s trophy husband tonight. You beat me to it.\" I hugged her from behind.\n\n\"Your turn tomorrow for sure.\" ", "\"I found this over with the wings,\" I nodded towards the refrigerated isle, \"I'm, uh...I wasn't sure what to do with it.\"\n\nI held it gingerly with one hand out for the cashier.\n\n\"Oh my god, I'm so sorry about that, sir,\" he responded, snatching the glowing cylinder from me, \"You shouldn't have to deal with that, I'll take it back to the canned goods.\"\n\nHe started to turn, but I called him back. I had to know.\n\n\"Is it...are there really...,\" I struggled to phrase my question, \"Do you really sell chicken souls here?\"\n\n\"Well,\" he pursed his lips, \"Yes, but...to be honest...If you're looking for *quality* chicken souls, this isn't the way to go.\"\n\n\"Um. Quality chicken souls?\"\n\n\"Right, yeah,\" he continued, \"The good stuff. This right here? I'm gonna guess you're getting maybe 70, 80 percent purity tops, diluted with an ectoplasmic slurry.\"\n\nHe typed on his register for a second, then turned the screen my way.\n\n\"*This* is the good stuff,\" he gestured to the screen on which a small green can with a chicken giving a thumbs up was displayed, \"That's what you want. They harvest their own souls with an on-site reaper. It's a local farm, so-\"\n\n\"No, that's not exactly what I meant,\" I interrupted him, \"I guess....doesn't that seem unethical?\"\n\nHe tilted his head, apparently curious.\n\n\"I mean, like, are we agreeing now that chickens have souls? As a society, we've agreed on that?\" I kept on, \"That's fine, I think, I hadn't really thought about it.\"\n\n\"Well clearly there's *something* in that can,\" he answered.\n\n\"Sure,\" I kept going, \"But, does that mean they're intelligent? Or does that matter? If something *has* a soul and I *know* it has a soul...is it right to eat it and then *also* eat its soul? Shouldn't somebody be asking these questions *before* we start marketing souls? Who's doing that job? Ethicists? Philosophers, maybe?\"\n\n\"Funny you should say that, \" the cashier's chest puffed out, pushing the \"Five-Year\" button on his vest upwards, \"*I* actually have a degree in philosophy.\"", "Well that's new. I picked up the jar of goopy liquid and examined it. Little white bulbs were immersed in the brine, swimming around as if the container had been vigorously shaken.\n\nThe label said just said *Chicken Soul for the Soup* with a small sticker near the bottom that claimed it was *great* with the aforementioned soup. \n\nJeez. It was $6.66 an ounce, and most of it was liquid. I thought about it for a while, and decided to put it back. I'll stick human souls. After all, that only cost $3.33 an ounce and could feed up to 4 demons at a time.\n \nIn this economy, a succubus can't be purchasing exotic foodstuffs. No thank you, I'll stick to cheap, abundant human souls.", "It was an impulse purchase, I admit. I don't really know what convinced me to buy the small glowing shrink-wrapped ball labelled \"Chicken Soul\" as I purchased my groceries. Perhaps boredom, perhaps some perverse curiosity. \n\nI asked the cashier what it was as I checked out. She looked at it and said, \"It's a chicken soul. Haven't you ever had one before?\"\n\nI confessed that I hadn't, and the look of shock was apparent on her face. \"Really?\" she exclaimed. \"These were one of my favorite treats growing up. Battered and deep-fried with barbecue sauce, of course.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I replied, without any idea what she was talking about. I paid for my groceries and went home to my flat.\n\nI ran a quick google search for \"Chicken Soul recipes\", and was surprised to see the number of \"Homestyle Chicken Soul Sandwiches\" and \"Grandma's Chicken Soul Dinner\" recipes. The one I eventually settled on trying was \"Simple Home Cookin' Deep Fried Chicken Soul\", which began by saying \"The Deep-Fried Chicken Soul is one of the essential parts of every Fourth of July dinner...\" which had most certainly not been true in my family's house.\n\nI followed the recipe as instructed, heating a pot of oil and mixing herbs, eggs, and breadcrumbs for the batter. I unwrapped the soul and held it my hands. It was very strange; though the glowing shape felt room-temperature against my palms, I could feel the blood in my hands, warming them up as if I had just come inside from a cold winters day, although it was not cold out. I could feel the pressure of the soul against my hands, but it seemed to have no weight, as if my hands were being pulled upwards against the resisting globe of light. It was smooth, and the surface was pliable, but when I poked it I could not make an indent. I rolled it in batter and, with a slotted spoon, lowered it into the oil.\n\nAfter guessing slightly on the appropriate cooking time (the recipe said \"until done\", which was not very much help) I took the crispy golden ball out of the pot and set it on a paper-towel lined plate to let the excess oil drain. I moved the pot off the stove to let it cool; I would pour the boiling oil out after I had eaten my odd dinner.\n\nTransferring the soul onto a second plate, I sat down at my table with fork, knife, and barbecue sauce at the ready. I pierced the crispy shell with my fork, and sliced off a thin piece. The soul had grown firm after cooking, and the glow had dimmed significantly. Dipping a corner into the barbecue sauce first, I brought the piece of soul up to my mouth and bit in.\n\nThe flavor was phenomenal. You know how they say that everything tastes like chicken? \"They\" don't know what they are saying, because nothing in the world tastes like fresh-fried chicken soul. Imagine the richest, juiciest piece of chicken you've ever had, and multiply it by a thousand. It was the chickeniest thing I'd ever eaten; all other chicken was just a pale imitation, a piece of dead flesh that merely remembered the chicken it used to be. And yet, the texture was extremely light. The savory breading added a little bit of crunch, but the overall texture was almost like eating a piece of birthday cake (though without any of the sweetness). Just enough resistance to feel the chewing, to feel it as it broke down and melted across my tongue. It was sublime.\n\nThe next day I went to lunch at a greasy spoon near where I worked, and asked if they sold chicken souls. To my surprise, they did; I had been going to this diner for years and had never noticed it on their menu, although they assured me it had always been there. I say with some pride that my homemade soul was better; or perhaps, the expectation I had set was simply too high. It did seem to be tougher than the previous day's soul, and the chicken flavor seemed tinted with some other flavor I couldn't quite place. Perhaps this chicken came from a cage farm, rather than a free-range farm. I couldn't say for certain.\n\nI would gladly have had chicken souls every day for a week, except that my girlfriend returned from a trip. I was happy to see her again, but the sacrifice of avoiding animal products around her seemed much greater now that I knew of the existence of chicken souls. She is a kind and compassionate person, (which is one of the many reasons I love her) but all the same, I can't help but feel that her dedication to relieving animal suffering is a bit melodramatic. After all, they're animals. Is it such a sin to drink their milk, eat their eggs, cook their flesh, or consume their souls? If God didn't want us to consume their life essence, why did he make it so delicious?\n\nI will keep these thoughts to myself. I will wait patiently; the next time she goes away, I know what's on the menu.\n", "I drop the can onto the counter; the kid manning the deli doesn't look up from the roast beef.\n\n\"Checkout's down that way,\" he mutters.\n\n\"Oh, I'm not checking out,\" I say. \"I just want to know what...*this* is.\" The can, wedged in between the rotisserie chicken and the drums and wings: a can of Chicken Souls. Now he looks up; his eyes go wide.\n\n\"Says right there on the can,\" he stammers, and then nods as if this is enough explanation.\n\n\"But what's in it?\" I gesture to the can. \"It's *glowing*.\"\n\nThe kid takes the can with just the tips of his fingers, and I realize he's holding his breath. \"Look,\" he whispers. \"Look. We go through a lot of chickens every day. At least a hundred chickens. There's a lot of cleanup involved.\"\n\nHe raises the can to the light with both hands, tilts it this way and that. \"But...you can't clean up *everything*.\"", "It was a rather peculiar sight. Probably some kind of joke item that someone threw in there, but I thought I'd check it out, just to be sure.\nI reached out to grab it but felt a quick slap on my wrist.\n\n\"Is it on the list?\"\n\n\"But honey, look at..\"\n\n\"Is it ON THE LIST?\"\n\nI sighed in resignation. \"No dear, it's not on the list.\"\n\n\"That's what I thought.\" My wife retorted. \"Now come on, we have to get the rest of the shopping done.\"\n\nI went back the next day, but it was gone. I guess I'll never know what it really was." ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 6, 9, 15, 20 ]

[ "1385389166", "1385390079", "1385393463", "1385403515", "1385413403", "1385374630", "1385375813", "1385363432", "1385368997" ]

[ "Bacon is the bane of my breakfast existence. Or, maybe it would be more accurate to say *people* are the bane of my breakfast existence, if bacon is involved.\n \n I'll come right out about it, only because i'm on the internet. In person i've had no less than verbal assaults; I don't like bacon. I really just don't like it. It's not bad, per se, but it just isn't the breakfast food of the gods, and I would readily eat any other breakfast food over it (except eggs, can't stand them).\n \n I say to someone that I don't like bacon and suddenly I've committed first degree murder of their great-grandmother. I do not understand what compels others to disallow my sensory opinions; the less bacon I eat, the more you can have. It's quite simple.\n \n This happens with all kinds of food. Taste-based discrimination is an issue that's rampant at both Thanksgiving dinners and afternoon brunches. It is imperative of our race to end the discrimination of others based on the foods they enjoy; I propose a system of \"food equality\" in which each person's opinion on certain food items and ethnicities is respected. No more should I, or anyone, have to face the harassment of my dissimilar opinion to the vapid, collective dogma of what is good and what is not.", "In a world of binary truths, the most egregious is fought daily in every household. Brother at war with sister, husband with wife, generations battling it out in the tight confines of domesticity.\n\nBattling over something so much more than simple black and white, Spy vs Spy, we fight a guerilla war, using espionage and bribery to achieve our desired outcome -- that is, the *right* outcome. Because each side is as sure as can be that they are in the right and the other side is delusionally, wildly wrong. No amount of passionate, seemingly well-reasoned argument can sway those in the opposing trenches. There is no letup, no surrender, in a lifelong scrap, regaining and losing ground daily.\n\nI was witness to such warfare in my own home -- my *own* home! -- and almost found myself giving in to the persuasive siren song of the hideously errant opposition. Wouldn't it be easier if? We would be so much happier if only! Can't we all just. Get. Along? I found myself leaning from the safe haven of my ship of righteousness, almost casting myself adrift in the wild waves of falsehoods sung by my most bitter enemy and beloved spouse. But I was saved by a dash of cold water in the form of my own child, who seized my arm and stayed me from betrayal of my deepest beliefs.\n\nYes! Even as I was about to replace the toilet roll, paper on the verge of trailing from under -- from *under*! -- I was able to withdraw, review, and harden my resolve anew. It was only thanks to a young maiden that I stood afresh on the battle front, paper firmly in place hanging over.\n\nNever under.\n\nBecause that's fucking wrong.", "It is a widely held view, too often affirmed by the cowardice of its detractors, that the inability of the English language to express itself neutrally in the third person demands the castration of the author. He/she must write this, or he/she must argue thus. It is as absurd as it is subversive, as lazy as it is contemptible. We are cocks and we are cunts, ladies and gentlemen; let's stop fucking around.\n\nThe he/she rise to power is easily catalogued. It is the convergence of three facts: 1. It is no longer acceptable, socially or morally, to say that *one* might do this or that. *One* is no longer counted among our number, and he or she can take a hike. 2. Bla bla women's rights. 3. The masculine dominance of early civilization is still evident in the structure of our language, for in the year 1297 it was most definitely *he* who did everything. These three pills, taken simultaneously, are what send otherwise intelligent men and women he/sheing out the back door of good diction and into the gelded pseudo-symmetry of political correctness. This silliness must end.\n\nTo end it, I propose innovation. Though it is uncommon for a language through conscious efforts to evolve (the evolution of tongues being the province of time and generations) it is not impossible. We have been tried and we pled guilty, but our sentence is far from done. It is time to break out. It is time to feel the light of our mother tongue on our bare skin once more. Throw off that dreadful tunic and join me, naked in the light of our ancestry, hard and wet beneath the grim hope of the future, to proclaim that he/she is dead. It is *jee* who lives. It is *jee* who will find a way. For we are *jee*, and *jee* is us. \n\n " ]

[ 1, 3, 4 ]

[ "1385413727", "1385406014", "1385392431" ]

[ "Another day in the factory. Each worker tirelessly fiddled with mechanical parts and paid his dues at the assembly line for hours on end. The work had been like this almost as long as each elf could remember, but that realization did nothing to dull the obvious tedium in the factory. It always got worse when Christmas drew near. The workday would subtly extend a few minutes now and again and the breaks were always rushed. No one in the factory intended to make the work as stressful as it became- each elf just tried to do his own job quietly and drown the monotony however he'd learned to. The elves' longstanding presence at the North Pole had amounted to nothing over the past centuries save for the production of children's playthings, a sad reality known to each denizen of the North. Unrest had been growing steadily in each elf for years- each, that is, except for the big guy. \n\nLast minute demands- Santa's late additions to the list- never failed to compound the disgruntled nature of the factory elves. It hasn't always been this way. In the beginning each elf was his own master- free to work whenever he wanted and free to play at each moment's passing whim. The presents were always constructed on time and the North Pole was happy- ideal, even, some elves would say. Then the list started growing. And growing, and growing still, until the elves couldn't handle it with their carefree adolescence. They needed a leader to organize them and take control. Each elf's motivation to keep up with the increasing workload diminished, and as equals no elf could be resolved to tell his fellows how to adapt. And so Santa came about. The chief elf idea worked well for a long while- tight scheduling and a basic hierarchy ensured that each elf would be able to work some and play just as much. Santa, of course, no longer worked in the factory but his work was no easier and was certainly more time-consuming. In the early years, at least. \n\nNow, though, the North Pole was very nearly autonomous and Santa was able to relax in his dwelling, eat cookies, and play games with the animals. All while the other elves worked themselves to death. Well, not death- not literally. Immortality was a blessing for the elves early on. Now, with their senses dulled and their hands calloused, some elves wouldn't mind a respite from the work.\n\nThe idea of change among the elves had coalesced years ago. Small talk during breaks began converging to the same topic so repetitively one might wonder if it was planned. In recent years, Santa's presence as the leader had degraded. There was an almost imperceptible change when the first elf (who else but Santa's tailor) voiced his dissent for the big man's slovenliness. The tendrils forming the roots of this idea spread gradually through the factory. No longer content to be Santa's obsequious helpers, the elves silently rallied behind the evolving idea as if guided by a hand with the deliberation of a man playing a flawless game of chess. \n\nThe tailor was the one to break the news to Santa and their conversation was predictably abrupt.\n\n\"Grmpph, can't this wait? I'm eating now,\" The big man growled in between bites.\n\n\"We have waited. For awhile now- \" Santa's tailor was interrupted.\n\n\"Oh? Who else is here? What can he possibly want at this hour?\"\n\n\"It's all of us- the elves. We are tired and broken and can't handle this Christmas. This can't last. You push too hard and do too little. It's over.\"\n\n\"Hmmm? I won't listen to this, not during dinner. Get back to work.\" Santa resumed his vociferous chomping. \"Hrmmph.\" He grumbled to himself as his tailor stood sullenly in the doorway.\n\n\"Suit yourself, Santa.\"", "Dairy Entry: #6715: \nIt's my 411th year working for Mr. Kringle .\n\nThe first half of this time you could find me working away at toy trains and dollies. These past years have shown that my time here is coming to an end. This year we were given new toys to make, no mind that these things can hardly be called toys. The first 48 hours had me building what I thought was flashlights but no no. These were the modern inventions, they were at my station of \" Personal Recreation \". His speech over the intercom detailed them as a device resulting in eventual relaxation. I assumed is was the relaxation of not stubbing your toe in a dark room filled with delightful toys or joyful shapes of Christmas and Mr. Kringle getting larger the further you shine the lamp from the wall. NO! Mr. Kringle's new inventions is his combination of a flashlight and masturbation. I think this answers my previous wonders of why he sent the memo to avoid turning on the light when delivering coffee to his room.\n\nI must bring this up with the Union during our next meeting. Along side Mr. Kringle's liberal interpretation of \" Naughty or Nice \". ", "A drag of vanilla and cinnamon smoke billowed out of me. The big guy stifled a cough like he wasn't jonesing for one himself.\n\n\"You're wrong this time.\" I said. \"You know I've always backed your plays, and I'll even back this one. But you're wrong about those kids and it scares me to say that to your face you hear me? It scares me to death but you really need to know and I gotta be the one to say it.\"\n\nThe candy cane nearly slipped from my trembling fingers but I managed to lean against a bench and regain some poise.\n\nSanta Clause smiled. I never want to question that smile. Whether there's not, for one instant, anything but pure genuine love and charity behind it. My faith hinged on the sincerity of that smile. And yet I felt a sleepless night coming. \n\n\"Walt, its noble of you to defend them. But you're being ignorant of all the additional angles from which only I am privy to. These children are bound for our exemption and we must press on. You're no stranger to cases like these. I'd have expected more professional insight from you of all elves.\"\n\nHis smile showed more worry and concern and he expected that to break my heart but I stood in his way from leaving.\n\n\"I can prove those girls won't kill their sister tonight.\"\n\nSome of the elves at the work-tables looked up at the mention of this and after a quick taste of Santa's disproving glare they returned to their tasks. \n\nThe big guy shoved me into a nearby storage room and slammed me against a wall.\n\n\"You'll do your job Walt. Because alot of little ones are depending on you.\"\nHe whispered his polite reprimand so as not to make a complete scene. But I knew him better than that.\n\n\"If I find out that you or any of your midnight boys are pulling the strings behind this sick scam, I'm gonna blow the whistle SO hard.\" I puffed another vanilla and cinnamon gust into his red face and shrugged away his arms. \n ", "Cletus Buckthorn arrived home only a hair before midnight and just in time to catch his wife before she drifted to sleep. He always tried to be quiet when coming home at such a late hour, but the front door of their echoing baron cabin let loose a squeal with each opening. Cletus had been meaning to oil the hinges but was too busy working the kiln at the factory and when he would manage to scrape off some free time, it was spent repairing the roof or tending to his sick wife, Gertrude.\n\n\"Cletus?\" her voice trembled from the small bedroom at the other end of the dwelling. He hung his outdoor garments on the rack by the door and walked over to the bedroom. Peeking his head through the bedroom door, his eyes met his darling wife--as if for the first time--and he smiled. \"Have you good news?\" she spoke, softly.\n\nHis smile faded. He was denied the pay raise that he had been promised when he started working at the factory 120 years ago. It was now, when Gertrude lay betwixt here and the abyss, that he needed that money the most. He sat on the bed next to her and stared into her watering eyes.\n\nAt the tender age of 75, Gertrude was youngest female elf to be ever named head foreman at any factory in the North Pole. During her tenure she doubled sugar-cookie productivity and through hard bargaining, tripled the meager pay of all of the elven workers. Her strength and tenacity lent her more beauty than anyone could ever see in this universe and it made her a lasting icon.\n\nAfter 80 years of prosperity, the threats of unionization began to grow weaker along with the resolve for protest. To simply prove that he could, Christopher Kringle--Emperor of the North Pole--laid off 60% of his elven employees, the sum of which were nowhere near as satisfying to him as the firing of Gertrude Buckthorn.\n\nMost of those that were laid off succumbed to the elements within a few short weeks. Those that retained their positions were forced to work longer hours and received only enough to keep them alive until the next shift.\n\nGertrude's glistening eyes lit up with a flame of indignation. \"He didn't even have the decency to tell it to you directly, did he?\" Cletus stared at her in silence. The ire inside of her poured out into tears as Cletus placed his quivering hand in hers. He kissed her on her cheek and stayed with her until the fire in their home had faded. Just as the fires had faded in the homes of 630,000 elves, leaving them--as it left Gertrude and Cletus--dead, frozen, and slowly encased in snow which scattered in from the porous walls.", "I finished my fifth twelve-hour shift. I'm on the night turn this week and I'll be on the day turn next week. \n\nWe never used to have to work this long. There was a time of prosperity when we were guaranteed pensions and eight hour days. Those days are gone.\n\nMr. Claus, the foreman, has become a monster. Worldwide belief in him has slowly been declining with the rise of secularism. He's turned to milk to drown his sorrow and we've taken the brunt of his anger\n\nHe has compensated for the lack in demand by cutting many elves from the labor force and increasing the hours of those who have stayed. Our pay is terrible (one cookie per hour), but what else are we supposed to do? Our only other options are to become actors in Hollywood, but that market is over-saturated. \n\nSo we toil away, churning out present after miserable present, while the fat man inundates himself with lactose. \n\nA few men have taken to forming an underground union, but they're bound for failure. No one in their right mind will join for fear of Claus' retribution if he finds out. So for now, there is nothing but pain and presents for spoiled brats. \n\nAll we can do is hope that times will change... But they won't. Many recognize this fact; we've lost four men this month to suicide. Tonight, I plan to become number five. ", "On mobile-sorry for any oddities.\n\n\n\nBartholomew stared at his now pulverized left hand, his once nimble and deft hand now nothing more than a smashed pulp. He stared in shock as his hand slowly bled in short sporadic spurts, his eyes slowly watered as he realized what had just occurred. He did not feel much pain, the adrenaline and shock made sure of that, he only felt a hollowness, as if a vacuum had sucked out his will to live. A voice boomed from the catwalk. It was the boss, the Great and Almighty Claus, the jolly red man. His eyes were beady, small coal rocks darting to and fro. His stomach was swollen and fat, the recent meal of an insubordinate reindeer still within him. His once red and iconic clothes were now covered with grease and dirt. He was a shadow of his former self, nothing more than a ruthless body of anger and menace ever since the accident. \n\n'Someone remove this useless excuse of an elf and replace him. NOW!', roared the boss. \n\n'And while you're at it, throw his family in the snow, he's useless to us now.' \n\nBartholomew was taken from his station and dragged outside, his stump of a hand leaving a crimson brown trail of blood behind him.", "His naughty hand plays with the fat of his belly and his nice hand passes among their shoulders, touching the belled fringe of a green jerkin and grazing the very tip of a sensitive ear. They stare at their work.", "Someone once said that the humans have a song about dreaming of a white Christmas. Elves have similar dreams. The once pristine white snow around the workshop is now tainted with the remnants of the dull black smog that dribbles out of the large smoke stacks. The air within the workshop is hot, thick and choking. The walls are covered with yellow peeling pictures of idyllic holiday moments that He thought would motivate the elves and turn them into “Holly Jolly Hard Workers!”. The floor is covered in unmolded bits of plastic and small twists of wire, cast away in the elves’ rush to meet the newest quotas. \n\nEvery elf learned to hate and fear the large candycanes that stood at each end of the workshop. The quotas were slowly filled as the red rose up to overtake the white and indicate the elves’ progress. The red climbed slower every day. \n\nThe elves themselves looked like dirty street urchins. Their clothing was ragged and hung like sacks on their thin frames. The increased need to produce toys to keep up with the booming population had shifted elves from making food and clothing to just toys and the results were plain as day. \n\n“HOHOHO!” boomed through the workshop as He made his first appearance of the day. The merry sound reverberated around the workshop, loud and long, almost like it had been back in the good years. The elves remembered when they could make toys fast enough to be done by lunch and it has been happiness and cheer in the air rather than smog and pollution. The jolly sound gave way to a bought of deep coughing and just like that, the nostalgic dream came crashing down.\n\nHe had been drinking again the elves saw. The stains on his once red suit and his now corpulent, rather than jolly, belly hinted at the strains that He was also under. He did not emerge unscathed from humanity’s boom either. Where once He had happily watched the sweet young children, now all He could see were child soldiers, prostitutes and drug addicts.\n\n“You all better Holly Jolly Hurry Up! We have to make those children happy. I’m all they have. This is going to the best Christmas ever. No more tears, no more sadness, just toys for all the good little girls and boys.” What had started as His attempt at a motivational speech turned into sobs halfway through. The tears rolled down His cheeks to mingle with the greasy patches of grey that were all that remained of His beard.\n\nOne of the younger elves, still not experienced with His long sorrowful tirades knocked over a can of paint, covering a whole worktable in a shower of crimson. His eyes locked onto the poor elf’s. \n\nA hoarse whisper carried through the workshop. “You ruined them, you ruined all of them. Now you’re on the naughty list.” \n\nSome of the elves looked away. The ones closest to the unfortunate backed up and everyone scurried out the way as He shuffled towards His hapless worker. He muttered as He moved, cursing the elf for his stupidity, cursing the other elves, cursing the humans, and finally cursing the children. His eyes never left the quaking elf’s.\n\nThe once red sack was stained a sickly maroon color and was tattered and showing holes in some places, but it still muffled the elf’s cries as the cloth walls enveloped him. The sack crashed against the wall, then the workbench, then the ground, again, again, again, and again. \n\nHe dropped the sack, suddenly straightening himself and putting on a smile that showed the bits of tattered cloth and meat stuck in his maw. “Let’s not dilly dally any longer! The children are counting on us to make this a very merry Christmas.” The elves silently resumed their work and tried not to look at the pool of paint slowly meeting the other pool of crimson as He walked back out of the workshop, dragging the sack behind him.\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 2, 5, 5, 8, 13 ]

[ "1385491956", "1385497160", "1385512844", "1385488586", "1385485783", "1385487446", "1385485033", "1385490896" ]

[ "The Doctor emerges from the TARDIS. Even though he is ageless, he looks haggard. Spent. As if he has, finally, seen too much. The question of \"was it worth it\" is far too apparent on his face. \n\nThe Doctor approaches the throne of the Emperor of Mankind. The Emperor was clad in a red robe, seated in his tower of stone upon his throne of skulls. The Doctor was not who he said he was; he had acted a part for the span of human history. It was not easy, fooling the entirety of both human and non human races. After acting like all of his travels were seemingly random, his journey was finally coming to its inevitable conclusion. His entire existence, the destruction of his race, his countless missions throughout history with his various companions, all to manipulate the very fabric and stands of history. It all culminated to this one moment. \n\nThe Doctor knelt before the Emperor of Mankind. The Emperor rose, and put a hand on The Doctor's shoulder. The Emperor spoke, his voice containing every hero and villain he conquered to obtain his throne, every age of man he had subverted and cast into his shadow. \n\n\"You have done well...my son\"", "The TARDIS wheezed and whumped into existence, stirring up the millennia dead, sterile air. After a moment, one of the doors swung open with a tired creaking noise. \n\n\"Right, now, Clara Oswald, *the future!*\" The Doctor leaped across the threshold, \"Of Earth this time, we should be here right after the 3rd lunar war, the greatest celebration in a century has just started and they've invented a fantastic new cocktail named after the Empress of China.\"\n\nThe fun part is making them look impressed, he thought to himself, one of the best reasons to bring along a human. They always looked impressed. That and they reminded him of Timelords. Standing motionless at the TARDIS door, head tilted to the side, Clara looked more confused than impressed.\n\n\"What?\"\n\nBut the problem with them is sometimes they break. His hand shot to the the sonic screwdriver, and flipping it to scan mode he passed it a few times in front of her face. No response, scans show she's perfectly healthy. He smacked it with the palm of his hand a few times, that usual helped, but no change. Finally he turned to see what she was looking at. Before them were two enormous golden doors, several stories high, engraved with an image of an unthinkable battle. No, a slaughter. Twisted, inhuman shapes fighting against a heroic figure clad in enormous armour. A pair of titanic robots flanked the door, both armed with weaponry that would make a Dalek reconsider its plans of universal conquest.\n\nSnapping out of it, she turned to the Doctor, \"I thought you said we were going to a party? This looks like a war zone.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well.\" He said, fiddling with the screwdriver for a moment and scanning the robots and then the air itself. \"This is Earth, and it's the future. Rather a lot longer in the future. I was aiming for 4,000 A.D.\"\n\n\"When are we Doctor?\"\n\n\"Ummm - sometime in the 41st millenium. After 40,000 A.D. Somewhere in the Himalayas. Must have punched in an extra 0. Woops! Oh look they've got the banners and flags out!\"\n\nHe pointed up at the ceiling, from which hung hundreds of battle standards, most torn, and squinting her eyes, Clara was sure she could make out long dried blood stains. All hanging motionless, no breeze. They were interrupted by a sudden cacophony of hydraulics and metallic booms, as if an enormous cymbal was being raised and dropped by multiple robotic arms. They instinctively looked down towards the gate, but it wasn't moving. The echoing, thumbing, stomping noise grew louder, and finally they both peeked round the TARDIS. Before them they saw an enormous, golden throne built into the back wall of the room, the wall itself criss crossed with pipes, tubes and wires, like a vast circuit-board. Upon the throne sat a figure, too far away to see clearly. And somewhat more urgently, advancing at a steady but cumbersome pace towards them marched an unbroken line of what looked like over-sized cybermen: 8 feet tall, and covered from head to toe in gleaming gold armour, etched with ornate eagle designs, waist and shoulders ringed with red skirts in the style of a Roman Legionnaire, and topped off with an enormous red plume. Their black capes billowed behind them, draped upon the armour like funeral shrouds. Each carried in one armoured fist a 10 foot long spear, into which was build some sort of gun, in the other fist they clenched tall golden shields, upon which was an image of a similar figure in similar golden armour. The armour was powered, whirring with hydraulics and booming as each heavy boot stomped down on the stone floor. Hundreds of them, marching in sync, directly towards the TARDIS.\n\nThe Doctor stepped round his ship and in front of the advancing forces. They halted, and leveled their spears towards him. A hundred lasers pointed directly at him.\n\n\"Hello, I'm the Doctor! I would shake your hand but...\"\n\n\"SILENCE.\" An even larger figure stepped out from the ranks, wearing no helmet, his bald head showed a glaring, serious face, one with which there could be no bargaining. Peeking out from behind the TARDIS, Clara could see the circuitry of the armour pierced his skin in multiple places. Man and machine melded into one. \n\n\"YOU HAVE VIOLATED THE HOLY GROUND OF THE SANCTUM IMPERIALIS. THE PENALTY FOR WHICH, IS DEATH. YOU HAVE APPROACHED THE MOST HOLY PLANET OF TERRA IN AN UNKNOWN VESSEL WITHOUT AUTHORISATION OF THE HIGH LORDS. THE PENALTY FOR WHICH, IS DEATH. YOU HAVE WITH YOUR VERY PRESENCE ENDANGERED THE LIFE OF THE GOD EMPEROR -\"\n\n\"Oh let me guess, the penalty for which, is death?\"\n\n\"SO YOU ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR GUILT IN THESE CRIMES?\" \n\nThe hundred strong phalanx adjusted, prepared to fire. \n\n\"Yes. But, one question. Why does our very presence threaten the life of the 'God Emperor'?\"\n\nThe figure squinted, as if he couldn't understand the question.\n\n\"THE GOD EMPEROR WAS MORTALLY WOUNDED ON THE LAST DAY OF THE HORUS HERESY, WHEN THE FORCES OF CHAOS FOUGHT THEIR WAY TO TERRA ITSELF. YOU MUST BE A HERETIC IF THE IMPERIAL CULT HAS NOT ENLIGHTENED YOU WITH THE TRUTH OF THE EMPEROR. THE PENALTY FOR WHICH -\"\n\n\"Is death?\"\n\n\"NO. SERVITUDE IN A PENAL LEGION.\"\n\n\"Well I'm glad we cleared that up. You see, I heard he was mortally wounded, and well, they call me the Doctor for a reason -\"\n\nAt that moment what appeared to be a human skull, its forehead stamped with a large red \"I\" and various robotics trailing from under the upper jaw, floated over the gathered soldiers towards the Doctor and the booming commander.\n\n\"Chief Custodian,\" The skull said, indifferently \"urgent message from the Inquisitorial Archives. Priority Maximus.\"\n\n\"RELAY MESSAGE. QUICKLY. I HAVE AN EXECUTION TO PERFORM.\"\n\n\"The entity called 'the Doctor' is known to us. His presence has been recorded at various critical times in mankind's history. He is to be treated with maximum deference. He is recorded as being the greatest warrior who has ever lived, beyond even the Emperor. All available resources are at his disposal. Including, if required, the Adeptus Custodes. This order has been approved by the High Lords of Terra.\"\n\n\"WHAT?\"\n\n\"Message Ends.\" The skull floated away.\n\nThe soldiers, hearing the message acted as one, raising their spears and kneeling before the Doctor. The Chief Custodian continued to stand.\n\nAfter a few minutes, with more deafening marching by the assembled Custodians, the Doctor, Clara and the Chief Custodian stood before the towering Golden Throne. Upon which they now saw, sat a dangerously thin man, staring out across the room, his head held up by a frightening array of tubes and wires which exited the back of his skull and trailed off into the machinery above and behind him. With the Custodians stood at attention, the room was deathly silent. \n\nPausing only to adjust his bow tie, the Doctor climbed the golden steps, screwdriver in hand. Advancing behind him, Clara hazarded a glance back at the Chief Custodian, he stood motionless at the foot of the throne, watching. The doctor stopped, abruptly, and Clara walked into him. Almost falling, she caught a glance at the Emperor of Mankind. He wasn't just thin, he was nothing more than a skeleton, rotted away in tattered rags. \n\n\"He's -\"\n\n\"Shh.\" The Doctor cut her off, and turned, whispering in her ear \"You don't blurt out in front of 300 heavily armed fanatics that the being they worship as a God is in fact dead.\"\n\nHe powered up the screwdriver and began scanning the throne first, muttering to himself. \"advanced life support. Mostly still functional. But no good now, why is it still working?\" Then he pointed the screwdriver at the Emperor and stopped. He smacked it with the palm of his hand a few more times and boosted the power, shaking his head and blinking rapidly.\n\n\"What is it?\"\n\n\"Oh it - well. I think my screwdriver is broken. This can't be right.\"\n\n\"What can't be right?\"\n\n\"Well, it says that he's still alive.\"\n\n" ]

[ 3, 13 ]

[ "1385573287", "1385520929" ]

[ "\"I didn't hate him. For siblings, we had what you might call a 'high-functioning-tense-relationship'. Sure, sometimes he pissed me off, but I doubt that's anything abnormal. If anything, it would be weirder to have a brother-sister relationship *without* the occasional fight. It's not anything worth noting is all I'm saying. We were your standard sibling set, prepackaged suburban bullshit. \n\n...\n\nAnd, for what it's worth, I think we both turned out pretty well, all things considered.\n\n...\n\nI don't even really remember the dream, but I'll tell you right now, if anyone says it's alright to mix Ambien and scotch occasionally, they are *not* talking from experience. Jesus, I mean you really start to realize how poorly made all your parts are when your brain gets a hold of that combo, falls to pieces right away. Sanity and insanity are sips apart, or I guess, in this case, glasses apart (*laughter*).\n\n...\n\nWell, I fell asleep on the couch, never really liked my bedroom anyway, so I won't blame the Ambien for that part. It must of been a couple hours later that he came home. No, he switched shifts that night, left me one of those post-its on the fridge: *milk, eggs, bread, 12-6* Like he wanted me to buy him time or something, don't think they sell that at No Frills, maybe an egg timer instead, eh? (*laughter*)\n\n...\n\nIt was sort of half-way through, maybe a little more than half judging by how blue his face was, and something sort of pushed me into myself. Kind of came to, came to realizing that I was really doing it. I don't think I'll ever know why it took me so long to stop though.\"\n\n-Taped Confession 26/11/2013\n", "It was a dark, cool night, and the moon was nearly full. A slight mist hung in the air, and one could see the rays of moonlight glimmering through the branches. A young girl, maybe 16 years old, walked briskly along the side of the street, as if she had somewhere to be, or something important to do. She made her way along a curve in the paved road, which was somewhat damp from the day's rain. There were no street lamps, as the houses in Westbrook Grove were scattered and separated by dense forest. The girl took a left into a gravel driveway, stopping only for a moment to open a rusted, cast-iron gate with the letter 'H' worked into it. All that could be heard in the stillness was the crunch of gravel under her feet, and her slow breathing.\n\nOnly a few seconds had passed when the girl reached the end of the drive, at which a square, two-story house sat. It was painted a dark gray, with small areas of paint flaking off in some areas. Only one downstairs room threw light across the lawn, casting long shadows of the large oak and brick wall across the grass. The dew had a whitish shimmer to it in the places where the moon's light found a way through the trees.\n\nAs she passed through a brick arch and ventured along a stone path leading to the porch, the girl paused for a second, reaching into her pocket, hesitating, then carefully withdrawing a small object. When she finally reached the front door, an expensive mahogany masterpiece with intricate workings along the borders, the girl took a deep breath, releasing steam into the sharp air as she exhaled. A black cat with white tips to its feet brushed against her leg, meowing softly, then walked off into the yard. The girl quietly turned the brass knob, and pushed it forward into the soft yellow light of the house.\n\nThe air was just as cold, if not colder, inside the home. A radio played quietly somewhere in the corner of the house, and soft light wound around the complex hallways. The girl walked slightly steadier now, scarcely emitting a sound. She weaved through doors and hallways as if she knew the floor plan by heart, and moved in the direction of the room with the light and radio. As she approached the doorway, the girl heard a faint scratching coming from the room, and it sounded like the room's inhabitant was listening to an Italian music station.\n\nWithout hesitating, the girl entered the room. A boy, maybe three years younger than the girl, sat at a long, wooden table, writing in a notepad. He was looking at a thick textbook, and the radio sat three feet from him, playing an Italian pop song, with a woman singing unintelligibly in a high-pitched voice. The girl was maybe five feet from the boy when he noticed her, and she came to a halt. The boy looked at her, in the eerie, glowing light, and she stared back without blinking, almost in a trance. Her eyes were glazed over, dirt was rubbed across her face, and her hair was in quite a mess. She seemed to be wearing a flannel night gown, and was wearing torn bedroom slippers covered in mud.\n\n\"Susan, can't you leave me alo-,\" the boy began to say in aggravation, but then his tone changed. \"What happened to you, and what's that in your hand?!\"\n\nThe girl moved forward like lightning, and before the he could react, drove something into the boy's chest. The boy slumped over onto the table with a muffled \"thud\".\n\nThe Italian music slowly faded away, and the light grew dimmer, dimmer...\n\n---\n\nSusan awoke with a gasp, sweat beaded all over her body. Morning sun poured through the red curtains, spreading red light across the white carpet like blood in a bowl of milk. It was not the first time Susan had experienced such a nightmare. They kept getting worse and worse, and harder to recover from. Susan could hear her parents beginning to stir in their bedroom. She looked at her clock. 6:42 AM. She was still breathing hard from her nightmarish dream, and opened her door to get a glass of water. As Susan descended the wooden stairs, she found it odd that Peter's obnoxious Italian music was still blasting from the kitchen. She traveled down the hallway and traversed the carpeted living room. As Susan walked down the hall to the kitchen, she felt a slight breeze and noticed that the front door was open. That's very strange, she thought. Susan looked outside, across the green lawn, into the dense trees adjoining their driveway. Nobody was in sight. She shut the heavy door and walked back towards the kitchen. Peter must have fallen asleep. Sure enough, there he was, slumped over the kitchen table, his music still playing. Susan filled a glass of ice cold water, took a sip, and then went to wake her brother.\n\n---\n\n\"Honey, did you hear that?!\"\n\n\"Hear what?\"\n\n\"That glass breaking downstairs.\"\n\n\"No, you must be hearing things, you still look asleep, anyhow. Why don't you go get some coffee or something to wake yourself up.\"", "Timothy was many things that Penelope was not. \n\nHe was friendly, cute, incredibly smart and bright. Peggy was dumpy, constantly in trouble and didn't do very well in school. They were polar opposites. Peggy could never do anything right, but everything Timothy did was worth 20 photos and everyone exclaiming about what a fantastic little gentleman he was. Ever since Timothy had entered the world two years ago Peggy had discovered something that a little brother could be that wasn't lovable at all. \n\nThe favourite. \n\nIt was like no one else could see it. Timothy cried whenever he wanted something, and then the adoring, stupid adults would give it to him. When Peggy cried at school, Jenny the school bully would say 'Shut your fat face Piggy.\" Then all the kids would laugh, even when Peggy screamed that her name was Peggy *not* Piggy. Whenever Timothy fell over, everyone was running over to help, but when Peggy fell over, her mother would say, 'Pick yourself up. Sixth graders don't need mummy to help them up.\" Then Peggy would huff and push herself up on her tubby arms and legs with much difficulty.\n\nIt was unfair. Everyone was unfair. And Peggy knew the reason. it was all Timothy's fault. Ever since Timothy was born, everything had changed. If only Timothy was gone... \n\nShe stood at the edge of a tall cliff, Timothy in her arms. \n\n\"Geroff!\" Timothy squirmed. \"Wanna go home Piggy.\" \n\n\"No!\" Peggy told him. How *dare* he call her Piggy! \"I never want to see you again! After this you'll be gone forever!\" \n\nTimothy began to wail, so Peggy simply leant forward a bit and spread her arms. Timothy slid down her arms and tumbled off the cliff into the darkness. Soon she couldn't hear the wailing anymore. \n\nNow there was only Peggy. She looked up at and smiled at the glaring sun...\n\nShe squinted and rubbed her eyes at the rays of bright light streaming through the blinds. It was only a dream. Timothy wasn't gone, and any moment he'd be running in to annoy her with his annoying squeals. *Wake up Piggy! G'morning Piggy!* \n\nIt was unusually quiet this morning. Usually Timothy would be up by now and Peggy'd hear him squealing in the next room to mum. Peggy's brow furrowed. Oh right. Mummy and Daddy had gone out last night and weren't coming home till very late so Timothy had been too scared to sleep by himself. \n\nPeggy grew increasingly aware of the small, unmoving lump under her. She pushed herself up slowly in disbelief. She had to check. \n\nHis mouth was open. He'd been wailing until his lips turned blue. \n\nPeggy scrambled back so fast her head hit the bedpost with a dull thump. \n\n\"Oh no.\" she whimpered. The whimper became a moan. \"Oh *noo-oo-ooo-oooo.* \" The moan became a keening sob as tears began spilling out of her eyes. She pushed her hand in her mouth to stifle her moans. Mummy and Daddy would be awake anytime soon. \n\n\"Oh...no-ooo-oo.\" \n\nThere was a soft knock on the door. \n\n\"Good morning sweetie. Can Mummy come in?\"\n\nA short silence, then a gasping sob. \n\n\"Ohmygod I'm so sorry.\" \n\n\"What's wrong, dear?\"\n\n\"Piggy's done something very, very wrong.\" \n" ]

[ 1, 2, 2 ]

[ "1385524329", "1385525460", "1385538794" ]

[ "I sit here. Waving my hand to the people around me. So many people. Such a bright afternoon. Everyday is the same, I live in fear in the most exposed positions I can possibly think of and hope to the heavens that I don't get killed. It just so happens that I look like the President, nothing special. I didn't have a choice, I was spotted one day by an agent and was offered an offer I couldn't refuse. Sounded more like the Godfather if you ask me.\n\nBut, here I am. Sitting in this car. A convertible of all things, just so everyone can get a nice good look at me. What was that? Looked like someone dropped a nickel. I am really on edge here aren't I? I took pills for this. The sunlight is giving me a headache but it distracts me from my anxiety. I know they never work but it feels good to know they are there.\n\nMy arm is getting tired but I better keep smiling and waving. I swear someone keeps dropping a nickel. My 'wife' is saying something. I can't hear her over the crowds, they are so loud. Her pink dress is hurting my eyes. It glints off the Sun like a magnifying glass, I can barely see past her. What do I care, she's a decoy as well.\n\nI swear to god, someone is shining something into my eyes from the crowds, I can bar- ARGH! My chest! Oh god please no. Please don't let me die here. This vest doesn't do anything to stop the pain, my chest feels like a thousand degrees. The pink woman is saying something to me, I can't hear her. She's really pretty. I never really looked at her, but I can finally see her face. Everything isn't so bright anymore. Someone must have turned down the Sun. \n\nOw God! That one hit my hed that time. It feels warm. my hed fels warm. is that blod? The bullt made my hed jerk back. I see her agan. Shes holding me. shes so prety. everythn isnt so bright anymre.*", "One more day. One more day of walking. That's all they wanted. Alking here, wlaking there. All he was was a clothes hangar. He wasn't even expected to talk. The guards saw him as meat. He wasn't a person. \n\nInstructions barked in his ear. Not even concious of them anymore he merely obeyed. Occupying his thoughts with something, anything. Desperately his eyes flitted around searching for anything to make him seem human.\n\n\"2003! 2003! Stop moving your eyes. You look anxious. That's not acceptable. remain focused.\"\n\nHis eyes stopped moving. He contemplated pushing the button. His hand moved closer. He pulled it away. It was the biggest benefit of the job. Whenever he wanted his conciousness could disappear. Everytime he came back the pain was greater. He had promised himself he wouldn't do it again. He would go back to the way it was before. Almost subconciously his hand moved towards the button. \n\nAll it was was a touch. That's all you need, cried a voice in his head. He moved his hand away. Every day was a battle. \n\nHe pressed the button. He had promised himself he wouldn't, but it took away the pain of walking. His mind drifted away becoming numb. A thought entered the stage of his mind, for only a moment, Tomorrow I won't push the button, I promise.\n\nTomorrow the pain will be gone.", "The roaring of the swarms of people echoed under the hot white lights. Raji raised his left arm as a sign of acknowledgment before leaning back into his chair. Slowly the noise died down as the perfumed host began to introduce him. It was guarenteed that the billions who were watching knew who Prince Raji Azebik III was, but still, formalities were formalities.\n\n*Smile, look friendly.* Raji kept reminding himself as the host started to rapid fire questions at him. *People like those sorts of things.*\n\n\"One of the most pressing concerns on everyone's minds is what to do about the water riots?\" The screen behind them zoomed in on Raji's squared face.\n\n\"The water riots are a top concern of House Azebik.\" Voices were fluttering inside Raji's ears. Feeding him well detailed lines of what to say and how to say it. \"Each citizen has the full right to water.\" The blurred dark mass that made up the audience cheered. *Personable. A prince they could feel comfortable with.* The thought seemed ironic.\n\nSatisfied withe the vague answer, the host moved onto questions regarding marriage prospects. *Raji does have to be wed soon...* The image of Prince Raji popped into his head. A growing stomache with a litter of sores dotting his mouth. In the past few years it had taken a lot to keep him out of the public's eyes. *Would I be the groom? Or he?* Raji couldn't help but imagine it. *I'm sure a princess would much rather see me.* He smiled softly into one of the cameras, dark eyes lighting up.\n\n\"Unit 21, please respond.\" The voice inside his ear snarled, startling him from his fantasies.\n\n\"Oh, only time will tell who the next Queen will be.\" The host's teeth seemed comically symtretical when he grinned. The commands of the voices kept going, only audible to Raji. He recited the words as they said them, chuckling, blinking, speaking when they told him to.\n\nThe ten minutes of soft questions were already at an end, thankfully. Raji rose to his feet, an action made awkward by the faulty joints in his knee. It was already time to be re-wired.\n\nThousands of mouths were gaping at him, calling, cheering, yelling. Again the real Prince appeared in his mind, too crazed to even be in his room unsupervized. Would they cheer for the real Prince? Would they be outraged by the lie?\n\nIn a second a flash threw Raji down. It was so loud for a moment before the world descended into a high pitched hum. Smoke and burnt metal met Raji's nose, and it took a moment for him to slowly open his eyes again. *An explosion... some sort of bomb?* the thoughts crept slowly behind his throbbing forehead. He tried to look but couldnt move his head, only seeing pillows of smoke hanging in the air. Slowly voices rang distantly in the humming.\n\n\"...code orange, assasination of Prince Raji Unit 21...\" the voices in his head echoed. It wasnt long before a dark man bowed over him, tenderly scooping him up.\n\n\"Roger, Unit 21 is showing some signs of function.\" The man sounded gruff but somehow annoyed. \"We may be able to salvage parts.\" Somewhere Raji couldn't see the host was wailing and people were being ushered out. \"These things are so tricky to program..\" the man said to no one. Raji's eyes fell to the floor, seeing his body in pieces. A few thick emerald chords were still connected to his torso, laying in a pool of dark oil.\n\n*Another day...* \n\n((Sorry for any errors, I typed this on my phone at work. Crit is very welcome!))", "Decoy sounds better than 'clone,' doesn't it? Oh I see that sneer. Yeah, I saw it. Shove it up your fucking arse okay? That's what I am. A *decoy.* It's not a lie if it's wrapped in sugar before it's forced down your cloned throat. \n\nI was made, not born. Slim, white blonde hair and a red outlined mouth that made every word I said seductive. They tattooed every scribble she thought dear onto my manufactured body and laughed when I cried from pain, the way you laugh when dogs walk on their hind legs. \n\nIt was me in the music video, because she couldn't be bothered to work through the hangover that fame caused. The metal was cold between my legs and I kept sliding off that fucking ball. The singing was all her though, from the comfort of a studio behind soundproofed glass. There was something more to her than there was to me. A kind of sheen that glowed from her skin made of money and youth and endless possibility. \n\nOur throats are cloned, yet I am the body and she is the talent.\n\nI wish they would let me sing. \n\nEdit: sorry, could I be critiqued? I read that wrong." ]

[ 2, 2, 2, 5 ]

[ "1385743862", "1385744230", "1385753754", "1385742694" ]

[ "fight\n", "\n\"It HAS to be pink microfiber, honey.\"\n\nThose words from my girlfriend, how many times have I repeated them as I stood in this line? Couldn't forget it. I had to get it right. No way I'm going to go back empty-handed. And the prize is in sight.\n\nForget about those cheap consumer electronics in the back. You can hear the horde about to explode back there. Or the toy section? Build seats and begin the gladiatorial battles anew. I am in Home & Bath, an oasis of civility surrounded by the tempest. The line is not perfect, but it is coherent. We will take our turns.\n\nWhen my turn comes, it is almost orgasmic. I feel it in advance, and I happily proceed forward about to receive my pastel manna. It is nearly in my grasp. But then, I feel a tap on my backside, one that would normally cause me to smile slyly, but this tap quickly escalates to a push, and then a shove.\n\nAnd then my line is gone. I have been dequeued. My center is missing.\n\nI turn to see. It must be some emergency -- a heart attack, a kidnapped child, an impromptu marriage proposal -- something, anything.\n\nInstead I look into the eyes of the beast behind me -- he and his mate had been waiting in line, waiting to pounce at an unexpected moment, not unlike two hyenas cowardly awaiting the proud lion.\n\n\"Gimme, gimme, gimme.....\" the harpy beside of him rhythmically chanted as she sucked up the precious towels -- *my* precious towels. \"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod -- these will go great on our four-wheeler seat -- I've gotta post this on Facebook right now!\" Her dichotomy of the materialist sucking in but the extrovert vomiting out struck me in some odd way.\n\n\"You just pushed me out of line,\" I calmly said to her husband.\n\n\"GUESS YOU SHOULD HAVE HELD YOUR GROUND A LITTLE BETTER, BUDDY,\" he sneered, punctuating his sentence with a nod to the half-full styrofoam chewing tobacco spit cup he held in his hand.\n\n\"I just want one of the pink ones, if you could be so kind,\" I firmly said, indicating one of the pile in their shopping cart.\n\n\"OH YOU LIKE THE PINK ONES? HEY EVERYBODY, FREDDIE MERCURY HERE SAID HE WANTS ME TO GIVE HIM ONE OF THE PINK ONES, BUT I DON'T DANCE THAT WAY, BUDDY!\" It was said loudly enough for the entire department to hear and react. He smiled as he took one more spit before leaning toward me with his final words:\n\n\"NOW GET TO THE END OF THE LINE BEFORE *I* GIVE YOU A PINK ONE.\"\n\nMy rage explodes and the doors to the jungle open wide. I instinctively grab the nearest thing -- the police report would later say that it was a 'Duck Dynasty' special edition toilet plunger -- and succumb to my primal urges. \n\n-----------------------------------------------------------------\n\nThere was a glimmer of pride as the footage of the incident -- captured by both the in-house security and multiple shoppers who felt it was better to video the event with their phones and upload to Youtube and feast on misery rather than to do the human thing and interfere -- as the video played in court. My lawyer tried to explain it away, but I knew. I knew it was the sign, the proud sigil of a man who finally crossed the fine line between sanity and everyday low prices.\n\nAnd I smile at the video. I want the jury to see. I want them to see the overturned carts. I want them to see the tobacco-stained linens. I want them to see the burning Charmin mega-packs. But most of all, I want them to see me smiling.\n\nI smile as I hold the silky-smooth pink trophy high in victory on the pile of capitalist detritus below me, proving that, if anything, Hieronymus Bosch was optimistic when he was describing this place.\n\nPink microfiber that, you filthy animals.\n\n" ]

[ 1, 3 ]

[ "1385749548", "1385753883" ]

[ "The light was so intense, I thought the sun had engulfed the earth, but after a moment, it passed. My ears were ringing; the light itself was silent, but the noise from everything around us was suddenly gone. So was everything else: cars, buildings, those strange little pudding cups that were never quite how you remembered them. Clothes. Yup. Everyone was naked, and everything was silent.\n\nThe silence lasted less than a moment. The air vibrated with the screams of people falling from what used to be the eightieth story of the downtown skyline and from people traveling seventy miles an hour crashing into the rough ground as their cars vanished from around them. Pacemakers vanished. It was brutal and cruel, but not as cruel as what came next.\n\nSociety had become, well, society. It was filled with shops and groceries and people living in their nice little neighborhoods and meeting up for coffee. The problem was that everything was gone. There was no coffee or groceries, and fifty miles was a hard walk on a road. But there were no roads. Just grass and trees and dead bodies.\n\nWe were cut off. Completely alone. Well, not completely. The light had taken away everything and most everyone, but it had also brought something with it, something that had eyes that burned and a smile that made your blood run cold. Something taller than any human; something leathery and burnt smelling. Something that seemed completely at home in this new world.\n\nAnd that's how it started: not with the trumpets of angels or a peaceful disappearance, but with blood curdling screams and violent deaths for the lucky. That was the rapture.", "EXPERIMENT LOG 6448912-86JC-B23A990\n+++++\nBEGIN TRANSMISSION\n+++++\nLOCATION: Sol 3\n\nTIME: November 30, 2013, 10:53:02.988'3552\" GMT\n\nAUTHOR: Yhwh-8\n\nPROJECT NAME: \"Flood 2.0\"\n\nPROJECT DESCRIPTION: Removal of all authigenic material from planet with no elapsed time\n\nBACKGROUND: This project was debated at much length within the Elohim council. Concerns included high mass casualty probability, the total lack of secrecy necessitated by such an event, and the undoing of great amounts of progress by the indigenous species. After protracted arguments and quibbling over minor details of the project, it was finally approved by a minimum majority of the council. \n\nFIELD NOTES: At approximately 10:53:02.988' GMT, project was initiated. All simulations verse-wide were briefly suspended, and a team of nine researchers (including author) deleted all man-made objects in Sol system. Verse simulations resumed.\n\nT+00:00:01: Population of indigenous species lowered by 0.5%. Humans aboard land vehicles suffered greatest casualty rate when vehicles, roads and bridges disappeared, and billions are still falling. 1.4 million who were aboard air transport are now falling out of the sky. 23.6 million aboard water transport are stranded at sea, and anticipated casualties are large. 1.8 billion who were in buildings higher than ground level are also falling to earth, as all structures have vanished. Several hundred thousand connected to life-support equipment will not survive the first minute. Nineteen humans had been aboard space-flight vehicles and are now floating naked and aimless above Sol 3's atmosphere. Human reaction time is too slow to allow the species to fully comprehend the nature of the project at this point. Approximately 336 million have begun to scream.\n\nT+00:00:10: Population of indigenous species lowered by 36.1%. Air-travel passengers are still falling. Most human beings have experienced either death or bodily injury at this point. The overall emotional reaction of the species is shock and confusion. Many are displaying signs of embarrassment at their nakedness, but most are experiencing a deep overriding fear that eliminates other mental processes. There is a general pandemonium in all major and minor cities, as humans run toward the nearest sheltering natural object that still exists within city limits, i.e. trees. Those who had been sleeping at time of project initiation are now mostly awake, but roughly 48 million are still asleep. \n\nT+00:01:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 50.2%. Human population is beginning to show aggression toward one another, fighting over natural high ground, shelter, or food resources. Approximately 12% of all casualties since project initiation have been logged as homicides. General confusion has been replaced by general terror as the dominant emotion of the species. 4,555,901,848 prayers have been logged and filed.\n\nT+00:10:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 59.8%. Where intelligence and attractiveness are normally the two predicting factors in human survival and progeny, project has made physical strength by far the preferred attribute in dominant humans. Those who are physically weak -- children, females, underdeveloped males, those who suffered great injuries -- are dying in much greater percentage than the strong or lightly injured. The strong have avoided one another, forming groups of weaker humans they can lead. Analysis indicates that sources of freshwater will be most important for human survival, followed by food and shelter. Thus, desert populations such as northern Africa, middle and southwest United States, Australia, and Mongolia/Russia will have lowest chances of procreating.\n\nT+01:00:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 72.0%. All known forms of government have utterly collapsed. Brutal power struggles and lack of social restraint have resulted in nearly a billion homicides since project initiation. Humans have begun to hunt and use vegetation as clothing. Since man-made weapons have been eliminated from the planet, hand-sized rocks and heavy sticks have become primary instruments of violence. The largest allied group at this point is three hundred-twenty-six, all members of a small township in the Ukraine named Myrhorod. Most survivors have recognized project implementation as a supernatural occurrence, and estimates of overall faith and piety in human beings have grown exceptionally. Preliminary figures indicate a nearly 3600% increase.\n\nT+10:00:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 96.5%. Exposure to natural elements without clothing or shelter has taken a heavy toll on population figures. Most deaths due to exposure occurred close to sunset line, where night was just beginning at time of project initiation. Animal attacks have not been severe -- most species of Sol 3 still exhibit fear of humans. Those few humans who have survived have been successful in hunting, finding water sources, and using animal hides to escape the cold. Many have congregated into societies. Homicide remains a major factor in casualty rates. Without technology to maintain large-scale order, and survival on the line, humans have exhibited much greater capacity for evil. Many who have attempted to follow moral guidelines have been subjugated, abused and killed. However, several large-scale communities similar to the Myrhorod township have formed by this point. The largest is now more than eighteen thousand strong, containing nearly the entire surviving population of Dublin, Ireland. \n\nT+100:00:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 98.3%. Death rates have mostly stabilized, and the probability of total extinction is now less than 50%. The remaining humans have adapted fairly well to their new environment. National governments have made many attempts to restore order, and many humans appear willing to submit to their rule once again, for the sake of survival. However, the power structure of most human settlements is strongly in favor of establishing city-states. Approximately ninety-three thousand people now colonize the vanished city of New York, and more are arriving each hour. Most humans are migrating to the nearest major population center in hopes of finding technology or structures of any kind. In many places, the trek to large cities is highly dangerous and physically demanding, and migration casualty rates now make up the largest percentage of total casualty rates. Survivors who were once experts in construction, communication technology, and transportation are working every hour of the day trying to rebuild what was deleted. Simple one-story structures have been built in most cities, generally houses reserved for the leaders of the settlement, as well as the women he has chosen for purposes of reproduction. 117,882,610,745,013 prayers have been logged and filed.\n\nT+1000:00:00: Population of indigenous species lowered by 99.9%. China and India have experienced the heaviest losses, as high population density has combined with poor access to natural resources. The countries have been reduced to less than a thousandth of their number prior to project initiation. Several nations in Africa are now completely empty of human life. Extinction probability has remained just below 50%, and in an alarming shift of trend, has begun to rise over the past hour. Large scale societies are already beginning to break down. Factions of young hunters and assassins are making power plays against the strong men, in many cases unsuccessfully, but in many other cases, with devastating effect. Women and children are being exploited for labor and sexual gratification. Those who were injured lightly by project implementation have become infected without medical treatment. Hepatitis, gangrene, malaria, polio, smallpox and a host of other diseases are ravaging human populations. Most who have chosen to live alone are being weakened and killed by the elements. In the face of disease and exposure, even rudimentary ethical standards of family loyalty and kindness are falling apart, and every human is looking out only for themselves. The general emotional state of the species is a potent mix of terror, shock, grief, mistrust, and hatred. Planet has been logged as entering crisis category 4.\n\nT+1023:00:06: Emergency meeting of Elohim council convened. Author (respectfully) requested the immediate cessation and reversal of project, in light of irreparable damage done to Sol 3 and its indigenous species. The motion was seconded and council quickly reached majority in favor of cessation. Project was terminated at T+1023:12:11 and has since been reversed. The previous version of simulation has been restored. The results of the experiment, while valuable, may serve their greatest purpose as a warning to future researchers. If we would teach humans, we must first teach ourselves. The Elohim code of ethics must be observed at all times in any future experiment. They are following our example; let us not follow theirs.", "It was beautiful. The light of what seemed like a flash of a thousand suns filled the air and just as suddenly as it came, it left. Along with every man made thing on Earth. Gone. Poof. Just like that. Maybe it was time to make peace with God, never too late to try. \nAt first there was only confusion. No one knew what the hell had happened, no one knew what to do next. People died, no way to sugar coat it. They had grown too attached to technology, too used to life on a silver platter. Eventually, after a few months, little communes were set up. They thought they were the last bastions of humanity, a silver light against the darkness, the adversity. They raged against the dark, fought it, refused to crumble. But the truth is, they just didn't get it. \nThis was just one big message, one big show, there is no fighting the will of nature. Civilizations rise and fall, statues immortalizing men turn to dust. Humanity constantly pushed against nature, but the trees don't care. They never did. The stars shine indifferently just as they always had. So when the flash came, when everything left, people went crazy. They lost everything they thought made them human, their undying legacies lost in a flash of humbling power. But me? I laid down, grass between my bare toes, and watched the stars. If you look closely, I swear it looks like they're all blinking with the same rhythm. I wonder why it took me so long to notice that.\n" ]

[ 2, 2, 7 ]

[ "1385790988", "1385818464", "1385779140" ]

[ "I promise I will respond when I get to a computer.", "I promise I will respond when I get to a computer.", "Wow, my arm stings. Why can't I move it? Think brain think, you can do this. Just lift up your arm. Ugh. I can't. Okay okay, trace back my steps. What the hell happened to me? I'm in my regular train going to school and there are people all around me...everyone seemed calm. Then that little girl started nibbling on my arm... She had a strange look on her face... FUCK. what did she look like? Where am I again? why can't I move faster, am I high?! That must be some strong trees. No... I'm hungry... Yes, I am high! No... I want... brains? What the hell?! Well God damn, I'm undead, aren't I?", "John's eyes burned. He couldn't feel the blood running down from the wound on his right arm. His nipples grew erect from the cold pain. \"I think I'm dying\" he gasped to himself. \"I should have gotten the zombie vaccine... I should have gotten...\" he mumbled as he slowly curled into a ball and cried.", "Shit. Shit shit shit shit *shit*. Fuck.\n\nAt least they put the fucker down before he could get another chunk outta me. Too bad they didn't have the decency to let me go with him. They're taking me back to the safe-house, presumably to let me live out the short remainder of my life in relative comfort.\n\nI'm in the safe-house now. I'm in my bed, and they've restrained my limbs, loosely for now. My arm hurts like fuck, and everything they're pumping into me doesn't work. Morphine, dilaudid, they even gave me a god damn Aleve. I can look down at the bite from the throne of cushions my head is rested on and it looks ugly. The bite was right on a major artery, so that explains why they didn't chop off my arm to at least try to save me for the long run. It's a sickly green and brown color as gangrene sets in and dead blood cells ooze out of the holes left by the zombie's teeth. I can only hope it gets numb from here on out.\n\nJesus Christ, what a headache. Oh dear God, the pain! I'm fuckin' yelling at this point and I don't care who hears. My arm hurts, my other arm and my legs all hurt. My heart is pounding because my blood is getting thicker. I want to puke, I want to die. I want a gun in my hand with a loaded magazine. \n\nWho are these people around me? Where am I? A mental fog is slowly creeping up on me, and I know my life is coming to an end. I'm focusing and squinting, and I'm trying to talk but everything is slurred and wispy. These people care about me, and I can't remember a thing about them. Why am I like this? How am I like this? When will the pain end?\n\nI'm getting tired now. I can't hear the people around me crying. I can't see their tears or my pale skin. I can't smell my arm rotting. I can't feel the man who looks so like me hold my right hand. I know nothing but death. I'm getting so very tired. I think it's time to sleep now.", "\"Larry, close the fucking door, dude!\" I shouted as Mark and I retreated up the staircase. Death was knocking on our door now. It was a split second before the glass in the front door broke, before Larry could latch it shut. One of the Dead lashed out at him, it's sharp, bony claws tore at one of his eyes, he screamed as Mark fired three successive shots at the piling Dead that were clamoring at the door. My ears rang and I tried the radio again. Nothing. I ran down those stairs, knowing I was sacrificing valuable time Mark and I could have spent barricading the upstairs room, I knew it wasn't a good plan, but I did it anyway. I rushed down, emptying my pistol into the awaiting faces of the Dead. I heard their bones crack, I heard their skin tear.\n\nLarry was on the ground, crying and shouting out for his mother. He kept complaining that he couldn't see, and I kept complaining that he was moving too slow. I tried dragging him up the staircase, but at that point it was too much for our group to handle. Mark, who had been defending the door diligently, shot a hole through one of the Dead, it simply slid it's body over his shotgun, and ripped out of throat with it's teeth. I was horrified, the staircase was covered in blood as I one-handedly yanked Larry up the stairs. The fucker slowed me down too much, I slipped, he slipped. We all slid down the blood soaked staircase in the dark, and all I remember was the scream he let out as they ate through his abdomen, he kept shouting for me to shoot him as the Dead piled on top of me. I could already feel their teeth ripping through me. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't shoot Larry now, and so instead I slept. His heaving breaths and bared insides haunt me.\n\nIt's a strange feeling. It's like just before an anesthesiologist puts you under. You take a breath, and then a numb feeling crawls out from your mouth, spreads across your skin and eventually to the top of your head. He's counting down. One. You are still capable of telling him that you can make it past-- Two. Two, yeah, make it past-- Three. Three? I thought we were on-- Four. I can't breath. Five. I can't--\n\n\n\n\"Jesus Christ man, what happened next?\" the doctor asked the man. \"I can't remember.\" he said, and he squinted his face. \"It's almost like there is no next, it's like you're asleep, y'know? First you're there, in the depths of night, your thoughts are yours and you are in control, and then sleep takes you. And sleep does whatever it wants with you. And then you wake up. There ain't no control. You can't think, you don't remember.\"\n\n\"And then I woke up here.\"", "Goddamn!\n\nGoddamn it. They had been everywhere; every door, every window. My group worked its way through a doorway, blasting the dead aside, working in a formation that had served us well for a year and a half since grouping up: Blake in front, Max second, the girls Elsie and Carla in the middle, then John, and me, bringing up the rear. We moved as a caterpillar, and we were efficient and deadly - until today. The damned had been growing in number for a long time, and suddenly, they were too numerous. \n\nJohn was attacked on the way out of the building by one of the many damned that had worked their way around the building to our exit. That would not have affected me so much, if I had been facing forward, but I was defending the rear from the dead filling the building we had just left. \n\nI heard him scream but I didn't turn in time; I tripped over his legs. Carla hauled me up, screaming my name frantically. Time slowed down. The dead were flooding around us, too many to count. Where the hell had they all come from? They seemed to know if there were living people nearby, and then they came en masse. Always en masse, never just the odd one or two. Most of our people had died in the fashion John did: surprised and flustered, trying desperately to survive and failing despite their best efforts, overwhelmed by their numbers.\n\nTime sped back up, and I felt pure agony as one of the dead rose from eating the now-dead John to take a chunk out of my left leg. Blake and Max shot him and picked me up, running into the woods. \n\nThey later 'removed' my leg. The pain of the bite wasn't half what I felt when Blake brought the axe down on my leg. We thought it might work. We thought perhaps the infection couldn't spread if we did that. It makes me laugh, the naivete of us all. Would this infection have crippled the world in days if it was that simple?\n\nAnd here we are now, in a little cabin, waiting for the damned to come shambling after us again. Max looks ready to shit a brick, he's so worried and upset. He has all my weapons, bar one gun, and all my supplies. One less mouth to feed, I guess. \n\n'Man are you sure?' He asks. \n\n'Yeah. You must leave.' I answer, barely able to make a sound. I'm going, I know I am.\n\n'But we can't leave you!' Carla is crying, and I want to hug her. I daren't. If I were to die in that one moment, I'd kill her, too. \n\n'But you must.' I insist. 'I will only do that same to you, once I turn. You must go.' \n\nA moment passes, and they all leave. They say nothing, and say no goodbyes. I say nothing, and watch the door close. I sit for a moment, clinging to the last shred of my humanity. I think of my family, and of the others we have lost. I think of heaven and God, and take a moment just to ask for forgiveness, just in case. \n\nI click the safety off and raise the barrel to my chin, aiming skywards. Briefly I wonder if the bullet will make a hole in the roof and in the clouds above, making a door to heaven for me, before falling and killing one last undead bastard. I hope so. \n\nI close my eyes, say goodbye to the world, and pull the trigger.", "I grabbed at my neck and fell back into the corner. I could feel the blood pulsing out of the bite wound quickly, my heart rate accelerating as I realized what it meant. I was dead. The idea gave me a sort of tingling feeling, like I was feeling everything in a new way, almost for the first time. Soon it would be the last time I realized.\n\n I looked at my gun, hoping I could go out quickly, but the clip was empty. I fired my last shot into the head of the zombie that bit me. After I'd already shot it twice in terror. *Stupid,* I thought. Now I'd come back as a Z.\n\nI noticed that the tingling feeling had intensified. I couldn't feel my left leg. I figured the blood loss must have cut off circulation to the limbs, or something like that. My breath grew more faint, and I knew death was close.\n\nI reach into my pocket, with every movement now taking great effort, and pulled out of a photo of my daughter. Sarah had been bitten 3 weeks ago, when the outbreak had just been starting. I had put down her corpse myself. My only hope is that I would see her soon. \n\nThe picture dropped to the floor as the last breath I would ever take escaped my lips. My body went numb, and I lost control of everything. I closed my eyes and waited to slip away. But I didn't\n\nAfter a minute of nothing but darkness, I felt my arm, still holding Sarah's photo in it's hand, twitch. Then the legs pulled in and my body pulled itself up. My body opened its eyes and I could see again. But I could no longer control what I did. I felt my mouth open and let out a terrible moan, the same moan that had been haunting my nightmares for the past few weeks.\n\n I realized with horror that I had turned, that I was a zombie, and no one would ever realize that I was still in here. I then thought of Sarah, and how I had shot her body when it had reanimated. And suddenly I didn't care what happened anymore. My body took a few shuffling steps, and went out in search of food. ", "My lungs are burning from having just run what feels like a marathon. The hoard of death behind me snarls, the stench growing closer as I feel my legs giving out. It's been eight months since the outbreak, and only eight days since I was separated from my pack. The sad part is I've probably outlived them. They thought the underground was safe, but that's where the dead have been hiding out. With each passing day the predators become more and more intelligent. Feeding off the living and gradually gaining our intelligence.\n\nI feel my heart rate slowing down. I thought the building was abandoned, I thought I'd barricaded myself in well enough that I could take a small nap. I have thought so many things in the last few days I can't even sort them all out. It's a blur, and time has no place in this world. The only time we know is the time of speed.\n\nHow fast can you run? How quickly can you shoot?\n\nMy vision is clouding and it reminds me of my first drunk night. Those memories are the only vivid ones. The ones before the outbreak, the ones full of color and happiness. Memories of life and beauty before chaos and corruption; when joy wasn’t fleeting. There is a new memory to corrupt those, a painful memory. I remember the fangs digging deep into my shoulder blade. Sharp from the bones they've broken through over the months. The blood wouldn't stop, the pain excruciating, pulsing through my every nerve ending as I cried out. My head splitting from the agony of knowing my fate and the rush of shut out emotions that broke the floodgates knowing that I was going to die. Knowing that I was going to be, one of them.\n\nI collapse my knees hitting the pavement with a crack as I feel my body deteriorating rapidly. Everything is fast. \n\nI pulled the gun from my waist band placing the barrel against the rotting corpses skull as I pulled the trigger, the shot rung through the empty complex sending the filthy monster flying from my shoulder. Pieces of my flesh and shirt clung to the daggers in its mouth. \n\nMy breathing slows, each breath becoming harder and harder to take. I remember... I remember. I can't. I can't remember anymore. My mind is going.\n\nI hear them now; they are upon me, surrounding me, bringing me to them, welcoming me to their horde. The stench fills me as I can feel myself becoming one of them, my throat burns as breaths become raspy snarls. My stomach empty, craving the carnage that they too desire. I feel their cold bodies pressed against me, but I remember. I remember one thing. I slip my hand into my pocket, fighting with every ounce of my will to not change. Not yet, I have one last fight in me. My hands shiver form the chill of impending death. I hold the object tightly to my chest, and muster one last word.\n\n\"Never.\"\n\nI await the burning warmth of the grenade to fill me and expand into the horde as I release the button. That one last chance to feel warm again, one last chance to feel alive.\n", "Must go to Wal-Mart.", ">What's happening? \n\nThey’re here!\n\n>Are those… People? Around the street corner? I can hear screaming…\n\nIs it really them? \n\n>What are they doing? There aren’t any parades today. Maybe it’s a protest. \n\nEveryone, run!\n\n>Run? Are we in danger?\n\nOh my god, the dead are here!\n\n>The… dead? You mean, zombies?!\n\nIt’s true! We have to go!\n\n>Everyone’s sprinting away… Are they really here?!\n\nDon’t look back! Just go!\n\n>No… They really are here… I have to get Chloe out of here…\n\nThey’re coming fast!\n\n>Oh god, where's Chloe?! She couldn't have gotten far! Chloe!\n\n*You have to get out of here!* \n\n>Oh god, oh god, I can't lose her now! Where did all these people come from? Chloe! \n\n*What are you doing?! You have to leave!* \n\n>Where are we running? Where’s my little sister?!\n\n*Go! Run for your lives!*\n\n>”CHLOE!”\n\n*Don’t go that way!*\n\n>I have to find her!\n\n*You’ll die!*\n\n>**”CHLOE!”**\n\n*You can’t save anyone! Just go!*\n\n>No! I have to, she’s all I have!\n\n*Oh no… You’re on your own, girl!*\n\n>What? Oh shit. No, no, no, no, the zombies are here!\n\n*Gnuuuuuuug…*\n\n>Fuck, where is she? I have to turn around…\n\n**Melissa!**\n\n>Chloe?!\n\n*Melissa, you have to come back!*\n\n>Oh thank god, you’re safe…\n\n*Come on!*\n\n>I’m coming! \n\n>“Run! I’ll catch up!”\n\n*Lil’ girl! You can’t stand there!*\n\n>What? Who is that? A man? That man… He grabbed Chloe by the arm…\n\n*Come on! You gotta go!*\n\n>Wait! Wait for me! \n\n*Anyone back there is a dead man, lil’ girl, come on, you have to leave!* \n\n*My sister!*\n\n>Dead… man?\n\n*Go!*\n\n>He just left… With my sister…\n\n*Melisa!!* \n\n>Chloe!\n\n*Uuuuuuugghheeerrrr*\n\n>Oh my god, I can’t run any faster… They’re going to get me… I need to hide…\n\n*Aaaaaaaah…. Huuugh!* \n\n>Holy shit! My… leg! Aagh... What happened? \nNo… No, no, no, no! He got me…\nIt burns… It hurts… Oh god! I can’t move! At least I’m off to the side, the zombies can’t see me... and rip me to shreds right in front of Chloe…\nAGH! My body! It’s so hot! I’m losing so much blood though, it’s getting everywhere… zombies can’t smell, can’t they? \nHow long does it take to turn? Do I die first? Do I just turn on the spot? It hurts so much... Oh fuck what will Chloe do without me? What will I do without her?! \n\n>Ugh... My head... It's spinning... This is it, isn't it? All I wanted to do was go shopping with my little sister... Why out of every other day, today?! It's a special day today... Oh FUCK! I can't... I can't control my legs! I need to tell Chloe... I haven't said it.. Just grab my phone... Yes! Just call her... She never leaves home without her phone, and listens to every voicemail when she can't pick up the phone.. Call her... Call her!\n\n*Ring... ring... ring...*\n\n*beep*\n\n\"Heya! It's Chloe!\"\n\n>This... this could be the last time I hear her voice... AH! My head!\n\n\"I'm out at the moment, leave me a message! Hugs and cuddles!\"\n\n>*Hugs and cuddles...*\n\n\n>\"Chloe... Today was supposed to be the greatest day of your life... I'm sorry I couldn't make it... AGH! I'm sorry, *sob* I-I can't be there.\"\n\n>*FUCK! My body is spazzing out! Just last a little longer!* \n\n>\"Ugh! Be-before I leave you, I have to say... I love you... URRGH! A-and! Hugh! I-I want to wish you...\n\n\"Happy Sweet Sixteen... Rrraaaaaaagghhh!' \n\n*beep*\n", "When she was nine, she’d gotten bitten by a doberman pinscher pitbull mix. On Labor day. Someone had let their dog off its leash, and she’d been playing tag. She hadn’t seen it until it was attached to her arm. Her brain went to another place, stupider and more focused than her usual scattered thoughts. “It won’t let go. Get it off.” She’d punched it with her knuckles. How had she known to do that? Sharp and repeated on the dog’s nose. When it released, she stumbled back toward the picnic. Someone’s dad caught her in his arms. “It wouldn’t let go,” she shuddered, “It wouldn’t let go.” She was bundled into the car. Her mother held her in the back seat. Who was driving? Her arm didn’t hurt, but she was shaking. She carefully extended it to take a look. There wasn’t as much blood as she’d expected, but she could see yellowish globs of fatty tissue around the wound. Her eyes tipped up towards the burgundy upholstered car ceiling, and the last thing she felt before losing consciousness was her mother stroking her hair. \n\nShe is thirty six now, and until this moment had almost forgotten that dog. It all floods back. What counts as a bite? Damage control. Is it possible to just... cut yourself? On a ghoul’s mouth? She takes a shaky breath. Damage control. She looks. Fatty tissue. Yellow and vaguely gelatinous. She’d always wondered if that detail were true or added by an addled child’s memory. True apparently. She remembers her mother and Shaundra’s mom, Connie (Connie must have been driving!), both ER nurses themselves, ordering hot towels and enough room for her to lay down before she had even been triaged. “She’s in shock.” Her mother’s voice cut through the din and her dim consciousness. “Hang on honey, it will be all right.” \n\nIt is not all right. Her arm hurts. It hurts and it hurts and (she thinks she prays) has anyone ever gotten out of this? Find a way, scrape by, make do, make it work... Nothing comes. No answer. She can’t... \nShe thinks of her daughter, back at camp. Of her soft blond hair and of brushing it, damp with sleep, off of her forehead as she wakes groggy from another nightmare. The thought of holding that limp pulsing life in her arms ... feed. \n\nNo time no time no time to say goodbye to stop herself to stop herself to stop me \n\nfeed. feed. feed. \n ", "God Damnit. Fucking Damnit. \n\nI looked at the wound and saw the blood soaking into the fabric around it. Everyone in our small group looked at me with a look of despair. There were murmurs of \"It will be ok.\" and \" We will figure something out.\" but I knew it was too late. I handed my rifle off to my good buddy, and turned to walk away. They started to come toward me, to stop me, so I pulled my little .38 from my belt.\n\n\"Stay the fuck back, all of you.\"\n\nThey looked sad, they looked angry. They were confused but I had explained this a thousand times. Once bitten, your done, game over, and you should never ever try to help someone bitten.\n\n\" You wouldn't shoot us would you?\" One of the girls said. \n\nI looked at her and with the most sincerity I could muster I replied as calmly as I could.\n\n\"Yes, because if you somehow stop me, I will only do things to you that are far worse than a bullet though your fucking head. Do you understand that? If I'm going to kill you, I'm going to do it as quickly as possible.\"\n\nThey stood down. I backed away, and when I was a bit off from them I turned and ran. There were others who where infected shambling about. They would turn toward me, but they would then become disinterested. I can only assume that they know my fate is sealed. \n\nI found a little blue beetle, torn up, but still able to run. The keys still in the ignition. I drove the trusty little beetle to outside of town. I was dying, the pain was talking over, but I was focused and determined to make it where i wanted to go. It wasn't far. The roads were cluttered but there was no traffic. I got to the little pier by the little lake just outside of town. I used to fish here. I left the little beetle where its doe like headlights could see the lake too. It wasn't alive but it felt like the right thing to do. I sat down on the pier. The .38 in hand. The skin around the wound was now black, and i could see that my body was loosing its color. I had to hurry. My thoughts were starting to become cloudy. I was so hungry. I held my arms around my abdomen. I knew it was time. The lake was nice i thought. The taste of the Nickel plating was refreshing almost. I thumbed the hammer back. I wasn't going to hurt anyone, and that was good.\n\nOblivion.", "The sharp pain in my shoulder releases, and the mob of rotten flesh surrounding me seems to lose interest. For the first few moments afterwards, I'm not entirely sure what has changed. Did something scare them away? Did they find a new victim?\n\nIt's only as I grasp my shoulder that the liquid truth begins to drip onto me, over my hand and down my wrist. I feel the rough imperfections of the gash underneath my fingers and know it was caused by no knife. I feel the tickle of warm fluid running down my arm and realize this gentleness of blood is deceptive. I squeeze my shoulder, wanting to strangle the truth cut into my shoulder until it leaves forever.\n\nBut, of course, it doesn't.\n\nAlready, I begin to experience the effects the bite mark is pumping into me. My hands jitter, subtly at first. Random muscles contract and release. Soon, I'm standing on my feet, and I don't know how I got there. My eyes well with tears, and I'm comforted to know that at least they are still my own. However, this doesn't prevent me from releasing a scream. An angry scream.\n\nThis unexpected anger causes me to flinch, but I don't push the emotion away. How *DARE* this bite mark take over *MY* body! I scream louder, beginning to understand that my own voice will soon belong to a wound on my shoulder. I want my vocal chords to tear apart so they can never be used against me. I want to shred my entire body, limb from limb, so it can never be taken from my control. I begin gnawing at my shaking fingers, prepared to consume myself before I am consumed.\n\n~~~\n\nIt has turned to nighttime somehow. I'm not sure when the sun left my presence, or when the moon took its place. I stare at my raw, bloody hands. They have stopped shaking. Did I win? Has the wound's effects been scared away? I take several steps forward and know it is true. I am ecstatic. Adrenaline fills my body and I begin running and jumping in joy, feeling my legs, *MY* legs, pumping underneath my body. My miserable hands feel like the trophies of my victory.\n\nSuddenly, I hear a jarring noise, like a trash can being knocked over. I look around. Off in the distance, I see a moving shadow. Is it another human? Somebody to share my own excitement with?! Yes! I can tell by the way they walk, carefully, quietly, that I am not alone in this environment. I begin running towards the silhouette, hopeful for safety and company.\n\nSomething changes inside of me. My bloody hands turn to fists. I am suddenly reminded of the rage I felt after the bite mark appeared on my shoulder. What if my new companion is attacked, too? I can't let them experience the pain I felt during my battle for consciousness. The thought of this causes the pain in my destroyed hands to pound furiously. No, I will never allow another human to be stolen their body, their identity, like I almost had. I know what I must do.\n\nAs I finally reach the figure, I take them by the shoulders and sink my teeth deep into their neck.", "I can't believe it. That chump-nugget bit me. What kind of person bites a man just for a cheap tv? Well at least I won. I just saved a cool hundred bucks. I'm the man. Whoa... my body's feeling kind of strange. My heart feels like it's slowing down. Damn it's hot in here! Hmm, my left foot seems to have stopped working. Well I'll just limp over to the electronics salesman here, ask where I can find the cheap ipads, and be on my way. \"Excuse me, sir! Do you work here? Do you know where I can find the braaaaaiiiinnss?\"", "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! No...why me? I had a plan. Everything was going great. We had food, we had a place to sleep without fear. No, no, Christie...what about her? Oh God, she's waiting for me to come back with food. The door is unlocked. Anyone could get in. NO! ***eat*** What? What was that? ***eat*** No, I can feel it. It's ***eat*** happening. I'm getting hungry. ***eat*** My head ***eat*** feels like it's on ***eat*** fire! My stomach ***eat*** is burning! ***eat*** OH GOD, IT HURTS SO MUCH!!! ***eat***", "Oh God oh shit oh NO!! \n\nFuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it. \n\nDammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it.\n\n\"Charlotte?!\" \n\n\"Bill? Where are you?!\"\n\n\"I'm in the pharmacy, Char!\"\n\nShit it HURTS!\n\n\"Bill? OH MY GOD!\"\n\n\"Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--\"\n\n\"It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can.\"\n\n\"Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad.\" A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! \"See that gun over there?\"\n\n\"N-no...I can't...I won't...\"\n\n\"Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me.\"\n\n\"No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!\"\n\nAgh, it's throbbing! \"This is the only way, Char!\"\n\n\"But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it.\"\n\n\"Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey.\"\n\n\"That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--\"\n\n\"No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!\"\n\nOh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good. \n\n\"Come over here, Char.\"\n\n\"There's got to--\"\n\n\"There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold.\"\n\n\"This isn't right.\"\n\n\"You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready.\"\n\n\"I'm...sorry.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte.\"\n\n\"I love you too, Bill.\"", "\"Well man, its been a good run, \" I said. \n\nMy now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses.\n\n\"Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny,\" I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window. \n\nI turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out.\n\nI hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit.\n\nJohn shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me.\n\nJohn opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers.\n\n\"Here ya go bud,\" says John, handing me a beer \"It's been a good run.\"\n\nI take the beer, pop the top, and smirk.\n\n\"Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too.\"\n\nI take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away.\n\nI turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me:\n\n\"I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance.\"\n\n\n\n" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 4, 4, 5, 7, 10, 11, 28 ]

[ "1385765065", "1385765076", "1385770757", "1385789510", "1385772855", "1385801230", "1385944419", "1385791627", "1385824912", "1385765110", "1385776908", "1385777061", "1385793924", "1385782397", "1385768028", "1385768721", "1385780733", "1385782817" ]

[ "[Dear Backstabbing Sack of Crap No Longer Intern To the Agent of the Coen Brothers Who Stole My Story Idea And Got An Oscar Nomination For Best Writing](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1rtrwa/wp_youre_a_murderer_who_keeps_one_item_from_each/cdqu9jl),\n\nSometimes, at night, I lay awake and meditate upon things you’ve written to me, and I realize I must let go of my anger, release it from my soul, because the thought of how you told the authorities about the murders I confided to you being responsible for my ‘serial killer’ reclassification and subsequent death sentence, and how I’m writing what’s gonna be my last letter ever to you right before these pricks inject me, when I dwell on this, I’m afraid I might die of anger before they get the chance to kill me, and where would the justice be in that?\n\nIt was during one of these profound moments of introspection just this morning, when I was getting all worked up about thinking about how your betrayal was the worst possible thing anybody could possibly do to another human being, that the pastor asked if it was as bad as murder, and you know what, he was right. What you did is just as bad as what I did. So, I kinda admit that what I done isn’t socially acceptable, if you admit that you’re a horrible person, too. I asked the pastor if that was guilt, and he said for me, it was close enough to count. So even in the end, I’m growing as a spiritual person. \n\nWhich brings us to my point. You told me, right around the time MY/’your’ (I’m using sarcastic air quotes here, to convey a sense of imagery), ‘your’ script must have been picked up, you wrote to me that the story was ‘too meta’ and that I ‘was not an adequately compelling character’, because I ‘wasn’t complicated or redeeming or redeemable’, or something along those lines. But I think a self-acknowledged narcissist is a compelling and complicated character, especially if he was smart enough to make his millions through murder. And I’ve earned an MBA since I’ve been here, too. So there’s that.\n\nAnd, oh, by the way, guess who has AB- blood and is donating his organs? That’s right, you backstabbing poop face, I hope [your son’s leukemia](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2jdlki/wp_link_your_favourite_submission_on/clazj5p) is cured by my hepatitis tainted marrow. How is that for irredeemable irony? Of course, you could just wait for another geographically close AB- donor to come around. As the pastor would say, what would Jesus do? \n\nAlright, it’s time for me to go. I regret I ever tried to tell the truth. \n\nFuck you,\n\nLL", "It all seemed so simple.\n\nI pull out my blade, stick it in the other guy's gut a few times. He dies, the cops come and take me. After an unnecessarily drawn-out trial, I receive the sentence of death from a jury of my peers, like they were my peers to begin with. I live on Death Row for a few months or years while my lawyer makes appeal after appeal trying to save my ass, but the ruling remains the same: Death by three-stage lethal injection. After feeding me whatever the hell I want, they take me out of my cell, strap me down to a gurney, ask if I have any last words (“Get a fucking move on!”), and then send me into oblivion by means of three little syringes.\n\nIt ain't so simple anymore.\n\nI don't know why it didn't hit me then, when I had my knife in the guy's gut, blood flowing out of the wound. Why it didn't hit me when the jury laid down the death sentence. Why it didn't hit me for all those fucking months and years I was in this hellhole, locked up with only the guards and the killers and the rapists for company. Why it didn't crash down on me until just a few hours ago.\n\nI fucking killed a man.\n\nThis wasn't just some nobody off the street. He was someone with a family, with people to come home to. People fucking *cared* about him. He meant the world to somebody.\n\nAnd I destroyed that somebody's world.\n\nThe chaplain has been telling me that God is infinitely forgiving, that even on the cross His own Son forgave His executioners for killing Him. But that was just a man; sure you can argue if he's God or not, but he was in the form of a man.\n\nI killed the world in the form of a man. I am a destroyer of worlds.\n\nThere is no forgiveness for me.", "It feels like it happened forever ago.\n\nI would sit and watch how they moved, talked to each other. Blatantly lie to each others faces. Disgusting. I hated them. every last fucking one of them. I wasn't surprised when it happened. It really was just a matter of time, that first feeling of wanting to see someone cut up.. what their insides looked like.. How their blood smelt. The warmth from their insides on my face.\n\nNo one understands why I am the way I am. I dont even think I know why. All I know, all I knew, was that someday I would loose control. My blood lust would seep into my mind and I wouldn't be able to stop myself. That's exactly what happened.\n\nAfter 5 murders they Locked me up. I would hear rumors from the outside world about me. They called me names. They called me names!? Those ignorant filthy animals.. Said I was some kind of monster, a psycho! Well maybe they're right, maybe I am a monster. Who knows? Maybe I'm getting what I deserve, Death row.\n\nIts funny, I never really felt anything in my life. Nothingness was a constant, Numbness engulfed me. But now, suddenly as I sit here waiting for them to take me away. For the first time in my life I'm feeling guilt. Not guilt for the crimes Ive done or guilt for the lives I've stolen, no. I feel guilt for not killing more people, guilt for not cleansing this world of its disgust.\n\nThis is my one true fault. I was not good enough.\n\n\n(OK I have not wrote ANYTHING since high school. so umm.. yeah my grammar is awful. So I must apologize.. I just thought this was a cool idea. so I went for it! cheers!)", "When I awoke this morning I felt oddly serene. I was thankful that I would never have to open my eyes in the morning to see the stark metal bars reminding me that I don’t deserve freedom. I am animal, I deserve a cage, nothing more. Though, I had never really believed that. I fought against the ruling as hard as I could. But legally I was a prisoner of the state, destined to live out the rest of my days behind bars and die there, when they decided it was my time to leave this world.\n\nThere’s something surreal about knowing the moment of your death. Most people go through their lives, knowing full well that they’ll die some day, but choosing not to dwell on that fact. Most of them live their lives to the fullest because they know one day death will come and when it does they want to look back without regret and only fond memories. Even if they grow old and sick, inevitably approaching death, they still never know the exact moment they’ll die. It’s different for me. \n\nTonight, shortly after midnight on November 30th, I will die. Life will slip from my physical form into whatever unknowable void that exists beyond this world. I still sometimes wish that I had been a religious man, especially knowing for eighteen years now that I would die behind these prison walls, but judging by the fact that I still hadn’t found God at this point I know I was never supposed to. God ain’t meant to save the souls of some men.\n\nI realized today that I’d never truly accepted responsibility for what I’d done, because I had never realized the magnitude of my actions. I still believe I was a different man when I committed that crime; an angry, hateful young man. The conviction read “Murder in the first degree”, but until now they were only words and they didn’t hold any real meaning to me.\n\nBut it was this afternoon, after slipping on my sneakers for my last trip to the yard I felt like it finally meant something. A sage bug crawled from under my sole, dashing across the white linoleum floor when, without a thought, I reached down and pressed out its life with my thumb. It stuck to the swirl of my thumbprint as I lifted my hand away and I looked at it, frozen in death, with its legs sticking straight out like it was reaching for a last futile grasp at existence. I stared at that dead fucking bug on my finger for ten minutes before the guard came to unlock my cell to lead me out, and I wiped it carefully off my thumb onto my bed sheet. I kept replaying the image in my head all day, thinking about how alive it was, insignificant and useless, but living. It was living until, with a tiny crack, I snapped its outer shell and ended whatever force dwelled within it that gave it the life it had. Motivations. Needs. Hardly different from any other life.\n\nAs I’ve written this the sun has long been set out my little cell window and I know the last hour of my life is close. I feel like I should cry, but I can’t. I cried on the first night I was here. I cried on the holidays when I missed my loved ones. But as I’m closing in on the waning hours of this existence I only feel numb. So many years I’ve grown angry here, stewing in my cell knowing for certain that I didn’t deserve this fate, but now that I’ve reached the end I’m not so sure. I keep flashing back to the dead, colorless sage bug stuck to my thumb with outstretched legs. I’ve felt so sick since that moment that I couldn’t even eat my last meal. Someone who’s never taken a human life could never imagine it, but even as a man guilty of the crime I’ve found that I still can’t fathom that my own hands have done it.\n\nAt this moment, I feel anxious. I’m suddenly eager for the guards to come to my final holding cell and lead me, one on each arm, to the chamber where they’ll lay me on the table and strap down my limbs in worn leather belts. The straps will only be for the ceremony. I’m not going to fight it. If anything, I might sigh. When the syringe pricks my arm I’ll heave my last desperate breaths until I feel the final pounding throbs of my heart slow to a halt, and my eyes will close finally, as the paralyzing shadow of death overtakes my body and I’m freed forever from the horror of my own evil.", "November 30th, 2013\n\nToday is my last day of living.\n\nIt has been 15 years since I was found guilty of first degree murder. 15 years spent in this cold, harsh cage known as federal prison. Looking back on things, I’d say it wasn’t so bad. \n\nThe solitary confinement was hard to get used to at first. Ever since I sliced the throat of that large Aryan Nation fellow who tried making me into his bitch, jail time hasn’t been so bad. Sure, the food is soggy, and there isn’t much to do outside of reading and exercise. Though my time spent here has been… rewarding. \n\nEach day passed has allowed me to dig deeper into myself. To look back at all the actions that defined who I am in my life is enriching. Like when I first killed my brother, goring him with a meat hook while burning his dead corpse (which, thankfully no one found out about), to the day that I lost my sexual virginity to my English teacher. A shame really, that she couldn’t live longer to see what I would later become down the road, a sick twisted soul in search of requiem in his dwindling life.\n\nI was asked what I wanted for my last meal today, which I found delightful. I ordered two Cheesy Gordita Crunches from a local Taco Bell, a lobster tail, a slice of cold pumpkin pie, and a slice of pepperoni pizza. No need in worrying about healthy eating habits, it *was* my final meal after all. Soon after the plate was delivered to me I began to ponder more about what I had done to find myself awaiting lethal injection.\n\nThe one girl in particular who I simply cannot forget… Susie. She was a short adorable young girl with curly blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and such a warm smile. At least, according to her mother in her testimony in trial that is. When I first met her, she only struck me as prey. But prey didn’t have feelings associated with it. Prey didn’t have heart broken family members weeping for it. Prey didn’t evoke sadness in my own heart for what I had done.\n\nAfter I finished lying in bed with Susie, I had done to her what I had did to my brother, disemboweling her before leaving the remains of her body to my German Sheppard, Fritz. At the time, I thought nothing of her. Now… Now that I will meet the same fate as her at 10:00am in the morning, I feel nothing but pain and anguish. \n\nThere are no words that can describe my sorrow. It is with a truly heavy heart that I write these final lines. Susie, if there is an afterlife and you are somehow able to read this, know that I am sorry. Wherever my soul is taken in the next life will be subject to damnation and torture, and rightfully so. \n\nI leave this earth with affirmation that my crimes will be punished. With this certainty, the world can be forever thankful that it will be finally rid of the evil that is me.\n\n------\n\nedit: punctuation \n" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 4, 9 ]

[ "1385802033", "1385790634", "1385790773", "1385797408", "1385789250" ]

[ "Of all the things that could happen, this is the WORST. POSSIBLE. THING!\n\n[](/b20)", "THE picture was so familiar and friendly that only few took notice of what it really portrayed. The ungrateful consciousness usually sensed only a blurry patch of purple, green and blue, but it was really a neatly tied stack of pixelated books. They were fastened by a belt, which suggested a silly image of a man carrying the books in one hand and clinging to his pants with the other, sacrificing the spine of his clothing to the safety of his tomes. \n\nOther details of WinRar were more conspicuous. There was an additional layer of toolbar with smartly drawn icons that dangled under the top of the window like a piece of fancy drapes. They seemed to say that you are now inside a cozy home, where things are always somehow smaller and compressed in comparison to the menacing size of things outside. But the only thing that had really impressed the minds of careless users was the warning that had flashed when the service of WinRar was petitioned:\n\n\"After a 40 day period trial period you must either buy a license or remove it from your computer\".\n\nYet the deity of WinRar was a gentle and forgiving one, expanding the said period to forty months, forty years, for millennia and even more. Its leniency soon gave rise to ridicule among men who had foolishly saw in it a half-hearted reprimand, a guarantee of eternal usage made by a clumsy and forgetful God, preferably the same one that had tied together the books in the WinRar icon. \n\nThere is a well-known saying that tomorrow never comes which gave men occasion to infer that the forty day tomorrow will fail to come as well. \n\n... \n", "\"*... oh.. damn... best download 7zip then*\"" ]

[ 1, 2, 3 ]

[ "1385847184", "1385850153", "1385845114" ]

[ "burn it", "\"There's this funny things about books, if you're not careful you can find yourself completely lost.\" She would often say this to me on those days I wouldn't leave the couch, knee-deep in tea, blankets, and pages. Of course, I could have gone upstairs to my room and be left alone, but I liked to be by the fire-pit. Even in the summer there is something about that space that helps me think. And although I would never admit it to her, I kind of enjoyed hearing grandma tooling about in the kitchen. Instead I would defend my honour by “tssing’” and “pshah-ing” back at her. \n\nThat was how simple life was then, that was how simple books were. Entertainment, we called them. To think that most of us used them primarily to “pass time.” When I think about these things I wonder what else my grandmother knew. ", "\"Alright children, it's time to go! Come along now!\" A collective sigh arose from kids dotted along the shoreline. One of them, his name Tim, spoke up. \n\n\"But Mr. Micheals, I didn't finish building my sandcastle!\" He put on a pooched lip. I knelt down and gave him a friendly nudge.\n\n\"Ah, Tim. Don't worry. We'll come back next week. And then do you know what's after that?\" \n\n\"The forest with all the colors!\" He exclaimed, his eyes shining. \n\n\"Yes, Tim, the jungle!\" I laughed. I got back up, brushing sand off of my khakis. \"Make a circle, children, let's all hold hands!\" They all crowded around me, kicking up sand, most of them trying to hold hands with their friends. As soon as they were circled around me, I pulled from my pocket a little white book, with gilded edges. It had no name, but then, it had no story. It was every story, any story. I opened it and pictured the small library from which we had arrived. A golden glow surrounded us, and the children laughed. \n\nAnd then we stood in the quiet little room, the scent of the ocean replaced by that soft smell of old, well-read books. The children danced about, shaking sand from their hair and clothes. Usually, I made sure that the kids got rid of whatever they brought back with them. Thank goodness this room had a carpet.\n\nA little while later, the parents began arriving to pick up the young adventurers. The group seemed to pick up an extra one or two every time, and the parents usually stopped by to tell me about much fun their kids had with our \"Story-time Adventures.\" One parent in particular though, was always present in my thoughts. Chloe. \n\n\"Mr. Micheals, I don't know how you do it. Tim always tells me he can't wait for the next story time. He's always outside these days, talks about \"preparing for his next adventure.'\" She laughed, the sound of a choir of angels singing. \n\n\"Tricks of the trade, I'm afraid I can't tell, Ms. Miller.\" I said, smiling. She was raising Tim all on her own. On the wages of a local diner, no less. What a strong lady. \n\nTim exploded from the room, a small force of excitement, and bounded up to Chloe. She usually had a late shift at the diner on Thursday, so I waited the extra half-hour with Tim. I didn't feel that old Mrs. Green, although a sweetheart, was much company for him. \n\n\"Mom! We went to the beach this time, it was so fun! We saw seagulls and little crabs, even a huge boat!\" The boat was a Spanish Galleon, and the children had stood in awe as it swept by at full sail. I ruffled his hair.\n\n\"Wait!\" he said suddenly, and plunged his hand into his pocket and brought it back out. Uh oh. \n\n\"Sand!\" He let it slip though his fingers, dusting the hallway floor. I met eyes with Chloe, who laughed. \n\n\"You really go all out at story time, Mr. Micheals.\" She said, eyebrows raised. I smiled sheepishly. Phew. But Tim was still digging in his pockets though...\n\n\"Oh cool!\" Tim shouted. \n\nLooking down, I saw in his other hand a Hermit Crab. How he had managed to bring it, I had no idea. Chloe went from cheerful to confused in an instant. Not good at all. \n\n\"Is that real? I...uh...Mr. Micheals?\" She picked it up, and dropped it almost immediately, for the little guy was curious about all the commotion and had stuck his pincers out. Chloe looked at me, her face edging on fear. \n\n\"I can explain. Look...\" I trailed off as she grabbed Tim's hand and started to back away. I pulled the book from my pocket. \"This book, it's not like other books. It can take you where you want to go, real or imagined. Present, or past. Even the future.\" She was shaking her head.\n\n\"Mr. Micheals, I...Shawn. Why are you lying to me? What is going on here?!\" She pulled Tim behind her. \"I understand the sand, but a crab? And now this whole thing? This is ridiculous!\" \n\n\"Mom, he's right!\" Tim chirped from her side. She looked at him, then at me. \n\nI had one last shot. \"Where have you always wanted to go? Please, I can prove this.\" She looked at me for a second. \n\n\"My parent's wedding.\" She said sarcastically. \n\n\"Where and when?\" I asked. \n\n\"Really? Venice, November 23rd, 1972.\" She rolled her eyes and turned to leave. I opened the book and stepped towards her as the world began to glow gold. \n\nMy foot stepped down into a soft dusting of snow, while flakes whirled around me. Tim and Chloe stood a couple feet away, he jumping up and down giggling, and she as still as a statue. The dimly lit streets and waterways of Venice lay before us, and on one corner there was a procession coming from a little church. Wedding music danced on the wind and to my ears. Tim was on the ground making snow angels. I waited while she took it in, and it was a couple minutes before she finally turned. \n\n\"Shawn.\" she whispered, tears streaming down her face. \"How?...\" \n\n\"I don't know how. It just is.\" I said, looking at the book in my hand. \n\nShe ran to me and kissed me. \"I always wanted to see them like this. Happy.\" I smiled and held her. \n\nI felt a tugging on my sleeve, and looked down to see Tim. \n\n\"Mr. Micheals, I'm cold. Can we go home?\" \n\nOur laughter rose into the sky.", "The bookmarked pages were a pile of handwritten dates spanning every date conceivable. The instructions were clear, write the when and where, step through the gate, bring the book with you. It was so easy. Some dates had little notes about stopping some dictator or finding true love. Most said little warning for whoever next picked up the book - \"Don't try to kill Mbardasher, he's taking our technology and making things worse\". But a few had last words from thier last owner - \"I'm done. Just so done. This portal will kill me and the book. Krakatoa Augest 25, 1883\"\n\nI penciled in my anniversary and watched an awkward young boy kiss and awkward young girl. I watched atomic bomb tests from stolen starships. I broke into the world leaders bedrooms and traded their things. (Assad will look lovely in Queen Elizabeth's second best hat I think). I was a god with that dusty paper.\n\nI tried to show people what the book was like but they never saw what it was. They saw wavy lines or blindly agreed to whatever I said was there. \"Exit visa\" looked the same as \"Your death certificate\". \n\nI wish I had a better ending to that story. I wish I was a good man. I wish I hadn't tried to fix things. I stole the immortality drugs from the future. I will regenerate until the heat death of the universe. Now all I can do is piddle around. Maybe I'll steal a police box.", "It's found in a second hand bookshop in Wales. \n\nThe next day it's requisitioned by the government. \n\nDay three and the prisons are empty.\n\nYesterday the bodies began falling from the sky." ]

[ 1, 1, 3, 5, 8 ]

[ "1385861067", "1385862905", "1385858540", "1385863440", "1385857166" ]

[ "He had been out there for two days. Two stinking, humid, muggy days. The grass, leaves, and moss he had covered himself with for concealment attracted all manner of bugs and that was the most aggravating part. Once they found him, the feast began. He was covered in bites and stings, the corpsman was going to have a field day when he finally made it back to the camp. All he could do was focus on the mission and make sure that fucking pompous prick of a general got his review done and over with.\n\nHe continually scanned the area, always looking for the telltale signs. Fauna being more active than usual, snapped twigs, movement in the trees. He didn't see anything now, or in the past few days. He sighed and rested his cheek along the butt of the rifle, steeling himself for the next hour. It would all be over soon. \n\nThe only reason he was out here was because he got into a fight with that fucking Gunny in the fucking CP over a fucking damaged Gore-Tex. He couldn't control when the damn enemy shot or where they shot. As he reasoned, a bullet hole in a damn jacket was better than one in the body. The Gunny disagreed, first with words then with strikes. Turns out, that fucking Guns was in charge of the mission roster. Guess who gets to go out into the fucking bush for two days to guard a general everyone despised?\n\nThe radio finally came to life, ever so quietly. Two clicks, some static, and another click. The general was on his way down the road. About fucking time. He tightened up on the grip of his weapon and began doing a final scan of the area. \n\nThat's when he saw it, just a few tens of meters from the road. His pulse quickened and his breath became short. He almost missed the bastard. Expertly concealed, all he saw was the tip of the muzzle of a barrel pointing out of a clump of brush. He must have gone over that particular spot ten times without seeing anything. He was indignant, admiring, and furious all at the same time. This guy was good, and he needs to die.\n\nRight as he began to shift position to take a shot, the generals motorcade came into view. He saw that infernal barrel start to shift. Everything needed to happen now, right fucking now. He jumped up, doing away with all manner of camouflage, and trained his sights on the target. He was cursing himself vehemently, thinking that this is what you get when you are complacent, you'd better not let that fucker shoot that fucking general. You'd better not miss that fucking shot. \n\nThree hundred meters away, the owner of that infernal muzzle heard the beginning of a sharp crack, followed by an encapsulating silence. \n\n", "I was asleep in my cab when Vince, the brute he is, started banging hard on the roof. 'For fuck's sake? I'm sleeping! Fuck off!' He was nice enough to let me park and sleep in his garage but I was getting real tired of his shit. \n\n'Get up Jonny, you lazy shit, I got a job for you!' Jobs generally mean money - I like money... I followed Vince into the office - Jenni was sitting on the desk giggling and flirting with some guy I hadn't seen before - he looked important dressed in a suit with half a cigar sticking out the corner of his mouth. 'Just keep quiet kid.' Vice seemed pretty nervous. \n\n\nThe mystery man began to speak. \n\n\n'Is this the boy you told me about?' \n\n\n'Yes.'\n\n\n'Vincent told me you need money?' \n\n\nMy turn to speak I guess\n\n\n'Yes. Sir.'\n\n\n'You're a runaway?'\n\n\n'Yes'\n\n\n'I have a job for you - we're going for a ride...'\n\n\n.....\n\n\n\nI'm sitting in the back of a limo with this mystery guy - his cigar is starting to really stink. He reaches into his jacket and pulls something out.\n\n\n'Have you ever seen $1000?'\n\n\nI had not. He also pulls out a gun and my mouth dries up.\n\n\n'You want me to shoot someone?'\n\n\n'Yes'\n\n\n'Who?'\n\n\n'Does it matter?'\n\n\nI guess not - a grand is a grand and it's a whole lot more than I have. \n\n\n'Ok'\n\n\n.....\n\n\nWe pull up in front of a shop. He unlocks the front door and almost pushes me inside. 'Wait here, shoot anyone who enters.' I guess this is it...\n\n\n....\n\n\nHours later the door knob moves. I get up off the floor and check the gun. The door opens. I shoot. Dad?", "Just one shot, you think to yourself, crouching underneath the windowsill on a snowy December night. You check again, listening closely, hearing only the muffled laughter of the people inside the cabin. One shot and you've earned enough money for another few months in the lap of luxury. Hours away from getting paid, catching a train south. \n\nOne shot, you think again, wondering why you chose this life. Killing people-if someone's going to pay, someone's going to kill. Why not you? It's good money anyways, especially when it's a billionaire wanting the man his wife's cheating on him with killed. Some scheme he thinks that'll work to get her back. It doesn't even make sense, you think. How could he still love her. \n\nWhat if I don't shoot, you think. You could just walk away, take the first half of the twenty grand he paid you and escape south with ten. No blood spilled, no more deaths attributed to you. You were the best....back in your prime. You used to make millions a year doing peoples dirty work, never missing an opportunity to get the best clients. Now you're stuck with a billionaire whose trophy wife cheated on him with some fitness junkie. \n\nI should get it over with, you think to yourself as you imagine how you used to be fit too. You imagine how it'll go down-two shots, heart, head, done. You check your gun, warming up the barrel as you silently count down in your head from three...two...\n\nOne, you stand up, face the window, and shoot twice. \n\nYou killed her\n\n" ]

[ 2, 2, 4 ]

[ "1385956164", "1385964460", "1385941839" ]

[ "I had been preparing for this all my life. Now or never, I told myself. \n\n\"Senator Cruz, it's time.\"\n\nI prayed to Satan a couple times, then drew a pentagram in the air for good luck. \n\n\"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Regarding the ACA...\"", "I've hope you're ready to vote, because you're not going to get the chance to. You see, as the Antichrist I've always enjoyed holding positions of power. Maybe you might recognize some of me previous incarnations such as Napoleon, Hitler or Caligula. \n\nCaligula was one of my early incarnations and I was young and foolish not fully aware of my mission. I had my way with who I wished to have it with and killed for greed. But soon I realized my mission, to spread the terror on man and destroy society which after a few incarnations planning I decided to set phase to my plans with my next incarnation as Napoleon Bonaparte. \n\nNapoleon? I hear you cry? The man who brought democracy to Europe The Antichrist? Of course! Who else would have fulfilled Nostradamus's prophecies of \"An Emperor will be born near Italy\"\n\nOr in \"In 1805 a war will break out between France and Austria, and if Austria will not make peace, she shall lose everything.\" \n\nand of course my legacy of destroying King Louise Phillippe \"In 1848, a terrible revolution will spread over all Europe. Kings and emperors will descend from their thrones.\" \n\nMaybe I did bring democracy to Europe but what you need to realise is I also strengthened the forces of Russia and Prussia thus setting the seeds for the chain of events that would start World War One. Napoleon made my realise war is the best way to take over the world!\n\nWhich after a brief life as a member of the LDS I decided to continue my plans for world domination, as Hitler. After the Munich punch I realized that war was not the best way to win people over, but rather politics. After networking my way into power and starting World War II I was on my way, but I found things too easy and rage quitted opting to start a \"New Game Plus\"\n\nPolitics straight from the start might be the best way to cause the destruction of the world. And that's what I did. After buying my way into power with money I made with Apple stocks I can now say happy I've put a lot of thought into this. You see my law if voted yes creates world peace. However you won't vote on it because I've been talking so much thus the bill will fail thus world peace will not be achieved thus I can continue my strain for world domination. Right now as we speak...\n\nOh it looks like everyone has left. Oh well then" ]

[ 2, 4 ]

[ "1386023812", "1386023327" ]

[ "wow \n\nsuch silent \n\nso not move \n\nno more treat \n\nmuch cold \n\n", "b 1918. Such pointless slaughter. Wow. Much sharpnel in2 legges.\n\nb 1926. So drink. Very broken. Amaze disenchantment. <3 Spain.\n\nb 1937. Much Spian. Many fascist planes. Wow. No coward's way 2gtfo", "wow. such cold. wrong. much cold. so cold. many cold. woof. such death. such sorrow. more tears. no tomorrow. ", "Such sale. Very baby shoes. Wow. Much not worn.\n\nhttp://i.imgur.com/xbNtBaJ.jpg" ]

[ 1, 1, 1, 5 ]

[ "1386056398", "1386058206", "1386061165", "1386055853" ]

[ "\"Hey fellas, let me talk to you for a minute! You guys are firefighters, you know what would be a great help in the field? Elemental resistance. Yeah man, you could walk through those fires in a swim trunks if you wanted. I've got it, and I'm willing to trade for self-transcen- oh. You already have elemental resistance...well what about the guys in the bac- them too? Okay. Um, are you guys hiring?\"", "In the beginning, strength ruled the world.\n\n\nThose who had it ate and were warm, for they could tear down the mountains to make their house and could cut down the forests to make their fields. The strong feared no animal and no man. The people were fractured and isolated by region, personal loyalty, and the life-span of the strongest. Small fief-doms often rose and fell on the abilities of a single man or woman.\n\n\nThen, there was the Enlightenment. Ofsa, the prophet, who knew all things, saw the world as it was and as it could be. For thirty years he sealed himself away in a location he knew to be safe, to think not only of the fate of the world, but how the world would change once it knew its own future. When he came out, he carried with him two thousand and forty seven secret pages of cryptic script, to be passed down in the bloodline he knew he would establish.\n\n\nFrom there, the rest was preordained. Ofsa recruited those he knew could be trusted, killed those who could not, and established what would one day be the kingdom of Ofsen. On his deathbed, he passed his gift to his firstborn, and so on and so forth, so that the knowledge of the future would not be lost.\n\n\nOnce a peaceful place to trade was established, the world flourished. A mere three men with the ability to encourage plant growth literally fed the world. An army of less than twenty kept the peace, which was easy, as the greatest threats were already known were dealt with properly. The most powerful of these gifts were passed down as a family heritage, each firstborn trained to take the role of the former bearer. When a random citizen is found to have a powerful ability, they were given the chance to give up their gifts in return for a life time of wealth and happiness, or to be recruited as a new member of the family.\n\n\nOfsa had seen this and wrote that everything would be good for the duration of the two thousand and forty seven pages, until the Variable is born. A man whose actions are hidden from his eyes and so is everything that is affected by him, resulting in a wave of mist that could not be dispelled from his vision of the future. This man had no ability other than being beyond prediction, and thus could do whatever he pleased.\n\n\nThis is where our story starts. With all the great families falling into chaos as the bloodline of seers stretching back to Ofsa steps down as a leader and declaring that the future is now, once again, new and unknown." ]

[ 5, 12 ]

[ "1386132970", "1386150618" ]

[ "this is almost my nanowrimo novel to a t.", "\"So, how long was I out?\" Altos said. \"And why does my face hurt?\"\n\n\"Doctors said you were coming around so I slapped you around a bit to quicken it. I've got monster truck tickets. And you were under for about three days. Doctors said you had a good chance of recovery,\" Tatcho said, sneaking a half pint out of this pants and passing it to his dear drinking buddy.\n\n\"You mean, I dreamed 28 years of that life over the course of three days? Eh, sounds about right. Where are my clothes?\"\n\n\"First, you got to tell me about the dream you. Was there a dream me?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but your name was Nacho. But, you were a total asshole.\"\n\n\"Wow, way different, huh?\" and he took a belt of cheap whiskey.\n\n\"No, you are a total asshole. Where are my clothes?\"\n\nAltos dressed and drank. Though the day had just begun, the whiskey and grogginess from the Van Winkle nap made him ready for another dose of ether.\n\n He checked out of the hospital because, apparently, he was fine now. Many of the minor characters of his second life seemed to all culminate here. The doctor was once a gas station attendant who had given Altos some sage advice he couldn't quite recall now. It was as if, like all his other dreams, he immediately brushed away all remnants of unconscious life like so many shakes of the Etch-a-Sketch. \n\nThe nurse was once a child with a very large head as his brain had quickly ran out of ideas to model the people in 28 years of life. See, Altos wasn't very smart, which is what got him here in the first place. \n\n\"Can you remember anything?\"\n\n\"I remember one of the pinnacles of my life...ah, let me see. Okay, I remember, yes, once I went to Los Vegas. Yes, I went there and something happened. Something very important. Yes, I ran into a buddy from high school. Luke McLaughlin. That was wild, man.\"\n\n\"Well, what did you guys do?\"\n\n\"Well, just say 'hey.' I didn't know him too well. How do I know him in this world?\"\n\n\"He's actually dead.\"\n\n\"You know, I'll just save the rest for surprising me, yeah?\"\n\n\"So, like, you have amnesia? Like in Spider-Man 3?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I don't really think so. I remembered you're really an asshole.\"\n\n\"Yeah, so it's not all lost.\"\n\nAltos couldn't admit it, but learning his life was a complete figment of his imagination was the best news he'd heard in his entire life. After all, pining for the same chick for years. He clearly remembered those brief moments they spoke and she laughed in tune to the ache of his heart. Her eyes soft and welcoming his company--for coffee, for lunch, for a brief walk to the copy room--yet he never once asked her out. Her suitors were many, broad muscled fuck machines. And here his penis still hung from the shower rod. \n\nCould she be in this life?\n\nTatcho brought Altos back to the bar. \"I said to take me home.\"\n\n\"This is your home,\" Tatcho said. \"You live above the bar. You've actually got some problems, I should tell you.\"\n\nThe afternoon barflies bellowed and a squat woman waddled to Altos. \"You're alive, son!\"\n\n\"Mom!\"\n\nThe few drunks laughed, and the bartender blushed. \"Get you a pint for living? It's on the house, and the next two are half off, how about that?\"\n\n\"Thanks, mama.\"\n\nTatcho leaned in. \"I don't want to jump to conclusions, but she's not your mother. You spend a lot of time here. She at one point said that she wishes she was your mother so she could beat some sense into you, but she's not your mother. Your mother is dead.\"\n\n\"Now, what did I say about letting me surprised. Goddamn, these people look happy for me to be here, and I'm getting a free pint. Let me do my thing here. Damn, you know--\"\n\nIt was her. Walking in from the back. The soft blue eyes and nose with the level ridge. He loved that, how her skull didn't curve down from her forehead to her nose. Not like her waist curved, her back with the deeply set dimples. It was as if she went unchanged. 'Momma' over by the tap had grey hair, separate from his dream. Tatcho was leaner and meaner, not this lumpy breath from the Haribo hanging out of his pocket. She went unchanged. What happened next was a new feeling altogether.\n\nShe ran to him and wrapped her arms so tightly around his shoulders, his nose filled with what only used to come to him in whiffs around the office, in the elevator, across the meeting room. He put his hand to the small of her back and turned his head into the curve of her neck. Wonderful.\n\nThe second sensation he had oddly felt before. A slap. \n\n\"YOU GOT A LOT OF GODDAMN NERVE GETTING THAT DRUNK AND LEAVING WITH THOSE BITCHES. HOW DID YOU THINK I WASN'T GOING TO KNOW?! I'M GLAD YOU FELL AND HIT YOUR HEAD THAT NIGHT; MAYBE IT KNOCKED SOME SENSE INTO YOU. IF NOT, I'M STILL GLAD YOU DIDN'T DIE BECAUSE NOW I CAN KILL YOU MYSELF.\"\n\nTatcho leaned into Altos' ear. \"Surprise,\" he said. \n" ]

[ 2, 3 ]

[ "1386201891", "1386212941" ]

[ "The old legends tell of a great knight, saving his kingdom time and time again. He started out as a recruit in the Kings Army, his mettle not yet strong. His battalion was sent out on a suicide mission, for they only needed a decoy. The knight didn't know of this plan, and once attacked, watched his bothers die in vain, slain to save the kingdom. A reason he did not understand. \n\n\nWhen the decoy had came down to it's last member after the twisted, one sided battle, the young knight slew as many of his enemies as he could. In a blind rage, he killed them, one by one. Surprise had been on his side, and by the time the ambush was ready to move in, he had killed half their men, and only abstained few injuries.\n\n\nHe had survived his first battle, living to survive many more. Every time he killed, his mind cracked. After saving the kingdom, his mind broke. He was the King's personal guard, and was renounced as the \"Knight in Shining Armor.\". In his insane mental state, he took justice into his own twisted hands. \n\n\nThe Knight in shining armor killed the King, then, bathed in blood, took over the Kingdom. He rain of bloodlust brought death, and caused the fall of his empire that he once strained so hard to keep safe. \n\n\nTo this day, he is forgotten to us as \"The Knight in Shining Armor\", and only known as \"The Knight in Twisted Armor\".", "The blows Sir Rodrick received in the Battle of Deadman’s Hollow would have felled any normal man. The evidence of that was strewn around him, crumpled heaps of breastplates and blood. The hill tribes had been far more prepared than any of the scouts had reported. They must have found a powerful sorcerer to back their efforts; the crude weapons the shaggy men wielded would have glanced off the Vanguard’s war-forged armor otherwise. Two hundred of the realm’s finest rode out from the Tower at dawn, expecting to come home. The blunt blades of the hill tribes dispatched that dream, and the misty hollow would see to the rest.\n\nThe scouts dragged Sir Rodrick from the massacre just before night fell. The captain of the Vanguard’s body lay still, a shadow of his former glory: gauntlets mangled almost beyond recognition; the great lion-crested shield, bloodied and scorched by conjured fire; his plumed helm, nearly cleaved in half. He shouldn’t have lived, but something deep within the brave knight kept his chest slowly rising and falling through the worst of it.\n\nTwo years, it took, to give Sir Rodrick his strength back. Two long, painful years, but he did not spend them idle. His armor was forged in a different hue; the crimson sacrifice of his fallen Vanguard tinted the freshly shaped metal. The blacksmith had particular trouble with the right side; the knight’s elbow never quite healed properly, leaving the arm misshapen and useless. When he rode forth from the Tower again, he was no longer brave. Vengeance would be a more worthy companion than bravery on this ride.\n\n*So began the journey of Rodrick the Red - Keeper of the Two Hundred, the Knight in Twisted Armor – to the wicked sorcerer’s lair.*", "Sometimes when you put on the armor, the people you save never let you take it off. And sometimes, you forget who you really are. I've forgotten why I put the armor on in the first place, or even for whom. Now I serve only myself, and deal my own justice. Lately I have gone further and further in my efforts to prove myself, I taunt the authorities and become ever more brutal, savage to those who come after me. I will no longer bend my knee. To anyone. " ]

[ 2, 3, 4 ]

[ "1386211210", "1386219189", "1386209386" ]

[ "It's Minas Tirith. This is driving me crazy D:", "For reference, a Marine Expeditionary Unit (featured in Rome, Sweet Rome), consists of (on paper at least)\n\nhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marine_expeditionary_unit#Attributes", "OH MY GOD. THIS HAS TO BE MY FAVOURITE WRITING PROMPT EVER.", "I'll just patiently wait for someone to write an epic piece that will be best-of'd and gilded.", "Is it in first person or third person? My internet's being odd and I feel quite lazy in regards to googling.\n\nEDIT: Fack it. I'll begin planning soon. I've always wanted to see what would happen if Bilbo had a Machine gun", "((Here it is, ladies and gentleman. I present to you... **Commander of the Rings**)) ((Also, formatting will come later. ))\n\nDay: Prolouge\n\n\"Oh, yeah, well, FUCK YOUR RING. IT'S MADE YOU A POWER-OBSESSED, CONTROLLING FREAK.\"\n\nThose were the last words Tom Vaughn said to his college roommate before he decided to ship off to the army. After graduating the basic courses, he pursued a career in the Marines. He worked hard, trained hard, and practiced until he ate, breathed, and shat the US Army. But the Marines were a whole nother standard. He nearly collapsed five times during training. But, like the Nevada summers of his childhood long ago, he continued to work hard in the harshest of conditions. Nine long months he labored, and at long last he finally became a United States Marine. The graduation ceremony wasn't a big deal, just all the graduates packed into a room with a 15 minute speech telling them the status quo and wishing them luck, then an hour long after party. Tom ate at a nicer restaurant (the first non-MRE he'd had in months) and retired to his quarters happy that night. \n\nA few years later and, instead of Private Vaughn, he now prefered Sergeant Vaughn. A squad of marines under his command, he made sure, through all the missions, every single one got home. While on patrol with a Lt. Bergsland of Delta Squad, his combined squad was ambushed by what seemed like the whole nine yards; machine gunners, rocket launchers... if it was propelled out of something, it hit some part of the 42nd Battalion convoy. He saw the Lt. holding position between a tree and a small shack. As soon as the Taliban's Buzzsaws were sighted in, the Bergsland's position was raked with bullets. Crawling through a hail of gunfire and dragging an injured comrade (in addition to being wounded himself) back to the Marine's pseudo-perimeter, and the subsequently fetching the Lt and his Lt's bodies, earned Tom a scholarship to an abridged officer's training camp (due to the Lieutenant and his immediate subordinate being FUBAR'ed . When he got back home, he headed to the Base's local bar. There, hr heard word of a .50 caliber machine gun being recovered near Rome, with 2-3000 year old rust covering it, buried under a cathedral in what was thought to be a Centurion's grave. He paid no attention to those drunken ramblings from a Private of the 35th MEU who called himself \"Prufrock\". He went to bed after watching some \"Lord of the Rings\", amazed how people like Tolkien can write three hour long movies-made-from-books when the best his aspiring mind could do was 25,000 words at best.\n \nHow true Private \"Prufrock's\" warnings were, he knew not, for when he awoke, a ring was placed outside his door. \n\n((Check out [r/commanderoftherings](http://reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings) for official postings. Updates will also be posted there, with links to said updates posted after the Prolouge.))\n\n((EDIT: Alright, maggots! This is your Drill Sergeant here! I need an Intelligence officer, one who knows about the local territory. So, if you want a pay raise, get your ass over to the [intelligence booth](http://www.reddit.com/r/commanderoftherings/comments/1se8gt/help_wanted/). ))", "AM I TOO LATE" ]

[ 1, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 7 ]

[ "1386464517", "1386457633", "1386463592", "1386463934", "1386472062", "1386479231", "1386523510" ]

[ "\"You know, you could have had everything. You could have held control. You could have run the world. I would have been there. I was blind enough. I believed. I was ready to serve on your behalf. You could have had a brilliant commander. Hell, you could have merely denied our revolution a leader. You would have won, were it not for me.\" I gloated slightly as I pressed the knife against his neck. \n\n\"If your bullshit was a *little* more subtle, if your ideology a *little* less hateful, if your armies a little less ruthless, perhaps I merely would have taken the rejection, gone home. Yeah, maybe it was discriminatory bullshit, but that alone wasn't enough to make a revolutionary out of me.\n\nBut you sent me home upset. 'A woman's place is in the home, not in the army of a powerful leader, nor in his service. You would make a fine concubine, if you weren't so ugly.' I wonder, if I had not been so ugly, would I have returned home anyway? Would you still be here, with a knife pressed against your neck?\" I was ranting at this point. I could have just slit his throat, but there was something vindicating about the gloating.\n\n\"I don't know. It doesn't really matter. I went home. And when I went home, my eyes were open. I saw the way your troops burned cities and towns. I saw the way they raped women, men, even children. I saw the way they stole futures and hopes and dreams. I was incensed. I wasn't going to sit by and watch anymore!\n\nAnd I did something. But you know, you could still be controlling a vast empire right now.\n\nYou could have had it all, if you'd just said\" I pressed down and slid the knife across his throat as I spoke the final word, \"'yes'\"\n\nAs I dropped his corpse to the floor, I muttered, \"You were an idiot. But we're free of you now.\"\n\nAs I left the compound and radioed in the words, \"Target Alpha is dead. Commence operation *New Day*\" I wanted to feel as if I'd won. \n\nBut I couldn't deceive myself. \n\nI'd lost everything getting here.\n\n((Heh. I hope that was reasonably good... I decided to avoid the obvious \"this is about romantic rejection\" overtones from the prompt, and go for a more subtle read about rejection in general.))", "After being asked the most important question of his young life, Alex let out a resounding **No**. Tanya was shocked, she was the most popular girl in school, how could this new kid say no to her? \n\n*What the hell is wrong with you? I'm giving myself to you! This is your chance to fuck me! This is what you want!* Tanya yelled at Alex as he stood in front of her splayed body. Her eyes were furious and confused, her body lifting from the bed in short movements, as if she was waiting for Alex to change his mind, because she was.\n\n**No, it's not what I want. It's what you want.** Alex said in a cool, confident manner that commanded respect. Tanya hesitated, then quickly scrambled to grab her clothes and dress herself again while blurting out threats, *I'm going to tell everyone you didn't fuck me because you're a loser and couldn't get it up, you...you fag!* Alex only blinked. He put his hand on Tanya's shoulder and her body seemed to curl around it. After another slow blink, Alex locked eyes with Tanya.\n\n**You tell them whatever you want to tell them, they'll believe you. But you will know the truth. You will know, now and forever, that you aren't the perfect little princess that you want to believe you are. Your parents' wealth, which is fleeting by the way, has only brought you empty friendships and a spoiled upbringing. In reality, you're nothing, less than nothing. That's why you've come to my house this night with the ambition of sleeping with \"the new rich kid\" in order to kindle a relationship with me and thus validate your existence. You can try and justify it as becoming a \"power couple\" but you why you want me. And it's pathetic. You'll do whatever you can can to stay in a relationship so that you can marry me and lead a cushy, secure life. Anything to keep from being that lonely girl in the office who does nothing but prattle on about the one time she left the country, which was Cancun correct?**\n\nTanya was in shock. Her head let out the faintest nod a human being could muster. Otherwise, her body was cold and still like an ice sculpture. She didn't even cry, it was as if her body simply shut down at Alex's words. She was closer to flatlining than she's ever been. The world was on mute until Alex snapped his fingers in her face with disrespect. She jumped and turned her head to Alex, eyes sullen and mouth agape. Alex turned his body to give way to the door. Tanya slowly pushed her stiffened body to hallway of Alex's (not his parent's) estate. She didn't know where to go, not in the house, or in life. After what seemed like hours, Tanya found the front door, as she stretched her arm to grab the handle, she heard an echoing **Hey** from behind her. She spun around to see Alexander standing at the top of the stairs.\n\n**Stop calling me Alex, that's not my name. My name is Alexander.**\n\nAlexander the Great.", "The office was quiet now. What hadn't been seized by the cops was smoldering in the metal trash bins, puffing thin black smoke above the cubicles. He could see Meredith's legs sticking out a few yards away. He hadn't yet walked over to see if she had been knocked out in the chaos or if she had slit her wrists when the alarms went off. \n\nHe twisted the cap off the bottle of whiskey, a cheap plastic squirt top he found in Robby's bottom drawer. Robby hadn't come in to work today, the lucky bastard, although there's no way Robby wasn't complicit. Everyone was complicit. People didn't take jobs here without knowing what they were getting into, who they were screwing over, how much money was passing between hands right under their noses.\n\nNo one really asked where the money was coming from. When he had been called into The Big Cheese's office, he had been shown documents that suggested drugs. It made the most sense. Given how much cocaine and amphetamines flowed among the men in the offices below, there had to be a way for them to get it without getting their hands dirty. All the language in the paperwork, all the late night shipments at the rear loading dock, it was all vague enough that they got away with it, and all obvious enough that the people working here caught on. \n\nHe took another swig of the whiskey. How things would have been different if he hadn't had a conscience. Well, that wasn't true, he thought. If he had a conscience, he wouldn't have worked here in the first place. But for some reason, when The Big Cheese had passed over the contract and asked him to become his right hand, he saw all the money and power and risk... and froze. A small part of his blackened heart told him it wasn't worth it. The same small part that brought him to the precinct the next morning. The same small part that came into the office like normal and watched as the shit went down. \n\nHe knew he would probably be dead within a week. These were not people you fucked with. The cheapness of the whiskey was tolerable with that knowledge in mind, as was sitting in the corner of the office and not going home. The smoke and alcohol burning in his throat was preferable to getting shot in his bed. \n\nHe heard the elevator door open from across the expanse of the cubicles. Perhaps it would come sooner than he thought. " ]

[ 3, 4, 6 ]

[ "1386472065", "1386471453", "1386471485" ]

[ "What's it matter?... bro", "Pauly D and Snooki share a look of drunken befuddlement as Nietzche abruptly exits the jacuzzi, his sopping mustache leaving a trail of droplets on the patio. On his way through the living room he passes by The Sitch, who is so absorbed in examining his latest tan that he fails to notice the scowling Teuton tramp by, muttering to himself in German. \n\nNietzche makes his way through the kitchen, accidentally spilling a protein shake left open on the counter. He kicks aside a few empty beer bottles and heads for the stairs.\n\nFinally he makes his way to his laptop, on which was plastered a fading Superman sticker. He opened up Word, sighed heavily, and began typing with conviction.\n\n\"God is dead. We have killed him.\"\n\n\n\n", "Friedrich was sitting in a wooden chair, turned away from the table. His feet were on the floor and his ankles felt heavy. \n\nA television show. He flipped the swastika stamped envelope over in his hands several times and touched the corners. It was red. The paper felt heavy. Official. *Scheiße.*\n\nHe grabbed the letter off the table behind him and brought a light close. The Jersey Shore. Guidos. He read the signature at the bottom. *Überscheiße.*\n\nThe guard rapped the bars behind him with a club, then told him to pack his things. Friedrich shook his knees a little. His ankle chains rattled. He sat up, put his hands on his thighs, and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and felt his mustache with his lower lip. Then he died. The guard said something in German.\n\n\nedit:scheiße, pronounced something like sheigh-suh i think", "*Note: Haven't seen Jersey Shore. Nor will I for this prompt. So the context here is \"solo interview montage segment about the new guy\" because I imagine that's a thing they do with the cast. And since I don't know any of their names (except Snooki, because that's such a fuckin' dog name), I'll call the cast members \"Turd\" and differentiate them with some numbers or codenames or something.*\n\nTurd 1: This guy is BLEEPin' serious. Like *really* BLEEPin' serious. All the time. I like that. \n\nSnooki: I totally walked in on him using the toilet. And he just BLEEPing looked at me like I wasn't even there! Like, he heard a noise or something but there wasn't anything there. SO weird, right?\n\nTurd Bravo: My man is a trend-SETTER! I mean, his hair's a BLEEPin' crazy bird's nest and he doesn't wear nothin' except tweed suits all the time, but that old-timey mustache? If I could grow somethin' like that, I totally would. And the ladies would totally love it when it tickles their BLEEP.\n\nSnooki: And this other time, I saw him touching himself on the couch when he thought he was alone. But I needed to get to the fridge, so I made a lot of noise so he'd, you know, put his BLEEP away. And when I come in, he's still BLEEPing touching himself! Totally BLEEPing ignoring me! I start yelling and slapping him upside the head, like \"What the BLEEP is wrong with you?\" And he stops, just for a second, and looks at me and says, \"I do what I must. I want it because I must do it.\" And then he keeps on jerkin' it! BLEEP, I almost cried. How the hell do you talk to someone like that?\n\nThird Turd: I dunno, I ain't seen much of him, really. He spends a lot of time in the bathroom. I don't really use that bathroom, but Snooki says there's, like, a new book every other day in there. Like he's startin' a libary [sic] or somethin' in there, man. I dunno, to each his own I guess. I wouldn't want to share a bathroom with him, that's for sure.\n\nSnooki: So I axed [sic] the whole crew to, you know, meet up and get it through to him that he can't just BLEEPing do BLEEP like that! We all meet up and he's sitting on the couch. He's got this creepy sorta half-smile and we're all looking around at each other. Like, who's gonna say something first? You know, at this point, I don't really want to open my mouth, 'cuz, you know, I'm pretty upset.\n\nTurd Bravo: Hahaha! BLEEP, Snooki just attacked him! Went right for the 'stache! It was BLEEPin' hilarious! Hahaha...But only for a second. It got weird pretty quick after that. He didn't fight back or anything. Just sat there, didn't move a inch. Like a BLEEPin' rock.\n\nTurd 1: Like a rock, bro. I mean, we all know that bitch is BLEEPin' crazy, but he didn't even flinch. Dude's got balls of steel.\n\nThird Turd: It was really weird because, like, he didn't even look at her. She was grabbin' his hair and pullin' it out. I'm pretty sure she bit him. Yeah, he kept starin' off, like he was thinkin'. I don't really know what that guy is. Creepy, I guess.\n\nSnooki: I'm just gonna spend more time drinking around the Shore, outta this house. I can't deal with this BLEEP. ", "Nietzsche stared around the room while he twirled his mustache and realising that these people almost embodied the ubermenshen, they decided everything by themself not by some man made god, they indulged into everything that Dionysius represented however they did still follow those stupid beliefs about how to act. They have both fallen and risen, in the end arriving at nowhere. \n\nSoon that would all change. ", "I approve of this writing prompt.", "This isn't something I'm writing, but this reminds me of an anecdote about Nietzsche that my first year philosophy prof told us. Apparently some people he knew once invited him to go to a piano recital with them. When he arrived he discovered that they had tricked him into going to a whorehouse. Apparently he walked over to a nearby piano, put his head down, and stubbornly played Wagner to himself, refusing to acknowledge any of what was going on around him.\n\nSome of the details of this story might be questionable as I heard it ten years ago, but it's sort of relevant and might add a little context for people trying to figure out Nietzsche's personality type.", "The musclebound freaks try to speak, but the words just don't come out. They're mouths are open and their vapid minds are utterly blank; impotent mouths on redundant bodies.\n\nIt's Nietzche's moustache that's doing it. They can't take their damn eyes of it. 7 inches of gloriously twisted face furniture, immobilising them. The man doesn't even need to say anything, he just looks at them with his pearcing grey eyes and his wondrous bushy lip. Will to power indeed." ]

[ 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 9, 17, 56 ]

[ "1386563332", "1386570872", "1386556762", "1386568424", "1386543848", "1386550221", "1386555214", "1386543326" ]

[ "*You can't make me.* \n\nThose words echoed in Adam's head before he opened his eyes. Once open, the words were released from his head, as if from a PA system. Now, the whole world trembled with the sound of his thoughts. Or, at least, what he thought was the world. Adam was not at his desk at Goldman Sachs' Manhattan office, resisting the urge to take a nap. Adam was standing on the very edge of a precipice facing out over a restless ocean. With a startled gasp and panicked movements, he fell back onto his ass and crab-walked to perceived safety. \n\n*You can't make me*. This time, the voice was even clearer as it echoed across the rocks of the cliff and the non-existent ceiling in a night-time sky. Something about the phrase struck Adam in such a way that he fixated on the words. Their cacophony produced a pain in his stomach and a distracted glaze in his mind. He could not pin a face to the voice, but it was haunting, nonetheless. Once disorientation wore off, he noticed that the moon was incredibly close to the Earth tonight. Then, the confusion rolled in. While shivering from the frigid wind blowing against his back from a darkened landscape without trees or buildings, Adam questioned his situation in low mutters: \"Where am I? Did I get mugged in a park outside the city?\" \n\n\"No!\" a cheerful voice answered his question from just below the cliff. Adam scrambled back to the cliff on his hands and knees, but before he made it there, feet were in front of his face. Craning his neck, Adam's eyes were locked onto a beautiful woman whose appearance, defying logic, gleamed with the radiance of mid-day sunshine. It was a familiar face, but Adam could not nail it down, much like the voice emerging from the clouds, or so it seemed. \n\n\"W-who are you?\" Adam stuttered, standing up and brushing off his Armani suit. \n\nA pause, and she answered, \"I am your hope,\" followed by a coy smile, like a child playing a secret game, the woman continued, \"and while you may be confused and scared about where you are, you need not be. Fear not, Adam, you are having a dream. The ocean waters below this point are the depths of your doubts, fears, and disappointment. The tides that push against the rocks below are your hopelessness; the creature that lives beneath the surface is your resentment. \n\nStaring out into the horizon, where ocean met a starry sky, Adam thought, “This chick is completely out of her mind.” As if responding, the sky released his thoughts with a clear ring, however, his voice not a sound, but the very wind. Embarassed, Adam turned towards the glowing girl and chocked out a “Sorry”. His hope seemed unfazed. \n\n“It’s ok, I get that a lot from you,” her cheery voice replied, although this time with an unmistakably metallic, frail undertone. \n\nAdam’s eyes opened wide and he got very excited. He formed an idea and laid it out for Hope. \n“So, if this is my dream, and this is some sort of empty landscape, can I terraform it or whatever?” \nShe nodded. \nEven more excited, he continued, “So I can create characters, histories, new stories.. my own world?!” \nShe nodded, but spoke once more in her cheery voice, “You can build a world that will look and respond to you as if it were the real world. It will be more *real* than any movie, book, or video game, but it will not be the real world.” \n\nWithout a second thought, Adam began. For many dream years, Adam toiled to build a perfect world. With Hope by his side, assisting along the way, he constructed a massive, deep, platform that crossed the ocean and was made of earth and steel. Then, he built a beautiful sun of orange and red that hovered over the sky. Filling the world with creatures, beatiful tropical plants, and majestic rivers, Adam used every bit of his knowledge to construct a world that, in his past visions, was perfect. \n\nUsing Hope’s counsel, Adam constructed nations that coexisted, but had beautiful separate cultures and spiritual systems praising peace and a love of “Hope”, the name of the universe that Adam created. With love for Adam and Hope, the citizens of their new world created unheard of inventions, presided over the development of revolutionary ideologies and political systems, and managed to eliminate poverty and sadness. Adam even created a city for himself to live in that was almost exactly like New York City, except that it was cleaner, and only the beatiful parts of it that he could remember were there. Everyone in the city was friendly, open, and had no work to do. Adam made the use of excel spreadsheets illegal. \n\nAfter 100 years of this, Adam started to grow restless. He was no older of mind or body, however, he also had none of the satisfaction that typically accumulated with human life. He thought he would gain satisfaction from this new world that he created. He began to find that the only time he could be content was when he was with Hope. Even then, something on the edge of his mind seemed to allude him. \n\nOne day, when sitting in his waterfall garden with Hope, his pet tiger by his side, Adam’s pensive mind found a sentence to with which to start. \n\nWith furrowed brows, Adam asked, “Hope, why don’t you change?” \n \n“Ah, it is time. I have changed before. Before this dream, I had dark hair. Once, I was very good at playing the guitar. At other times, when you’ve been particularly confused, I’m just a cloud of changing images. Once, I was even an astronaut!” She set down her cup of tea and her image seemed to shine even more, the light blinding Adam to their surroundings. \n\nAdam’s mind, restless and sprinting through doors that had remained unopened for many years, began to form an idea of what Hope was, and who she now resembled. Revelation struck, and Adam stood up in shock. \n\n“You’re Christina.” \n\n“I am not Christina. I am your hope, to put it simply. I am your focus in life. I am the end goal of what you perceive to be happiness. I have taken Christina’s form. But, truly, it is she who has consumed me.” \n\nAdam’s mind was blown, as he would put it. Then, joy seemed to fill his heart and the dream Sun burst forth with a fierceness that caused all the imaginary citizens to stop and squint. He didn’t have to wake up! He could have Christina now, in this perfect world. He truly believed that Hope had already fallen in love with him, as he her. \n\n“Hope, or Christina, this is perfect. We will have to get married. It will be the most wonderful ceremony this world, or any other universe has ever seen.” \n\nWith a cheery expression still on her face, Hope stood up and spoke with conviction to the dreaming man. \n\n“That won’t happen, Adam.” \n\n“Why?” \n\n“I don’t love you, Adam.” \n\n“I don’t understand, how couldn’t you?” \n\n“When I am in a cloud, sometimes your hope is good, realistic, and selfless. It can be a vision that would help perfect the real world. However, it always devolves into something that is unrealistic, and mostly selfish. Like this world, you create universes in your mind that are often unrealistic and limited to your perceptions. The truth is that I am not Christina, who does not love you. Another sad truth is that the only solid hopes you have ever had, manifested themselves in unrealistic and selfish ways. In this understanding, you may love your Hope, but it may never love you. That is how the ocean beneath us was created. That is how sick, confused despair has gained control over your being, and you cannot hide it with fantasies. This is not the first time you ended up here, but it may be the last.” \n\nAdam, screaming, kneeled down as a sudden, piercing pain in his head overcame his thoughts. It sounded as though a shrill whistle was blasting down from the heavens. The sun went dark and the ground beneath him began to crumble away. Then, the sound was gone, replaced the dull roar of waves against rock. Standing and opening his eyes, he once again saw endless ocean and dark sky. This time, the waves were thrashing harder than ever. Hope was now gone. \n\nTurning around in bewildered despair, Adam yelled at the empty sky, “Why won’t you love me? Why?” \n\nThe voice that was unmistakably Christina’s rang from the sky like the sound of a knife being sharpened. \n\n*You can’t make me.* \n\nSobbing uncontrollably, Adam stood at the edge of the cliff. Tthe waves seemed pick up their pace. His mind went dark, and it felt as though his soul was engulfed in flames. Once again, the landscape behind was featureless. Suddenly, a rusty voice spoke from behind Adam’s head, although he could not bring himself to turn around. \n\n“If you want to wake up from this silly dream, join me in the warm water below.” \n\n“Who are you?” \n\n“I am your righteous anger. I am reality. I am the only one who has never lied to you, or played you with subtle tricks. My bond with you is real and unbreakable. Who is she to tell you that your hopes are unreasonable? You deserve so much more. If this world won’t give it to you, then we can at least be happy together. Join me.” \n\n“You’re Resentment. Hope warned me about you.” \n\n“Her? She’s not hope. She is the spite of reality. She is more temptress than I will ever be. All I want for you to do is accept who you are.” \n\nLike a heavy load, the hands of Resentment on Adam’s shoulder felt like clenched fists of iron. Slowly but steadily, he began pulling Adam towards the edge. Adam gulped and prepared to sink into the mire below, sure that he would wake up with a face in a puddle of drool on his work desk. Before he fell, Adam turned around to gather a look at the face of Resentment. Shocked, and in suprised terror, Adam collected a vision of himself, scarred face and smug grin. \n\nBefore he could process the ugliness of reality, he felt his back snap on the rocky surface below. \n\nThe dream world disappeared and Adam awoke facing the sky once more. He was wrong, however. The ugliness of reality *was* waiting for him, along with the asphalt on the street below. \n\n\n\n\nEdit: The last two sentences were accidentally not copied and pasted in the first posting. I don't think it changes the story too much. ", "I actually do this every couple nights. Lucid dreams are great! ", "\"Lucid dreaming is great, Nick. You gotta try it out sometime. It's like TV for your brain.\"\n\nTrying not to sound annoyed, I tried to end the conversation here and now: \n\"yeah man, I've tried lucid dreaming but to be honest, I should really study for finals. Besides, when are you going to pay me back for the side-view mirror?\"\n\nHe stutters and stammers as his face suddenly pales, mouthing off something to the effect of 'owing more dangerous people than me' and promises to pay me back as soon as he can. I can see him struggling to make an excuse and not wanting to torment my pal any longer, I tell him to just leave me alone. He smiles and reiterates his promise before bolting out of my apartment. A little financially irresponsible and reckless, but I love him like a brother regardless.\n\nThe silence begins to replace Gabe's usual loudness and my mind starts to play around with the idea of dream lucidity. Sure, dreaming is pretty neat by itself, but being aware and being able to control them? That could give me the opportunities that I could never fulfill in reality.\n\nTurns out Gabe was right. It really was great. The first few weeks were interesting, but on the fourth week I achieved a more lucid state of dreaming. I discovered that I now had complete lucidity over my dreams. Complete awareness, clarity, and control. Such great power.\n\nAt first, I did the things everyone did. I flew in the sky, experiencing flight like a superhero would. I spun around in circles, watching my setting change right before my eyes. I transformed myself, into an animal, a machine, a superhuman. In my dream state, I was my own god.\n\nThen, I started to dabble in more realistic fantasies. I began to see my ex in my dreams. I let her talk to me, and we would recall all the good and bad in our relationship. I held her for the first time since her death. I dreamed of being successful, owning several sportscars, or diving in stacks of cash. I dreamed of saving people from robberies, muggings, and assaults, effectively becoming a vigilante inside of my dreams. Everything that I did, had no consequence. It was perfect. It was, after all, my own world.\n\nBut everything comes at a cost. I traded aspects of my reality to feed my fantasy. My expectations rose above normal, and misfortunes became amplified. I lost my job, and my academics worsened. Several bouts of depression and emotional breakdowns didn't do much to help either. I soon became addicted. I spent at least ten hours sleeping, desperate to return to my dream world. I became a recluse, only leaving my apartment to purchase food and hygiene products.\n\nThen, it all stopped. The lucidity was gone. I developed insomnia and slowly lost sleep in increasing rates. I don't know. All I know is that I feel empty, hollow, and weak when I'm not asleep. My body craved sleep, but was unable to. I felt like a heroin junkie, feeling the need to shoot up another dose to achieve my high.\n\nI don't know where it all went wrong, and I don't know if I ever could have been helped. My life was terrible as is, but I think the lucid dreaming just widened the gap between my expectations and reality. Is lucid dreaming the cause? Or is it merely a part of the process? Are our dreams reality? Is it possible that by achieving a lucid dream, you enter another dimension? I honestly don't know. All I know is that I need to dream.\n\nNow, I know that this is a lot to read, but that's okay. All you need to know is that I don't want you to wake me up, whoever finds this note. Just keep me asleep. That's my dying wish.", "\n\nNot even God was beyond reproach. In his dreams Finn was beyond God. Waking up was a torment, a torture that steadily grew more unbearable. In his dreams Diane Cronin was his girlfriend, in the morning she was still his neighbour, oblivious to his affections. Nate was the man of Diane's dreams and who could blame them? They were both young doctors, madly in love and going places. A few more months and they'd be out of Finn's dilapidated apartment block, whisked away to a better life. Finn knew he was only a footnote in Diane's life, but there was one way he could change it.\n\nFinn entered his dreamworld for the final time. He let his powers loose instantly. \"Behold world, I am your God now\" he said.\n\nNate never existed. He wasn't gone but, he never existed. Such were Finn's powers. Diane became his and he felt her amorous actions. She kissed him like she would kiss Nate, she called him \"honey\" and told him she loved him. Finn could feel she meant it, but something was not quite right. \"*This isn't going to end well*\" a voice told him.\n\nNate was just putting his key in the door when he could smell Finn's ambition. It smelt of ash. Nate started hammering on Finn's door. He could hear the flames purring on the other side. \"Finn, you there man?\" he yelled. \nNate had no choice: he burst down Finn's door.\n\nDiane giggled as she played with Finn's hair. \"I wish we were at the Eiffel Tower\" she sighed absently. \nFinn grinned in response. \"Done\" he said.\nInstantly they were atop the Eiffel Tower, overlooking the darkened Parisienne cityscape. Diane gasped in delight. She threw her arms around Finn. \n\"Oh it's so beautiful, Finn. I love you so much\" she cried. \n\"I love you too\" replied Finn. \n\"*None of this is real, you know*\" the voice told Finn.\n\"It could be\" Finn yelled angrily. Then he smiled. He had an idea.\n\nNate saw Finn stretched out on his couch. He must have been surrounded by three dozen bottles of sleeping pills. And in case that didn't do the trick, the fumes would. Nate wrestled with Finn's limp body and tried to bring him towards the corridor.\n\nIt was so simple. Finn knew his power was limitless in his dreamworld. His eyes glared as he attempted it. Every muscle in his body hurt, and his vision went screwy.\n\"Finn?\" called Diane. Funny, Finn thought. That sounded almost like Nate.\nFinn collapsed in a heap into Diane's arms, once more atop the Eiffel Tower.\n\"Finn? What did you do Finn?\" asked Diane. Finn laughed at her. At the world.\n\"I made it all real\" he cackled.\n\"*Oh boy, this is going to end really well*\"\n\nNate was no longer saving Finn. Such a life no longer happened. It was just a dream Finn had once.\n\nFor a few months everything worked perfectly. Finn was treated as God, him and Diane were free to spend their days together. The compassion Finn felt for her eclipsed love. It was a power all of its own. Yet though the speaker in his head had gone, things began going wrong. Using his powers became more of a burden. Glitches occurred. It was a worrying prospect, that Finn could no longer control his powers.\n\nThere was no Finn in a burning building. There was no Nate to save him. There was no Diane waiting by a hospital bed.\n\n\"How long?\" asked Diane one day.\n\"How long what?\"\n\"How long have we been together?\"\n\"I don't know\". Finn tried to calculate it. \"A thousand years? Ten thousand?\" When Finn thought about it, the glitching happened.\n\n\nThere were ten thousand Finns, all chasing Diane. \"Finn\" she screamed. But Finn felt powerless. He couldn't stop the tide of bodies charging towards her. What was causing this?\n\"*You are*\"\nWhat? \n\"*They are all you, going after the one thing they all want*\"\nHow is this possible?\n\"*Bending consciousness? Altering reality? How is that possible? They all belong to your sub-conscious. The piper no longer plays the tune*\"\nFinn tore after the frightened Diane. Everything went blank.\n\nThey were at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Finn grabbed onto Diane's wrist. \"Diane, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault\"\nDiane didn't understand. She yelled hysterically at Finn to stop this, to save them. The thousands of Finns converged on them. A darkness edged its way to them. Finn couldn't see beyond the darkness: now the manifestations of his sub-conscious weren't worrying him as much. \n\"I'm sorry Diane. There's only one thing I can do\" Finn held off for as long as possible before he did it. He held Diane tightly, crying softly into her hair.\n\"I love you\" he breathed as he was engulfed by darkness.\n\nDiane awoke in the hospital. She was sitting by Nate's bedside. She rubbed her tired eyes and slid her hand up and down Nate's arm.\n\"So partner, care to tell me why you're in hospital?\" she asked with a smirk.\nNate too was only waking up. \"I have absolutely no idea\" he yawned." ]

[ 1, 1, 2, 5 ]

[ "1386631438", "1386636235", "1386626431", "1386626377" ]

[ "I think OP may have just watched *Sliders*.", "NOTE: I'm typing up a first draft and submitting it because I have work in an hour and don't know if reddit does drafts. \n\nIt's been about a year since the Y-Killer struck. Society marches on.\n\nThe first couple of weeks when it struck were a cacophony of fear and desperation. When the first day ended, the rumors began- was it an STD? A new form of virus? A terrorist bioweapon?\n\n\nWe still don't know. Say what you will about gender equality; you can't shrug off half the population disappearing. We're limping on, but the human races' scales became a bit more balanced, if that makes any sense.\n\n\nYou see, the first month it became apparent our society was top-heavy with men. When we all started dying, things just stopped. Some survivors, god bless them, still cry about the inferior and fairer sex. I like to think that they've seen the worst of the world and are just lashing out, but it's probably just how they were raised in our society pre-YK. When the governments came down and the streets filled with filth, they got on their soapboxes and forums and lamented the end of the world. Instead of picking up a fucking shovel and cleaning up.\n\n\nI suppose that's what YK illuminated- laziness. Some survivors thought they were hot shit- they formed a guild and refused to propagate unless they were heavily compensated. It started out as a misguided misogynistic power play (the majority of these guys were just trying to make the best out of a pandemic) but it betrayed the bitter future of the capitalization of genetic code. \n\n\nMy penis, my sperm, are vital to the next generation- I'm told countless times to be careful and avoid just giving it out for free. Women want me to be sparse because if I give it away for free a black market economy that our post YK society revolves around can deflate. The few men enforce this any way they can because I'm free competition and skewing their profit margin. The radical feminists hate this, but in a way men are still the driving force of the world.\n\n\nBut I don't like saying that. Even before this all happened, I never subscribed to one gender being better- we're all a part of the same race, and races have sexual reproduction capabilities to facilitate survival. It's two sides of the same coin, and when people forget that simple fact is when people get arrogant and pig-headed. \nI've always been an idealist. It's why I let women sweet-talk me into giving them a baby. I can save the world now... I was just a bellboy before YK. Now every time I fuck some women and she pulls out her purse, I wave her away. \"This is what I'm doing for our race,\" I say.\"This is how I make the world RIGHT.\"\n\n\nSome days I get jumped by a crowd. Usually it's the feminists. I hear whispers from the few men I see and the women I lie with about talks of a serum being developed that is instantaneous Viagra. Women beat up a man, inject them with it, and rape them. Some of this is just to scare men like me from giving my code away for free. I know I've been followed at least twice.\n\nI've been beaten down by a mob before, and a few women tried to force a blue pill down my throat, but I threw it up. I spent three weeks in recovery. They make sure not to kill you. They lynch anyone who kills a man. \n\nAfter that, I live my life with the constant air of suspicion. When everyone wants to tell you what to do, when everyone has a stake in your code, everyone has a motive and the only innocent man is me. Men trade sex for private military contractors, but they're just mobs of women enforcing the coding prices and beating down scabbers like me. Some volunteer for free because they just like hitting men.\n\nI can't go into a safehouse. I hear they masturbate you while you sleep, tie you down and just milk you and feed you scraps until you can't move, you're so feeble. These are just rumors, but I never heard of anyone going into a safehouse and coming back out.\n\nSo, I think I'm going to leave the city. Out west, things are a bit less fucked, I hear. Less of the old-world economy and more people being with people. I just have to figure out a way past the checkpoints.\n\nJohn Baker, 2045", "Y, the last man. Ten trade comics, one great story. But that has nothing on the reality of my situation.\n\nAfter world war the second, the Chinese under Mao Zedong instituted a policy meant to limit their population growth. Unfortunately, Chinese culture put strong emphasis on male progeny. India used to do it too. Infanticide. Gendercide. Little baby girls were killed in the thousands. It got to the point that before the plague, China's population was, for the most part, male. Call it a Shyamalan twist, what I expect was one of their slapdash science experiments fixed the problem.\n\nSo here I sit in the good old U S of A, the only man in a hundred or so miles. One in ten of us survived, but that kind of inverse decimation isn't as consistent as the scientists would lead you to believe. One in ten. The greatest stud to ever live said \"Never tell me the odds\". Fuck that guy.\n\nSorry, a bit distracted at the moment. Back to my earlier point. See, Y's main protagonist, its leading man if you'll excuse the pun is a dweeby 20 something escape artist. I wish i could say the same for myself. It ain't like the funny pages kids. I'm breeding stock. Little more than a baby maker on legs to these people. Meat. They call me Meat.\n\nThey fixed things up faster in real life. It the funnies it was an instantaneous purging of all male mammals. In real life, the sickness was a bit more pronounced. Think more *The Stand*, less *Armageddon*. Anyway, folks adjusted. The lucky dudes found themselves to be the most eligible bastards, excuse me, bachelors in the world. If I thought things were bad for my kind of guy before... Every morning they give me my pill and pull me from the \"Meat locker\". They pass me around like a peace pipe. Unfortunately, \"I can't get no satisfaction\". See, lady folk aren't really my cup of tea if you catch my drift, and I'm no longer a 20 something young buck who can fight back. Not by a long shot. At least there's the comics. And the movies. And the history books.", "Hey OP, I like the prompt, and I started writing a comment but I realized it was pretty derivative of [this graphic novel](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Y:_The_Last_Man) which I read a while back. Instead of 10% remaining, it's just one guy, but other than that it's as if someone wrote 60 comics in response to your prompt.", "Ten percent was immune to the virus. Ten percent was all that was left. Ten percent seems like such a large number to me now. One percent is all that remains. \n\n\nWe as men had no clue women were planning something so nefarious. we always joked that women were crazy, that women were too emotional, and that we were always better at math and science. They sure proved us wrong on that last one. Unknown to all men everywhere, our 'better halves' had developed a biological weapon to target all humans with the Y chromosome. Apparently they unanimously decided it was for the best. Not like they needed us anymore anyway, not since we as a society had developed a method to artificially create fully functioning sperm with all the genetic traits that a person wanted. No, we weren't needed anymore. I just wish the ones that were immune weren't hunted down for sport.", "Well I guess they legalized polygamy now. It's the only way we can keep the population going strong. /fin.", "\"Hey there.\"\n\n\"Um.. hi.\"\n\n\"Can I buy you a drink?\"\n\n\"Uh...\"\n\n\"Listen, I saw you across the bar, and thought you might be nice to talk to. Can I buy you a drink?\"\n\n\"God this is awkward.\"\n\n\"Let's start over. Hi. I'm Jo.\"\n\n\"Uh, Jo, can't you see I'm here with my girlfriends?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah, but...\"\n\n\"Jo, you're probably a very nice guy, and that girl at the end of the bar? She's been looking at you like a lunchpack since you came in.\"\n\n\"Ha. Celine and I have kind of a weird history.\"\n\n\"Um... I'm really trying not to be rude, but I'd like to get back to my girlfriends, OK?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" another voice. \"Can you back off please?\" \n\n\"Oh... I didn't know you were here together.\"\n\n\"Well we are, so kindly step away.\"\n\n\"Hey, I'm not doing anything wrong here.\"\n\n\"Yeah! Why don't you come back to my place! I've got a blindfold and a big grey wall!\"\n\nI shuddered, felt my ears get hot, my stomach pitch. \"OK. I'm going.\"\n\n\"What? You don't like that? Why don't you get a fucking sense of humor?\"\n\nVoice shaking. \"I said I'm going!\"\n\nBlindfolds! Jesus! I remember telling a girl to get a sense of humor when somebody made a rape joke... but now maybe I know how she felt. Every time somebody mentions a blindfold and a blank wall, I have a panic attack. Dave was one of them: my best friend had bought this book about getting girls in the sack, put it to practice for a few years, and I was there when they went through his phone, saw the phone numbers of his discarded conquests, the trophy pictures taken of sleeping women. I walked past his body for three days, blindfolded, bullet-pocked, beside dozens of other men whose dating habits were more about collection than courtship. \n\nBack to my apartment, alone again, as the over-hot shower rolled over my shoulders, memories of the plague washed off my back and slid down the drain in a little whirlpool. The guys who survived the decimation thought they'd be headed for an all-lady buffet. But when the women figured out they held all the strings now, the pick-up artists were the first against the wall, with those damned blindfolds. The rest of us... despite more choice, having all the power in society means women feel more comfortable saying \"no,\" and after seeing the pick-up artists' bodies, left out in the street for three days before disposal, to send a message, most of us were content to lay low, not changing much about the way we'd gone about our affairs.\n\nOh, there are women like Celine: those same women you'd have met before the decimation, who reeked \"marry me\" pheromones and made you want to do anything but... like that picture from that internet meme (the internet's different now, too: \"Cock or GTFO\"), and Glen, the floor above me... I heard him make sport of some of them, and heard the thrown dishes shatter as he tried to let them down gently, and they wouldn't have it. He's lucky that edict against lynchings passed, and mostly holds, after most of the PUAs had been... \"removed.\" \n\nI wanted none of that. Problem was, if you had no game before the decimation, after it, you still had no game.\n\nOn the bright side, profits had never been higher for my business, manufacturing batteries.", "I don't know how it is in other places. I only know what it is like here.\n\nWhen people started dying, there was mass panic. At first, it was because we all thought we were at risk, but gradually people came to understand the disease. That if you didn't have a Y-chromosome, you were safe. \n\nNot just that, but supposing you have a Y-chromosome, if you've got the right mutation on your X, you're alright. They still haven't figured out how the same genes that cause red-green color blindness can also keep you safe from the plague, but sure enough... \n\nAll my life, I grew up thinking I had pulled a short-straw, and I was just unlucky. I'd color in a coloring book and get yelled at, get told it was all wrong. How should I know what grass looks like to everyone else? A stop sign? Even later on, I used to think I wore lots of blacks, and grays and browns until my buddy told me otherwise. I ended up just giving away half my clothes. All the way up to about mid-way through everyone dying, I thought I had it bad. \n\nBy then, they already knew that women weren't affected, but they eventually realized that all the guys who didn't get sick were like me. And now we're all that's left, as far as I know. A world full of guys who can't dress themselves and don't know what a firetruck looks like. \n\nIt's funny, in a dark, perverse sort of way. You hear the stories about the Hutus and Tutsies in Rwanda, about how a disenfranchised group will retaliate with the exact same behavior, if not worse, once they come to power. \n\nFor the first few years, it wasn't too bad. I mean, it was sort of great. There was no competition, and there are plenty of girls who just want to get laid. Things started changing though. They started legislating things. Making it illegal to get a vasectomy, that was a weird one. Then they said that men who already had vasectomies had to have them reversed. Medical records were all made available to the government, and all the surviving men who had vasectomies were arrested. They performed the surgery whether you agreed to it or not.\n\n\"With the human race at risk, we cannot abide the selfish desires of the few to overcome our need to live on as a species.\" And what could we do? Most of the old, rich, white men in politics had died. With mostly women left alive, all our politicians were women. I wouldn't have said it was a bad thing, until it was.\n\nSome of used to joke about how it had to take something like this before we got our first female president, but it was mostly supposed to poke fun about how fucked up our society was before. How men had held on to everything, and had made the laws, isolated the power. Legislated what women can do with their bodies. Things changed, though. The \"right to choice\" stopped being about abortion, and started to be about the mandated sperm donations. Some guys didn't want to participate, and they got thrown in jail. They fucking milked them. You go to jail, you get milked, hooked up to machines, monitored. They'd feed you shit through IVs to keep you healthy, and sedated, and producing sperm.\n\nAnd sure, people protested. Some did. Not many. The men didn't want to call attention to themselves, and the women who did were a minority. People treated them like traitors, not just to the country, but to humanity. They acted like these women wanted to... wanted to destroy us all, or something. Because they didn't want us to be treated like farm animals. \n\nI've been hiding in the basement of an old apartment building. It was condemned down here, but there's still power and water. It's probably being billed to another apartment, who knows. It isn't safe to go outside anymore. I mean, the mandate got ridiculous, if you fell short on your quota then they took you away, and there just... there was no way to make it work. \n\nEven married guys were expected to \"donate\" sperm. The way the government saw it, having sex with only one woman was detrimental to our species. \n\nThey did at least allow you to fill out a form, so if you didn't donate your sperm, or if you fell short, you could fill out the paperwork and get the women to sign, saying you'd had sex with them without using protection, and that they were ovulating. That it was \"productive\" sex. \n\nBefore I moved down here, I didn't know anyone left out there, free. It was rare to see other men before all the laws crept up, but afterwards they all just started disappearing. A scarce commodity that has to be \"protected.\" \n\nBut I'm already a prisoner here. I'm hunted, they **are** looking for me, I haven't filled my quota in months. Every day passes and I wait down here in fear, like a rat in a cage, wondering if the next steps I hear on the floor above me will be the squads they send out looking for us. Looking for me. \n\nI'm afraid. I want to be free. If I thought I could get away, I'd try to just get out and leave the city, but there's no way I could get out. I have no means of travel, no way to hide myself. They have check points at every road out of the city, and trying to leave on foot may as well be impossible. \n\nI've gone over every possibility, and there's no opportunity left. No way out. Well, one way. Two, I guess. I could give up, and surrender myself to them. I could, but I won't. \n\nShe wouldn't bring me any weapons, and she wouldn't bring me drugs. The woman who brings me food. She was one of the people who protested, back when it all began. She refused to advocate violence. \n\nBut she brought me a razor. So I can shave. \n\nI've taken it apart. Who needs 5 blades anyway?\n\nI know there are those of you who might read this who will think I am a traitor. That I have betrayed our species, and that I deserve something worse than death for this. \n\nI beg you, if you find me, to look at me, at what's left of me, and see how desperate it is for us now. To see what you've made us. \n\nI am not an animal. I am a man. The blood here will bear witness of the last act that a man might make, with the world being how you've made it. Treat us how you may, *YOU* are the animals.\n\nGoodbye.", "\"Broodmale.\"\n\nThat's what she called me. Dad had used the word once or twice, and the sound of it carried the same disdain. The word sliced from her teeth like a sonic papercut and I flinched.\n\nI squinted against the flashing lights, catching glimpses of four or five figures standing around me. There was an exchange between the women, a few commands over the radio, and they converged on me. \n\nWe'd gone into hiding about two months ago, after the rumors started: Men being kidnapped and disappearing. It used to be that when someone went missing, hardly anyone noticed. These days, a man goes missing, it's headline news. It was a strange time, two months ago. About the time dad was blackstaff'd, he'd decided it was time to go into hiding. The stories that didn't seem true had taken on a startling reality. The police seemed powerless, politicians didn't even mention it. Only rumor and the occasional story when a Vital went missing. Some women even took to putting GPS collars on their men and kids, like those used for felons on house arrest. No one was safe. The longer we stayed, the more likely we were to vanish. \n\nIt was 1 AM when dad drug me from my bed, my backpack bulging in his hand. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to. Mom didn't know and she wasn't going to. She hadn't been the same since the plague ended and got much worse after the rape. She became aggressive, easily frustrated, and buried herself in work. When we did see her, she wasn't alive but just breathing. Going into hiding seemed just as logical as suicide.\n\nSuicide did seem to be the most common response when the plague started, though. I read about this one woman who lost her father, four young sons, and her husband over two days. At the time, I was too terrified to let it bother me, but as the hours of survival turned into weeks, I thought about it. When you really connect with someone, even a total stranger your met in a tabloid, it burns in your heart like a bead of acid that you can't ignore. That woman committed suicide wearing a hospital gown in her kids' room. To this day I can't imagine the emptiness she must have felt.\n\nThe suicides continued. Almost every one of them was a distraught woman. Some women had heard that sperm was an anti-depressant, and with the plague only claiming men, they must have decided they wouldn't be happy again. I have no idea how many thousands committed suicide because of this story, but it was two weeks later before some scientists called bullshit on that 'research'. Anti-depressant drugs were quickly deregulated and sold right off the shelf. Most of the suicides stopped seemingly overnight. And that's when the men started disappearing.\n\nWe couldn't risk getting caught sneaking around after curfew, so we ran out of the city. There was no cover if we took the bridge, so we had to swim. Once we were clear of the city, headed to the mountains. A couple days of hiking through the woods and we found a cabin on a small pond. We waited until it was dark to go inside. A quarter moon on a cloudless night spilled just enough light that we didn't need our flash lights.\n\n\"You know we can't stay here. It's a house, with an address,\" dad said after we had ensured the house was empty.\n\n\"Yeah, I know. It would be a great place, though.\" I said wistfully, looking at the rope swing that hung neglected from a tree. A cool breeze carried a birds song.\n\n\"Let's take what we need and keep heading up.\" Dad was opening the cabinets quickly, stuffing canned goods into his pack. \"Caves are a couple more days up.\" I nodded and loaded up my pack.\n\nAfter we were done, I flicked on the television. It was a national news channel reporting on some major incidents, with reporters tripping over themselves in the rush to get the scoop. A ticker at the bottom was keeping a running count of men that were dead world wide. When that number got to big, it had switched to the percentage of surviving males. The number flashed \"10%\". My dad hung his head and turned his hands palms up. I stared at the number in disbelief.\n\n\"That can't be right...\" I stammered. It couldn't, right? TEN PERCENT?! The full burden of this hadn't finished weighing on me when President Clinton flashed on the screen. She was talking but I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating so profusely that my body shook. Dad put his hand on my shoulder. And that's when we heard those two words that completely changed everything.\"\n\n\"... martial law....\"\n\n\"Let's go, Mal. NOW.\" Dad gave me a quick shove as he moved to the door. I stood there, waiting for the room to stop spinning.\n\n\"What does that me...\"\n\n\"It means were leaving, Malcolm. Get your shit in one sock and let's go. NOW.\" His voice was sharp and determined. \"We're no longer runaways, we're criminals.\"\n\n\"Wait, seriously?! Because we have a DICK?!\"\n\n\"We were the most valuable commodity on the planet because we have a dick, son. We're criminals because that dick is surrounded by legs that ran.\" I couldn't keep the laugh in anymore. I laughed way more than was appropriate. Dad ripped a chuckle and pushed me outside. I stepped through the door and was immediately confronted with rifle in the hands of a young female soldier. The entire house was suddenly bathed in flood lights.\n\n\"Broodmale.\"\n\nAs the figures descended on me, I heard my dad yell behind me. His last word on this planet was my name and filled with the terror only a parent knows. A flash of light and the crack of the rifle silenced him. The only sound I heard after that was my own scream.\n\nI don't know how much time passed, nor do I remember anything for a few days after that. I'm in this room now, a prisoner. I'm given food, but no one speaks to me. I haven't seen a person's face in.. well, there's 19 marks on the wall, so 19 days. That means my birthday is in two days. I'll be 9. No one's even asked my name...", "Chloe tends to stick around the house, most days. She enjoys spending time, caring for the livestock and such, but that ain't really the reason she stays home. I couldn't help but cry when I saw 'em throwing rocks and garbage at her. I chased the lot of 'em off, but I know it still weighs on her. Nobody should ever have to go through what she endured when we first started seeing each other. \n\nSee, going on about six years ago, a pandemic wiped out around ninety percent of the male population, and up to a high of  fifteen percent of the female population in some areas. Most folks gloss over the women who died in the disease, but I doubt they've forgotten.\n\nNow, Chloe took ill from the disease, but she exhibited relatively minor symptoms, as was the case for most women, from what I've heard. It did, however, make her infertile, and that's half of why the other women hate her. \n\nThe other side of this vitriol is based on the fact that we're in love. Do I obey the law, and donate sperm at least once a month? Yes, but that's not gonna please people. I can understand, at least in that humans are humans, and sex isn't just for breeding.\n\nHowever, I finally found something meaningful. I found someone who loves me, and she loves me because of who I am, not how lucky I got. In that, I won a lottery that I thought impossible to win. Even most of the horny bastards started to want an actual relationship, but that's not the kind of thing that happens these days. \n\nChloe and I have even made some friends. For instance, here's a lovely couple of guys who live on the land next to us... Brad and Michael. They have even better security than we do. They have to. Around here, things weren't great for gay guys, before the pandemic, but now it's a million times worse. Frankly, I worry a lot about them every time the women show up at our land, since they're normally over at the boys' as well.\n\nYep... Life is still hard for everybody. You don't lose half your population without things going to hell. I'm really proud of our current president. She's been making a lot of progress, in spite of those sexist assholes who want to keep men in some secure facility. The large majority of women seem to agree that you can't just lock people up because you want their gametes, but there have always been crazy people, politicians, and the poor fools who think there's a difference between the two.", "Once the men had died, the women started constructing robots. The first were too emotional. They sat cross-legged and refused to work. They only wanted to stare at each other and contemplate their painful existence. \n\nThe women made the second batch mute. They too, refused to work. They spent all their time listening at doorways. They ran out to rivers and oceans, pressing their metal ears to the sand. \n\nThe third batch of men were deaf and mute. Their metal eyes screamed the screams they had never heard and could never speak. These were deemed acceptable. They worked, for there was nothing else for them to do. \n\nAfter a time the women grew bored of these metal men. They grew bored of themselves and their cloned selves and their clone's cloned selves. They left in great egg shaped spaceships, searching for a species that could procreate. \n\nThe metal men continued to work until there was no more work to do. One by one they stopped. Unmoving. Unblinking. The rain rusted their joints. The wind wiped away their features. Once their eyes were gone, they could only look inward. \n\nHundreds of years after, the women's children would come to the planet they had originated from. They would take pictures of the broken stone remains of houses and the trees that shot through their roofs. \n\nSome of them would pause by round metal objects rubbed smooth by wind and sand that protruded though the soil like half birthed plant life. They would touch the faces of those once metal men and wonder what was beneath. \n\n*I sort of took a sharp left from the prompt and ended up on Easter Island.*", " Women everywhere. Faces stared at him when he got onto the bus, everyone sized him up. His clean skin, a soft, wrinkleless smooth face that caught the eye of every women he walked past. They always looked at him with hungry, deprived eyes. He went to his home, a single bedroom on the 5th floor of the cheapest apartment in town. The light bulb in the hallway was flickering today, tomorrow it would probably be dead. There were cards and flowers at the door, there always were. Letters that came from girls, girls who saw him and saw where he lived and knocked at his door, and when he did not answer their last feeble attempt was to leave a note. The knocks always came, mostly in the evening. Hopeless, desperate attempts to talk to one of the few, the few young men in the city. They all desired him, wanted to claim him as theirs and bear their children, even if it meant only one night he would stay. The younger ones sometimes even pounded on the door, yelling, screaming, crying. He dreaded the nights where a young, naïve, determined girl would keep making noise in hope of getting his attention. But it never happened, and eventually they would sulk, leave a note, and walk away. The slow, steady clinks of their shoes on the stairs always marked the end. He would breathe a sigh of relief and go back to sleep. \n\n That was his life for seven years. The others went wild, fucked every girl they saw and wanted to fuck. The endless orgies, the simple nod of approval and the girls would squeak in delight, dreaming about the child she could finally have. They fathered hundreds of children, the names of whom never entered their mind. But he, he came into town seven years ago. The first day he came and was seen, a line of girls followed him to his room. Their bright, smiling faces, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. All of them dreamt of seducing him, of making him the one. To finally fulfill the fantasy of every girl, the dream pushed back in their minds because it was so impractical, but so engrained in their desires. To settle down, to seek the one, to love. It was possible before the disease, but now they were defeated by the odds. Nothing was the same after that. But he came and gave them hope, and by 9 o’ clock the line extended past the hallway down the stairs. But he never came out, never even acknowledged their presence. Eventually, one by one, they all went home. He silently waited outside his door, until he heard the last clicks of shoes walking down the stairs. Then he finally went to bed.\n", "As the women sized me up, I lit my cigarette. \n\nI could feel their eyes on me, but I couldn't see them behind the one way mirrors the room was walled with. The ceiling and floor were plated in steel, which felt quite cold on my bare feet. Air vents in the ceiling, almost 30 feet up, made a slight whirring sound. The trapdoor I had come in from was behind me, securely fastened, almost impossible to make out. \n\nYep. I wouldn't gain my freedom anytime soon. I took a drag of my cigarette, and watched in the mirror as the smoke I exhaled traveled up, past my emerald green eyes and raven hair. \n\nI never thought my good looks would get me into this much trouble. \n\nA cool female voice suddenly echoed through the room.\n\n\"Ladies, take your seats. Break time is over. Our next acquisition is Caucasian, and grew up in the United States of America. He was a university level swimmer, and majored in computer science. After graduation, he joined the United States Army special forces. During a tour in China, he received several decorations for valor in combat. Upon China's fall, he returned home and was treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At the age of 24, his stunning features landed him a job as an underwear model.\"\n\nI silently smoked my cigarette, wincing a little bit as I listened to my life story being laid out for these women to judge. Flashbacks of China rose to my mind, and I did my best to block them out.\n\n\"Age is 26. Height is 1.9 meters. Weight is 84 kilograms. Penis is 10 centimeters, flaccid. Erect it is 17 centimeters. Foot size 12. 20/20 vision. Scored a 448 out of 450 on the Physical Fitness Exam. No family history of disease or illness. Has had four sexual partners in the past. Virility stats are off the chart, standing at a 94.3 VPA. Hair is black, eyes are green. You can find the rest of his information on page 13 of your itinerary. Bidding will begin momentarily, with a starting price of 100 million euros. Bidding increments will be in 50 millions. Good luck.\"\n\nI took another long drag of my cigarette, staring at myself in the mirror. If only I had been worth that much money a year ago. I exhaled and chuckled to myself. At least I was alive. \n\nA soft beep filled the air. The bidding had probably started. I looked down at my feet and shivered. Whether it was from the chill on my naked body, or the fact that my future was being decided as I stood there, I don't know. \n\n\"Do I hear 100 million?\"\n\nThe woman had barely finished speaking when another soft tone filled the air.\n\n\"I have 150 million. Do I hear 200?\"\n\nAgain, the woman barely finished speaking when yet another soft tone filled the air. On and on it went, the woman speaking, and tone after tone filling the air. Such was the speed of the auction, that the sound of one tone was still in the air when another sounded. \n\nThe women were voracious, they refused to be outdone by one another. Each of them wanted dearly to claim me as their trophy, so that their clan would rise in power and rank. \n\n\"I have 650 million. Do I hear 700?\"\n\nNo tone rose this time. \n\n\"Going once.\"\n\nNobody was going to outbid that number. A bit of anger stirred within me. I had always prided myself in being the best, and pushing myself as far as I could go. Fuck, if all I was in the world now was a trophy, then I was going to make these cunts pay top dollar for me. \n\n\"Going twice.\"\n\nI still felt the eyes on me. I lowered my cigarette to my side, and looked up to the middle of the mirror, and flashed my most charming smile.\n\nA second later, a tone filled the air.\n\nI chuckled. I still had it, damn it. I was one of the best looking guys in the modeling game before the plague, so I was practically god tier now. \n\nTones continued to ring through the air now, spurred on by my smile. I dropped my head again, slightly proud of my accomplishment. My happiness faded as the reality of my situation set in once more. I was a prisoner, about to be sold into slavery.\n\nThe tones stopped again. When the announcer spoke again, she had lost some of her coolness.\n\n\"I have...1 billion. 1 billion euros. Going once.\"\n\nSilence filled the air.\n\n\"Going twice.\"\n\nI smiled inwardly. That's a number dad would have been proud of. He always was about the numbers.\n\n\"Sold, to buyer number 16. This concludes our auction, ladies. Your acquisitions will be brought to your lounges momentarily. Good night, and thank you for participating.\"\n\nThe trapdoor behind me opened. I threw my cigarette on the floor of the auction chamber in a feeble attempt of defiance, and with nowhere else to go, I climbed down the trapdoor, into another metal plated room. Two attractive young women in pantsuits were waiting for me, a brunette and a blonde. The blonde unceremoniously grabbed me and slapped a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. \n\n\"Follow her,\" the blonde said, pointing at the brunette. \"Your owner awaits.\"\n\n\"And if I refuse?\" I asked coyly. \n\nShe scowled. \"Then you're going to get a couple of bruises, and your owner won't like that.\"\n\nA smile came to my face, and I practically laughed in her face. My muscle tone was well defined, and I was two heads taller than both of the women. \n\nShe saw my amusement and opened her jacket, revealing a holstered Sig Sauer. It made my amusement fade slightly, but just slightly. I looked at the brunette. \n\n\"A couple of guns don't scare me...I have my own pistol to fire.\" I winked and the brunette blushed, her eyes quickly dropping down to my penis, and then back up to my face. The blonde rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, and pushed me in front of her. \n\n\"Walk.\" She ordered. \n\nBitch. I never did like blondes.\n\nAs we walked, we passed a large number of cream colored doors spaced evenly along the dull metal hallway. The brunette stopped at one.\n\n\"This is 16, right?\"\n\nThe blonde sighed again, impatiently. \"Yes.\"\n\nThe brunette cast her a sideways glance, and pulled out a set of keys. She unlocked the door, and opened it. \n\nAs the blonde pushed me inside, I winked at the brunette. \"See you around.\" She blushed again. Who was really in power here, I wondered?\n\nThe door slammed shut behind me, and I looked around. A lavishly decorated room greeted my eyes. On a gold trimmed bed sat a rather fat, older woman wearing a beautiful silk night gown. She stared at me greedily. Behind her, the entire wall was a window, overlooking a city skyline. \n\n\"Well, don't be shy, come here darling. Let Franny take a look at you.\" \n\nI grimaced inwardly and approached 'Franny.' She got up from the bed, with slight difficulty, and trailed a finger from my chest to my abs. \n\n\"Oh yes,\" she muttered under her breath. \"Worth every euro.\" She circled me, finger trailing all the time. I stood there impassively, contemplating the fact that I was genuinely worth 1 billion euros. I didn't know who this woman was, but she must be the head of a very prestigious clan. \n\nShe stopped suddenly in front of me, looking up into my eyes. I stared out into the city skyline, over her head. I saw Big Ben; we were in London. \n\n\"You're perfect, aren't you?\" She said. \n\nI didn't respond. \n\n\"Oh, the strong quiet type? Franny knows how to get you making sounds.\" She grabbed my penis gently, and began fondling it. I continued looking out into the skyline.\n\n\"Oh yes, I used to be quite popular with the men. I had many the suitor, and I knew how to make a man's cock rise fast as lightning.\"\n\nDespite the proclamation of her skills, I was quite flaccid. She continued fondling for another minute, and then spoke angrily.\n\n\"Are you gay? They assured me you weren't gay! Franny is going to raise quite the shit storm if you're gay.\" I continued to not look at her,and she suddenly grabbed my chin and forced my head down. \n\n\"Look at me!\" She cried. My eyes met hers; they were filled with a mixture of sadness, anger, and longing. I could tell that she used to be quite attractive, but her best years were behind her. \"Are you gay?\" She asked quietly. \n\nI stared back at her for a second, thinking about lying, just to see what the look on her face would be. I decided against it and told the truth. \"No.\" I raised my head back up, observing the skyline. She was quiet for a moment, and then spoke.\n\n\"Well, thank God for that at least. If only I was ten years younger, I would ravish you m'dear. Ah well.\" She released my member. \"Perhaps you're just nervous right now....yes, you're just nervous! It's ok dearie. You'll get used to us.\"\n\nUs? I was curious but my gaze remained straight. Without removing her gaze from me, she yelled. \n\n\"Megan! Your birthday present is here!\"\n\nA door opened behind me, but I was too disciplined to look around on my own, despite my curiosity. Thankfully, Franny helped me out by spinning me around. Before me stood a beautiful young girl, she couldn't have been more than 20. Brown curls cascaded around her shoulders, and her hazel eyes twinkled as she examined me. She wore a simple sundress, accentuating her killer figure. Unbidden, something stirred within my loins. \n\n\n", "\"You're the most precious thing to us, David. More important than water.\" \"How about oxygen?\" I sarcastically ask. Marian laughs. \"Well..\" as she goes to close the door, once again locking me in my own apartment, \"that's what brought you to us, isn't? So yeah, you are as important as the air we breathe. Have a nice day David, don't forget to take your vitamins-\"The fact that she reminds me to take my friggin vitamins makes me want to throw a chair at her. \"I know, Marian. Thanks.\" Marian closes the door. And I hear the familiar padlock close on the outside of my prison. Walking in at first, it wouldn't look like it, especially with this view. The 22nd floor has an amazing view. Then I realized why I was so high up. To keep me here.\n\nOnce they let me wander through the building, but when I tried to leave they politely restrained me. And when I say politely, I mean with pepper spray, tasers, and a fucking cattle prod. After that, they've kept me under lock and key. They even brought in women to check the durability of the windows, making sure I couldn't jump. I thought of that, but it's not really in my nature to jump. Aside from being a sex slave- oh I'll get to that in a minute; I have it pretty nice here for a prisoner. \n\nI have a state of the art 3-D Blu Ray entertainment system, surround sound-the works. Any movie or TV show I want to watch. I have access to what's left of the internet, although now anything that still runs is now directed towards women. Reddit, my favorite site, that everyone I used to work with made fun of me for, is half alive. It's mostly pics of cats and pictures of women with their dead husbands or boyfriends, so it sort of turned into an obituary site. Even the porn is pretty much gone. Women aren't into it as much as guys. Speaking of porn, my life pretty much is like one long porno. Except I don't get to choose when I.. you know. Seeing my words here kind of astounds me. Most men would be happy to be in this position(no pun intended), because I have sex with 5-6 women everyday. EVERYDAY. Well, every now and then I get a day or two off. I used to think of myself as a moderately horny guy, no more or less than any other man walking this planet. But now, I wish sex was never necessary. If I never did it again, I'd be okay with that. But I have to repopulate the population. It's my \"duty.\" \n\nThe other thing that sucks is that I'm almost half psychiatrist for these women. From what I hear, the screening process is next to impossible. They have to go through weeks and for some months of tests to make sure it's safe for them to come in contact with me. I don't know the details, obviously- being locked up I'm on a \"need to know basis.\" Most of the girls that come in are pretty tame. Mostly shy, I think it's very weird for them to interact with a male, especially if they were married or in love with someone. That's why I have a limited supply of booze and wine(If you look at each bottle, only maybe a glass or two of liquor are in the bottles, just enough to give me a buzz, but not get me too drunk, they change it every couple of days). I can give some of the more scared girls a drink and sometimes it helps them loosen up. \n\nOnce in a while a hellcat comes in. She's on fire, ready to go, and one in particular makes me fucking scared to touch her. The things that come out her mouth, Jesus. Sometimes they cry, and that's the hardest for me, because we only have so much time, so I try to comfort them as well. \n\nWhy sex?!? This is something out of a male's mind. I agree. Artificial insemination seems more like it, right? Guess what- it is. The time not spent with physical women I have to jerk off into containers. Like a monkey. Sometimes when the guards come in to collect the containers, I scream like a monkey. Cabin fever. They came up with the actual physical sex so that women still had something to go on for. Something to look forward to. The natural way to conceive. Sometimes when I don't feel like masturbating one of the \"technicians\" comes in to try and stimulate me. It's like trying to feel romantic by listening to Marilyn Manson. \n\nI do get days off, and time in the day where I'm not a sex slave. But that time I have to exercise, or learn something. I learned how to play the piano, and my math skills rocketed through the roof. Again, state of the art exercise equipment stares at me while I eat breakfast every day. I'm not sure what I hate more, jerking it or exercising. But they're on me about keeping healthy. Organic tested food, vitamins, shakes, a trip to the pool for exercise. \n\nThe pool seemed like a lot of fun until while I was swimming one of the guards got naked and jumped in with me and forced herself on me. Nothing much I can do, the building is protected like a hornet's nest. Even if I broke her nose and ran out, there'd be 30 women with weapons waiting to get me back to my room. You can only fight so much. So I have to do what I'm told. \n\n Every now and then I wake up to the horror of some woman in the dark riding me. First not sure if it's real or a dream. Not being able to see their faces in the dark. It's pretty horrifying. \n\nStill sounds like fun? Not when you don't have any control over your own body. \n\nMost of the time I wonder what trauma the other men are facing. That's right, I'm not the only one. There's other guys out there, not sure if anyone's ruling or anything. Even though I have access to the Internet, it's all monitored. I only see what they let me see. I sometimes fantasize about breaking out and escaping, running away to the mountains, anywhere as long as there's no women. \n\nI can't really take much more of this, and that's why I'm sending this mass email out. I hacked into the mainframe of this company that's monitoring me, and I'm asking YOU for help. If you read this...please... PLEASE come and help me. I'm trapped in the Montgomery Tower downtown somewhere. I'm looking at a major river and a park with a giant statue of an angel facing the river. Also, I see smoke coming from the west at least once a week. I hope that's enough info. Please, my name is David Brennan. I think thers gas or some thew gassing me a;aksd djja;giaaalrggnr// hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaa \n\ni sending this emial now.", "It's funny, you know. Things are a lot different now, but every guy I've talked to has one thing in common: it's not what we thought it would be. Even at the beginning, as the gender-imbalance became clear, I remember thinking in the back of my head one day, \"Well, if I survive I'll be getting laid more often, right?\" Well, no. That didn't really work out. See, the thing is, the disease didn't discriminate. It killed guys more attractive than myself, sure, but it also killed ones uglier than myself. The end result was a equal thinning of the herd from the obese shut-in the male models. \n\nSo, I hadn't really moved up or down anywhere. The problem with that soon became evident; while I had an expanded dating pool, the quality of the pool really hadn't changed. It sounds incredibly vain and shallow, but we're all predisposed to vanity now. Supply and demand has became vastly tilted in our favour. If you're a woman (most guys I know have long since reached this conclusion) you might be thinking, \"You still had a lot more partners to choose from, right?\" You'd think so, wouldn't you? Except that it took a rather bizarre twist. Fighting over available partners - not even necessarily attractive ones - increased tenfold, but it was kind of like two kids fighting over a toy that neither really wanted to play with. The principle of the issue was possession rather than desire. It's become a sort of status symbol to have a boyfriend or husband, even more so one you could maintain. Healthy relationships have taken a tremendous dive.\n\nThere were good things, sure. Cultural stigma against gender basically died instantly. Backroom clinics in India and China where girls could be aborted collapsed literally overnight. A lot of the male doctors that ran them succumbed to the plague, and the few that were left were aware enough of the change in gender. I saw LiveLeak footage (that site's explosion into one of the most-visited sites on the web is hilarious in retrospect) of one such doctor hung by his intestines for continuing the practice by a group of angry women. Violence against women also dropped to the point of nonexistence. Fortunately, very fortunately, the trend didn't reverse itself. At least, it hasn't yet. They still need us for propagation of the species.\n\nIt's weird. I get openly ogled in the street now. Not for my attractiveness, I was never anything extraordinary on either end. It's like I'm a carnival attraction, so it's not equivalent to the way attractive women used to get stared at. It's probably infinitely more pathetic, since I don't have the knowledge that I'm arousing. But that's not nearly the worst part; the sex is by far the worst part. It's become a chore, now. There's huge pressure from the government (which remarkably evened out at equal representation by gender) to take the preemptive treatments to greatly increase the chance of having a boy. The science behind that particular innovation has never been spelled out for me, although they appeared almost instantly after the plague. The pharmaceutical company manufacturing the treatment has become worth more than all the former oil companies combined. Having a child has become a huge status symbol. \n\nStill, affirmative action basically reoriented itself instantly towards the male gender, so that's nice." ]

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[ " I believe in molecules\n Hydrogen, you sexy ring (you sexy ring, you)\n I believe in molecules\n Since you formed my bond, you covalent ring\n\n Where did you fall from, baby?\n How did you know, I attracted you?\n How did you know, I had you electrostatically?\n How did you know, I'd share our pair gladly?\n \n Yesterday I was one of the 10^23 atoms\n Now we're bonded covalently\n Sharing a polarity\n \n I believe in molecules\n Hydrogen, you sexy ring (sexy ring, you)\n I believe in molecules\n Since you formed my bond, you covalent ring\n\n Where is your charge from, atom?\n How did you know, we'd react as one?\n Did you know, you have a nice radi-ass?\n Did you know, we'd make a nice gas?\n\n Everyday, you'd give Van der Waals attraction\n Now we're bonded covalently\n Sharing a polarity\n\n I believe in molecules\n Hydrogen, you sexy ring (sexy ring, you)\n I believe in molecules\n Since you formed my bond, you covalent ring\n\n Lewis me, you covalent ring\n Share me baby, with carbon rings\n I love the way you fill me darling\n You covalent ring, it's orbitals, my valence ring\n \n Yesterday I was one of the 10^23 atoms\n Now we're bonded covalently\n Sharing a polarity\n \n I believe in molecules\n Hydrogen, you sexy ring (sexy ring, you)\n I believe in molecules\n Since you formed my bond, you covalent ring\n\n ", " I thought bonds were only real in textbooks\n Meant for atoms not on Group 18.\n Oh, bonds were almost forgone,\n I thought I was far gone,\n Inert gases haunted me (I'm Argon)\n\n Then I saw a lab station\n Argon fluorohydride!\n Just a trace\n Of UV radiation\n I'm a bond (oh, ah)\n Argon fluorohydride\n I wouldn't leave her (unless I liquefied)\n \n I thought bonds were more or less electrons\n Seems my valence shell was full enough\n Oh, what's the use in bonding\n All you have you share\n I'm the third most common thing in air\n\n Then I saw a lab station\n Argon fluorohydride!\n Just a trace\n Of UV radiation\n I'm a bond (oh, ah)\n Argon fluorohydride\n I wouldn't leave her (unless I liquefied)\n\n Oh, bonds were almost forgone,\n I thought I was far gone,\n Inert gases haunted me (I'm Argon)\n\n Then I saw a lab station\n Argon fluorohydride!\n Just a trace\n Of ultraviolet radiation\n I'm a bond (oh, ah)\n Argon fluorohydride\n I wouldn't leave her (unless I liquefied)\n ", " Oxygen, oh Oxygen\n Wherever have you been?\n You were bound to Carbon\n Then to Iron\n That's a freaking sin!\n\n Come back to me\n So we can be\n A diatomic pair\n With a double bond between us\n And electrons everywhere\n\n We won't show up on ^13 C\n Nor proton NMR\n Raman, though, will display our love\n We'll be spectroscopic stars\n\n Oxygen, oh Oxygen\n Don't be such a heel\n The reason I met with Carbon\n Was to form a carbonyl\n\n And for your information\n I met with Copper, too\n She needed some oxidation\n And I turned her bright maroon", "A romantic, but tragic haiku:\n\nYou are my soul mate.\n\nLet's use fusion to bond us.\n\nOops. Bad idea." ]

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[ "1386648054", "1386648162", "1386651098", "1386650282" ]